---

THE RUINS OF DOZING, nestled in the widelands of Enigma territory, used to be a peaceful little city full of bright and friendly little people who were very good at manufacturing weapons. Great innovations and advancement in cannons, guns, mech suits, artificial limbs and mechanized armor took place right here in little Dozing --

-- until an explosion in the night blew it all to smithereens.

This was centuries ago, of course. There are only a few now who remember the city of Dozing, and the threat it could have been to LABYRINTH CORP had it survived.

Oh, well.

Of course there are conspiracy theories that surround the ruins -- some of a supernatural nature, as there must be -- but after countless research by countless organizations (some more legitimately titled than others) the widely accepted conclusion is that the explosion that blasted Dozing had been a simple accident in its central hydrogen warehouse, and the case has been laid publicly to rest.

Now the ruins are a bright and sunny picnic spot, carpeted with soft grass that flows and ripples in the gentle breeze. Peruse the broken and half-buried remains of beautiful architecture, meticulous wiring systems and hand-crafted machinery that has beautifully withstood the test of time and weather. Feathered birdlike nebulae (for our purposes, 'birds') nest peacefully in the barrels and sockets of machines once built for the purpose of destruction. It's a perfect spot for a philosophical discussion of irony and impermanence and the true nature of things and moral comeuppance --

-- or a rendezvous for the future crew of a slightly illegal (by some interpretations of a few laws) ship of vigilantes.

At the day and time of this rendezvous, the sky was bright and full of moving fluffy clouds. A warm breeze rushed through the synthetic grasses, which glistened blue and silver in wooshing ripples. The broken pillars and turrets and mech-pieces, illuminated happily by the sun, cast only small shadows on the bits of metal and wire that stuck out of the ground. 'Birds' chirruped happily all around, fanning their three-to-six wings, drilling into stone pillars with their beaks, catching insects with their whiplike tongues.

Within the ruins, among the rush of the wind and the warble of 'birds', a song played on repeat.

It was coming from the heart of the ruins, where a little box radio sat upon the stump of a broken column. There appeared to be no one around, and the radio certainly wasn't plugged into anything -- there was only the glass casement of bioplasm screwed into the back of it, enough power to keep the song going for days without pause.

The time of the rendezvous came . . . and went.

"Here's another..."

A very distinct robotic energetic voice spoke to no one in particular. A person could be seen crouched down inside a dilapidated building, holding what appeared to be some kind of chip in his hands, inspecting it with curiosity. The peaceful ruins of the city overrun by grassy vegetation contrasted with the sneaky figure, his red clothing making him stick out like a sore thumb amidst all the green. Whisper, completely covered by his mask and various pieces of machinery, stood indifferently amidst the various rusted weapons and broken electronic devices, seemingly already used to scrambling for precious things through wastes such as this one. This one, though, was already a couple hundreds of years old and was rather well-known to top it all off. Whatever of particular worth that had been left behind after the explosion was already picked off by scavengers long before he was even born. What he was doing was more out of habit than anything, picking up scraps and ancient blueprints that had been neglected by other people. This chip was one such object.

Now let's see here...

Holding the electronic piece up, the thief waited patiently as his latest modified deluxe all-purpose decorated special scavenger-edition H.O.B.O. device strapped to his arm scanned the chip with a blue holographic light. Soon enough, the display started showing pages after pages of documents as well as a handful of corrupted data that the system had been unable to recover. Quickly scrolling through, Whisper glanced through gibberish of technical terms, only taking note of the big bold letters saying things like "Mech Suit", "Ship Cannon", and so and so, including the blueprint images of what he could only say were some very intimidating weapons. Satisfied with the result, he turned off the display and hid the chip in one of the myriads of hidden pockets of his clothes, before standing up and picking a leather bag that had been tossed to the side, tossing it over his shoulder and going on his way.

Walking outside, Whisper paused for a second and messed around with his HOBO, before a holographic map displaying his position with a blue arrow as well as a big red blinking point appeared. The red was his destination. Confirming his direction, the thief quickly marched forward again with steady steps. Soon enough, a peculiar sound made itself clear over the rustling grass. A song? None he had ever heard before. It didn't take long for him to arrive at the heart of the ruins and for the source of the music to reveal itself. Whisper paused, as he stared at the device with suspicion that most certainly wasn't apparent when he was wearing a mask. After a few seconds, he looked around for any hidden figures that might be prepared to ambush whoever came near the radio. However, after finding no one around, the thief wondered to himself.

Strange... What kind of idiot would just leave this hanging around a ruin by itself? Oh well, there's all kinds of naive people in this world.

Thinking so, he walked forward and messed around with the radio a little bit, before turning off the song and pocketing the device into his bag. Having nothing else to do, Whisper laid down lazily on the now unoccupied pillar stump with his hands behind his head, staring at the clear sky and flying bird-things while he waited for the rest of the crew to arrive. He felt that this day was off to a great start.

---

One, two, three – forward. Two, four, six – support. Two, four, six – forward. One, two, three – support. Hold.

Shuffling along, tired eyes watched the synthetic grass dance. Beads dangling down from a pair of developing antlers would, in some contexts, symbolize a prolific Nebula Shaman, but here, it represented a dream out of place. This was the spot, wasn’t it? A peaceful place where even the ghosts of the long dead sang softly into the wind, glad to have lived. Or perhaps, it was just another fabrication of the mind. The Witnessed Day watched the world pass by for a moment, taking the time to let his mind rest. His legs were far from tired, having been dreamed for walking, but his mind was exhausted. When he finally slept, he would be sure to dream a more complex mind. But, as it was now, he was dozing off. Dozing? Dozing. That’s how the word had entered his mind; he was here in Dozing.

Perhaps, if he sat long enough, he would melt into the grass.

Words entered his mind, but they were not his own. This, he knew. Melodic words, accompanied by string spirts, wood spirits, and brass spirits. Then, they disappeared. He had no quarrels with this. The newfound lack of words allowed him to tune into the primitive words of the nebulae around him. The feathered nebulae reminded him, vaguely, of his youth. He held them hostage with suspicious eyes, wondering what they were up to. His eyes followed them, trying to find their words, but quickly found themselves lost in the architecture of the ruins around him. Ruins brought him a sort of melancholic longing, but he could not understand why.

Dozing in Dozing, The Witnessed Day wondered at whom he might meet. The thought started with the present: “Who will I meet upon this living ship?” However, the thought quickly spiraled out of control. “Who will I meet in this cycle of wakefulness? What about the next cycle? Will there be another cycle? Am I doomed to incompleteness for the rest of time? What happens if I do not dream? Will I die? Can I die from staying awake? What is it like to be lesser? Can a lesser being stay awake this long? Does reality break down when they do? What do you think?” The last thought was directed toward nothing, but perhaps he thought to direct it at someone. He worried not if someone heard it, for he was no longer focused on walking, and his mind was free to wander as his legs no longer did.

He sat as if a yellow totem. His features were etched hard into his face, but unchanging. This was the closest he could get to sleep, so it was a quasi-retreat into himself. His sensory memory still functioned, but he relegated it to the depths of his active conscious, trying to forget what it was like to be aware for a few moments. The wind brushed his ceremonial beads, bringing forth distant memories of the day he took his name. He did not try to call his name forth, letting it rest at the depth of his soul. It was important that it rested, lest it bring him unpleasant thoughts. Such was the burden of a name, truly bound to one so intensely that it keeps the one tethered to a reality it seeks to escape from. He thought of it almost as a shackle, sometimes forgetting the value it holds. But such thoughts might rouse the name from its slumber to seek retribution for such an insult. The truth is that the name was him. Well, a snapshot, at least. A guide. A way to find the parts which had fled. It was only a shackle so long as he remained incomplete.

