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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2013 7:29:48 GMT -8
The corridor was a mess. Guns, blood, and other various bits of debris were strewn all over the place. The Shard separated himself from the Sithspawn before things could get any more awkward and used his heightened senses to check for any structural damage or metal fatigue in the hull plates. So far everything looked good, but he'd have to run another pressure test before taking off. Speaking of which, a chime sounded over the intercom, announcing that ATC had cleared them to leave.
"Well, ladies, it's been fun, but I've got work to do. Oh, and uh, Diva?"
Eralam gestured towards what was left of his outfit. It was mostly ash, except for a few places where the blood had soaked the fabric enough to offer some protection from the flames.
"May I have my jacket back?"
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 7, 2013 8:50:17 GMT -8
A sort of disgruntled hiss passes from Diva's mind, and briefly touches everything in a 20 cubic kilometer area. The fingertips of her free hand attempt to massage the frustration that spiked from her temples. This Shard may have inspired love and obsession from the Sithspawn, but all he could ever seem to do was say just the right thing to make Diva's mind burst in a string of curses, expletives, and profanity to rival that which was spewed upon the factory district of Foamwander a few hours ago. Really? "It's been fun, ladies?" REALLY? Ugh, she could rip off her skin with how this collection of deception handled their lethality with the casual manner of a hipster at his favorite concert.
"Okay.... Deep breath. Not gonna lose my temper. Must. Make. Sense."
The Witch begins to, rather reluctantly, pull off the trench-coat that was obviously too many sizes too big.
"Oooooh, sure thing, Mr. Fontaine. Seriously, Math, trust me on this one: your girlfriend is about to pop. Look at her! If she does it'll probably mean good-bye dinner for this floating fish tank of a city. Call me an 'organics expert,' cause I know something bad about to happen when I see it. I'll protect this..."
Diva hefts the coat before tucking it carefully under her left arm.
"...from Smokey the Death Bringer over there. Calm her down then I'll happily oblige. I promise!"
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Chloro
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Post by Chloro on Jun 7, 2013 10:09:57 GMT -8
Kuroro felt Eralam's hands wrap around her. Was he returning her love?
He dropped her to the deck. She had no power to stand - her body had given its all. All its reserves, rage and fire. And it wasn't good enough. It didn't need to turn around to see Eralam walk over to the witch without giving her a second thought. It couldn't hold a candle to Eralam's fire, so what was its purpose? He wasn't interested in Kuroro's unrequited love and she couldn't even scorch him, let alone kill the unfaithful bastard as a consolation.
What was left for a monster that couldn't be loved or kill?
She found the edges of her ribcage and dug her razor sharp fingers under it, prying it until her breastbone dislocated. It was painful. But, as she had discovered, there were more painful things in the universe. Her heart heaved. She'd never be able set it alight without him. Sliding her fingers under her fireproof skin, she felt it flutter. Grab. Tug. It stuck fast. Her body refused to let her continue. It wasn't hers to give.
"Help me..."
There was no shame in asking. She had none left to give anyway.
If he didn't want her, maybe he would take her heart, at least.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2013 10:32:41 GMT -8
The Shard turned around, just in time to see Kuroro start digging into her ribcage.
"Oh, FUCK me."
He lashed out with the Force, trying to stop her hand before she had a chance to do any real damage, all the while sprinting over to where she had fallen.
"The fuck is wrong with you, huh?"
Eralam knew exactly nothing about Sithspawn anatomy. He had no idea how they produced flames, no idea how they withstood the heat, and absolutely no idea how to treat a wounded one. He ripped off the tattered remains of his shirt and tried to use it to apply pressure to the wound.
"I'm here, Kuroro."
There is now a strong division in Eralam's mind. One half believes that he should continue trying to keep Kuroro alive. It argues that she is still useful, and though she may be creepy as fuck at times, the same logic that kept him from snuffing her out moments ago is still valid. The other half points out that he's done quite enough over the past few days, trying to keep her relatively safe. The girl had stalked him relentlessly, and had proven tonight that she absolutely could not be trusted to behave in a rational manner. She had repeatedly lost her shit, killed dozens, possibly hundreds of civilians for no reason whatsoever, endangered the ship and had tried to kill Eralam, just as he was about to maybe convince Diva to go along with the Force's plan. This half just wants to put her in a Force bubble and let her die.
