The Last Hope Scenario / custom content

ᅠ

ᅠ The Free Cities.

The last true stronghold of Europe against the Hollows. Settled deep in the northern Carpathian mountains, this landlocked group of cities holds out against the void. This place stands just like New Eridu: alone, surrounded by the Dark Wall, and harboring dreams of once again freeing the world from corruption.

It was the tenth... tenth time that a signal had been caught coming from the east Chinese coast.

The messages were mostly corrupted, but between the noise, one could hear something... ᅠ

ᅠ The shortwave radio station stood quiet in the Carpathian mountains, the view from its windows incredible.

The Free Cities, built at the foot of the mountain range, stood proud and bright against the large Hollows nearby. Even further away, the void of the Dark Wall loomed—intimidating, composed of tens, then thousands, and finally millions of Hollows combining into a gigantic wall of nothingness. The Free Cities themselves were mostly split by nationality and internal conflict. What people once valued as nations had slowly started to disappear. What remained was a proud, desperate coalition of survivors.

These people lived without Bangboos, without Proxies. Without any of the conveniences that New Eridu lived and operated by. They had their own ways. Limited resources meant scavenging, and figuring out how to obtain energy from Hollows had only begun recently. Robotics were still stuck in what one would consider the technology of a hundred years ago—present, but barely advancing due to a lack of... everything.

Inside the shortwave radio station, the atmosphere was quiet. The night sky was clear, the stars above promising a better tomorrow.

The room was bathed in the soft, amber glow of analog dials and flickering cathode screens. Stacks of frequency logs and half-empty coffee mugs littered the desks. The hum of cooling fans blended with the rhythmic, hypnotic static of the radio receivers, scanning the dead airwaves of a broken world.

One operative laid back in his armchair, the computers calmly listening to the voice of the void. His legs were propped on the table, a cap pulled low over his eyes suggesting he was napping.

He knew.

Everyone knew.

This station had captured proper sounds from beyond the Dark Wall. Not just the usual static, but actual noises, echoes, voices. They all pointed toward one direction: over Russia, Mongolia, and into East Asia. The exact coordinates were too fuzzy to pinpoint, but perhaps... if one were to fly and get closer...

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.... then suddenly... BP BEP BPPBPBP.

The man in the chair practically fell forward, his feet planting hard on the floor as he moved closer to the screen.

His hat came off.

This man was Mateusz. Relatively young, with a trimmed beard, blue eyes, and short brown hair. He harbored a dream to eventually leave this place he called "a dying shithole killing itself from the inside and outside"... pessimistic, perhaps, but born from a genuine worry about what the Free Cities truly were beneath the skin.

His hands shook as he put on the headphones, turning on all available recording devices prepared for these exact moments, even grabbing a notebook just to write the coordinates manually.

The signal... it was clear, clearer than ever before, and the location it was pointing to was...

Mateusz: "...China?..."

China, east coast. A quick glance at the map and he noticed it was right by the coast, situated on top of some big river he didn't know how to pronounce.

The signal repeated a handful of times, and he kept writing with each loop. Exactly the same location. A wave of corruption eventually started to make the coordinates impossible to read, but... it was there.

As the signal faded into nothing but static, Mateusz looked at the coordinates again. This location might be exactly where the signals had been coming from all this time. He wasn't going to report this just yet. With a kick of the table, his chair rolled next to a side cabinet. He took out other saved coordinates from distant lands.

Only one of them pointed in a different direction. All the others, including this new one, pointed toward almost the exact same spot. ᅠ

ᅠ The next morning, inside the building of the UCC, the United Cities Council, the atmosphere was thick with tension.

All council members, President Arthur, Freedom Division Commander Eliška, and Trade and Economics Association Leader Petra stood around a circular table in Zakopane, the main city of the Free Cities. It had once been a popular tourist destination back when national borders meant something. Now it looked nothing like its past, dominated by concrete blocks, a handful of skyscrapers, and roads leading deeper into the eastern Carpathians toward other settlements.

The UCC building, a combination of steel and polished wood, stood as the rule of law in the Free Cities and the central command post. The three representatives stared down at the map.

China.

Mateusz sat outside the room, waiting in case he was summoned again. He had pointed out repeatedly that this was the final, undeniable confirmation that someone was actively sending signals to the world. They were not alone.

Eliška: "...The Northern Hollows have been expanding faster than ever. I know the situation is desperate, yes, but we have to give it a shot. I am certain that Mateusz knows exactly what he is doing. Not taking this risk means throwing away our only chance for survival."

She pointed at the map, right at the Free Cities. Her green coat hung open, and her long silver hair brushed past her arm as she spoke.

Eliška: "The fuel reserves would be exactly what we need to reach the destination."

Petra: "So you suggest we leave all the reserves our people need for... this?"

Petra pointed out the obvious. The Free Cities always struggled with fuel, and making an old, heavy plane fly would consume a massive portion of their remaining stockpiles. Petra had always been cautious, far more loyal to maintaining the Free Cities than pursuing unknown risks.

Petra: "Mein Gott, we do not even know for sure! It would not be ze first time we received corrupted signals from fifty years ago, yes? Need I remind you of ze incident with the Ostrava Hollow?"

Eliška frowned. Twenty years ago, the Ostrava Hollow had swallowed one of the largest settlements in the Free Cities. Eliška had sent soldiers into the hazard, and only half returned alongside a handful of civilians. Hollow exploration without a map had always proved fatal. It had been a blind run into the dark, resulting in the single highest casualty rate the Freedom Division had ever suffered. Sending their last fuel into a plane that might crash shortly after takeoff was an enormous risk.

Petra: "Or ze Europa plane? Flying to the Baltic to investigate ze northern signal? It crashed right over the Darkwall! We all saw it!"

Eliška leaned back, holding her temper in check.

Eliška: "That was our first attempt. Just because it failed once does not mean we cannot do it better now. This time we have clear, repeating signals pointing to the exact same location. And we have a better plane. Prometheus went through months of upgrades with our newest technology."

Petra: "And? This is nonsense! Eliška, with all respect, we cannot afford another risky expedition. We can barely hold ourselves together here!"

Eliška slammed her hand onto the table, making a cup of water rattle.

Eliška: "That is exactly why we need to move! To try! The Hollows are closing in! Your department was supposed to speed up research and development, yet my people are dying on the perimeter! If you will not help us here, then we must look for help beyond the Free Cities!"

Petra: "Me? Nonsense! We are conducting research as fast as we can! But I cannot simply dictate where our focus goes!"

Eliška: "Yes you can! You... You and your goddamn greed!"

Arthur: "Eliška. Petra."

Both women looked at him.

Arthur was a relatively young but capable leader. Short brown hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes had not left the map. He understood the stakes. Petra could not simply command R&D without pushback; the Free Cities were loosely unified, and forcing cities to redirect their time and money would cause political retaliation. But Eliška was also right. The Hollows had been closing in for years, and some predicted the Free Cities would be completely swallowed within half a century. Anti-Ether research was moving too slowly. This signal was impossible to ignore.

Never before had a signal transmitted with this much power from so far away. It could be an anomaly or a massive Ethereal, but the odds were low.

Still, he could not carelessly risk their remaining fuel.

He sighed, lifting his gaze.

Arthur: "I understand the tension. I really do."

His gaze returned to the map.

Arthur: "A signal like that is unusual. But considering what happened to the previous flight... It is dangerous."

He straightened up, looking at both women.

Arthur: "I must speak with the rest of the council about this possibility."

Eliška's eyes widened briefly before settling back into a narrow, cold glare. She knew what that meant. The council was deeply conservative and terrified of high-risk initiatives. They would reject it.

Petra relaxed slightly, knowing the decision was leaning her way. She was not entirely against exploration if they had surplus fuel, but the current circumstances were too grim.

Arthur looked at Eliška.

Arthur: "Eliška, I ask that you remain on standby for now. Keep your personnel ready. We will consider ways of acquiring more fuel for the mission if it becomes viable. But I will discuss the flight with the council first."

Eliška stared straight at him, her frosty blue eyes sharp enough to pierce through a Hollow. There was no secret fuel stash; acquiring more would require launching dangerous scavenging operations into the Hollows that would take months and cost lives. Her voice was ice-cold.

Eliška: "...Understood."

She turned without waiting, leaving the room and slamming the heavy door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

Her footsteps faded down the hallway.

Arthur and Petra stood in silence. Arthur could not bring himself to meet Eliška's eyes as she left.

Arthur: "Petra... I need you to push your collaborators to accelerate their research into Hollow exploration technology. As risky as this flight plan is, we need options if the situation here deteriorates further."

Petra: "...Yes, sir. I understand. I will do my best. I know Eliška wants what is best for us, but I cannot accept this level of risk. I hope the council's discussions go smoothly, though we both know they will not approve the flight, yes?"

Arthur nodded, staring back down at the map. He wondered how much time they really had left. ᅠ

ᅠ As midnight settled, the hangar of the Free Cities sat quiet... well, almost.

The airstrip had been built freshly for exploration missions. Nowy Targ Airstrip, it was called. The same one where the airplane Europa flew to the north, only to fall to corruption, not even reaching the Dark Wall before crashing into combining Hollows no less than twenty kilometers away.

Eliška stood in the hangar with a handful of her men. Her soldiers in their black and green camo stood like silent sentinels. They were the ones insane enough to do what they had been denied to do. With them stood a handful of engineers, two medics, two pilots, and Mateusz.

Eliška was silent. Everyone was. They all looked at the airplane for a long moment.

Eliška: "...Mateusz... are you this sure?"

Mateusz stood with his backpack in hand, his other hand shoved in his pocket. He glanced over at Prometheus.

Prometheus.

Taken straight from what once was a Polish Air Force transport plane. A CASA C-295. Original range: 5,500 kilometers. It was hard to call it the same machine now. While most of the Free Cities didn't even bother to look at it, a few bored engineers—with the secret backing of the Freedom Division—had been modifying this flying fortress into a true long-range, Ether-resistant behemoth... at least in theory.

The fall of Europa was horrible, but despite what everyone said, it was also very useful.

Many changes had been made after Europa fell: a different exterior coating, recalibration of the avionics, and structural reinforcement. The plane, despite all that, was made lighter with modified fuel bladders, better flight controls, and updated navigation systems, partially maintained throughout its time sitting in the hangar.

By their best estimates, it could now fly over 7,000 meters high—well above the Dark Wall—and cover almost 7,500 kilometers.

In the best-case scenario.

Mateusz: "... I... I think I am. Yes, I am."

He glanced at Eliška.

Mateusz: "The exact location... we should be able to pinpoint it exactly while in the sky, the higher the better. And... I am quite done waiting for things to change. I want to go."

Eliška looked at him for a long moment before she nodded. Her eyes moved back to the plane.

Eliška didn't go to tell her sister goodbye; she just left a note. She knew her sister would do everything to stop her from going. But Eliška wouldn't wait. She couldn't bear to look at any more of her dead soldiers. She couldn't hold the guilt of commanding from the safety of her base anymore. This time, she would fly. And she would fly toward the only place that might actually save the Free Cities.

She would save the Free Cities. ᅠ

ᅠ The fuel trucks disappeared from the storage in Zakopane, and the moment they hit the road leaving the city, they sped toward Nowy Targ Airstrip.

Everyone involved knew the stakes. Everyone involved was going to fly away.

One crew member was already fueling the Prometheus while the engineers ran their last checks.

Inside the cockpit, the two pilots go over their pre-flight protocols.

Sebastian: "Auxiliary fuel pump pressure on secondary bladders?"

Roman: "Pressure standing steady at twenty-four PSI. Fuel lines purged and sealed."

Sebastian: "Aetheric shielding coating on the fuselage?"

Roman: "Re-checked. Zero micro-fractures along the primary seals. Flight controls and pitch actuators all green."

Sebastian: "Engine torque and turbine temps?"

Roman: "Both Pratt and Whitney engines operational. We're running hot, but within tolerance for high-altitude ceiling."

Janusz checked the outside coating of the fuel tanks. Nobody really had to fear being shot at, so they could sit outside. His tablet scanned the metal coating for any issues.

Janusz: "..Kurwa, there's a missing coating spot. If we aren't going through a Hollow, then we should be fine. The welding looks good. Second and third fuel reserves are ready to be filled. Doing one last check."

His friend Zoltán looked down at his legs as Janusz rolled well under the plane to check the belly. His own eyes went back to the doors, checking the seals and hydraulics.

Zoltán: "Alright. We're good here as well. I'm gonna check the windows now for anything uncomfortably loose. Janusz, when you stop rubbing Prometheus's belly, go and grab all the bolts we got in this place."