At such heavy thoughts, The Witnessed Day laid down in the grass, easing the load from his back, and letting the sky meet his eyes. Shapes danced beyond his vision, but still within his awareness. His thoughts turned to fate, and his eyes turned from hopeful dreaming to bitter malcontent. The feeling emanated from his being, more profusely than any amount of language. Even the dancing grass seemed to falter in its service to the wind, but perhaps that was just his imagination. After this quick marathon of thoughts, The Witnessed Day found true rest. He stopped thinking about such things, and instead let his mind hum. A simple hum, like a sin wave sleeping on a pile of dreams. If one were to inch close enough to listen, they might hear his inner thoughts, which were a discordant melody, which sought to explain perfection, but by its very nature was imperfect.

Beneath the azurebound skies rested the little female, lain out on her belly was she. Regular arm and bandaged arm dangled away with her boot-clad bare legs doing the same. Big eyes were sealed shut and black eyebrows above slanted away, content with a submerged mind that was full and floaty just like the fluffy white clouds that lazed about above her.

__What is the directive__

The darkened cloak that she normally wore wrapped tight around her had drifted open, revealing her fine, svelte and tightly muscled, black body-suited form. The cowl had also slipped away revealing the full shock of her midnight hued fur-haired head. One of the two large triangular feline ears twitched once… twice… then returned to respite.

__Who is the mark__

The length of feline tail now slid away from the rust colour, though not rusted, surface upon which she lay. It too now dangled, joining her limbs all easily and breezily swaying faintly in the soft winds. Her tail twitched once.. twice.. then it too returned to respite.

__Wait... Why do I feel so lonely…?__

_{“...I don’t…”}

A sudden gust puffed up her cloak and revealed the little fuzzy, white critter strapped up quietly and tightly to her hip. Its body held a proud pose, sitting upon its haunches, chin at that just right and regal angle. It too was very feline, this critter being a cat afterall, but it held its pose for eternity. And like the being to whom it was strapped, its eyes were also closed. But soon they would open. Soon.

__Why am I so lonely…?__

“I AM NOT!!” the voice was that of a young woman, a bit gravelly sounding-- smokey voiced some might say-- and quite nice some also might say. But at the moment the the tone had broken into the roar of a primal rage.

The large eyes snapped open now. And normally they would be as blue as the far, far sky above and beyond her, but as of now they were black. Black as pitch. Black as non-emotion. Black as murder.

Eyebrows pressed downward in a deepening scowl over those big unempathetic eyes. Lips curled expertly around that ivory, sharp-toothed sneer. Then suddenly the look of shock overtook that primal one. A blink, then another brought back the normally placid and soothing eyes. A wide and glowing blue starry-eyed stare replaced the abyssal one. The face of a late-teen/early twenties girl returned and the mask of the predator no where to be seen. After a single yet firm head shake, she let out a small grunt, and pushed herself up to a kneeling pose.

“What’s that, Dotsies…?” she mumbled softly as she put a hand to her temple, “noooo and nay again, of course not, girlie…! I’m not cross with ya in the least! Just had a bad sleepy-think, I did… hahahah… Did ya have a peaceful napper there too?”

The little fuzzy white critter was unstrapped from her hip and now being embraced tight, a few loving strokes to its head would soon follow. She envied her little regally posed companion, Dotsies. For this little fuzzy white feline critter told her larger companion that Dotsies could dream proper and not merely 'sleepy-think' like how her larger feline-like black-haired girlie could only do whist fast asleep. “Still full in the belly, girlie? Ooooh aye, me too. Them nebblies certainly are tasty, amirite?”



An impressive yawn and a full arms extended stretch she gave before rising up and scanning the area once more. Said tasty nebulae flitted about in the distance against the backdrop of blue sky and white clouds. The area remained largely the same: crumbling buildings, fallen statues and grass. Lots of grass. She had heard the musical sounds from that entrance but upon the sound advice of Dotsies, she had shied away from it and instead, they had a meal and took to higher ground. They were high up on a relatively intact rust-coloured statue’s head over looking the statue’s fallen, and, mostly swallowed up by the grass, twin statue. Perched upon its horn/ear-like protrusion they finally slumbered. And now awake and seeing that nothing had greatly changed, they decided to scour the area once more.

The little HOBO device that was strapped to her hip had told her to meet near that musical sounding place and so after skillfully descending down off the statue that is where they decided to go. And this was where they finally encountered something new. Something different. A scent.

“Aye. Tread carefully. Aye, Dotsies…” and tread carefully did she. Actually it was eerily efficient and with such surreal liquid ease how carefully and quietly she tread. Suddenly she froze. In the next heartbeat, she slipped away, back against a crumpled building, big blue eyes peering just over the corner at it.

From here she could hear the clack and clink of the beads it wore and from here she should have been able to hear the music playing. Big baby blues widened a bit; the music was absent. Perhaps this thing ate it or...

“...or perhaps this lass be a Silly-Sally then. Aye Dots. Ya speak too true…” she said beneath her breath with a slight chuckle, “supposed to meet here, not fear ‘monsters neath yer skirt’ hah...!”

After tucking away her regally posed fuzzy white pal and pulling her cloak tight around big-eared head and graceful body, a single breath she took to reassure herself. She then cleared her throat before slinking out into the open. “Ahoy there, mister! If I am to introduce meself then I must means ya no harms atall then. Aye, so introduce meself, I will, mister. I be to meet with an esteemed and established owner of a proud vessel. And it be for prime employment aboard the livin’ sky vessel of one Mister Cap’n Gilby. And I am to be called ‘Lucky’ if it pleases ya...”

A fine and full flowing bow did she present the curious yet magnificent multi-limbed being lying in rest before her. “Well met. True as true be, aye. If ya be here for the same then much congratulations for ye and yer heart, mister. We may be travelling companions but mayhaps I must be professional and not be opportuned to ‘carouse’ with the passengers aboard. Then again, mister… be ya a passenger or be ya otherwise? And what is this here Lucky lass to calls ya by name?”

---

The Witnessed Day was called forth from his pseudo-slumber by a shrill, mouthy noise. He stood up, allowing his full figure to take shape, and allowing the robes around him to flow as they were intended to. His eyes struggled to find their vision in the Real, but quickly settled on a shape. He did not approach, he did not wave, he simply stood. How long had he been humming, before this small thing approached him? Had he the physiology to, he would have grunted. Instead, his mind thrummed with agitation, too buried beneath obstructions to be heard. He called forth the memory of the noise sensations, putting them together. He considered the words of the lesser creature before him; had he a mouth, he would practically be chewing them. He did not speak for a few moments, considering what sort of impression it might be best to make.

“I suppose this to mean we are comrades.”

Without a mouth, the thought had to be directed to the mind of this lesser being. The Witnessed Day hoped that it was advanced enough to process the thought without it breaking into fragments, or better still, without overloading the poor thing’s mind. The thought itself was seeped in agitation, and the posture of The Witnessed Day was outwardly defensive. His eyes had forgotten the sky, they had forgotten the grass. The only thing within vision was being estimated. It proclaimed itself friend, but it might very well be foe. As per his standard mode of operation, The Witnessed Day erected a series of barriers within himself, on the off-chance that this creature would try to probe his mind. Such an invasion would be a relief – proof of other forms of life worth interacting with – but it would still be most unwelcome.

“I am The Witnessed Day.”

