[b]Mosaic![/b]

"The first shape of anger is to conceal your anger," said Hera.

[i]She never let it show. She never let the monster boiling beneath the surface show even for a second. She crushed it back and smiled. She poured tea and tended her bonsai. So patient, so calm! She never raised her voice, she never shouted, she never raged. She was only ever disappointed. 

But that did not mean she was not angry.

There were certain things an Assassin could never say or do. Political reliability is essential, a lack of ambition, a lack of impulsivity. She was good at wearing the mask, even though it made bile raise in her throat. But she learned that other things could be done with that bile. A harsh word, a disappointed glare - if you were powerful enough and/or beloved enough you did not need to do much to break a heart or fill someone with terrified anxiety. Sometimes you didn't even need to do that - you just needed to break your pattern. Leave a breakfast early. Take a long walk. Plant a seed and let it grow and your victim would tear themselves apart for hours after hours after hours wondering what you meant, how bad it really was, how badly they'd damaged something you'd made precious to them.

A maid learned this kind of anger too.[/i]

[b]Ember![/b]

The electric storm ignites again but this time your Plover does not die. Bolt after bolt strikes you as you take your bearings, coursing through the metal frame and out through the cable, null energy again and again without effect. Electrical death is nothing compared to the firehose of power from which you now drink.

It's only incidental that your nervous system has to deal with thunderbolts of null energy coursing through it from every direction. Doctor Ceron, in her wisdom, designed for that. It's quite simple, you see: when a Ceronian is electrically overloaded then their brain shuts off entirely and they become an instinct engine of hormones, chemicals and pheromones. It's a berserker trance; an eternal moment of empty mind and designer instinct.

Better hope you're pointed in the right direction.

[Damage your Sense]

[b]Dyssia![/b]

[b]That [/b]gets their attention. 

The entire flock pulls away from the other Knights, away from the Reactor itself, away from every other priority and objective to come after you. After all, you are the Azura Knight - the one real person amidst all these rogue servitors, the inciting incident, the greatest prize. All of these other creatures mean nothing against you. Without you, they will be leaderless and lost.

And so they close in on you with nets and ropes. They bind you in chains and set their thrusters to maximum and tear away back towards the [i]Slitted[/i]. It limps in the far distance, a broken eye, surrounded by frenzied moons that try to patch the scars you gave it.

You will, of course, be afforded the courtesy of a Knight. That means you will be taken to meet the the Crystal Knight.

[b]Dolce![/b]

"Oh, forgive the confusion," said 20022 modestly, taking a bow. "I was under the impression that you were following me because you were still interested in joining the Service. Of course, I'll have the Architect deposit you back on Beri after he has finished resonance mining the area around your home. I'll even put in to have your establishment rebuilt, not a splinter out of place."

It was remarkable, how someone could be polite and even nice, and not even a little bit [i]good[/i].