So far, the side that advocated trying to save her was winning, but it was a close thing.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 7, 2013 11:04:27 GMT -8
Drama! Finally. All this time of hovering near the Shard, and finally he had made good on Diva's demands to see some concern, some contemplation, and some bloody emotionally touching reactions. Finally the stuff of tragic plays abounds. The Ice Queen has to check her impulses since every inch of her body, every last smidgen of its Dark Side made energy, wants to go over to the Sithspawn and send to her Hellbound to peace. Hasn't she suffered enough with this wanton love over something not so capable of it? Couldn't she understand that he was not a living thing, as so much as an idea? All this talk of God, and still she doesn't make the logical jump to actually treat him as such, but instead demands that he acts like something unfitting. Ideas, gods, goddesses: they could not change. They were set until destroyed or reborn. If the Witch could, she would make the Firestarter understand the cruel nature in things. Diva would tell her that she was unlucky for loving a rock, then preach until Kuroro her gospel of everlasting peace in death -in nothingness. But, quite frankly, this was a Hell of a lot funnier.
May the living always be so misguided and stumble into self made torment. Really, until the day they all learned, the Dark Side would continue to grow and manifest such champions of the idea like the thing called Diva.
A wide, teeth baring smile comes to play upon the Witch's face but she remains quiet, watching the drama unfold -loving every second that confusion and sadness come to play. Still, the tension to move, to attack, to kill, is almost overwhelming. In order to distract herself from this drive she begins to pick up the various pistols scattered upon floor using the force. Each handgun would zip up to her face, come apart in pieces, reconstruct, then fall nearby. Perhaps the revolvers would provide her desire. Now those come up one at a time.
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Post by Chloro on Jun 7, 2013 20:37:37 GMT -8
Kuroro sobbed for air, gritted her teeth and tried to rip her heart out of her chest with her left hand. But there was an impossible force preventing her from doing so. It was Eralam, holding her.
"It's stuck.." she gestured vaguely at her hand, "...could you help me?"
She feebly tugged at her right hand, which was up to its wrist in her chest. It was a fairly routine exercise for her - organs were like machinery at the end of the day. Squishy instead of rigid. Feely instead of cold. Eralam would know how to help her here.
"I'm sorry, I can't do it myself. But you can have my heart, if it makes you happy..."
The dressing staunched the flow of viscous flow of amber from the hole in her chest and bleeding heart. For a human, it would have been a fatal injury. Although she could very easily die if she managed to pull her ticker out she was pretty hard to kill. And having Eralam close by again filled her depleted body with inhuman strength.
"You mean everything to me. Let me be together with you forever."
The thought alone was enough to make her smile happily. Kuroro had been wrong - she could never have his love or his death. Only he could give her his love or give her death. This was the critical difference between a monster and a god. A monster could take anything it wanted, but it never had a choice. A god would only give and take with choice and it's choice was final. No matter how much a monster demanded the affections of a god, it would only dismiss her.
But if he accepted the love, even if it was one-sided, only then would the monster have the right to be with a god.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2013 21:17:27 GMT -8
Eralam sighed. Still crazy. But there was a chance, however slim, that he needn't let her die. The Shard put on his best Stern God face. It was time to be a manipulative bastard.
"I can't take your heart," he said, voice all full of authority and shit. "I need it in you."
Slowly, he removed her hand from her chest. The wound was a mess. Any human would have been dead instantly. From his long exploration of the galaxy, the former Whill knew that the practitioners of Sith Alchemy often used specialized concoctions to treat their creations. What could cure one of a fever might be a deadly neurotoxin to another Sith's creations, and so on and so forth. He dared not try bacta, not until he had a chance to see how it reacted with her cells.
"No god could ever love you, Kuroro. But that doesn't mean you can't be useful to me. You could help me in a way that no one else could."
This wasn't the first time that Eralam had played on a subjects delusions, pretending to be an actual deity. This was the first time he had tried it from his HRD chassis. Already his emotional state was a complete wreck, having swung from one extreme to another over the course of a mere few hours. This though, this made him feel like a complete and total shitbag. He was going to have to play on her insanity in a manner that most medical professionals would consider "fucking unethical."
"Any other god would discard you, call you broken and toss you away like an unloved toy. I want to give you a purpose, a reason for being. And if it just so happens that that purpose calls for you to be at my side, then so be it. I can never love you, but I need you. That'll have to be good enough."
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Post by Chloro on Jun 8, 2013 20:49:15 GMT -8
Her hand came out with a sickly pop. It was not the time for the Sithspawn's firestarter heart to detonate. Kuroro didn't crave that moment, not while she had Eralam. It was difficult acknowledging that she could never be loved - who could love her macabre features, hellish tendencies, terrible dress sense and pathological dependencies? But Eralam's purpose for her was the next best thing. He needed her, almost as much as she needed him.