At this thought, The Witnessed Day’s defensive posture grew even more so. His eyes widened, to take in more of the surroundings, but still retained their focus on this possible threat. Agitation thrummed loudly within him, and for a moment, seeped into being. His eyes took in the bow, presented to him in a fashion that suggested peace. He did not offer one in return for two reasons: (1) He did not trust this creature. (2) He was this creature’s superior. Instead, he transformed his stance into the ritualistic greeting of the Nebula Shaman:



This was, of all the greetings he knew, the most obscure, but also the friendliest he was willing to dispense on most occasions. It was a sign of acknowledgement, but that was the furthest it went. If this creature before him was well-versed in such ritualistic greetings, but not their cultural connotations, it might take offense. If this creature was well-versed in the greetings, as well as the obscure culture of the Nebula Shaman, it would understand that this is deeply respectful gesture that meant something like, “Keep to yourself, and I will do the same”. If the creature was not versed in either, as was oft the case, then it could be taken in whichever way the observer wanted. At the end of the gesture, drawn out as it was, The Witnessed Day let out a weary hum. This time, it was like a sin wave drawn out to the ends of time. In certain spots, it was accented with restrained frustration. His thoughts did not wander, for a stray thought could lead to a hole in the wall. He was not one for many words (especially because he preferred sensations that lesser forms of life couldn't interpret properly), so this was the most he offered. In his weariness toward the stranger, The Witnessed Day forgot nearly all else, and his legs, unattended, collapsed beneath him. Bitterly, he stood quickly, remembering how to.

Stone caught up with the times; she had a communication device. She'd received it after she left from a restaurant that she lucked out on - it was one that didn't kick her out because of her enormous appetite and seemingly bottomless gut. Instead, they pampered her and took advantage of her presence. They changed from a simple, yet decently popular, restaurant into a tourist attraction - behold, the great bottomless midget! - for people interested to see a small woman devour every single food she was given. The communication device was her salary, they said.

It didn't last long, however. The restaurant had a good run as a tourist attraction and unlike most fads, her fame and people's curiosity trickled in and gave huge amounts of profit. Then, without realizing their mistake, all was taken. They had a permit for a restaurant. Not a tourist spot. The authorities kicked them all out, including Stone. She was banned from coming back again until people forgot about her particular eating... skills. They said she could come back; but only after they forgot about her.

Their rules are weird, she thought.

Kicked out and banned, it wasn't all bad. Because of it and her new-found fame that was being deliberately broken down, she stumbled upon a recruitment for something exciting, something not particularly legal - reminiscent of what happened to her recently. Perfect indeed. And it was all because of that communication device she got from her tourist-attraction-eating gig.

Holograms flashed in front of her rust-colored eyes, the twin pairs of stud-earrings pierced on her ears delivered the message that she eagerly waited for. The location was... familiar.

Fetching a map from the device, she proceeded to their meet-up location. The restaurant had been particularly generous and this H.O.B.O. they gave her - while simple and mundane - was able to access public information other than communication. That was what it all it did though, granting her access people anyone living in this era already knew, and talk with others. To her, this was premium stuff.

Cradle floated behind her. It was a levitating cuboid that glowed a faint orange-rust splatters of energy. Her ochre hoodie shadowed her face but a faint glow reddish-orange glow illuminated her thin neck. If demons were real, she'd look like a small rust-orange glowing faced, oversized hooded jacket-wearing young woman type of demon. She was not, but the glow continued until the Cradle's glowing rust faded and the obelisk of a thing set itself on the grassy ground of an ancient ruins filled with metal and the overtaking tenacity of nebula flora. Feathered nebula flew and glided up above. With Stone being perpetually famished, she cast what little reservation she had and floated up.

Fixated by the tasty flying food, she didn't notice music cutting off. Nor did she notice something heavily transcendent of being approach and interacted with a strange woman seemingly talking to herself. She was within only a short distance from all of them, particularly close to the stopped music and by extension, the person who cut it.

Slowly floating, careful not to lose sight and scare off the aerial nebula, the rust tattoos on her lower thighs illuminated, along with those on her torso, the inside of her jacket ever-shining.

---

"Bloody hell..." the shine and colour of her baby blues were fading and fast, quickly being overtaken by the hue and depth of the returning wicked abyss, "they sent a Programmer for me n' Dotsies, aye, they did..."

An ivory sneer she flashed the multi-legged Programmer and promptly did she begin to remove her cloak, eyes locked in on the yellow robed beast. From between those sharp teeth poked out her pink tongue. It curled upward and licked at the blood running from her right nostril and draining into her mouth. It had drawn first blood. And now it had made the mistake of dismissing her as a potential threat.

A nerve-calming breath she took as she cast away her darkened cloak. And now into a stance that was meant for more than merely fighting did she take. This was no ordinary fight. This was self-preservation. This was a fight for her new way of life. And she was set to murder whatever would try to take that away from her.

Programmers, as far as she knew them, were the ones that breached the sanctity of minds. They were the ones that proved that her kind did not own their own selves since they could not own their own thoughts. And who owned their thoughts? Well, the ones who gave them the answers in their ‘sleep-think’ mode whist slumbering. But you see, Lucky was a Flaw; she was one of the ones that did not fall in line with her reason to exist. She was one of the ones that had the ability to resist her Programming and in effect, as far as she knew, own her own thoughts. Lucky was free to do what she wanted… well, with caveat, of course.

But this one, this multi-appendaged brute, had tried to force its self into her head and attempt to pry open her mind. And inevitably it would try to 'will' her into submission, priming her to have her head ‘re-wired.’ Fortunately, for Lucky she was Flawed and able to ‘stuff-up’ the areas in her mind that a Programmer would try to breach. And so all that the Programmer managed to get was the equivalent of a static shock at worst or just static darkness at best. There was no way it would get into her head. The price of resistance was a bit of a nose bleed, but well worth the cost. There was no way it would take her back into a life of servitude and humiliation. No way.

It had mocked her with an dismissive pose; arms folded and tossing her a scrap of a nod. It had even paid her no mind currently, exposing itself as if she posed no threat at all. Big mistake. Oh, but such a big mistake to underestimate her. It would be the last mistake it ever—

The thing had collapsed under its own weight and was struggling to stand once more.

“What in the actual fu— Oi! You there, Programmer!” uncertainty and doubt had crept into her mind and stilled the murderous intent therein.. mostly. For she had actually never seen a Programmer in person, let alone know what one was supposed to look like. Well, this thing fit the bill: monstrous, majestic and— it almost fell over again.

“Whacha’ playin’ at then…?” the hue and depth of the abyss retreated some as humour, blue and shiny, glinted across those big eyes, “ya know, this here Lucky lass is goin’ to end ya should ya— oh for cryin’ for yer mummy! Would ya just stand straight right still then! Please! It look as if ya’ve taken down a bottle o’ shine and decided to dance the Jump n' Flitter whilst the winds and pressures gets all turbulent-like! Oi! Can ya not speaks to—no and nay again… ya can’t speak can ya--”

Big baby blues popped open wide, completely devoid of darkness now. The sudden realization had fizzled out the dead cold murder streak. Lucky soon turned her gaze to the green, green grass neath her boots, eyes now dulled and sullen, cheeks hot with pink hues. “Tis why ya’ tried me mind— now, now, Dots! I wouldn’t have done ‘im in! Swears it! Was just a bit upset, was I…! Ya know if only.. what’s that, girlie? Oh, it hums?”

A soft sigh and a little smirk she could not help but let escape when she saw the thing wobble once more. Monstrous, majestic… and adorable…

“D’awww… okay then Dotsies.. let me see if I cannot ‘hum’ to it too then, aye..?”

If a cat may purr then it is showing clear signs of contentment or even pleasure. But when Lucky purred, it was even more than that; it was a happiness that was meant to be shared. And for the most part, this is truly what made her despised by her creators. The girl had empathy. And even more than that, she was able to impress it upon others through her ‘purring songs;’ sometimes these songs calmed even the most savage beast or troubled mind. And so after picking up her cloak and donning it once more, she slinked on over to the imposing, yet adorable brute.

Both arms she had outstretched and in her hands she held out to it the white, fuzzy feline that was to forever hold that regal pose. “This is Dotsies. She be me bestest friend. Ever. And if yer not out to break me brain afterall then, welllllll… I guess you n’ me could be friends too… whaddya say, Big Fella…?”