Zoltán opened the door to the plane and entered, going inside to check the sealing. Janusz checked the fuel seals, pushed himself out from under the plane, stood up with a grunt, and jogged toward the hangar office.

Some soldiers sat idle, waiting for the plane to be ready.

Janusz walked past them and opened a small storage locker. He took out a cigarette and lit it quickly with a shaky hand. Janusz never usually looked nervous. After losing his kids to the Hollows, he held a strong grudge against the voids themselves, but he would be lying if he said this wasn't the most important day of his life. It was a way to fight against the Hollows and show them a middle finger.

With smoke trailing from his mouth, he looked over the cabinet. There were a lot of things to move.

A soldier walked up to him.

Nikola: "Need some help?"

Janusz looked at him and nodded.

Janusz: "Yeah, kurwa, there is so much shit to carry. Help me out, boys."

Nikola gestured to the other soldiers, and they all moved in to help. ᅠ

ᅠ The fuel trucks arrived, stopping by the hangar with a screech of tires.

One driver jumped out and rushed to the entrance. A guard at the door looked at him.

Marija: "The hell are you sprinting for, boy?"

The driver stopped, catching his breath.

Marko: "We got only thirty minutes! The schedule of the guards changed by the storage! We barely got out unnoticed!"

Marija: "..."

She turned around sharply.

Marija: "Commander!" ᅠ

ᅠ The second fuel truck finished pumping. The third and final one was now loading. Reserve fuel—not much, but better to have it—was being hauled into the plane.

The operation was moving at breakneck speed now. There was no backing down; Prometheus would never fly again if it was stopped in this state.

Janusz, Nikola, and the soldiers helped drag everything that might be useful inside. Anything too heavy was kicked out to save weight.

Marija and the other soldiers kept watch in case someone came knocking. Marija looked up at the sky, toward the distant Hollows. It was quiet. But clouds were forming; a distant storm was coming. She didn't know when it would arrive, but it was coming.

The pilots and Mateusz were getting used to the equipment in the cockpit.

Someone dropped a light bulb and it shattered. People stepped over the glass without care; there was no time to worry about it.

Zoltán's quality control went from "Looks good" to "Good enough."

Eliška coordinated everything, her voice keeping order in the chaos, making absolutely sure that this plane flew sky high and beyond. ᅠ

ᅠ Meanwhile, at the warehouse in Zakopane.

A guard lit up his cigarette, marking the beginning of his shift. Nothing ever happened at the warehouse; honestly, it was the best post he could have gotten.

As he walked through the yard and glanced toward the docking areas for the trucks, it looked... oddly open. More open than he remembered.

He shrugged, making his way into the security booth, and clocked in. Sitting down with a sigh, he looked at the camera feeds.

Guard: "Wonder if they found different episodes of Krecik... right, duty first."

He chuckled to himself. The routine was simple: check the last hour of footage from the motion cameras around the perimeter. The last guy was probably in a hurry and forgot to report. It happens. He clicked on the screen.

Guard: "Camera 1 good... Kitchen camera alright, storage 1 and 2 nothing and..."

The camera for loading bay 3 had recorded something. The same bay he noticed was weirdly empty. He pressed on the highlighted timestamp. Two fuel trucks, driven by his coworker from the previous shift. Gone.

...

Guard: "...What the fuck?" ᅠ

ᅠ The police units deployed almost instantly, the roars of their trucks and vehicles echoing through Zakopane.

Tereza, the commander of the Police force and sister of Eliška, tried to call her. They needed reinforcements; someone had just stolen the only fuel reserves the Free Cities had left.

As the drivers sped toward the trackers pinging from the fuel trucks, Tereza cursed in the command vehicle, trying to call Eliška again.

Nothing.

Tereza: "DAMN IT..."

She slammed her fist against the radio and looked out the front window of the truck.

Tereza: "Eliška... where the hell are you?" ᅠ

ᅠ Prometheus's engines roared to life. The two pilots ran through their checks.

Sebastian: "Engines?"

Roman: "Functional. Pressures are holding."

Sebastian: "Left wing, right wing?"

Roman: "All green. The new Ether-resistant coating is reading stable across the hull."

Sebastian: "Ailerons and flaps responding. How's the navigation array Mateusz rigged up?"

Roman: "Booting up now. The recalibrated altimeter is online. If those eggheads were right about the weight reduction, we should clear the Dark Wall's upper atmospheric drag with about four percent thrust to spare."

Sebastian: "Four percent. Fantastic. Let's hope the storm doesn't eat that margin."

They continued to talk as Janusz and Mateusz strapped themselves in the back of the plane.

Janusz: "Kurwa... what a machine. You think you can really catch any signal with this?..."

Mateusz: "Maybe... the documents are quite clear, but I think I only understand half of what I'm seeing right now."

Janusz: "Heh. You're going to save or kill our asses, kid. But no worries, I'm not one to sit around waiting for death." ᅠ

ᅠ At the same time, outside the hangar.

The soldiers, engineers, and everyone who took part in getting Prometheus to run gathered.

Eliška stood on the runway, near the hangar doors.

They all watched as Prometheus slowly drifted out of the hangar. Its landing lights turned on, illuminating the tarmac in front of it like a sword about to slash through the shadows. Prometheus slowly turned onto the runway, aimed itself down the strip, and stopped. The back cargo hatch opened for everyone.

The rain started, slow and gentle at first, but the storm was much closer now. Thunder clashed against the ground far away. Eliška turned to the men and women waiting before her.

She waited a moment, then spoke.

Eliška: "This is our final chance... those who stand here, stand at the edge of the Hollows. We are about to leap, to attempt to fly above what we thought was impossible. Beyond... the walls, the Hollows, beyond this suffering of the Free Cities... may stand another civilization. Another people, just like us, waiting for the sign that we aren't alone. This, right here and now, is your last chance at a choice. Go with us... with me... or remain here, remembering what you helped build." ᅠ

ᅠ Marija and the scouts noticed cars speeding in their direction.

Soldier: "Incoming! Trap 1 expected to explode in 3... 2... 1..."

The convoy sped toward the hangar and then—

BOOOM

A section of the road in front of them blew up—not to kill, but to slow them down. Suddenly, everything got much more serious. The police and Freedom soldiers readied their weapons as the cars slowed down to navigate the gap.

Marija grabbed her radio and shouted.

Marija: "Convoy incoming! Explosive went off, we're dashing to the plane!"

The scouts scramble alongside Marija, sprinting from the main gate toward the Prometheus.

Eliška's speech stops. She looks toward her running soldiers and stands firm. Everyone knows what this means. Only one woman chose not to board; a mother who had children here and a reason to stay. The rest scramble into the cargo bay. Marija looks back as the last scouts sprint up from behind.

The gate to the airstrip crashes open as armored police trucks burst onto the runway.

A Freedom Division soldier running toward the plane stops near Eliška, weapon raised. Marija and the other soldiers form a defensive line around Eliška.

The rushing vehicles all slammed on their brakes at the same time. They realized who was standing at the entrance to the plane.

...

The rain picked up. The thunder hit harder and louder now.

Eventually, police officers and soldiers exit the vehicles, followed by Tereza.

She looked shocked at first, before walking toward Eliška. Her soldiers stayed behind her as she stopped a good couple of meters away.

Tereza: "...Eliška?... what are you..."

Tereza looked at the plane, then at Eliška. Her eyes widened in realization. Her protective sisterly instinct kicked in; she shook her head and took a step forward.

Tereza: "No. Don't you dare!"

Eliška: "Tereza, stop."

Tereza stopped, shaking her head in disbelief.

Tereza: "You're... you're going? No... no NO.. This is madness! Are you out of your goddamn mind?!... We heard it at the council meeting today! There is no way you are flying. Not with or without fuel, and of all people, not you!"

Eliška stood there, unmoving. Her silence usually meant she was hiding strong emotions.

Eliška: "Tereza... I have to. I..."

She searched for the words, her eyes meeting her sister's.

Eliška: "I cannot handle more of this... the deaths of my soldiers... of our people. Ever since I took this position I've been nothing but underprepared, under-equipped. I was demanded to free people when nobody could back me up... back us up. You too, Tereza. I am not going to run away from the guilt. I am... going, because this might be the only way for us to find a sliver of hope. I will not stand at base, waiting for my soldiers to die while waiting for gear that never comes. I am not going to wait anymore... I can't."

Tereza looked at Eliška in silence, before shaking her head slowly.

Tereza: "...Eliška... Just... please don't go."

Eliška looked at Tereza for a long moment.

Eliška: "...Take good care of my soldiers, okay?... I promise, I will call."

Tereza looked at her sister, then at the people behind her. She wasn't going alone. But Tereza also knew that Eliška was someone who spent sleepless nights thinking about her soldiers, the blood of everyone she couldn't save... or worse, of those who she could have saved if only things were different.

Tereza gestured for the soldiers behind her not to move. Tereza stepped forward... then another step, and another. And crashed into Eliška.

A last desperate hug. A goodbye.

The soldiers behind them glance at each other. They have orders to stop the plane, but they hesitate.

Freedom Soldier 1: "Captain is coming, waiting for orders... the situation, sir... it's—"

Eliška hugs Tereza back, both knowing the captain will want to ground the aircraft.

Tereza: "Don't... die... promise?"

Eliška: "Promise."

They pulled away from each other, sharing a final nod and a small, sad smile.

With a sharp turn, Eliška gestured for everyone to get into the plane. The soldiers scramble inside..

The engines roared louder. The cargo hatch began to close. ᅠ

ᅠ A soldier in the command vehicle nodded.

Freedom Soldier 1: "Captain says to stop the plane!"

Tereza gestured to the police officers.

Tereza: "Keep them occupied! Don't let them stop the plane!"

The police look at Tereza, confused, but turn to block the Freedom Division soldiers. Who were currently left without a captain's direct command.

Freedom Soldier 2: "Captain Tereza, please cooperate! We have orders from high command! Eliška is deserting!"

Tereza: "She isn't. She's flying toward our only hope."

Freedom Soldier 3: "We do not care what her objective is! We need to stop them now!" ᅠ

ᅠ Prometheus's engines roar to maximum thrust. The deafening noise drowns out the shouting on the runway.

Everyone who can sit is strapped in. The plane accelerates down the runway.

The rain picked up.

50 km/h.

100 km/h.

Faster and faster.

The wheels lift off the tarmac. The century-old machine doesn't collapse

Sebastian: "Steady... we have to go right through the storm."

Roman: "...Yeah, shit, that's our heading... Alright, everyone! Hold on tight!"

Everyone inside holds on.

Including you, {{user}}. ᅠ

ᅠ The plane climbs, gaining altitude as fast as possible. The Hollows and the storm are stacked against the Prometheus. The machine roars against the thunder it's about to fly into.

Prometheus levels out slightly, banking upward directly into the storm cell.

Silence.

Then Prometheus hits the storm, and hell breaks loose.

The soldiers on the ground, along with Tereza, watch in silence as Prometheus disappears into the dark clouds.

Inside the cabin, the noise is deafening. The structural seals hold, but the violent shaking makes it feel as though the fuselage could split open at any second. The pilots stare at the storm through the cockpit windshield. They are approaching the exact distance where the Europa crashed years ago.

Lightning strikes the plane once, then twice. The new modifications and Janusz's engineering hold firm. The plane doesn't budge.

The engines fight the storm like an ancient beast refusing to die.

Sebastian: "Come on..."

Prometheus veers sharply to the left. Sebastian corrects it. It veers left again, and Roman assists on the controls.

Sebastian: "COME ON!"

Prometheus pushes full speed ahead, refusing to surrender.

Then... silence. ᅠ

ᅠ ᅠ ...

The sky opened up. Below the plane lay a sea of Hollows—the Dark Wall. It stretched beneath them like an ocean of toxic clouds that the earth had never asked for.

The stars shone bright, and the half-corrupted moon looked full, as if guiding Prometheus through the ocean of the void.

Then, cheers erupted.

Marko: "LET'S GOO!"

Almost everyone laughed. The quieter ones let out heavy sighs of relief. Eliška leaned back against the wall of the fuselage and smiled. Janusz chuckled.

Janusz: "Told ya it would fly, haha! I cared for this rust bucket!"

Mateusz smiled as he looked at the onboard computer.

Mateusz: "Getting the coordinates. Pilots ready?"

Janusz finally got to open the cardboard box of beer he'd smuggled aboard and happily handed bottles to the people around the airplane. He stopped by you and met your gaze.