"I'll be there. To the bitter end, Eralam-dono."
It was a simple statement but there was the weight of the world behind it. She had crawled through a major personality reconstruction. For him. She had torn away her previous life. For him. She had torched a city. For him. Went toe to toe with an avatar of the darkside. For him. She was willing to offer him her bleeding heart. For him. Kuroro was not Eralam, bound by any form of restraint. The Sithspawn would do the things that Eralam would not stoop down to do himself, or dirty himself in doing. She pledged herself to his purpose. It was a foothold in the heart of the Shard. And she'd make him understand that his need for her was more than just connivence. It was destiny.
Holding his shirt to her chest, she stood, with the deliberate slowness that a missile had in its first stages. There was a new, deadly, unstoppable gleam in her eye that burnt more intensely than before. Demurely, she kept herself from making eye contact, in respect, but her grin said she was wildly ecstatic about his purpose for her.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 8, 2013 20:53:38 GMT -8
Meanwhile, as the platonic lovers competed to upstage one another with gestures, vocal patterns, and dropping eyes, the third wheel to their little fantastic sideways fandango watched with the sort of greed you'd find on a molester as they peered upon the results of their work: victim trembling, silent sobs, thoughts of suicide, thoughts of denial. Gaze too long into them and you would find gateway into exactly what she was thinking regardless of the ice curtain or not. Were these two really that easily manipulated? Throw one of them a sense of jealously and she pulls her heart out. Push the other with his obsession to show he had the biggest pipe in the universe and he would crack a planet. What did she say right before the fight in the street? Everything was a matter of perspective. It was too easy to wipe Kuroro off your boots, and it was like she leaped head first with arms wide open into the role. Ah, but the passion was unmatched, almost enough to make a parody of life wish she could turn that into something like a gun, something you aim and point. It was almost worth trying to convert her into a chevalier, and such a sexy one at that, much better than some of the others who have since died under service to Diva. The Whill, this one was a delicate matter. It required one to carefully approach him, equal parts stupidity, equal parts intensity. Oh, how could she lie? Playing with something older, better, and more powerful than you was thrilling. Eralam made her walk the line between utter annihilation and perfect victory. Imagine these feelings: defeat! Worry! Fear! These things the living gambled every day; these things Diva never knew.
It was enough to make her explode into the blackest star. Submit? Destroy? Deny? Embrace death? Every new possibility shook the core of her maliciousness with orgasmic rivers of ice. She should of tried playing a game on the terms of imminent death earlier: it tingled every single super-massive black hole in the galaxy with a kind of excitement that gave a higher level of awareness to the blunt work of pulling all in, smashing, killing, and turning all to particles of dark matter.
". . ."
Freedom Arms Model 83 SA .50 Action Express. This particular revolver was relatively small for a pistol designed for such a large round. Designed for sporting perhaps? It weighed about four pounds -heavy enough for smacking like the Deagle. Barrel was seemingly forged short, perhaps to make aiming easier for a human at a cost of long range accuracy? The metal seemed dull, almost bluish-gray. 74 pieces in total; four hammer positions -how much more simple could it get? What's this, the grip panels were white? Gaudy! It matched her skin. It would have to do until someone decided to return and repair her special pistol.
It should work. First, a snow white thumb moves the hammer from the safety position up into the fired position, right up against the frame, then pulls the hardy device back to half-cock -which would then allow the cylinder to rotate counter-clockwise. These antiques were so temperamental, so it was better to carefully acquaint herself with various tensions and sounds the weapon made. She now thumbs the swing cylinder out to the left, careful not to damage the crane with her freakish, inhuman strength. It looks clean, of course Mr. Math would make sure these were always kept in shape -praise his nature. Diva's left hand begins to rifle through the supernatural pockets in her dress that were never there when you looked but always there when she needed them, and out comes a loaded magazine for the Desert Eagle. What's next? You guessed it: she begins pushing .50 caliber High Explosive rounds into each of the five cylinders of the Model 83. Hmm. Still two more rounds in the mag. Oh well! She thumbs those directly into her mouth then tosses the depleted mag like garbage over her shoulder. Finally, the Witch swings back the fully loaded cylinder tenderly. Good match! They would no doubt be excellent friends.