A smile, wink and nod she could not help but toss once more to him. And now the thrumming, happy purr song of the little cat-girl hummed along with the hum that emanated from her newly anointed ‘Big Fella.’

---

Not being one for words, The Witnessed Day simply let the lesser being’s hum linger in the air, before sitting back down. It was, after all, easier than standing. His own hum faded away, and he was content to fill his head with another’s noise. His eyes shut, but he did not drift near the realm of rest. He studied the noise of the hum, silently, and to himself, trying to find its place in the greater scheme of his own being. Lucky, as it called itself, was not a threat at present. Still, a careful eye would have to be placed upon the creature. For its moods to swing so suddenly was something which did not sit well with The Witnessed Day. Still, at present, there was no harm.

The beads hanging from his antlers clacked, and his eyes wandered to “Dotsies”. An especially careful eye would have to be placed on that one. He would have to dream himself more eyes when he got a chance, for he had already had to dedicate half of his eyes to this task, and he needed them to observe the rest of the environment around him. Two was barely enough to see the colors properly, and he just knew he needed more to — Ah, the logic of a daydream. The Witnessed Day had as many eyes as he needed for the sake of metaphor, and he didn’t need to use them for such a purpose. But still, one could never be too safe. More eyes would be dreamed.

Nebula Shaman did not usually take friends, as they were supposed to be symbolic of the temporary trying to find a foothold in permanence. Still, rejecting this friendship may cause strife further down the line. The Witnessed Day considered these both, straining his tired mind as he did so. He had already left the creature in silence for a longer-than-usual amount of time, and The Witnessed Day wondered at what impression that may leave. If only these lesser creatures had lifespans comparable to his, then perhaps he would not feel so uncomfortable with silence hanging in the air.

Nebula Shaman see friendship as a Positive Symbolic that should be avoided, much in the same way as adding a toxin to your bloodstream should be. However, they do not have any quarrels with alliances, nor do they see reason to reject a temporary state of being. Such contradictory ideals warrant a closer examination, but The Witnessed Day did not feel he had the time to go as in-depth as he would like.

“An acquaintanceship shall have to do for now. A friend cannot be taken until names are exchanged.”

In The Witnessed Day’s mind, he viewed names – true names – as a sort of currency of power. It was trading secrets – secrets held power, offered glimpses of reality untamed, and could hurt the holder. Names, he thought, were things that should be kept secret. So long as a true name was held close to one’s most sacred self, it was a threat. Friends should not be threats. Of course, not everyone knew their true name. Or, perhaps, only a few people had one. The Witnessed Day had never studied it much beyond shaping his own.

What, exactly, was a “Programmer”? The Nebula Shaman did not have the word as part of his normal vocabulary, having long ago assigned it within his mind as “archaic language”. If a thing was programmed, it was inferior. This was truth. Only by smashing the predestined code inherent in one’s internal being could one truly grow. Only by embracing the absurd, the irrational, and swearing off the logic it was created with – either by a living “Programmer” or by the rather orderly forces of “chaotic” nature – could one determine, for itself, what it was intended to be. He had half a mind to ask the creature — to ask Lucky, what it had meant. But he did not want to be compared to such an insufferable concept again, and so he decided he would ask later, when it was worth the energy to expel such a thought.

He reflected on his thoughts, digesting them so that he might regurgitate something of value when he next dreamed. His eyes shut, and he turned his hum toward the sky, so that he might mimic the song of the feathered nebulae. He searched his thoughts for memories of Dozing, only to find vague remembrances which were just as likely to be daydreams he had just come up with as they were to be actual memories. He did not turn his head toward Lucky, a sign of respect from where he was from, but he figured that it might not come across as well intentioned as it was.

“Your kind values words, the Nebula Shaman do not.”

The “color” of the thought carried with it the connotation that no offense was meant, and that if remembered, the two would get along as best as cultural boundaries would allow.

Half-awake, wholly un-asleep, and clinging desperately to what fleeting rest he could, The Witnessed Day found half of his being spiraling into a melancholic daydream filled with half-voices singing the Old Words of the Nebula Shaman farewell rituals.

“Heln morn,
Res ahn.
Beas lev,
Retu olo.
Heln morn,
Morn o ahn.”

A tired mind does not go out of its way to censor itself. The Witnessed Day laid his back into the grass once more.

As she slowly floated upward, her oversized hooded-jacket billowed in the air, producing faint rustling sounds. She stopped and clutched her jacket closer onto her body but the slight noise alerted her targets of her presence. A peculiar woman floating in the air in their periphery, the feathered nebula changed course and flew quite some distance away from Stone. She could chase them in the air but she hadn't eaten much since she was banned from her place of notoriety. A lot of energy would be used and what meager reserves she had left and the flying nebula had wouldn't be enough for her.

She tsked and dropped down. The rust-orange illumination of her torso and lower thighs faded into vivid rust-orange tattoos etched on her body - her body that dropped rapidly onto the ground. Stone was nonchalant except for the faint hint of disappointment on her face. Hunger wasn't something she liked experiencing; she was used to hunger but never did she liked being hungry.

When she was only a few feet above the ground, her tattoos flared and a flash of warm light was contained by her jacket - a few of them like rays of the sun as it set. She landed on her feet with a mild metallic noise. Stone rubbed her stomach and continued onto the designated meeting place.

Her twin-pair stud ear-piercings once gain projected a hologram that indicated she was near her destination. I hope this captain has food with him. I'm starving.

Her mind wandered into the daydreams of food and being sated. She knew being satisfied of her hunger would only remain like so for a few hours at best, she let herself into the unlikely possibility she'd be able to eat heaps and heaps of food aboard the ship. That is, if she'd be allowed to join them and she'd actually be able to ride it - not munching on some food and be left wherever this familiar place was.

"Where are the others? I am in the right place I hope."

She was a good ways into the location when she remembered the left the Cradle after she got distracted by flying food. "Shillings!"

Stone, hungry and angry, bolted back to where she left her only possession. A faint glow was on her lower thighs and her sprint got considerable faster, making her trails be left with deep and heavy footsteps. Arriving in record time whatever that is she caught her breath before lifting her left arm.

The enormous marble-like pillar responded and emitted a glow similar to the tattoos on her body. Her neck, bicep, and wrist tattoos on her left arm glowed as the Cradle followed her.

Her hunger and anger only rose then. She'd better eat or something's gonna' get eaten.

---

The breeze was calming and carefree against the light of the sun, and for just a moment, Krita wondered if he could finish his quest right then and there. Dozing was a calm and rest-easy sort of place after all, a ruin to the failure of giants everywhere, and it put a soft grin on Krita's face.

Plenty of grass for the wandering beast that Krita's community had named their waddling thing, and soft soil for digging new holes. Everyone knew holes were the secret to a strong community, because within them was both the power of death and life. With each thunderous step through this happily broken place, Krita's mind was torn.

"Settle here? Keep going? Krita's community really smells bad, mmmmmm...! But Golby the Biggs is expecting Bobblings for his crew?? Krita is many things, but Krita isn't rude or dishonest, that would be just the worst."

The chittering smell of Krita's right-hand Bobbling, who Krita liked to call Right-Hand Bobbling for that exact reason, caught the leader off-guard. He hopped forwards, just a little, his stumpy beige limbs making a soft 'patter' against the metal flooring the community had installed over their carrier's head. With a sneer he carefully tried to save face, spinning around on the spot in such a way that the red scarf he always wore began to blow in the breeze (something Golby had once told him via the community's HOBO would make him look heroic and kingly).

Right-Hand Bobbling made a soft 'ooh' noise, and Krita was pleased.

"Krita the Best Boss Ever, No-Excuses-For-Realsies, the watchers have been smelling bad. It's upsetting the eggs. Two eggs just wilted."