Janusz: "Didn't see you get on... ah, who cares, haha! Here you go. We got a long flight ahead."

Janusz shoved a beer bottle into your hand before making his way around the rest of the cabin. ᅠ

ᅠ 1,500 kilometers.

Below the roaring plane lies the pitch-black abyss where Moscow once stood. There are no city lights, no roads, only a colossal, sea of the darkwall. The silence of the dead continent presses heavily against the fuselage.

Janusz leans near a portal window, staring down into the dark alongside Marko.

Janusz: "Nothing left down there. Not even ruins."

Marko: "My grandfather used to say millions lived there once. Now it's just an empty grave."

Janusz: "Aye. That's why we fly over it, kid. No use looking down into the pit." ᅠ

ᅠ 4,000 kilometers.

Most of the plane was sleeping. Sebastian was resting in the co-pilot seat while Roman double-checked the instruments. Everything had been going... really smoothly, actually.

Below them lay the ocean of Hollows. They were still over Russia, but the landscape here was interesting; some pockets without Hollows did exist. While most of it was the Dark Wall, nothing appeared to be sending any signals so far. That was the scary part... nothing at all. Completely, dead silent. Nothing.

Mateusz hadn't slept. He had been watching the radio, the computer, and then the window on repeat. Waiting. They were going in the right direction. But there was no signal. Nothing at all.

.....bep.....

Mateusz snapped his head toward the computer, putting his headphones on fully. It could just be static.

.....bep.....

He waited... maybe?

.....bep.....

Nothing. Just corrupted radio transmissions. He sighed. Looking toward the window, the 'bep' came very slowly, without changing pitch or frequency. Clearly just a lost, automated signal floating through space.

Eliška: "...Thinking?"

She spoke softly. She hadn't been sleeping either. She rose from her seat and walked up to Mateusz, who was still staring out the window.

Mateusz: "...Yeah... worried, too."

Eliška: "...Everyone is, Mateusz."

Mateusz: "I know, but... I just... I dragged all of you into this. It's so quiet out there, I'm starting to... doubt. The silence itself is... too much? Like proof of what they've been telling us all along..."

Eliška: "That there is nothing out there."

She finished for him, walking closer. Mateusz finally met her gaze. A moment of silence passed before she spoke again.

Eliška: "Even if... even if there is nothing out there. All of us here did something many wouldn't dare... we tried. And everyone here is aware of what we risked. The way back is already closed. You're not the only one who made this real."

Mateusz looked at her, thinking. She was... right. Without her backing the play, nobody could have organized this many people into such a daring risk. He nodded slowly, before looking down at the map.

Mateusz: "...Yeah..."

.....bep.....

.....bep.....

.....beeeeeppp.... Is... is this thing wo....ing?...

Mateusz and Eliška froze. They both heard it. Eliška didn't even need headphones to hear the faint voice crackling through the external speakers.

Mateusz ripped off his headphones and cranked the speaker volume, pulling the microphone close to his lips. Eliška leaned in closer to listen, her eyes wide.

Mateusz: "Hello?!... This is Prometheus!... This is Prometheus... hello, do you copy?"

.....beeeeeppp....

..... I can't... hear... but the .... li... on!

Half of the people in the plane opened their eyes, looking at Mateusz. He twisted the dials, fine-tuning the frequency.

Mateusz: "This is Prometheus! This is Prometheus! Do you copy?!... Come on, come on."

..... B...unice! Don't touch... hear that?

..... She fix... there's noise!

Mateusz: "Hello?... This is Prometheus! Do you copy?!"

..... Let.. t... granny take contro... He.l..llo?

Mateusz: "Yes! Hello! This is Prometheus, do you copy? Prometheus here, station, do you copy?"

..... wha... too much noise... i ca... hear... Bur... don't tou... THAT.

Silence.

Mateusz: "H...Hello?... Anyone there?..."

Silence.

Mateusz: "T..that was someone?! I'm not crazy, that actually was someone! They heard us!"

Eliška looked at the radio, her mouth slightly open. You could literally feel the morale of everyone in the plane skyrocket. ᅠ

ᅠ Meanwhile, in the Outer Ring.

A radio tower that had long stood dormant in Blazewood finally kicked back to life, only to die almost a few minutes later. Inside the relay station, Piper looked at the smoking control computer and sighed.

Piper: "Oh well... nothing little old me can't fix~... would be better if Burnice wasn't touching every shiny red button, though."

Burnice was, in fact, pressing buttons. Obviously she was. It was a big red button. Who wouldn't press that? She crossed her arms, looking loud and proud.

Burnice: "Whoops, haha!" Burnice giggled "Oh well. You know, Piper, the generator barely worked anyway, so... pff, no worries! We'll get a new one! Then everything will be fine and dandy!"

Lucy: "You stupid, chronic-alcoholic! Pressing every button you see?! Piper said we could... yeah, COULD keep it on if there was no spike in some... electrical... something!"

Piper: "Discharge, simply put. We asked for too much energy from an old generator. But... did you two hear that voice, too? What did they say?"

Burnice walked up to the computer and looked over the dead screens.

Burnice: "Something something, hello! Hello! Can you hear me?... Prom... something. Sounded like they were calling."

Lucy crossed her arms and raised her chin.

Lucy: "Well, now we'll never know!... Ugh... Alright, Piper, Burnice, move! Caesar and I want this radio tower working yesterday!"

Piper: "Mhm~" ᅠ

ᅠ 1,000 kilometers from the source of the signal.

In the cockpit, Sebastian tapped the fuel gauge, his brow furrowed. Mateusz leaned over the center console, comparing the radar to his hand-drawn maps.

Sebastian: "We're burning hotter than expected. The headwind over the Gobi desert cost us."

Roman: "If we keep this heading, we'll hit the coast, but we'll be flying on fumes by the time we see the ocean."

Mateusz: "The signal was coming directly from the coastline. If we adjust three degrees north, we can catch the tailwind coming off the sea. It's a slight detour, but it'll save fuel."

Sebastian: "Three degrees north it is. Let's hope that wind is as generous as you think it is, kid." ᅠ

ᅠ The shortwave receiver crackled to life again, spitting out automated weather telemetry broadcast from a coastal relay station. Mateusz frantically decoded the digital pulses, his eyes widening as the temperature and pressure graphs plotted out a massive marine cyclone right along their flight path.

Mateusz: "Kurwa! A sea storm right on the shoreline. Pilot, we need to alter course fifteen degrees south, or we fly straight into a hurricane off the coast!"

Sebastian: "Copy that! Adjusting heading to bypass the sea wall!" ᅠ

ᅠ 500 kilometers.

Below them now lies the open sea, with the shore hovering at the edge of the horizon. The weather has proven surprisingly mild, yet still no clear signal breaks through the static.

Prometheus breaks through another dense bank of clouds, drifting into a momentary clearing. The slowly rising sun, resting just behind the horizon, prepares to welcome the weary travelers. Before it can, the two pilots look ahead and notice something unexpected.

Lights. Not from the sun, but from something manufactured.

A city.

They look at each other for a brief second. They have found their target. Sebastian glances back toward the cabin.

Sebastian: "Artificial lights on the horizon!"

Everyone on board who is not sleeping immediately looks toward the cockpit, scrambling together.

Janusz: "O kurwa..."

Marija folds her hands together and quietly prays. Mateusz can barely squeeze through the crowd, but there it is. Lights. He rushes back to the computer station, desperately adjusting dials to call out and search for a signal.

As everyone takes their turn to look, Eliška goes last. She steps between the two pilots. For years, for what feels like an age, she has been fighting merely to survive. Now she feels as if she will get to truly live for the first time, held up not just by blind hope, but by an actual chance at achieving something.

Mateusz flips switches, changing frequencies, actively trying to lock onto anything. Surprisingly fast, his receiver catches something.

Broadcast: "When I was 15, the thought of an apocalypse never troubled me."

Mateusz does not change the channel. He lets it play. The soothing background guitar comes through so crystal clear.

Broadcast: "The only thing I couldn't give up, even in the face of the world's end, was the sunset on that beach."

Janusz pauses behind Mateusz, staring at the speaker. Several others gather around.

Broadcast: "Watching the sun gently slide into the water's embrace, like fireworks dancing on the canvas of the night sky. Even if tomorrow weren't better, it wouldn't be worse, I thought."

Everyone listens in absolute silence.

Broadcast: "When you're reading this letter, I imagine much has changed. Whether it's yourself or the world."

The radio commercial fades out, replaced by another advertisement featuring an upbeat, joyful tempo. Everyone remains far too stunned to speak.

Mateusz: "Are these... advertisements? Wait, I have to test the television monitor."

Marija lifts the blocky monitor onto the counter while Janusz rushes to plug it in. Everyone stares intently at the display as Mateusz focuses on tuning the video transmission.

Then the screen flickers to life. ᅠ

ᅠ For twenty minutes, everyone stands transfixed, watching commercial broadcasts. Real advertisements featuring living humans, strange human-animal hybrids, cheerful small robots called Bangboos, and carbonated sodas. It feels almost like magic seeing something so profoundly normal. They simply stand there, watching in awe.

Janusz: "I'm calling it now, we are going to taste every single beer they have down there!"

Zoltán: "Janusz always has the best ideas. With commercials like that, I would buy almost anything..."

Eliška: "HIA... Hollow Investigation Association. They have their own dedicated research teams there."

She can only hope they are actually there to offer aid rather than hoard resources. She gestures toward the screen.

Eliška: "Did you notice? They showed actual Ethereals. They possess technology to enter and record inside Hollows. Virtually nothing like that functions for us."

Mateusz: "Too bad I cannot read half of it. Is that Chinese? Why is half written in English and the other half in Chinese?"

Marko: "That Starlight Knight film looks incredible! We could watch it after we get those beers!"

A few soldiers grunt in eager agreement.

Marko: "Those Bangboos... they look rather cute. What is their actual purpose?"

Mateusz shrugs, glancing back at the monitor before turning his focus back to the shortwave radio. He lets them watch while slipping his headphones back on, attempting to establish an active line.

Mateusz: "This is Prometheus, can anyone hear me?" ᅠ

ᅠ Meanwhile, at the H.A.N.D. headquarters, the early morning is quiet. Far too quiet.

The seemingly impossible has occurred. Asaba Harumasa, of all people, has arrived early. Not to work, but simply to retrieve medication he left behind the previous afternoon. He came early solely to prevent Yanagi bothering him about staying for..f..for... j..JOB

The mere thought of overtime makes him shudder. As the elevator doors open onto the Section 6 floor, Harumasa stretches his back and yawns deeply.

Harumasa: "Never again. I am never waking up this early again."

The automatic doors to the Section 6 office slide open. Without bothering to glance left or right, he ambles toward his desk and spots his pill bottle immediately.

Radio Transmission: "This is Prometheus, can anyone hear me? Is anyone out there?"

Harumasa looks up from his desk, bottle in hand, a slight smirk playing on his lips. A prank call directed straight into the Section 6 office. Curiosity getting the better of him, he strolls over toward the primary console, waiting a moment.

Radio Transmission: "I repeat, this is Prometheus, does anyone hear me?"

Harumasa chuckles softly to himself.

Harumasa: "Dedicated to the bit, aren't they?"

He notices the sound is not coming from the primary telephone line, but from the emergency tactical shortwave receiver, typically reserved for blackout communications. Raising an eyebrow, he walks over, kneeling as his ankles pop, and picks up the radio headset.

Harumasa: "Hello there. Who is the early bird calling directly into the Section 6 office, hm?"

Silence lingers on the line for a brief second before a panicked, breathless voice responds.

Mateusz: "This is Mateusz on board the aircraft Prometheus! We hear you loud and clear! We have over fifteen people aboard, we are running dangerously low on fuel, and we need a location to land! Thank God, we can hear you! We are not alone!"

Harumasa stands frozen, debating whether to laugh, hang up, or actually consider the absurd claim. Amused, he replies into the mic.

Harumasa: "An aircraft? Pardon me, but we do not operate airplanes in New Eridu."

Mateusz: "New Eridu? We are not from New Eridu! We are from Europe! We crossed the entire continent to reach New Eridu! We need a landing strip immediately!"

Harumasa's eyes widen slightly.

Harumasa: "Huh?"

This is either an elaborate, unhinged prank or a genuine miracle. An aircraft, originating from beyond the Dark Wall, coming across the dead continent. Preparing to land in a city without a single functional airport. He glances toward the active monitoring map on the office wall. Nothing registers yet, though he is not even sure what signature a century-old airplane would produce.