The Queen of Ice lets her gaze fall upon the dynamic duo once again, then they float down to the revolver. She hefts it once, hefts it twice. Couldn't you tell? She was thinking about shooting them in the back. Maybe the robot would just absorb them. Maybe she could blast grievous holes in the Firestarter. All of it seemed like the perfect thing to do....
....Smile.....
The parody of life, Dark Side Manifesto, turns on the heel of her boot, and walks away silently while a wide smile touches her face. All in due time. It's not like she would die of age. Besides, those two were about to become stale, and there was no reason to ruin such beautiful drama with lust.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2013 7:26:38 GMT -8
The old Iron Knight breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief. It had to be metaphorical, seeing as how the HRD's lungs had been punctured. Good thing the breathing was all just window dressing.
The next few hours passed as a blur for the Shard. He vaguely remembered saying something comforting and godlike to Kuroro before helping her off to where ever she planned to spend the next little bit, patronizing Diva, swapping into his R2 form to fix the ship, recalling his combat chassis from decoy duty, patronizing Diva because it's funny as long as she doesn't start killing things, repairing the HRD, checking the guns for damage and putting them away, and typing really long sentences. All of this was accomplished by a sort of autopilot. Eralam's consciousness was made up of thousands of different levels and subroutines, each with a distinct purpose. They were perfectly capable of operating independently of each other, so he had no problem giving his personality subroutines a list of tasks so he could meditate.
The Force was definitely speaking here. That was clear. Despite the delusions of Jedi and Sith, the Force cares nothing for Light or Dark. It is simply the Force, and all life lives in subservience to it. Eralam had long ago learned that it knew nothing of the morals of organics; it only knew how to continue its own existence. The Force and life are inextricable bound, so the good of the one serves the good of the other. If it detects that the galaxy is too chaotic and stands a chance of wiping itself out, it will nudge a group along to restore order. If stagnation threatens, it will bring about chaos. This, in the Shard's mind, was perfect beauty. This was the Force he served.
It had been painfully clear that the galaxy was stagnating for quite some time. The Force didn't care about the whys or the hows, it only cared about fixing the problem, and for that, it did the same thing it always did. It chose a person, in this case Eralam, to bring about the desired change or die trying.
The Shard came to his senses some hours later and checked his commlink. ATC had cleared them for departure. He was back in the HRD now. New shirt, new pants, new boots, gun belt on, but that damned witch Diva still had the jacket.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 9, 2013 17:47:16 GMT -8
Speaking of jackets, his proved to be extremely comfortable. Why not wear it some more? And that she did. The witch had taken up residence of the most attractive room within ship which helped sooth the soul and provide pleasant meditative thought. The room was of course the armory. Lights in the room were dimmed to nothingness, casting everything inside with a ghostly charm, a sort of cold fog that spilled about in delicate clouds. Within this fog sat the avatar of the Dark Side, casting its dark musings upon something hidden in her ever turning hands. Soon, deep in the murk, deep in its soulitude, she begins to sing an old world song with the softest of voices.
She lost her mind like I lost my way, no loose ends remain. Nothing can see her drown.
Dreams aren't bad, she would still turn back. I love the girl, but God only knows it's getting hard to see the sun coming through.
Picture, I'm a dreamer who'll take you deeper, down to the sleepy glow where I can't see the sun shine anymore. Time is a low, don't you know?
Slow down, hold them down, crown them!
In the shadow, a snow white hand imitates the motion of firing a pistol, and absorbing its recoil.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2013 18:01:51 GMT -8
Naturally, the armory. Always the armory. That didn't surprise Eralam in the slightest. What did surprise him was to hear singing. It was a familiar tune, too. A little warped, a little odd, but he knew it. He walked quietly through the door, trying not to interrupt, picked up a random guitar in the corner, and began to play along from memory. He waited for the thing to run its course before trying to speak.
"I'm curious to know how you came across that song."
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 9, 2013 18:14:40 GMT -8
. . .
Of course, a guitar was an ultimate weapon of sorts. Its ability to shatter souls in ways so profound as to make dismemberment trivial was impressive in more ways than legion. A subtle gleam comes to her eyes -she was glad someone in this universe knew of its lost, sonorous art. Rather than respond to the Shard instantly, she whistles the tune again in harmony with his work. This time, however, there was no variation or warping to the song. Once they finish the second pass, Diva stares quietly at Eralam for a moment, those glowing eyes seeming like stars suspended in supreme void.
"Gravity pulls in a lot from many places, and many times. Radio waves don't get special passes. But you already knew that, didn't you."