Krita paused in his dramatic pose, the temporary halo caused by his especially shiny cap vanishing as he looked at Right-Hand right in the eyes. Right-Hand awkwardly shuffled backwards, skinny grabbers held close to his cylinder of a torso.

He never liked giving Krita bad news, because it always made Krita sad.

"Krita thought Krita told the nesters to be careful where nesters put the eggs? Krita picked the watchers for watching because watching means smelling bad so Krita's community don't get eaten even once more than needed? The eggs are important, Right-Hand! Krita's community needs to look after the eggs!"

"Right-Hand knows it No-Excuses-For-Realsies, but Krita's community has been walking for days with no sign of Golby the Biggs and the promised ship, thanks?? Too much stress and no room on the waddling thing so there's too many eggs and too many Bobblings and it smells really bad everywhere, No-Excuses-For-Realsies! All the community is asking for is a week off, so maybe Krita can maybe just tell Golby the Biggs to build the crew another time, thanks?? Please, No-Excuses-For-Realsies...?"

Krita tapped his chin, a handsome flap of meat that accentuated his charmingly spherical frog-face. With scarf billowing in the mild breeze, he had to confess that Right-Hand Bobbling had a point (though he would never admit it out loud).

They had been travelling non-stop for days, and the feedback from the rest of the community had been exceptionally less-positive than normal. Rations were running low, the rate of eggs eventually becoming egged was way too high, and with only one carrot left for their ride there were fears that they'd be forced to veer wildly off-course if it had to go looking for its own food.

That or walk, and Krita had grown used to striding across the world on a giant machine-beast of his own discovery, even if they had stolen it using their carrots. Which they had also stolen.

All in all, it was an awful situation, and Dozing was such a lovely place to doze...

But then Krita smelt it. Saw it. Felt it.

What had panicked the watchers, and what everyone else would be panicking about as well as soon as they could distinguish the scent amidst the noise. Just out of view besides his perch atop the waddling thing, just beyond a particularly conveniently shaped piece of rock that Krita would probably have put down to divine intervention if Bobblings were inclined to believe in gods beyond their own mind-blowing capacity for following simple instructions that made them the true inheritors of the world.

"REST THE WADDLING THING! REST IT, SO SAYS KRITA!" he screamed in the quiet language of his kind, and the entire community stopped their chattering and stinking with immediate effect. To a non-Bobbling, of course, the sound would be practically inaudible from any notable distance, but to the Bobblings it was really quite stunning.

The carrot team reared the carrot, and with awkward disappointment they failed to stop their carriage from effortlessly snatching it up to eat. It tended not to walk around for a while when it ate, though, so Krita was thankful.

He had bought them time, and maybe that would be enough to save their lives.

For there, just out of sight of the main body of the community's noble steed, in a wide open clearing, stood a pair of terrible giants. Krita desperately held in his breath, afraid of even daring to move for fear that they might be exposed.

"What... what is it Krita?"

"Right-Hand Bobbling, it's the biggest and most monstrous biggs any Bobbling has ever seen, like an ugly bug thing, except it probably wouldn't even taste good?? Krita is happy Krita discovered it and also Krita is preparing two dramatic speeches, one in case the waddling thing spends enough time eating for Krita to think of a clever and daring plan or Golby the Biggs shows up."

Right-Hand gulped, grabbers shaking.

"And, No-Excuses-For-Realsies, the other one?"

"Well, Right-Hand, Krita needs Right-Hand to pass on the message for Krita's community to prepare to run or burrow for every single life and egg as quietly as possible, because if the big dumb waddling thing does something big and dumb and loud or Krita's community does something not big but also dumb and loud, Krita's speech will be about how brave and dumb and fun every Bobbling was and hopes that the survivors find a new king who is the Second Best Boss Ever, No-Excuses-For-Realsies, to go and make the special Bobbling Kingdom in the special peaceful place, just like Krita promised, okay?"

...

Right-Hand just nodded, waddling off as fast as his stumps would let him to warn the others, and Krita stroked his chin.

The odds were not in his favour, but he had the beginnings of a plan...

There was no response to her offer of friendship.

Big baby blues stared up at the Big Fella. Her head tilted a bit, a querying look falling over that youthful looking face. Lucky could not sense if the multi-limbed being was in discomfort, lost, content or any emotion at all really. Normally, while she was purring she would get a sense of how the others near her would be feeling; Lucky could gage whether or not she was able to impress upon the others her own happiness. But with the Big Fella here...? This being was rather enigmatic and intriguing to say the least.

Then all at once she felt that prying sensation once more and instantly her purr-song ended. Instinctively, she 'stuffed-up' the spaces in her mind that a person with telepathic powers, a Programmer as she knew them, would attempt to breach. To Lucky, it felt like wave after wave of invasive liquids attempting to flood, to drown out her own thoughts and feelings. Internally, she steeled herself, and once she felt the intensity of the wave reach peak point, she pushed back at the wave. And once more, the pressure inside her body increased and she was going to burst another blood vessel in her nose.

But soon it passed and he did not have to push back so hard against the telepathic wave from the Big Fella. And thusly there was no second nose bleed.

_{"Ummm... no. No, Dots. Din't think o' that actually..."} she whispered to the regally posed cat strapped up on her hip. _{"Next time then, girlie. Next time..."}

And so onto the blue-silver grass did the girl kneel, big baby blues still trained on the face area of the Big Fella. Once more her head tilted a bit as her mind fell into wondering. If he had no mouth and could not speak... then could he eat? And what would a giant bug-like person with no mouth eat anyways?

The bits and baubles that adorned the Big Fella's head protrusions clicked and clacked almost musically as he turned his head to the skies, eyes closed. Then all at once she felt that prying sensation once more and again, instictively her defenses went to work but this time she did not push back. Instead she started up her purr-song.

It was like magic.

No, she could not know the message that was relayed, but the tone, the 'colour' of the message she could sense. She could feel it; he was being gentle.

The invasive waves ceased once more and hot liquid welled up in those big baby blues. All she ever knew of those waves attempting to flood her mind was feelings of terror, pain, anguish and frustration. This was the first time someone sending her a wave had been gentle. So gentle.

Hastily she wiped at her eyes, turning away as she did. She did not want to let the Big Fella see her as a vulnerable and worthless thing. When she was done cleaning up her face, she turned back to the Big Fella and flashed him a grin.

"I don't know if ya can hears or understand me, Big Fella... but I thiiink--" she cut herself off to take a nerve-calming breath before continuing, "--no and nay again, not think. I know yer not one of them. And even if we can't be friends, mister, at least this here Lucky lass knows ya don't means me n' Dotsies no harm. And that do be good enough for us, it do, Big Fella. Aye, and again aye."

A wink and nod she tossed his way, still 'purr-songin' for him. Big baby blues watched as the Big Fella lowered his strange, yet majestic form to the silvery-blue grass beneath them. Slowly she rose from her kneeling pose. Then softly, yet unerringly, Lucky slinked on over near him. Once more she looked up at him, flashed another smile, wink and nod, then promptly she too lowered herself onto the grass. Her smaller lithe form curled up comfortably beside one of the Big Fella's huge legs.

_{"Fiiiiine then, Dotsies... you were right. Fine then, girlie? Now hush..."}

And so once more she slumbered, this time in the silvery-grass, hidden in his looming shadow. Midnight hued eyebrows slanted away, at full contentment. Serenity graced her small pale face as she lay there, tucked away by his side, out of sight from prying eyes of those that would pass, like say, the eyes of the little mob of curious walking mushroom people and their even more curiouser mushroom people's 'noble steed.' Pity she missed such a fantastic yet mind-numbing sight. But she was quite fast asleep but quick.

No, she did not dream, she never did, but rather she drifted along to the wave of the Big Fella's humming. And for the first time in a long time the 'prompts' of her sleepy-thinking thoughts were stilled.

