Enigmatik

Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk. VI

There was a fountain in the palace.

Or, to be more accurate, there was a sculpture in the palace, located in one of its many gardens. It was structured like a fountain, the varied fish that sat around the central column sat with mouths agape and spouts in their mouth, but the basin was dry, barren. Empty. One of the shards had shattered over this fountain, and as the Monarch of All cut off the primordial energy He had so generously provided to the shards, something miraculous began to happen.

It began with a gurgle. Then a few bubbles burst forth, spluttering out and splashing down shimmering droplets onto the parched stone. Then, slowly, rivulets of water began to surge forth, spilling down in even arcs, arcs that grew and grew with every passing moment. Soon, the spouts were spewing water out, splashing across the earth and then into the air.

Then, with a tremendous crack, the central podium of the fountain burst. Marble exploded outwards, shards of white stone fanning out like a bomb had been set off. In the centre of the column, the water gushed upwards, defying gravity as it sat, suspended in the air. The water swirled and rushed about, frothing and rising, until at last it split itself from the remnants of the central column and moved.

Ao-Yurin had been born.

The figure of water took a moment to appreciate themselves. Water crashed about, rising up into a curling arm that twisted about, as if being analysed. The figure swayed this way and that, waves crashing around but always pulled back into the centre, held together by divine force. The figure turned and looked towards the Monarch of All, then left the light.

From the depths of Galbar's surface, a primordial force stirred. Ao-Yurin felt their form's edges become hazy, light bleeding from their vision as they raised up their form, and the water began to rise. To any other god, such a tremendous amount of water would have been crippling, and although indeed they could feel themselves taxed, this was their role. The world needed water, and Ao-Yurin would provide a flood that nothing could withstand.

In just a few moments the puddle they had been standing in had increased in size tenfold. It rushed out from their form, a wave that began to rise up, higher and higher in height, rushing across the uneven surface of the world. As Ao-Yurin's form grew in height and stature, the water's power increased, the wave racing faster and faster, higher and higher, chasing its crest but never managing to reach its. The water grew still, now a pool, then a spring, then an oasis, then a lake. The wave was now higher than anything the land had to offer, overtaking any hill or mountain and overwhelming any gully or valley.

Still more water flowed. Triumph surged through Ao-Yurin, as on the opposite side of the planet from whence they stood, the four rushing waves came together, taller than anything that would be seen on Galbar again, and crashed into each other. The force from such an impact shattered the form of each of the waves, sending a spray of water up into the sky and another great ripple back towards Ao-Yurin. Even as the waves clashed, Ao-Yurin continued, more and more water pouring forth from nothing until at last the skies themselves became so saturated that they could not hold themselves back, and began to gush with water as well.

Then, Galbar was only the water, dark and deep, blanketing the world in the liquid from which it would be born.

And Ao-Yurin looked down upon the sea, and saw that it was good.

Summary

Ao-Yurin is born, and immediately sets to work on flooding the world. Galbar is now entirely covered in water and shrouded in vast and heavy rainclouds.

Vigor

It would cost 4 vigor to flood the world, but Ao-Yurin has drawn some of their energy from the crystal that is to become Sala.

Starting Vigor: 10
Ending Vigor: 7

Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk. VI

Ao-Yurin, Ruler of Water

Ao-Yurin

The Wellspring
Ruler of Water
The Roiling One
The Fickle Deity
Master of the Seas

Aspect

Water

Imagine, if you will, a world without water. An unending desert, bereft of life, bereft of moisture. This would be the world without Ao-Yurin. When the world is young, it is Ao-Yurin that floods everything to make the seas, rivers and lakes. The water cycle as well falls under their domain, the deity ensuring that groundwater can seep up to the lakes, be driven down into the sea, and evaporate up into the clouds. They are there with every seeded thunderstorm, every flowing river, and each wave that crashes against a beach.