Lady Ice holds up whatever it is in hands, twirling it in front of her face. It is unidentifiable in the murk, however.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2013 18:26:00 GMT -8
Eralam begins to pick away, softly, absentmindedly."I get some of my best music from radio telescopes. Black holes may destroy everything in their path, but they are far from silent." The Shard seems lost in thought. His meditation hadn't led him to a very happy place. He knew what needed to be done, knew what he had to do. He just didn't know if he could. For now, he was content to make small talk over odd music. And maybe he'd get his coat back in the process.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 9, 2013 18:44:09 GMT -8
"I've got nothing to gain to lose -all the world I've seen before me passing by-yai-yai."
There is movement coming from her sector, the sound of ruffling cloth and pressing leather. Suddenly, Eralam's jacket lands softly upon his guitar. There is a hoarseness edging into her slanted basic.
"There you go. There you go. Now you can save your artificial breath -no need for impatient metallic vises. Come back when something triggers curiosity subroutines. I don't see, I don't hear, I don't speak, I don't feel. Nana na na, nana na na, NA NA."
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2013 18:57:44 GMT -8
It was baffling, frustrating, and a whole bunch of other -ings, but oh well. Every time it looked like the Shard might be breaking through the Ice Queen's exterior, something went wrong. At least she didn't try to kill him this time. He made his way to the bridge, trenchcoat slung over his shoulder. It was getting close to time to take off.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 9, 2013 19:16:47 GMT -8
"Heh. Such a lonely day, and it's mine."
Diva's head tilts back, and in the wisping smog, a touch of light breaks through from overhead. She leans way back, letting her head hang off the edge at an unsettling angle. Blood streams from her eyes, black as the wicked, regenerating ink falls down the contours of her face and hair -tears from the end of existence. The Model 83 presses against her left temple, and white hands cock it into firing position, hold it steady.
"What'd he say?"
Her voice deepens and warbles into a perfect impersonation of Eralam.
"How does it feel to be a fairy tale?"
"Well? HOW DOES IT FEEL?!"
The Witch tosses a blue rose violently into the air. Such force is used that many of the petals tear from the wind resistance, and begin to float slowly towards the rubberized floor. The flower itself lands somewhere between her feet.
"Like a dream."
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2013 21:45:43 GMT -8
The bright, brassy sound of trumpets announced the arrival of the next song over the intercom. The mood had been too grim for far too long. The Shard was determined to fix that. Whether or not it lifted anyone's spirits but his own, well, he didn't give a good goddamn. Hell, until a few hours ago, he hadn't had spirits to lift."I think it's time to blow this scene, get everybody and their stuff together. Ok, 3-2-1 let's jam." Slowly, the ship began to hum and vibrate as the engines whirred to life. The earlier violence hadn't destabilized them too badly, and the hours spent as an R2 unit had done wonders. Eralam still wanted to orbit the planet a few times before heading to deep space, just to make sure. He'd try to figure out where the next destination was from there. For now though, he desperately wanted to get off the ground before the cops had a chance to do random sweeps.
The ship rose smoothly on the repulsorlifts, surprisingly graceful for a vessel of its size. It banked a few times as the pilot sought to test the controls and inertial compensators before going too far, and then it was nose up, climbing fast and getting faster.
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Jun 10, 2013 3:09:31 GMT -8
And then the bloody ship took off. The first rise as the engines hovered out of the dock wasn't noticeable, but the kick in sudden G-force, though slight, was enough to cause the perfect parody of suicide to be interrupted. Model 83, her newest best friend, slid off the comfortable position against her head. Poor pistol, she could almost detect its disappointment, like the hammer slagged with a grand letdown.
"Tttsch. . . Can't do anything here."
Diva, or rather, the diva, lets her arms fall limp on either of her sides, with the revolver smacking unto the deck and a white hand crashing on against the seat. Now the inky discharge begins its pitter-patter on the floor.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 10, 2013 3:38:41 GMT -8
The ship rises through the atmosphere, its pilot oblivious to the macabre drama in the other room. He is finally beginning to unwind. The sensation leaves him almost giddy as the artificial endorphins flood his artificial body. The next song came on, made no sense whatsoever, and Eralam began to rock the fuck out.
After about a half hour of headbanging, incomprehensible lyrics and sensible, precautionary tests, the ship is ready to head deeper into the system. Eralam keeps it in orbit far a while longer though, instead seeking out his passengers, if any are still conscious. He had a few ideas on where to head next, but needed to confirm a few things.
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