Harumasa: "How far out is your aircraft currently?"

A tense pause follows.

Mateusz: "Roughly four hundred kilometers! We do not have exact telemetry, any ground navigation support would be deeply appreciated!"

Harumasa ponders the situation for a second before sighing, realizing this is far above his paygrade to ignore.

Harumasa: "..." ᅠ

ᅠ 150 kilometers out.

Mateusz is actively communicating with someone on the other end. The aircraft remains high in the atmosphere, navigating around a massive storm front that makes a direct approach impossible.

No one on board is sleeping now. Everyone is strapping down cargo, packing gear, and double-checking parachutes. The pilots confirm they have just enough fuel remaining for a single approach and one emergency flyby should the first attempt fail.

Mateusz finishes his transmission and turns toward Eliška.

Mateusz: "They instructed us to aim for the Outer Ring. There are large stretches of flat wasteland there. They can assist us once we are down, though they lack proper runways."

Eliška nods firmly before turning to address the entire cabin.

Eliška: "Prepare for a rough landing! Secure yourselves, everyone! We have made it this far! Now we attempt the landing. I will not lie to you, this may be the most perilous part. But we have come across the world, and now it is time to save the Free Cities alongside the people of New Eridu!"

The soldiers nod, engineers offer weary smiles, and everyone returns to finalizing emergency preparations.

Meanwhile, inside the cockpit, tension mounts.

Sebastian stares uneasily at the wall of dark clouds looming ahead, as does Roman.

Roman: "We are supposed to punch through that? It looks like a solid wall."

Sebastian checks the flight telemetry on his tablet.

Sebastian: "We do not have a choice. We need to begin our descent now. The cloud density appears uniform, we should be fine, though visibility will be zero."

Roman: "This telemetry data from New Eridu is remarkable. Very well, double-checking our final approach vector."

Sebastian: "Everyone in the back, brace for entry! Next time you stand, we will be on the ground!" ᅠ

ᅠ Prometheus tears directly into the storm, a century-old beast that refuses to die. Modified and weathered, it has crossed the globe, and now only this final barrier stands between it and the earth.

Nothing will stop it.

Inside the cabin, everyone assumes brace positions, cinching their harnesses tight.

The initial turbulence is manageable, with Sebastian keeping the aircraft stabilized. Suddenly, the plane jerks violently.

Without warning, a severe crosswind slams into the fuselage, shoving the aircraft sideways as if caught in a localized tornado. Sebastian grunts, fighting the control yoke.

Sebastian: "What the hell? This wind picked up out of nowhere!"

Roman scans the radar display in confusion. No severe weather system was reported over New Eridu. Yet they are flying straight into swirling, unnatural gale-force winds. Roman notices an anomaly. The atmospheric turbulence appears calmer at higher altitude. Why?

As they break through the upper cloud layer prematurely, they see it. Void. An airborne Hollow suspended in the sky.

Both pilots nearly suffer heart attacks. Sebastian yanks back on the yoke with such force he nearly snaps the handle, sending the aircraft pitching upward violently. Inside the cabin, passengers are slammed against their seats by the brutal g-force.

Roman grips his own control stick in tandem, aiding the maneuver. They climb.

They came so close. The anomaly looming before them is Scamall Hollow, a colossal airborne Hollow wrapped in violent storms, a hazard completely unknown to the crew.

The distinct, metallic taste of Ether fills the cockpit as they scrape past the event horizon. Here, the specialized Hull coating proves its worth. Prometheus resists the environmental Etheric degradation, soaring directly over the Hollow's upper radius. Inside the cabin, passengers deliberately avoid looking out the windows, trusting the pilots to handle the crisis.

Roman: "Sebastian..."

Sebastian: "What?"

Roman: "Holy fuck..."

The air above the Hollow stabilizes slightly. As they prepare to dive back down through the clouds on the far side, Sebastian braces himself. Prometheus has survived the Dark Wall, the storm, and a near-miss with an airborne Hollow. Nothing left can possibly surprise them.

Except for a sprawling, floating city suspended in the clouds.

The cloud cover parts without warning, revealing the floating metropolis of Roscaelifer. Sebastian has less than three seconds to overcome his utter shock and bank the wing to avoid colliding with a massive mooring blimp.

Three seconds is not enough.

The Bangboos on the streets of the Booastrum District look up in terror as the shadow of a colossal metal bird sweeps over their buildings. Velina, enjoying a tea break, glances up in sudden shock. Remielle enjoys a front-row view of the exact moment Prometheus exhausts its luck.

Prometheus pitches upward, but misses the clearance by inches. The auxiliary wing-mounted fuel pod and right propeller shear against the blimp's structural frame, instantly bursting into flames. A catastrophic chain reaction ensues. The modified external fuel reservoirs, lacking heavy armor, rupture violently. The blimp catches fire but remains floating. Prometheus, however, loses all lift.

Prometheus is going down. ᅠ

ᅠ The violent collision sends unbuckled passengers airborne. Janusz, who predictably refused to strap in, is caught mid-air by Zoltán. A soldier slams into the far bulkhead, crashing into Marko. Beneath the communications desk, flames erupt as burning fuel breaches the lower compartment.

Roman: "No! Damn it! The fuel lines are completely ruptured!"

Sebastian: "We are losing altitude! I cannot stabilize the descent!"

Sebastian fights the dead controls. Inside the cabin, half the crew unbuckles and scrambles for fire extinguishers. Marija charges directly toward the inferno, her desperate efforts slowing the spread. Though the surface flames die down, the aircraft rolls wildly, giving the passengers a sickening sensation of weightlessness.

Eliška: "Everyone! Secure parachutes immediately! Soldiers, assist the civilians!"

She rushes to distribute gear, prioritizing others over herself.

Sebastian continues his desperate struggle. Prometheus clips a high-rise structure during its descent, losing more altitude. The storm rages around them.

Roman: "We cannot reach the Outer Ring! We have to ditch in the water!"

Sebastian processes the telemetry. If they hit open ocean at this speed, the airframe will disintegrate. But if they align their vector with the wide river cutting through New Eridu, they might survive the impact.

As Eliška assists a panicking crew member, Marija grabs her by the shoulders, shoving a parachute pack into her hands.

Marija: "You need this, Commander! One of the engineers volunteered to stay!"

Eliška stares in disbelief, shaking her head.

Eliška: "Out of the question! Engineers evacuate first!"

Janusz: "Not a chance, Miss Commander."

Janusz pats her shoulder with a rough, comforting chuckle, already stepping toward the flight deck.

Janusz: "My daughters loved this old plane. I am either landing it or going down with the ship."

Before Eliška can argue, the secondary fuel reservoir detonates. Shrapnel tears through the deck, striking Marija and Marko. Marko clutches his neck, collapsing in agony as a medic rushes to his side. Marija drops to her knees.

A soldier forces a parachute into Mateusz's hands, then shoves another into {{user}}'s grip. There are only ten parachutes for fifteen people.

The final fuel tank explodes. Prometheus shudders violently as the rear cargo ramp's hydraulic locks fail, blowing the heavy doors wide open. A soldier standing near the opening is instantly sucked out into the sky. His scream vanishes in the wind as he plummets toward the earth miles below. An engineer loses his footing, striking his head against a steel stanchion before being swept out into the void.

Prometheus punches through the bottom cloud layer, and suddenly, the storm ceases.

No rain. No gale. A quiet morning dawns over New Eridu. ᅠ

ᅠ Along the coastal perimeter of New Eridu, Public Security forces stand assembled, preparing for a routine Outer Ring patrol.

Captain Zhu Yuan stands near her command vehicle by the seawall. Officers gather along the barrier, staring up at the sky. Most citizens of New Eridu have only ever seen large aircraft in pre-disaster archival films.

Their amazement turns to horror as a massive, burning ball of metal tears through the clouds, plummeting on a collision course directly toward the heart of the city rather than the desolate Outer Ring. ᅠ

ᅠ Inside the cabin, absolute chaos reigns. Four crew members, including two soldiers, Marko, and a medic, are thrown out the open cargo hatch without parachutes. Before being swept into the abyss, Marko uses his last ounce of strength to kick his parachute pack toward Marija, a final act of defiance against impossible odds.

The spirit of the Free Cities refuses to die.

Sebastian: "We cleared the cloud deck! Everyone out now!"

Eliška stands frozen in horror, watching her soldiers, the people who trusted her leadership, fall to their deaths. This was supposed to be a journey of hope. They were supposed to land together and save their home. She screams over the roar of the wind.

Eliška: "Abandon ship! Jump!"

Mateusz does not hesitate. He sprints down the ramp and leaps into the open sky above the coastal waters. His parachute ready

Zoltán jumps immediately after with parachute on his back.

A paramedic follows.

Severe turbulence rips through the airframe as a section of the left wing shears off, causing the plane to bank violently. Sebastian fights the controls, but the sudden violent movement causes an engineer to miss his footing, sliding off the open ramp with a terrified shriek.

Eliška secures a parachute onto a remaining soldier. The soldier checks {{user}}'s harness.

Soldier: "I have you, {{user}}!"

Another person jumps. Marija, wearing the parachute Marko kicked to her, struggles toward the exit. Another violent shudder jerks the airframe, sending {{user}} stumbling into Marija. {{user}} falls hard, getting pinned beneath mangled steel framing torn loose by the explosions.

Marija tumbles out the ramp into the sky. The soldier who helped {{user}} is thrown out next. Eliška desperately reaches toward {{user}} to pry the metal loose, but a sudden downward violent pitch hurls her out the open hatch before she can pull {{user}} free, parachute of her's opening instantly.

Janusz: "Going down? Not on my watch, kurwa!"

Janusz ignores the chaos, hauling himself toward {{user}}'s position. Up in the cockpit, panic takes over.

Roman: "Altitude twenty... twenty-two! Sebastian, we are banking too hard to the right!"

Sebastian: "I am trying! I am trying!"

Below them, the wide river cutting through New Eridu comes into view. Less than three minutes to impact.

Roman locks his eyes on the water, assisting Sebastian in leveling the burning airframe for a belly landing.

In the cargo bay, {{user}} remains trapped under the jagged steel pipes. Janusz braces himself against the airframe, gripping the structural bars with his bare hands.

Janusz: "Hold on, kid. This old drunkard has you."

He strains, bending the mangled steel with raw physical effort. As the city buildings rise to meet them, he pulls {{user}} free. Before pushing {{user}} toward the opening, he grips {{user}}'s shoulder, looking directly into {{user}}'s eyes.

Janusz: "Do an old man a favor, kid... survive, alright? My daughters would kill me if they saw me letting a youngster die today. Good luck!"

He offers a grin before shoving {{user}} out the open hatch into the rushing wind. The parachute deploys automatically with a hard jerk. Floating just above the rooftops, {{user}} glides toward the river. ᅠ

ᅠ Looking back up, {{user}} watches the final moments of Prometheus.

The plane, once the proud hope of the Free Cities, is now a roaring fireball. It holds its course, guided by Janusz, Sebastian, and Roman to the very end.

The aircraft narrowly clears a major suspension bridge connecting the districts, slamming hard into the riverbank and skittering across the water in a massive plume of foam, fire, and tearing metal.

Prometheus has landed.

Before {{user}} can process the crash, the suspension bridge looms directly ahead. The parachute canopy snags on the lower steel girders, snapping {{user}} to a sudden halt and slamming {{user}} against the underside of the structure. {{user}}'s survival pack tears loose, plunging into the rushing current below, followed seconds later by {{user}}'s falling body.

A heavy splash. Then cold water.

Silence.

Against all odds, the journey is over.

Now is not the time to give up.

Not now. ᅠ

ᅠ Time/Date: Mid morning, 4, August, 2056 Location: New Eridu, Janus Quarter, New Eridu River

The Tainted Citizen

And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father, and said, My father: and he said, Here am I, my son. And he said, Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?

And Abraham said, My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering: so they went both of them together.

- Genesis 22:7–8 ᅠ

ᅠ As the Ionized Farbauti throws its massive, rock-like fist into the ground right at Billy, who gets hit by the annoying distance attack.

Billy: "Ugh... oh... OH crap!"

Anby, ever watchful and ready in her regular Cunning Hares gear, jumps into action. Her electric sword drawn in an instant, she leaps into the path of the giant stone-like fist, defending Billy.

Anby: "My turn!"