A fragrant breeze played with the beads that swung delicately from The Witnessed Day's antlers, while 'birds' spoke in gentle tones. Such was the lullaby for Whisper and Lucky, while the clouds drifted lazy overhead. A thin shadow crossed over them, cast by Stone's moving dark obelisk as she navigated the maze of crumbled walls. The waddling-thing panted quietly in the shadow of a leaning pillar, its eyes on a dangling carrot, while the bobblings chittered with barely a whisper.

The pillar shifted slightly, a threat that it may soon fall upon the waddling-thing and its passengers.

Whisper would feel the low rumble, a slight tremble, of the broken rock upon which he lay.

Somewhere among the broken ruins, something squeaked and snapped and cracked against metal.

The 'birds' had stopped making sound.

For a few strained moments, silence hung waiting over the ruins.

A low sound rumbled beneath their feet.

"What happened to the radio?"

Golby stood poised atop a high angle between a severed mech-arm and a collapsed wall. He was cloaked and armored in rust-colored weatherproof traveling-clothes, high boots and a tall hat, pointed sunglasses glinting. A bulging sack of doughnuts was slung over a shoulder, while the other hand held a H.O.B.O. bright with a hologram display of the surrounding landscape.

The ruins shuddered.

"PUT IT BACK!" Golby screeched in a high panic as he broke into a scurrying shuffle down the angled wall. "Turn it on, turn it up, put it back, quickly now, put it back put it back put it --"

The sound roared again, thundering in their skulls.

The pillar crashed to the ground, narrowly missing the waddling-thing that had leaped away in time. All around them, broken things were tipping and cracking and dropping precariously close to where they stood or lay.

Around the perimeter of the ruins, something flickered.

Out of empty air, like the static of an ancient television, flashes of fur and scale and bone fizzled into existence -- until, within moments, a massive, gray-white monstrosity was revealed out of its invisible slumber.

It roiled and raised its bony spines -- each as tall as a building -- growling low and horrible. Quick as a skyscraper-sized cobra, the beast launched into the air and struck the highest point of the ruins with a hammering blow of its long muzzle, raining rock and broken metal down upon the travelers. Its shadow cast dark upon them as it snarled and snaked through the air, angrily striking down again and again in a magnificent determination to pulverize every scrap of stone or machine still standing.

The thief wasn't entirely oblivious to the happenings around him. He could feel the presence of other people, or rather... sentient beings arriving around him. Girl with a floating pillar, big bug thing, cat girl... The rest of his crew he assumed. The boy, however, was far too lazy to get up and start making introductions to everyone, even more so after he found this cozy spot to rest at. They would eventually meet up at some point or the other, so he was not too worried on this matter. Now was the time for some minutes of a long deserved rest. His eyes started to close behind his mask almost immediately as Whisper came to that decision, as if he trained himself to sleep on command, and his consciousness slowly drifted away into the land where he reigned supreme.

Now, where did I last left off?

His wishes didn't come to pass, though, as the thief very distinctly felt the ground tremble beneath him. With alarm, he sat up, dissatisfied with being interrupted in the middle of his slumber. However, he very soon noticed the peculiar silence that settled itself on the ruins as the bird-things around him stopped chirping out of nowhere. Whisper started getting up to investigate the matter until he heard a sound that made him stop mid-action. A roar.

Huh? From below?

A distinct sense of fear spread from the very pit of his stomach, as cold sweat drenched his back for apparently no reason. From all his years stealing and risking his life against deadly folk while doing it, Whisper had developed a very keen sense of danger that warned him when he should run away from somewhere or something immediately. Some might have called him paranoid and craven for always acting on this impulse, but the thief thought the words smart and alive were more suitable instead. With no delay, he made to get up again and find somewhere to hide, before the ruins shuddered once more and he proceeded to unceremoniously fall off the broken pillar and into his back on the ground below with a thud, his leather bag absorbing most of the impact. It was then that he heard the panicked voice.

Put it back?... Oh crap.

He barely had the time to reorganize his thoughts before the roar came again. Not the low sound, but instead one so loud that made him want to cover his ears almost instinctively. Pieces of the already dilapidated ruin started to fall off around him, and the thief wasted no time before getting up and running with urgency to take cover. After moving to a more safe and open area, Whisper finally took the time to look back, and for sure, he almost wished he hadn't stopped running. A monster, a big one too, appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the air on the other end of the ruins. Big as a description did not do its size credit, though. Gargantuan sounded far more appropriate. It was one of the biggest creatures the thief had ever seen in his life and he would have been just fine with not partaking in the experience, much more so when the monster in question was in a berserk state and keen on destroying everything around it.

The boy didn't have much time to ponder on his bad luck, though, as pieces of debris flew through the air and started falling around him, scattering dust everywhere. He quickly put himself into a run once again, trying to go as far away from the ruin as possible, while keeping attention to the falling stone and metal, dodging many of them by a hair's breadth but still with seemingly enough foresight and skill to never be hit by anything. It was then, in his moment of deeply fearing for his life that he remembered what the hidden figure had said before all hell broke loose. The radio of course! All he had to do was turn it back on and perhaps the creature would stop doing what it was doing.

Having come up with a solution to his current predicament, Whisper slung the bag over from his shoulder and fumbled around it in search of the electronic device. It didn't take him more than 5 seconds to find it and pull it out, even while running for his life. With relief, the thief looked at the radio and was just about to turn it on when he noticed that something was wrong with how it currently looked. Taking another glance at his bag, he noticed a dripping liquid as well as a wet spot that had formed around the bottom of it. He screamed in frustration.

The bioplasm battery! The casing is shattered... Why did you have to make it glass out of all things?!

"I need another battery!" Whisper screamed at the top of his lungs in his robotic voice hoping to be heard by someone over the sound of falling debris. "Something that can hold electricity! Anything!"

The formation of a plan began to crack, the earth itself cutting through Krita's thoughts as the awakened beast roared and the world seemed to tumble out of control far quicker than he'd hoped for.

The earth sundered, the pillars folding and collapsing, the sun itself seemingly overwhelmed as the great serpent rose and the folding of the shadows forced the peaceful Dozing to awaken with an ancient, alien fury. The waddling thing, suddenly brought to its senses and panicking, side-stepped and awkwardly dodged its way around the chaos.

The Bobblings clung for dear life, a few of their kind with weaker arms falling and being crushed with equal certainty, the ground becoming stained with the muck of splattered eggs.

But Krita did not cower. Krita did not allow his fear to cloud his judgement, the ringing in his cap not preventing his will, his spirit, from finding the pace of the situation. Eyes narrowing, he watched as the stranger with a triangle for a face charged down the incline, screaming something about 'turning it on'.

Another voice, nearly lost amongst the mayhem, cried out for batteries. 'Anything that can hold electricity'?

"Golby the Biggs?"

He rubbed his grabbers together, the wind rushing through his scarf as he grabbed hold of the railing with his left hand, the waddling thing's panicked rampage proving more and more unstable with every step. The other giants, now reacting and scattering in their own ways to the unfolding chaos, were clearly distracted.

Was this his moment?

He sent a brief call through the community, a chirp that rang through the crowded waddling thing. As one the community nodded, rummaging through the chaos of the waddling thing, through their rooms and chambers.

"Come on, gibbit! Krita needs the Shocking Thing!"

"Right-o, right-o...!" the others mumbled in unison.

With a sudden heave, the tiny battery - essentially a bright-red potato hooked up to a light-bulb - flew through the air. Krita smiled, a quick thumbs up to his family, and as with one breath he leapt from the railing, snatching the battery and cushioning it against himself, hitting the ground with a soft and inaudible roll. Like a freshly baked muffin dropped at a picnic he came to a steady rest, and then, with only enough hesitation to pose dramatically, he charged into the chaos.