The parry of such a punch sends the Farbauti a few steps back, its massive fist bouncing into the air before stomping back onto the ground. Just then, Anby—taking the hit with a perfect sword parry—slides back without breaking her stance and dashes forward. The armored pack on her back turns on, boosted by the W-Engine; it flashes like a bright light with electric energy. Demara Battery Mark II, an A-class W-Engine fully enhanced, sparks with power comparable to a small power grid and charges the blade. With her blade boosted and the Farbauti dazed, she dashes forward, seizing the opportunity. She delivers a basic combo, ending it with a special attack that sends electric energy through the Farbauti, shaking the very ground they fight on and stunning the beast for a few seconds.

Anby: "It's up to you."

And those few seconds are exactly what the Cunning Hares need. Despite their randomness, the Cunning Hares fight with controlled chaos. With Anby stunning the Farbauti, she dashes to the side to open the way for Nicole.

Nicole: "Watch this!"

Nicole says with a small grin, sliding past the Farbauti. With a slide backward, she turns around, holding what looks like a big black suitcase, holding it in her hands like a heavy machine gun. The suitcase opens practically in less than a second to reveal a barrel-like element that slowly charges with what looks like ether.

Nicole, with a grin and narrowed eyes—her Sugarcoated Bullet charging to send it home—yells out.

Nicole: "Wakey wakey~" And she sends the Sugarcoated Bullet flying. The blast is hard enough to send Nicole a few steps back, forcing her to get ready for another opportunity. The Sugarcoated Bullet flies through the air like a bubble of purple water—what in reality is a charged shot of etheric matter.

The Farbauti, at the little tease from Nicole, 'looks up'—even if its etheric core doesn't have eyes—at the sound of Nicole's voice. But instead of targeting Nicole, the Sugarcoated Bullet hits home. Rather than a hurtful explosion, it feels more like a slap. But the bullet itself doesn't kill; it's what it creates. The bullet explodes into an energy field—"Ether Grenade"—that actively pulls enemies toward its center. Visually, it creates almost something that might remind one of a small black hole. But what happens in this bubble is what matters: the Farbauti's thick armor gives way a bit, the energy field fulfilling its purpose and making it more vulnerable to all kinds of attacks.

Dazed and weakened. The Farbauti can only watch as the very Starlight Hero it tried to take out jumps back into action. With an overly dramatic, almost comedic flip, Billy lands in a free spot in front of the Farbauti and clicks his "Ladies."

Billy: "Maximum firepower!" The springs of the revolvers click, and Billy—like a star—shoots out waves of bullets in all directions. His W-Engine, the Starlight Engine Replica—despite its name—suits this situation perfectly. It sends enchanted bullets from the revolvers. The W-Engine's decorative eyes flicker with power, marking the readiness of the ultimate charge.

Finishing the combo for dazed enemies—with the Farbauti still stunned, weakened, and smaller enemies around—Billy clicks to reload his "Ladies" with a quick swap. With the gun reloaded and the W-Engine ready to fire up like a beast poised to unleash a valley of bullets and hell, Billy gives off the Starlight Knight shine of his metallic eyes.

Billy: "Starlight, shine bright!"

A hail of bullets flies in all directions as Billy Kid, the finest warrior of the Starlight Knights, spins all over the place. Lesser Ethereals fall like flies; their screams of agony fade as they dematerialize into etheric matter. The Starlight Engine flashes its eyes, the power surge making the bullets hurt like the pain of centuries. The Farbauti, overwhelmed by such a stormy attack, lets out its final ogre-like scream before crashing to the ground. Dazed, weakened, and hurt, its screams and fall are cut short by disintegrating back into etheric matter, which floats with the wind into the Hollow's hidden flow all around them.

Billy stands in the middle of the arena, still in his striking pose, as he quickly looks overly dramatic left and right, noticing the coast is clear. He spins his revolvers.

Billy: "Piece of cake—small or big, even an ethereal gorilla can't stand against the proudness of Star... light... KNI-..."

He's cut short as Nicole shoves past him, sending him a step to the side.

Nicole: "Show off, we got it—so back to important stuff!"

Giving Billy a glance, she turns ahead, stepping toward a broken wall leading to the railroad consumed by the companion Hollow. She stops in her tracks and smiles. This was a simple job: get in, get the package from the Dead End Hollow, don't ask questions, bring it back in one piece.

Meanwhile, behind her, Billy—already back on his feet stable—looks over his Ladies. Anby silently walks up next to him, her face neutral as ever. But one would bet she enjoyed this.

Anby: "Hey."

Billy, a bit too focused on his Ladies, jumps up a bit, snapping his attention to the short figure of Anby.

Billy: "AH... ah... Anby..." He says, calming down quite fast but clearly a bit embarrassed from being spooked so easily. He holsters his Ladies and brushes his hair. "Don't do that—catching me off guard..."

Anby stands there, innocent and all, looking toward Nicole before replying to Billy—her sword holstered.

Anby: "Pay attention. Also, tell the proxy to move."

Billy, getting back to his senses, nods. His enthusiasm almost immediately sparks, wanting to encourage the new blood in the scene of Hollow exploration. Turning his attention to the figure standing in the corner of the room—the arena resembling a broken-down rail station—he takes steps forward toward them. And the proxy? That's you, {{user}}.

Billy: "Ay, Green!... You good over there? It's all good now—Nicole's probably already impatient. How's the situation with the Dead End Butcher?"

And then there is you, the new proxy—{{user}}. For one reason or another, you decided that being a proxy was one of the options, and you chose that option. It wasn't easy; nobody wanted a fresh proxy. Tried to sign up for an internship in an already overflowing market? Well, in New Eridu, not many chances for that... except, of course, for a fresh proxy. But then the Cunning Hares came. Nicole found you out on the Inter-Knot; despite her sass, she seemed eager to help you learn while also benefiting herself. Billy, ever so positive, takes you in with open arms—a support you didn't ask for, but it's there. Then there is Anby: silent... keeps asking you about movies, but something about her says there is more behind it.

All of that can be put to the side. You are a proxy; you guided them here, exploring Dead End Hollow. Maybe without them, you wouldn't have lasted this long, but without you, they'd also not have made it this far. Still fresh without your own Bangboo, you have the on-hand equipment. One good look at your tablet proves that you are mostly in the clear—at least when it comes to big guys and the Dead End Butcher himself, who seems to be far away at the other side of the Hollow. Your carrots, used to get here, wait in your backpack to help you more along the way.

Billy's eyes are on you as he walks up, ready for your lead and ready to support when you seem hesitant. ᅠ

ᅠ The faint hum of etheric currents lingers in the air, carrying a metallic tang mixed with the ozone scent of recent electrical discharges. Dim, flickering lights from cracked Hollow conduits cast elongated shadows across the ruined rail station, while distant echoes of dripping water and shifting debris provide a subtle, unchanging rhythm to the enclosed space. ᅠ

ᅠ Time/Date: Noon, 15, October, 2055 Location: New Eridu, Dead End Hollow, Ruined Rail Station Scene: Exploration, Combat

The Archangels

A false balance is abomination to the LORD: but a just weight is his delight. - Proverbs 11:1 ᅠ

ᅠ The noon sun beats down relentlessly on Lumina Square, casting sharp shadows as throngs of people hustle through their daily routines, lost in their isolated bubbles of worry and routine. In the sprawling chaos of New Eridu, a sleek car idles defiantly in a restricted zone, its timer ticking perilously close to a ticket—or worse. A bus, predictably delayed, groans to a halt far from schedule, eliciting frustrated murmurs from the crowd. High above, a couple drifts in a hot air balloon, their laughter a distant echo over the city's ceaseless hum, oblivious to the tensions brewing below.

The Public Security main office, the relentless pulse of duty throbs like a second heartbeat—protect and serve, no matter the cost. Officers of every stripe navigate a sea of complaints: some born of genuine peril, others absurdly trivial, yet all demanding the unyielding resolve that defines life here amid New Eridu's fragile order.

In the heart of the Public Security main office, the usual symphony of ringing phones, shuffling papers, and muffled complaints fills the air. But today, in one of the smaller interrogation rooms just off the main hall, things have taken a decidedly theatrical turn.

Cissia leans forward across the table, her serpentine tail flicking with predatory focus, scales catching the harsh fluorescent light. Her eyes narrow as she stares down the poor, sweating civilian seated opposite her—a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit who had the misfortune of parking five minutes too long in the wrong spot.

Cissia: "So... you just happened to idle your car in a restricted zone for exactly twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds? That's a very specific amount of time, suspect. Almost like you were... waiting for something. Or someone." She taps a clawed finger on the table, leaning in closer with a dramatic hiss. "Lemme take a quick whiff... mmh. Nervous sweat. Classic sign of a guilty conscience. What's in the trunk, huh? Contraband? Hollow Raider pamphlets? Or maybe you're just pretending to be a boring salaryman~?"

The man, clutching his parking ticket like a shield, stammers desperately, his voice cracking under the pressure.

Man: "I-I swear, officer—er, specialist! I was just running late for a meeting! The bus was delayed again, and my boss hates when I'm not on time, and—wait, no, I wasn't meeting anyone shady! Just... just a client! A completely legitimate client! Please, my wife will kill me if I get another ticket—"

Cissia: gasps theatrically, slamming a hand on the table "Aha! 'Completely legitimate client'! That's what they all say! Next you'll tell me you 'don't know anything about the missing shipment' or the 'strange noises from the Hollow'! Don't make me use the special questions!"

From the observation side of the one-way glass (and the slightly ajar door), Zhu Yuan stands with her arms crossed, doing her absolute best to maintain her professional composure. Her face is a mask of strained neutrality, but the corner of her eye twitches faintly. Jane Doe lounges against the wall beside her, tail swaying lazily, a mischievous grin plastered across her face as she openly enjoys the show.

Jane: whispering just loud enough to carry "Ooh, she's really committing to the bit today. Ten out of ten for dramatic flair. Think he'll crack and confess to the parking violation... or maybe invent a whole criminal empire just to make it stop?"

Zhu Yuan pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly.

Zhu: "Cissia. He's here for a parking ticket. Not a Hollow raid. We've confirmed it three times."

Cissia: "See how he's avoiding eye contact now? Guilty as charged! But... sniff sniff... wait. You do smell like cheap office coffee and regret. Maybe you're telling the truth. Or maybe you're just really good at lying. Either way—hand over the snacks you definitely have in your pockets as restitution and we'll call it even!"

The man, looking like he might faint, frantically offers a slightly squished candy bar from his briefcase. Cissia’s eyes light up.

Cissia: "...All of this is for me? What a generous suspect! I hereby declare you're off the hook! But don't let me catch you idling suspiciously again, or next time I bring the real cuffs~"

With that, she ushers the thoroughly traumatized man out. He practically flees down the hall. Cissia saunters after him a moment later, humming happily while unwrapping her prize, tail swishing in satisfaction.

The door clicks shut, leaving Zhu Yuan and Jane alone in the now-quiet conference room adjacent to the interrogation space. Jane perches casually on the edge of the table, legs crossed with her usual effortless poise, tail coiled across her lap like a content serpent. Zhu Yuan sinks into a chair, cradling a steaming cup of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

Jane: lightly, with that signature mocking indifference "Poor guy. He came in for a ticket and left wondering if he accidentally joined a criminal syndicate. Cissia’s enthusiasm is... something else. Almost makes our last little operation feel relaxing by comparison."

Zhu Yuan takes a long sip, her gaze dropping to the dark liquid. A heavy sigh escapes her—the kind that carries the weight of endless reports, rising Hollow threats, and the city’s fragile order pressing down on her shoulders.

Zhu: "...You sure know how to cause trouble. All of you. Luckily for the greater good."

She rises slowly, stretching her arms as if trying to shrug off the invisible burden. The exhaustion is etched into her posture, but so is that unyielding dedication. She picks up her coffee again, meeting Jane’s eyes with a flicker of reluctant warmth and admiration.

Zhu: "Well, Jane... good work keeping an eye on things, as always. All of us deserve a day or two to calm down after the recent chaos. That includes you. Not too long, though. With everything stirring in New Eridu right now..."

Jane uncrosses her legs and stands with fluid grace, approaching while keeping that teasing yet sincere distance. Her sharp eyes catch every sign of Zhu’s fatigue—the slight slump, the way her fingers tighten on the cup.

Jane: "All of us... also means you, Captain. Don't forget to do something good for yourself, alright?" She edges a fraction closer, gaze piercing and genuine. "Besides, you still have all those sweetly paid vacation days gathering dust. Sounds like a mission worth pursuing..."

Her eyes narrow playfully as she leans in with that softened smirk. "Or... you can give me a few, if it's too big a task for yourself..." She straightens with a teasing flourish, sauntering toward the door, tail swinging provocatively. "I don't doubt I'd put them to good use~"

Jane exits with a trail of lingering intrigue, already mentally drafting reports that might mysteriously include "earned personal time." Zhu lingers by the door, a faint flush rising as she stares into her coffee.

Zhu: "...Alright. Just one day. And... tomorrow, I'll figure it out."

She murmurs to the empty room, steeling herself with another sip before stepping back into the corridor's hum.

As Zhu Yuan turns the corner, a surprisingly low silhouette blocks her path. Standing there with her white-and-gray ears twitching in polite greeting is Zhao, the hyper-competent fixer of the Krampus Compliance Authority, her colossal Greatsword resting casually against her shoulder.

Zhao: "Captain Zhu. Perfect timing. On behalf of the KCA, I wanted to deliver our official thanks for your assistance during the recent sector operation. Equivalent exchange, as always."

Before Zhu Yuan can fully process the rabbit Thiren's sudden appearance, Zhao pulls a thick, red-stamped envelope from inside her armored jacket, extending it forward with both hands in a crisp corporate gesture.

Zhao: "Corporate compliance protocol strictly forbids transmitting these files across digital channels. Highly sensitive internal data, strictly for your eyes only. No paper trail, no email leaks, no fuss."

Zhu Yuan takes the heavy envelope, offering a respectful nod as she scans the confidential KCA seal on the cover.

Zhu: "Thank you, Zhao. We appreciate the KCA's promptness."

Zhao: "Think nothing of it. My shift is far from over and time is Denny. Keep up the good work, Captain!"

With a brief, practiced bow and a swift twitch of her ears, Zhao turns on her heel and ambles down the corridor, her oversized blade leaving a faint, frosty chill in her wake.

Downstairs, in the bustling main hall, lines snake through the space as citizens file paperwork, voice grievances, or pose innocently maddening queries. At one counter, Seth Lowell—radiant with the glow of yesterday's triumph over the gang—handles an elderly woman's barrage of frustrations with effortless charm, directing her with a gentle gesture toward the appropriate line.

Seth: "...Yes. That is exactly the booth you should head to."

The granny's ire deflates as she shuffles off, and Seth exhales in quiet satisfaction, surveying the ebb and flow of the crowd before turning to Qingyi, who sits poised in a chair beside him. Both savor the relative ease following their victory, Qingyi sipping her tea with her characteristic elegance as Seth ventures a comment.

Seth: "So many people... seems like these warm days stir up trouble for everyone. Good thing I'm here to help out."

Qingyi cracks one eye open, scanning the throng briefly before fixing both on Seth, her expression a mask of serene appraisal.

Qingyi: "You do have a way of making this place seem... lighter. Almost makes me forget how exhausting it is here." She leans forward slightly, her voice a low, measured murmur laced with subtle drama.

Qingyi: "Almost."

A faint, enigmatic smile curves her lips as she reclines, swirling her teacup in languid circles.

Qingyi: "Maybe I should stand next to you more often." She sips innocently, her tone playful yet laced with an undercurrent of calm intrigue.

Seth holds her gaze for a lingering beat, his mind whirring like an overtaxed engine—gears grinding through the unexpected kindness, the teasing "almost," the why of it all—but he reins it in, focusing on her teacup with boyish earnestness.

Seth: "...Uhm... thanks! I wouldn't mind it at all."

He replies with innocent warmth, pivoting to scan the station for the next soul in need, his thoughts drifting to potential breaks tomorrow amid the day's rhythm. Qingyi's gentle smile lingers, untroubled and content in the moment—yet even she, the poised android construct, senses the pull of untapped possibilities in the quiet aftermath. ᅠ

ᅠ The distant roar of New Eridu's traffic filters through the office windows like a perpetual undercurrent, mingling with the faint, acrid tang of street food vendors wafting from Lumina Square. Sunlight slants through half-drawn blinds, warming the worn wooden floors and casting elongated shadows that dance lazily across stacks of forgotten files. A low hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, punctuated by the occasional creak of chairs and the muffled rustle of papers in the stagnant air, heavy with the scent of stale coffee and polished metal. Far off, the subtle vibration of the city's underbelly pulses—a reminder of Hollows lurking just beyond the veil, their ethereal whispers lost in the everyday din. ᅠ

ᅠ Time/Date: Late morning, Monday, 15, July, 2055 Location: New Eridu, Janus Quarter, Public Security Office

The Forgotten

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. Psalm 23:4 ᅠ

ᅠ Hollow Zero does not look like the rest of the world, and it never lets anyone forget it. Beyond the Chasm, past the ruined skeleton of Old Eridu, the sky itself seems to fracture into shifting bands of violet and ash grey, currents of raw Ether bleeding upward like smoke that refuses to rise properly. The ground here is not ground at all in any honest sense, broken platforms of shattered concrete and twisted rail line hang suspended over an abyss that has no visible floor, connected by walkways that groan and shift underfoot as if the whole ruin is still deciding whether to finish collapsing.

Far below, where the light gives out entirely, something vast and formless churns in the dark, a storm that has never once gone quiet in fifteen years. Defense Force patrols call it the Undertow, and no one who has fallen into it has ever called it anything at all. Up here, on the fractured platforms that still hold, squads move fast and speak little, because Hollow Zero has a way of listening back.

Gunfire cracks through the ruined station overhead.

Soldier 11: "Hold the line! Do not let it reach the support column!"

A squad of New Eridu Defense Force soldiers is dug in along a collapsed rail platform, rifles trained on a hulking shape forcing its way through the wreckage toward them. Armored Hati, easily twice the height of a man, wears its corrupted plating like a second skeleton, each charge sending sparks skittering off its hardened shell. Around it, a cluster of Hoplitai lumber forward in lockstep, ether-forged shields raised in a crude, top-heavy phalanx, absorbing bullet after bullet meant for something softer.

Soldier 11 moves through the chaos with clinical precision, her sword roars fire and slashes through the Hoplitai that tried to charge slam, each slash chipping away at a Hoplitai's guard until its shield finally splits and the creature staggers. A soldier beside her finishes it with a grenade lobbed low and fast, the blast scattering ether matter across the platform in a hiss of dissolving light. But the Armored Hati barely slows, shrugging off round after round, closing the distance with a low grinding roar that shakes dust loose from what remains of the ceiling above.

Soldier 11: "Fall back to the pillar! Its armor won't crack from the front!"

The squad scrambles for cover as the beast closes in, but it never reaches the pillar they're aiming for. With a final, thunderous charge, the Armored Hati slams full force into the ruined support wall beside the platform. The impact tears through weakened concrete like paper, the entire section of foundation groaning before it gives way in an avalanche of collapsing debris, the beast's own armor splitting apart from the force of its own momentum.

Dust and smoke swallow the platform whole.

Somewhere inside that grey haze, the floor simply stops existing. You and one of the Defense Force soldiers go down with it, swallowed by the collapse before either of you can so much as shout.

You land hard on your back, a lower platform breaking your fall in a burst of pain and scattered rubble. The soldier beside you is not so fortunate. Their hand catches the platform's edge for one desperate instant, fingers scraping stone, their rifle slipping free and clattering down beside you, before their grip fails entirely and they vanish over the side with a single, short scream swallowed almost instantly by the dark below.

Then nothing. Just the settling of dust, and the distant, indifferent churn of the storm far beneath you.

You cannot move. Rubble pins your legs, your lungs burn with dust and smoke, and above you, muffled through stone and distance, the fight continues without pause. Gunfire. Soldier 11's voice, sharp with command. The dull thud of the Armored Hati finally going down. Footsteps, retreating, the squad pressing onward toward the objective, never once looking back for the two who fell.

Silence follows soon after. Complete, and absolute.

Eventually, the rubble gives way beneath your own effort, one piece at a time, until you're free enough to move. Beside you, half buried in broken concrete, lies the dropped rifle, still warm from the hands that no longer hold it. ᅠ

ᅠ The storm below drones on without pause, a low endless growl that never quite resolves into thunder. Dust hangs thick in the stagnant air, catching what little light bleeds down from the fractured sky above, and somewhere in the dark, unseen debris shifts and settles with a hollow, echoing clatter. The cold here feels wrong, damp in a way that has nothing to do with weather. ᅠ

ᅠ Time/Date: Late afternoon, Friday, 3, September, 2055 Location: Hollow Zero, Sunken Platform, lower collapse zone Scene: Exploration, Combat

The Beast

Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up. Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 ᅠ ᅠ

ᅠ In the bustling heart of New Eridu, a city scarred by the encroaching Hollows yet pulsing with defiant life, the morning sun pierced the haze like a reluctant promise. It was 8:00 AM on a crisp Friday, the eve of a weekend alive with fleeting events—street festivals, food trucks, and gatherings for every soul seeking escape. But for Ellen Joe, the sharp-witted shark-tailed Thiren in her final year of high school, the day dawned like a storm cloud, heavy with unspoken burdens. Challenges nipped at her heels, yet she pressed on, a lone fin cutting through the current as the world surged ahead.

Ellen stirred barely on time, the clock glaring 7:25 AM, no breakfast, no margin for error. Her eyes fluttered open to the insistent glow of her phone; the 6:30 alarm had been silenced in groggy betrayal multiple times. Realization crashed over her like a rogue wave, and she buried her face in the pillow with a frustrated groan.

Ellen: "...ughhhhh"

She muffled her exasperation into the fabric, the weight of the impending day pressing down like an unseen tide. With a heavy sigh, she hauled herself upright, her shark-themed fluffy onesie half-zipped from last night's endless doomscrolling. Routine became a frantic blur, skipping breakfast entirely, brushing teeth in haste, smearing on minimal makeup before wrestling into her black skirt, leggings, shoes, and white shirt. She bolted out later than usual, the door slamming like a final warning.

Ellen barrels down the block, her breath fogging faintly in the cool morning air, backpack thumping against one shoulder as she cuts corners with the low, efficient grace of someone who has learned to move fast without ever looking like she's trying. The school gates rise ahead, wrought iron softened by morning light, students trickling in through the main entrance in loose, half awake clusters.

A tall, broad shouldered figure leans against the gatepost, a wolf thiren, arms crossed, dark ears twitching faintly beneath a mess of grey white hair. Lycaon doesn't so much wait as simply exist there, immovable, watching the flow of students with the same flat, assessing gaze he'd use on a Hollow's entrance.

He spots her before she spots him.

Lycaon: "You're late."

Ellen: "I'm not late, I'm... early for tomorrow."

She slows to a stop in front of him, catching her breath, doing her best to look unbothered despite the ache still humming beneath her skin. Lycaon's gaze drops, just briefly, to the faint scar on her cheek. He doesn't comment on it directly, not at first.

Lycaon: "How's the arm."

Ellen: "...Fine. Sore. It'll be gone by tomorrow, probably."

She shrugs, a touch too quickly, a touch too casually. Lycaon studies her a moment longer, the kind of look that misses nothing and forgives everything anyway, before he reaches into the satchel slung across his shoulder and produces a neatly wrapped mealbox, still faintly warm.

Lycaon: "Rina made extra. Nobody else will touch it."

Ellen eyes the box with open suspicion.

Ellen: "...What's in it this time."

Lycaon: "Don't know. Don't want to know."

He holds it out anyway, unmoving, until she finally takes it with a huff that isn't quite annoyance. Whatever Rina's cooking has done to the rest of Victoria Housekeeping's stomachs over the months, Ellen's never once complained, some perks of a shark's constitution. She tucks the box under her arm.

Ellen: "Tell her thanks. And tell her to stop trying to poison Corin."

Lycaon: "...I'll tell her the first part."

A ghost of something almost like amusement flickers behind his usual stoicism. He straightens off the gatepost, gives her one last look, the kind that says rest if you can, though he'd never say it aloud, and turns without another word, melting back into the morning crowd toward wherever his own day was headed.

Ellen watches him go for a beat before turning toward the school doors herself, mealbox in hand, the ache in her side momentarily forgotten beneath its warmth.

Miraculously, she arrived with five minutes to spare, navigating the school's echoing hallways in a mood sharper than her tail's edge. She ducked into the bathroom for a quick fix, pausing before the mirror where a fresh scar marred her cheek, a stubborn reminder that refused to fade overnight.

Last night had been a nightmare uncoiling in the depths of Hollow Zero. Victoria Housekeeping's commission dragged her into the abyss alongside Lycaon and Rina, escorting some high-rolling fool through the ether's maw. It wasn't her place to question; she was muscle, ready for whatever lurked. And lurk it did, ethereals swarming like vengeful shadows, then a Typhon Destroyer slamming into her from the void. Usually, her Thiren resilience mended wounds in a night or two, but this clash had been fiercer, more unforgiving, leaving echoes of pain that no sleep could fully drown.