Agility was not his strong suit, but any giant could tell you that a Bobbling on a mission was a Bobbling in a hurry. With the spirit of a hero, Krita's stumpy legs carried his soft, delicious body across the field, dodging and weaving around the plummeting chaos.

The Bobblings would hold fast in his absence, the command simple - escape, and survive. Krita, No-Excuses-For-Realsies would give his life to stop this madness if need be.

...

First he just had to figure out what needed to be turned on.

Her breathing remained normal even with the sprint she just went through. Small bursts of expending energy was something she did frequently and with enough to spend inside her body, feeling tired or being out of breaths didn't happen all that much. As Stone languidly walked towards nowhere with Cradle in tow, a deep rumble underground made the surface quake.

She looked down and took a deep gulp of air. Nothing smelled bad, so it wasn't a particularly strong fart - thinking on it carefully, how and why would a fart cause such rumbling? - and she looked upward instead.

The flying nebula that weren't fond of her all but vanished. This made her examine the area closer, her eyes would pick up any slight change if she willed it to. A four-legged something walked by in the periphery of her vision. Maybe a nebula animal of sorts... She took a few steps in its direction when all came crashing down. Pillars fell and Stone gradually lost ground she'd be able to keep herself remain upright. Instinct overtook her and all her tattoos glowed.

Her hooded jacket emitted light on its openings like mild spotlights and the cloth itself took on an orange glow. Stone's feet left the ground, her gravitating toward the Cradle.

With a roar, a magnificent and ambiguously appetizing yet frightening beast emerged from the chaos that made her flee. Going back to where she came from seemed viable but then, her intentions of traveling to this place was that so she could have something to call home and that she'd maybe acquire a job. With her eating habits and carelessness, she needed people with her and sustenance, preferably earned by herself - or even better, given for free.

Absurd thoughts raced in her mind as the colossal monster rose and rose. Stone on direct contact with Cradle appeared like a girl holding on a glow splattered pillar for dear life.

"What the..."

Little by little, Stone and Cradle levitated away from destruction and death. She could try and bite the beast - finally eating something and gaining energy - but she doubted she'd survive it lashing out at her. Leaving was a most appropriate choice to but then, she'd ran out of things she'd spend her time on. Eating at establishments with so little finances left and an ever lingering presence of hunger that only intensified through time was an even worse predicament than being in this monstrosity's presence.

"Ah! Yes! I'll just go there."

Stone started but stopped proceeding to the four-legged thing she spied earlier and listened. Intently.

Turn it put... on? Something electricity? What?

The words hadn't registered in her head, what with the noise and sheer rampaging of the beast. She moved in line with her decision - to the odd four-legged thing. And there she went head and left.

---

---

A thing had manifested from the air, its form becoming grossly apparent to any form blessed with eyes. The Witnessed Day did not bother to stand immediately. If he was to die here, death could wait. His unwieldy form took too long to stand, anyways, so he was forced to take his sweet time regardless of the situation at hand. He lazily turned his head toward the commotion (which was not so far away), and blinked with the weight of his daydream pushing his eyelids. Had he the anatomy for it, he would have sighed, having hoped for no more walk-thoughts.

The Witnessed Day briefly entertained the idea that perhaps this in itself was a daydream, and closed his eyes again. He tried to find the frequency of the feathered nebulae, but ultimately had noise forced into his brain by whatever abomination lurked outside of himself. He was discontent with this fact, and glared (as best as he could, at least) at the fact that he would now have to stand. And so, he stood, his yellow robes making him look like an all-too-quick (and all-too-mistimed) sun rise. He figured he would simply walk away from the situation, find somewhere else to lay down, and hopefully have some pleasant daydreams.

The Witnessed Day stood, his mind unable to think any thoughts aside from leg-thoughts, and began to walk away from the whole situation. Oh, but the whole thing was such a blatant assault on his senses. Eye static was the only thing that came to mind. From his position, he could see a few different shapes – lesser beings, all of them – but there was only one shape which could keep his attention, and at that, for all the wrong reasons. What if it decided to fly overhead as he were cloudgazing? Something had to be done.

Standing was such a hassle. The Witnessed Day felt like the ground was falling beneath him. His head thrummed as a headache knocked on his skull. Such an unpleasant sound made it unbearable to think, he thought. Still, he carried on, his hands building a tower of irritable signs as he did so. His legs carried him forth, but the direction was still mostly aimless. He was genuinely unsure of how to help, and he had so little time to think about it. The noise knocking on his skull reminded him of a vagrant he had once met in the Wilds. A winged thing, jumping from branch to branch, watching things he ought not have, necessitating quick thinking. So, he tried that.

Quick walk-thoughts gave him some breathing room – he could think three or four steps ahead, and that meant that ahead of those he could think of other things. He had not yet mastered this technique, so he was only capable of two thoughts before having to think walk-thoughts. One, two, three, four – big shape – one, two, three, four – falling rock. One, two, three, four – “PUT IT BACK” – one, two, three, four, - so tired. Each step led him a little closer to something, but he wasn’t sure what it was. The Witnessed Day listened, but he could not focus on what noises entered his brain, so he couldn’t turn away the thoughts of batteries or radios.

And that was when he saw it, running heroically toward the same destination-less place as he – a bobbling. He decided to trail after it, though he did not run in such a hurried manner, instead opting for a leisurely walking place. If a rock hit him, he would simply dream that it didn’t. (He had never tried that before, but he assumed it would work.) The thing fascinated him, but as his fascination grew, his interest in stopping the current chaos declined. Such was the folly of the sleep deprived. As he passed by stones which landed near him, he would thank them for not crushing him. He doubted they could hear him, but they deserved the thanks. As for the thing flying about, the eye static which caused more noise in his brain than the noise it produced, an idea struck: he’d remember the noise he had heard before it awoke, and think the remembrance to it. Still too focused on walking to think with any precision, anyone within thinking distance was assaulted with the calls of feathered nebulae.

It was not the rumbling beneath her nor was it the stirring of the Big Fella that woke her. No, it was the cries of the winged nebulae that set off the alarms blaring inside her head. A large dark trianguar ear twitched, both large eyes opened, vertical pupils narrowed and in less than a heartbeat Lucky was up and in a readied stance. Some being was yelling from just yonder. A perking of ears and a bit of a querying head tilt. "No, Dots... nary an inkling on what to 'put back.' But hold tongue a titch, girlie..."

A slow scan of the surrounding environ did not allieviate her elevated heart rate. She saw the maddened be-spectacled stranger scampering down the fallen wall, but her attention quickly shifted elsewhere. The Big Fella was floundering to get into motion and it seemed he was headed towards those little things. A predatory sneer flashed sharp ivory teeth. _"Vermin..."

Lucky felt a knee-jerk reaction-- animal instinct, really-- to extend her claws, give chase and murder the mushroomy things. But such a reaction was easily restrained, especially with the materialization of the aeriel behemoth. Once more the colour of those baby blues were choked out; once more they darkened, opening up the hues of the abyssal pit.

They had found her. They were going to take her back.

Small, yet powerful legs catapulted her away. There was no way she was ever going back. She would flee; flee past the outskirts of Dozing, flee past the outer boundaries and pay whatever the rotted-tooth skiff flyer wanted to get as far away from her persuers--

The crashing and bashing and breaking of the ruins only raised her panic to flee, but the falling debris that bounced off her skull knocked quick sense into her. She was going to leave someone behind. Yet again. "NO! Never again!!"

Instantly Lucky did a 180 degree turn and bolted back to where she had left him, "Big Fella! Oi! This Lucky lass her be comin' back fer ya' doncha worries none!! _{...now who else be yammering on now-- electricity... wut?"}

Lucky scrambled back towards the bug-like being, narrowly missing a collision with a female of some sort and her floating... shapey-thing? "Beg pardon n' excuse meself, missy...!" The cat-girl tugged politely at the brim of a phantom cap upon her head before nimbly leaping to her left, darkened cloak chasing her motion. She landed on a wall then small yet powerful legs pushed off and she leapt and landed onto overhang after overhang of ruined wall. She finally ened her ascent and held position; Lucky was now crouched low at the end of a metal girder. It protruded out of a building like a broken rib bursting from a giant's abdomen.