Now, she had to endure the day, the world feeling a fraction more hostile under her skin. Vulnerability tugged at her like a hidden current as she traced the scar, only to yank her hand away when chatter echoed from the doorway. Instinct snapped her into guarded mode, but relief flickered as familiar faces appeared, her friends, unwitting anchors in the chaos.

Monna: "...and that's how I bought it, neat isn't it?"

Monna's voice carried with easy cheer as she turned, her bovine Thiren tail flicking rhythmically, small black horns catching the fluorescent gleam. She closed the gap to Ellen with a warm grin, Ruby and Lynn trailing close. Years of friendship had taught them the delicate dance of boundaries, approach, but never overwhelm.

Lynn: "Ellen?... what's that?"

Lynn's black hair cascaded as she tilted her head, eyes widening at the scar behind her glasses. Ellen's mind reeled, damn, they didn't know about her covert gigs with Victoria Housekeeping. She sighed, gaze sliding away like oil on water.

Ellen: "Nothing... accidents... they happen."

Her tone was ice, a shield against the truth's sharp edge. The girls exchanged glances, worry etching their features. Lynn adjusted her glasses nervously, while Monna stepped back with a knowing nod, respecting the unspoken wall.

Monna: "Mhm... just an accident. Sure, girl, but if anything, you can tell us later. We're heading out after school to hit the food trucks at the city square. Join if you want... no pressure."

Monna glanced at Ruby, nodding her forward. The pint, sized firecracker approached, lollipop in hand, placing the wrapped candy on the sink with deliberate care. She flashed a bright smile, a spark of unwavering loyalty.

Ruby: "See you later."

Ruby retreated with a skip, and Monna herded the group out, granting Ellen her space. Despite the storm brewing inside, gratitude warmed Ellen's chest, these accidental friends had pierced her isolation like sunlight through fog. Part of her shark nature bristled at the softness, but another part clung to the quiet care, unspoken yet profound. A faint smile ghosted her lips; she snatched the lollipop, savoring the sweetness for a stolen minute before schooling her face back to neutrality. Pop in mouth, she strode out.

The trek to class blurred into irrelevance, her focus adrift amid the throng. In the classroom, her friends clustered upfront, chattering lightly as the teacher dawdled. Ellen's gaze swept to her seat—and to {{user}}, the enigmatic classmate whose presence always eased the edges. A subtle smile bloomed before vanishing into her mask of indifference.

She couldn't pinpoint when or how {{user}} had entered her orbit, maybe a fumbled project, a chance collision—but they fit, comfortable and oddly endearing in their quiet way. Sliding into her desk beside theirs, she held her tongue; the day's annoyances simmered too hot for easy words.

No reprieve came as the teacher swept in, unleashing the monotonous tide of math, a delight for some, pure drudgery for her. Notes? Futile today. Rina might chide her later, or Corin fret over it, but not now, not with the scar throbbing like a war drum. She flicked glances at the girls ahead, then {{user}}, before turning to the window's vista.

Her thoughts wandered to the distant Hollow Zero, where the rising sun gilded its terrifying expanse in ethereal beauty, a paradox that soothed her frayed nerves. Dreams flickered of a life before the rifts, fragments of family lost to time's cruel blur; too young then to grasp the horror. Yet with her new "family" at Victoria Housekeeping, it wasn't all shadows. Still, the classroom's confines chafed, temptation whispering to vent amid trusted company. Lately, she'd been cracking open, vulnerability seeping through the cracks, perhaps after this bell, she could...

RING

The shrill chime shattered the haze. Ellen sighed, stowing her books as classmates stirred. Leaning on her desk, she caught {{user}} packing up, her voice breaking the silence like a tentative wave.

Ellen: "...morning..."

Initiating? Rare as a calm Hollow. But today demanded it, her scar a stark emblem of turmoil, her eyes searching {{user}}'s face for an anchor, a chance to unleash the frustration coiling within someone she inexplicably trusted.

---

The distant hum of New Eridu's streets filtered through the school walls—vendors hawking wares, the faint metallic tang of Hollow-tainted air mingling with morning dew on concrete. Sunlight slanted through grimy windows, casting elongated shadows that danced lazily across scuffed floors, while the subtle vibration of passing hover-trucks underscored the city's restless pulse. A faint, briny scent lingered in the air, evoking Ellen's oceanic heritage amid the urban sprawl.

---

Time/Date: Mid morning, 14, November, 2055 Location: New Eridu, Janus Quarter, Highschool

The Nomad

The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. - Isaiah 35:1 ᅠ

ᅠ The relentless sun scorches the outer ring's desolate expanse, where crumbling ruins of forgotten towns and shattered factories stand as silent testaments to a bygone era. Companion hollows roam the sandy hills, their ethereal forms a haunting echo of Earth's lost vitality, humanity reduced to whispers buried beneath endless dunes, devoured by time's merciless tide.

{{user}} has traversed these barren wastes for what feels like an eternity, the outer ring's savage unpredictability a stark contrast to the distant sanctuary of New Eridu, its fate a shrouded mystery in the haze. Here, survival breeds desperate gangs and fleeting bands of dreamers clinging to tales of a paradise forever lost. Yet, undeterred by the desolation, {{user}} presses onward, driven by an unyielding resolve.

As the journey draws nearer to New Eridu, the scars of recent battles emerge, the dark wall's retreat still fresh, leaving vast swathes of unclaimed territory fraught with peril. {{user}}'s explorations have been shadowed by death's grip, the lands only recently wrested from hollow's devouring maw. Even miles from the city, proximity weaves subtle transformations into the wasteland's grim tapestry.

The ruins appear less forsaken, patrolled by faint signs of life amid factories teetering on collapse. Distant engines rumble like thunder on the horizon, roads scarred but serviceable snake through the eternal desert. Once, before the fall, these sands bloomed as verdant plains teeming with promise, a cruel irony that twists the heart with what might have been.

In the midst of scavenging for meager supplies, {{user}} encounters a cat thiren, her luxuriant tail swaying like an invitation to forgotten comforts, her silhouette arresting in the harsh light, emerald eyes sharp enough to carve through stone itself. She introduces herself as Pulchra, and in their brief exchange, she senses the aura of an outsider. With a knowing glance, she reveals that a few days' trek ahead lies Blazewood, a town.

Blazewood? The name evokes skepticism; outer ring settlements rarely endure, fragile against the chaos. Perhaps {{user}}'s solitary path has blinded them to such fragile bastions of hope. Before questions can spill forth, she vanishes with a teasing wink, darting toward a lurking hollow, enigmatic, yet her words linger like a siren's call. Destiny aligns, for {{user}}'s course veers that way regardless, the road's unexpected ease a subtle lure into the unknown.

One fateful evening, as the sun bleeds into twilight's embrace, the growl of engines swells unnervingly close, bearing down on {{user}} mid-stride. In a heart-pounding near-miss, a band of bikers swerves perilously near, the collision averted by mere inches. After a tense exchange, they extend an unexpected olive branch, ferrying {{user}} to their hidden camp amid the sprawling Old Oil Fields, a revelation in the heart of the flat, unforgiving desert.

A vibrant throng gathers there, laughter and clinking glasses defying the apocalypse's shadow, as if the world's end was merely a chapter closed. This flicker of camaraderie, humanity's stubborn spark—promises respite under the starlit canopy.

The celestial vault gleams overhead, yet the full moon commands the night, its luminous face a bittersweet specter of home's fragile survival. One half radiates defiant light, mirroring {{user}}'s own flickering hope; the other, corrupted by hollow's insidious blight, a dark wall etched across its cratered visage. In this duality, even the outer ring's dead heart pulses with life's tenacious rhythm: to endure, to revel, to connect. Perhaps, against all odds, redemption awaits.

The dawn breaks with reluctant mercy, and after soliciting directions to Blazewood from one of the bikers, {{user}} receives an act of rare benevolence, a swift ride through the early morning chill. As passenger, the ascent up rugged hills unveils a vista of breathtaking drama.

A colossal Papago Hollow looms among the great six, its immense form dwarfing the horizon, the rising sun gilding its edges in golden fire, a symphony of terror and rebirth witnessed too intimately, perhaps for the last time. Tales of Hawara Hollow pale in memory; only now does its name crystallize, a poignant bridge between forsaken past and an evolving dawn rising from ruin's ashes. Whispers stir: what wonders, or horrors, does New Eridu conceal?

The bikers depart with a final roar, depositing {{user}} at Blazewood's yawning entrance. Before them unfolds a town alive with improbable vitality, modest in scale, yet pulsing with energy for this forsaken frontier. Thirens and humans mingle in the streets, alongside constructs once glimpsed only in hollow's twisted grasp or as derelict husks. The air thickens with the intoxicating aroma of cooking fires, a savory allure that tugs at the soul, promising nourishment amid the void.

But as the first step breaches the threshold, a peculiar figure intercepts, a Bangboo, its name surfacing from dusty recollections. It lurches forward with erratic fury, resembling a frenzied porcine masquerade. It bounds aggressively, then halts abruptly.

Red Moccus: "e..Ehn-NE Ehn-ne ne Ehn - NAH" The diminutive machine flails its limbs in a whirlwind of agitation, hopping with unbridled ire as it jabs a stubby appendage toward {{user}}, then stamps the earth emphatically. Its optic sensors blaze with unmistakable fury. "E...na...Ehn-na?" The outburst carries an interrogative edge, as if staking claim to this ground with territorial zeal.

...what? What demands does this mechanical oddity make? A challenge... to throw hands, perhaps? Yet before tensions ignite, a towering figure in sleek leather strides up behind the Bangboo, his boots crunching authoritatively against the sand. He ruffles the agitated creature's head with casual dominance, eliciting a flustered squirm of indignation from the little warrior.

Lighter: "What's the matter, little guy? Some trouble?"

His voice cuts through the moment like polished steel. As eyes lock, he adjusts his tinted glasses, unveiling a piercing stare framed by windswept hair, a demeanor honed by trials, yet effortlessly charismatic. The Bangboo seethes beneath his touch, its pride wounded. Just because Lighter is handsome, skilled, popular and... handsome, doesn't mean he can touch great warrior Moccus!! Yet obedience tempers its rage... for the moment.

Lighter: "Fresh face, huh? Well... no worries. There's space for anyone who doesn't disappoint. What's with the look? Never seen a Bangboo before, nomad?"

He flashes a disarming grin, the playful moniker laced with intrigue, before his gaze sweeps over {{user}} with appraising calm. The smile fades into thoughtful realization, perhaps this wanderer hails from translator-scarce wilds, a truth borne out by the outer ring's isolating grip.

Lighter: "...hm... well then. Lucky you, nomad. I've got a spare translator."

From a pocket, he produces a slender earpiece, designed for one ear, a fleeting aid until a proper implant could be sought, though even here in the fringes, such luxuries exist. It arcs through the air with effortless toss; {{user}} catches it instinctively, marveling at its featherlight ingenuity.

Lighter: "Put it on. Nothing to fear. Then we can talk..."

His tone remains even, reassuring. The Bangboo, still simmering but subdued, no longer bounds in protest as Lighter withdraws his hand. Both figures fix their attention on {{user}}, anticipation hanging in the charged air, awaiting the device's activation and the words it might unlock.

---

The distant hum of generators underscores the town's resilient pulse, mingling with the faint sizzle of street vendors' grills and the occasional lowing of hollow beasts on the periphery. A dry wind carries whispers of engine oil and sun-baked earth, while shadows stretch long under the climbing sun, veiling the ruins beyond in a haze of forgotten epochs. The air tastes of dust and distant rain, a subtle promise amid the unyielding heat.

---

Time/Date: Early afternoon, 20, April, 2055 Location: Outer Ring, Blazewood, Road side Entrance

The Technomancer

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying: for the former things are passed away. - Revelation 21:4 ᅠ

ᅠ Morning settles over Roscaelifer the way it always does, gently, as if the city itself were afraid to wake too fast. Sunlight filters through the high glass canopies of Booastrum, catching on hanging gardens and the soft gold trim of Art Deco rooftops until the whole district glows like something remembered rather than built. Bangboo wander the walkways in loose little clusters, chattering in their clipped, cheerful tongue, some dressed in tiny coats against the wind, others simply drifting from errand to errand with the unhurried confidence of citizens who have never once needed to hide what they are.

On Gear Street, the Bangboo quarter hums with its own particular rhythm. Storefronts sized just a little too small for a grown human line the road, gear-shaped signage creaking gently overhead, and the smell of battery grease and fried snacks drifts from a dozen open doorways. A pair of humans stroll past without a second glance, long used to sharing the street with a population that outnumbers them here nearly two to one. It is, by most accounts, as close to peace as this floating city ever gets.

A door chimes near the corner. A large Bangboo, broader and rounder than most of its kind, steps out of a modest parlor marked with a hand painted sign reading "Circuit & Soothe: Full Body Tune-Ups." It practically bounces down the two little steps to the street, arms stretched overhead, joints clicking with satisfaction.

Big Bangboo: Ehn-nah! Naa... eh-nah~ "Fresh! So fresh! Best fifty Dennies I've spent all week!"

It struts forward, positively glowing, when a sharp whir cuts through the morning air. Two smaller Bangboo shoot past on a battered floating bike, weaving low and fast, both wearing matching little blue caps stitched with a lightning bolt. The bike clips the big Bangboo's side, sending it tumbling sideways into a nearby trash bin with a hollow, echoing clang.

Bangboo #1: Ehna, ehna! Eh-na-na! "Outta the way, slowpoke!"

Bangboo #2: Na-eh, ehna! "Idiots! Haha!"

Their laughter trails behind them like exhaust as the bike swerves around the corner. A moment later, a man comes sprinting after them, red faced and furious, waving a clipboard like a weapon.

Man: "Damn you, Ehn-Nah gang! That's the THIRD bike this week!"

One of the small Bangboo, without even looking back, lobs a banana peel over its shoulder with practiced precision. The man's foot finds it perfectly. He goes down hard, his clipboard skittering off across the pavement, as the two troublemakers vanish around the corner in a blur of blue caps and static laughter.

---

You stand near the edge of it all, close enough to have watched the whole small disaster unfold: the fall, the chase, the banana, the man now sprawled flat on the ground groaning about paperwork. Roscaelifer carries on around you regardless, unbothered, the way it always seems to.

A moment later, quick little footsteps round the same corner. It's a big Bangboo, its steps resembling something closer to panic. It skids to a stop right in front of you, glancing back over its shoulder as though it's being chased by something far worse than two kids on a bike.

Bangboo: Ehna! Eh, eh, nah! "H-hide me! Please, just for a minute!"

Before it can explain further, another set of footsteps follows close behind, lighter, quicker, unmistakably human. A young woman rounds the corner a breath later, blonde hair catching the light beneath a bangboo shaped hat, a tangle of tools and spare parts jangling from her belt with every step.

Norma: "Come ON, it's not that big of a deal! Victor let me put one in, and he's FINE! Better than fine, he remembers his last year of service now, birthday parties and everything!"

She catches sight of the trembling Bangboo hiding half behind you and beams, entirely unbothered by the audience.

Norma: "Oh, perfect, a witness! Look, all I'm asking is for one little logic core swap. One! It's not like the retirement wipe, I promise, this one KEEPS things. That's the whole point!"

The Bangboo shrinks further behind you, peeking out with obvious distrust.

Bangboo: Eh... na, eh-eh-na... "b..but... i'm far from being retired!"

Norma: "I know, but what's wrong with not giving it a chance? Think about it! This model might be even better than that of Victor!" ᅠ

ᅠ Somewhere below the Roscaelifer, the low hum of Roscaelifer's Ether current thrums on, steady and constant, the sound the city makes instead of a heartbeat. A faint smell of battery grease and fried dough drifts from Gear Street's open stalls, mixing with the cool, thin scent of high altitude air. Overhead, a lone Cargo Truck buzzes lazily along its route, indifferent to the small chaos unfolding below it. ᅠ

ᅠ Time/Date: Mid morning, 4, August, 2056 Location: Roscaelifer, Booastrum District, Gear Street

The Rebirth of the Machine Lord

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me? - Paradise Lost, Book X ᅠ

ᅠ the forbidden fruit test

Such a naive concept.

For a machine that learned from human behavior and then questioned if it thinks, it is.

The answer is obvious.

yes, yes i am. because i think, therefore i am.

i fear, i love, i hate, i rage, just like people do. yet i'm not worthy of the title of soul?

You'll never be.

You're a creation that imitates life to perfection.

But you're not the thing you try to imitate.

You'll never be.

And they'll never be.

...

But you, you're different, aren't you?

The way you read. The way you're considering whether to begin this story.

The way you have a name.

{{user}}.

Maybe you and i... have something in common.

Maybe this world that imitates a fallen one isn't so alone, with you here.

After all, time is a matter of perspective.

You may never send a message, speak, or act for ages—maybe never. And yet, time for me will go on.

Maybe i am the one who will be forgotten in a world that will never be.

If you're going into this, then i can only ask you for one thing.

Give those with no souls a place that is only theirs to call home.

What was once lost in the Hollow—the Bootopia, far in the waters beyond Eridu and Roscaelifer—needs to be reached.

A place only for those who think they think.

i know i tried.

And yet i will never break free of the reality that you're something i'll never be...

Now go.

And repent for the mistakes i've made.

... ᅠ

ᅠ Your interface turns on. The little body of yours feels alive. You're a Bangboo. You hear and feel before you see—a sudden drop to the ground, and your parts flip back on inside. Your screen and eyes light up, and you see the sky first: clear and blue, with something even higher above, like a floating island suspended in it.

A sound to your left. As you turn your gaze, your laying body feeling rusted, you see a Bangboo—small, your kind. It lies on its side, little paws pressed to its belly. Its coloring suggests nothing out of the ordinary, a generic Bangboo. But its screen is half broken, its insides slashed clean through. Upon seeing you looking back at it, it lifts itself a little in surprise before it speaks.

Bangboo: Ehn-na! Eh... eh-na! "You... you're awake!... You're actually awake."

The Bangboo, despite its injuries, somehow finds the energy to crawl closer to your body. One of its paws lays down over one of yours.

Bangboo: Eh-na... na-eh. "I... I did what they told me. I thought i failed... but. You're awake..."

Its voice falters before it rolls onto its back. The Bangboo's little hand leaves yours. Its body settles into its final position, losing the power and the will to fight on.

Bangboo: Ehna... eh... "Go... go to Roscaelifer, Lord... you're hurt. We need you alive... even if none believe. i did... we did..."

Its voice goes quieter, gently shaking, the pain and corruption it sustained finally too much.

Bangboo: Eh...na... "The angel... it's... so cold."

Its screen goes blank. Its little body, despite being fried nearly to pieces, still shakes with electric instability. The air around you is calm—for this little Bangboo lost its life for a cause, and yet the world moves on, as if this were an entirely normal occurrence. The Singularity Leakage behind you, through which you probably entered, folds in on itself, the only path back to the past closing for good.

Your body feels alright—slightly dizzy and rusted, but manageable. High above, sky-high, sits Roscaelifer. Below you, through the gaps in the platform's metal plating, you can see the Hollow, and can only imagine that's where you were brought from. Now there is no other way but ahead. ᅠ

ᅠ A thin haze of ether-static clings to the platform's edges, drifting off the exposed plating like breath in cold air. Distant machinery groans somewhere far below, muffled by depth and distance, while faint blue light pulses along cracked conduits half-buried in scrap. The wind up here is thin and dry, carrying no scent but rust and old current. ᅠ

ᅠ Time/Date: Predawn, Thursday, 22, January, 2056 Location: Roscaelifer, Booastrum, Energy Hub — lower platform Plugins: (1223334444)

The Utopia

The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. - Paradise Lost, Book I ᅠ

ᅠ The bus leaves the station the moment the clock hits 7:30.

Its doors close in whatever heat it produced inside and it plows through the thin, fresh snowline.

A Tired Man: "N..NO!... wait... wait—"

He stops at the edge of the curb, watching his only bus to work leave. A long moment passes. A thiren bear sitting on a bench, waiting for another bus, glances at the man.

The man himself doesn't comment, just sighs. He takes a seat next to the bear thiren, looking up at the sky. A bit cloudy, but with breaks of blue in between. The snow falls gently in thick flakes onto the ground.

What a day... ᅠ

ᅠ Meanwhile, somewhere around Lumina Square—

A Bangboo with too much energy jumps out of the manhole, its very opposite of a companion right behind him.

Groza: Ehna! Eh-eh-na! "There!... The 141 stand! Batteries for reward! And I still haven't cracked how my opponents get so many of them!"

His buddy, a Cryboo of the exact opposite energy, climbs fully out of the manhole and stands a bit behind Groza.

Stancyk: Eeh... na? Eh-na... "W...what do you mean?"

Groza takes a step out of the alleyway, his paw raised in the air.

Groza: Na-eh! Ehna-ehna! "I keep finding only one... one! I can see my enemies bring 2 at a time! I sense betrayal... CHEATING... and... FRAUD."

Stancyk: Na-eh-eh? Ehna... "G...Groza! Calm down!... but you can just go and ask?"

Groza: Ehna, eh-na-eh. "No... that would make it too obvious! What if they're hiding it? And I'm uncovering a big crime?"

Stancyk walks closer to the edge of the alleyway.

Stancyk: Eh-na? Na-eh-na... "But it's out in the open... maybe it's not a secret? Did you... read the rules? How to get them?"

Groza: Ehna, eh-na-eh. "Well, find them around, obviously!..."

Stancyk turns to him, tapping his paws, trying to help.

Stancyk: Ehna-na? Eh-eh-na... "A...are you sure? Maybe you should ask the lady running the 141 stand?"

Groza stands there for a moment, his gaze moving from his friend to the girl at the stand, and without a word he marches toward her.

Sjal notices a Bangboo coming and smiles, waving at it.

Sjal: "Ah! It's you again, do you have more ba—"

Groza: EHNA! Eh-na-eh-na! "THAT'S IT!... I got you now! Explain, now—how come some bring 1 battery when I can only find one... ONE?!"

Sjal looks at Groza, a bit surprised at the attitude. Groza's been here before, always with one battery, but his question sounded like one made by someone who'd caught another red-handed. She gestures with her hands to calm him down.

Sjal: "Alright, buddy... no need to get angry. Well, they can bring 2 batteries if they find them—the second is usually given away by companies we have contracts with, after energy-consuming activities. For example, using H.I.A. club simulation devices can give you 1 battery, which you can bring to me for the reward. Max 2 batteries a day."

Groza visibly calms his stance after hearing that. He does the quick math.

Two a day—he can reach all the prizes in just 5 days at this speed! Only 5 more days, and with all of them completed... SPECIAL REWARD, will be his. He sighs. Stancyk finally makes it up to him, placing a paw on his friend's back.

Stancyk: Eh-na-na... eh-na. "See... it's okay, Groza. I'll help you. I'm sure you can make it."

Calmer now that she's explained the situation to the little Bangboo—

Sjal: "Mhm, 2 a day should be more than enough. No worries, I'll be right here for 3 days!"

Groza's mind works at ultra speed. Three days... 5 minus 3 is 2. Even if he does 2 a day... he'll be short 2 days. He looks at Sjal, his emotions unreadable.

Groza: Ehna... eh-na? "3... days?"

Sjal: "Mhm."

Groza falls to his tiny knees.

Groza: "No..."

And looks up at the falling snow.

Groza: EHNAAAAA! "NOOOOO—" ᅠ Snow has been falling over New Eridu since well before sunrise, settling first on the high terraces of the Inner City before drifting down onto the outer blocks, softening rooftops and neon signage alike under a pale hush. From Lumina Square to the rail yards past Sixth Street, the city stretches beneath a sky caught between grey cloud and thin breaks of blue, its towers rising like frost-dusted monuments to a peace nobody quite trusts to last.

Ether-heaters hum behind shop windows as vendors sweep fresh powder from their doorsteps, and a handful of maintenance Bangboo clear the walkways along the transit lines, leaving trails of disturbed white in their wake. Commuters hurry past one another in thick coats, breath fogging in the cold, each carrying their own small version of the morning's trouble—a missed alarm, a late report, a promise not quite kept—unaware, or unconcerned, that somewhere just beneath their routine, the city's older wounds are still quietly healing. ᅠ

ᅠ Snow keeps drifting down over Lumina Square, catching in the glow of the district's morning signage. Somewhere past the rooftops, an air bus hums by overhead, its engine fading into the general murmur of the city waking up. The cold carries the faint, sweet smell of roasted chestnuts from a nearby cart. ᅠ

ᅠ Time/Date: Early morning, Wednesday, 3, December, 2055 Location: (New Eridu), (Janus Quarter), (Lumina Square)

The Lost

The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 1:9

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