From her vantage point she could see the Big Fella lumbering away, seemingly giving chase to an isolated mushroomy vermin. The vermin itself held something red and aglow in its... mitten-stumps? The little thing bumbled on heading towards the bespectacled stranger and another being. This other was masked and holding up some kind of drippy box.

Oh, the vermin would make it there but it would be to little avail, deemed Lucky. For it seemed, by her estimation, that the aerial behemoth was snaking around and perhaps headed in their direction.

"INCOMING!! OI!! YOU LOT!! GET OUTTA THE WAY!! SHE BE COMING DOWN IN ON YOUS!! INCOMING!!"

Lucky was jumping up and down, yelling loudly, waving her hands towards the threat in the skies; one hand was all bandaged up and the other held a white fluffy feline, stuck in its eternal yet elegant, regal pose. "I say, Dotsies, ya gots to be louder this go round, girlie...!"

Were Krita's strange cake-heart not pounding in his chest like so much a frightened rat, perhaps he would've paused to think more on the situation. The red-hot potato-battery's surprising potency stinging his hands and chest, and with hindsight - were he to be so lucky as to have some - would probably have realized quite so many flaws with his actions.

Bobblings were not known for the quantity of their guts, but something could at times be said for the quality of them.

Don't look back, Krita mustn't look back - get the battery to Golby.

All around him the world itself seemed to be collapsing, but with surprising speed he could tell he was making progress, the shouts of the stranger in the chaos ringing out louder and louder. There, up ahead, a figure clad in red - and up the hill, a familiar if distant image, straight from the HOBO, was making its way to the same spot.

With the hope in his heart, he allowed himself to waver, just for a second, and turned his head.

He hadn't made a mistake so severe in a long time.

There, looming behind him, was the rapid march of the monstrous insect from before, no doubt having spotted a quick and easy snack. Behind it and to the side was another giant, a feline figure, crying out after the 'big fella', with something resembling hunger on her face. And as she shouted her warnings, far above them the sight of the god-snake loomed terrible and angry with hunger...

Well, admittedly, most giants - of all stripes and relative giant-ness - looked perpetually hungry. It seemed to be a curse of sorts. This was not surprising, and in a way was comforting. He hadn't made this daring run with the idea that he had a high chance of survival...

But in the midst of turning his head, he saw the frightful sight. As the waddling thing awkwardly stumbled to safety, a third giant - followed by some sort of ominous rock, quite a bit more ominous than the ordinary, gravity-affected rocks that were currently crashing down around them all. This third giant, otherwise unassuming by giant standards, was slowly but steadily pursuing the waddling thing.

And it was catching up.

His eyes widened as his chest burned tighter, the smell of burning mushroom meat slowly wafting behind him.

"What should... what should Krita do?? Krita did this for Krita's community, but-"

...

Something smaller and more inconspicuous than a Bobbling, something faint, fell out from under his stump-foot, and his weight - light as it was - gave out. The potato battery 'flew' through the air with all the force of a small damp rag, hitting the ground with the gentlest of thumps and rolling away from him towards the giant in red.

He himself tumbled awkwardly to the side like some sort of loose desert weed, a chunk of hefty rubble plummeting down to land with a crash between himself and the battery.

As his consciousness bounced throughout his form, he desperately watched the steady, imminent demise of everything he'd built.

Whisper's shout for a battery drew the response of a running muffin and a potato.

The great monolith, with Stone attached, narrowly avoided being sideswiped by the monstrosity on its way to Witnessed Day's side.

Each of their skulls was promptly filled with the bright chirps and warbles of the 'birds', helpfully jamming their thoughts.

Lucky's shout of warning rang out over the crashing snarls as the behemoth darted for the Bobbling.

The potato rolled and Krita tumbled.


The monster lunged for the shining potato -- but at the last moment Krita lost his balance and plummeted. The beast pulverized a marble wall instead, collapsing the platform upon which Lucky stood. Broken chunks of marble rained down on The Witnessed Day, narrowly missing him, while the beast's turning shadow fell upon Whisper. the monster was heading straight for Stone, attracted by the bright shine of Cradle and her etched jacket.

Golby took a leaping dive, arms outstretched. He caught Krita in a gloved hand, scooped up the potato and rolled away just before a wall of marble shattered on the ground where the Bobbling had only a moment ago been. He leaped up on top of the same marble and raised his head, confused for a teetering split-second by the chirps and birdsong echoing in his head. "Heads up!" he shouted, and he produced a strange harmony of high-pitched whistles to grab Whisper's attention before he tossed the potato underhanded to the masked holder of the radio.

He dropped Krita into a deep pocket -- with a few loose coins, a jagged curved tooth, a microfiber cloth and a shoelace -- and went back in search of his bag of doughnuts (which he soon found unharmed beneath a leaning pillar).

Meanwhile, should Whisper be successful in jamming said potato into the battery casing, the radio would immediately emit a deafening static noise to rival the birdsong in their heads.

The monster flung itself at Cradle and Stone, but barely missed them once again. It spun in midair for another pass, angrier this time, determined to smash them both to pieces.

With a little fiddling (or just a good smack) the song began to play again, blasting high and loud.

The behemoth made a deft turn in the air, avoiding Stone entirely. Its spines shuddered and drooped. The rumbling and growling and roaring had stopped. Like a child placated with a pacifier, the beast let out a long sigh and swirled in slow, gentle figure-eights over the ruins, turning to the beat of the music.

While the monster's shadow shifted lazily overhead, Golby found another place to stand that was high enough that everyone would see him and didn't seem as if it would crumble under his weight. "That was a fine display of teamwork!" he called out over the song, the bag slung over a shoulder once more. "Welcome, new crewmates! I'm Golby, your captain. And this," he gestured magnificently to the leviathan that blocked the light, "is the Helium Frightful! I'm sure we'll all get along famously! Who wants doughnuts?"

As Stone floated closer and closer to the strange four-legged thing, a hooded person almost bumped into her and what hooked Stone’s attention was in the manner in the person spoke. Her-her, yes, the voice seemed feminine. The way she spoke he words, cut them short, it was… interesting. But she couldn’t eat that and so she brushed it off and took the Cradle with her and headed to her main destination.

With the other person heading to where she too headed, Stone sped herself up. In the distance, there was a small figure – object or nebula? – that proceeded with hurried steps toward somewhere. With herself tuned to follow the four-legged thing, muting the great beast was easy and only took a slight glance at the small red thing rushing somewhere.

It didn’t go as intended, though. With the great beast going in for a dive, Stone effectively pasted herself and Cradle skin to metal. The two could be even mistaken for a singular entity with how she held it tight. This time, the flying beast made itself target the hungry, pillar-hugging woman. She shrieked and sped some more, pushing herself forward like an enormous but heavily slowed-down bullet.

It missed her, and whether it was due to her panicked dodge or the beast missing her for some other reason, Stone heaved a deep breath before resuming her chase. The four-legged strangeness was still there – alive and not squashed but in place for earlier curiosity was more as she saw the tiny things akin to the sprinting one she saw just a few moments earlier.

They looked… delicious.

A song played and the beast ceased its rampage, a man atop a make-shift pedestal giving a pronouncement like some sort of herald. Teamwork?

She idly floated by and stood when her stomach growled loudly. She really was hungry she’d eat anything resembling some sort of edible-ness. At the sight of the offered food, Stone gladly removed herself from being plastered and hanging for her life on the Cradle and got two of the donuts.

”Food. FINALLY!”

---