Although their domain is not cold, Ao-Yurin does have a love for the more frozen regions of the world. Ice and snow are, after all, but water in different forms, and Ao-Yurin is more than happy to supply a bounteous amount of their water to be transformed into a frozen wonderland. That being said, the deity strays away from changing water itself. Changing its form, be it poison or potion is not something that they ever dabble in. The one exception to this is a change not from the deity themselves, but instead from another- Sala.

Ao-Yurin’s favour can be curried for a wide variety of boons. Those who desire fertile fields and smooth sailing alike must make their case to the deity, as does anyone wishing to avoid their overwhelming fury.

Persona

Ao-Yurin’s personality has been complicated by Sala. Whether or not the goddess intended it, as soon as salt and water mixed, Ao-Yurin went from a cohesive whole to two quite different halves, matching the two kinds of water most commonly found on planets with intelligent life.

On the one hand, there is the deity’s freshwater side. Nourishing, kind and gentle, freshwater sustains life, soothes injury and slakes thirst, this freshwater although their freshwater side has all the same power as their saltwater side does, freshwater is far less likely to put their most terrible powers into action.

On the other hand, there is Ao-Yurin’s saltwater side. Although not a split personality per say, the two sides of Ao-Yurin are distinct enough that a god will know relatively quickly which mood the deity is in should they have course to interact with them. Ao-Yurin’s saltwater side draws from Sala’s personality. They are capricious and demanding. Although few petition this side, in an ironic twist, saltwater can often be more attentive to requests than freshwater, for there is little more a capricious deity enjoys more than seeing mortals prostrate before them, begging.

There are several features that both moods share, however. Ao-Yurin is, as a rule, patient and stubborn. Water forces the land to move around it, not the other way around, and if it is not accommodated for adequately, it’ll often aggressively spill out. So too will Ao-Yurin, who despite their patience will not hesitate to raise up a wave tall enough to crush the domains of other gods if they ignore them for too long.

Mortal Form

Ao-Yurin has several mortal forms, depending on their mood and what they intend to do. For interacting with mortal races on their own terms, they tend to take the form of a triton, the mortal race most closely associated with them. Already androgynous, with little sexual dimorphism, Ao-Yurin takes this to its logical end, dressed in the clothes of a simple triton fisher.
When they are in a more destructive bent, Ao-Yurin’s favourite form to take is that of a colossal sea-dragon, capable of shattering ships or riding stormfronts to lay waste to those that have displeased them.

True Form

A frothing, roiling, ever-in-motion form of water and foam, constantly turning and twisting with each movement they take. Sometimes identifiable shapes are created, a face or a humanoid body, but to take this as what Ao-Yurin looks like is a fool's errand for the next moment these features will shift or disappear, their form swirling like the waves that they control do. The form has no real upper limits, when forming in a mortal realm gazing upon this form is ‘safe,’ for it is composed of water that Ao-Yurin drags into their form: should they be sufficiently displeased, they can drain an ocean to create a titan of water that scrapes the sky.

Musical theme

Take Your Pick

Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk. VI

Ao-Yurin Updated

Ao-Yurin

The Wellspring
The Roiling One
The Fickle Deity

Aspect

Water

Imagine, if you will, a world without water. An unending desert, bereft of life, bereft of moisture. This would be the world without Ao-Yurin. When the world is young, it is Ao-Yurin that floods everything to make the seas, rivers and lakes. The water cycle as well falls under their domain, the deity ensuring that groundwater can seep up to the lakes, be driven down into the sea, and evaporate up into the clouds. They are there with every seeded thunderstorm, every flowing river, and each wave that crashes against a beach.

Although their domain is not cold, Ao-Yurin does have a love for the more frozen regions of the world. Ice and snow are, after all, but water in different forms, and Ao-Yurin is more than happy to supply a bounteous amount of their water to be transformed into a frozen wonderland. That being said, the deity strays away from changing water itself. Changing its form, be it poison or potion is not something that they ever dabble in. The one exception to this is a change not from the deity themselves, but instead from another- Sala.

Ao-Yurin’s favour can be curried for a wide variety of boons. Those who desire fertile fields and smooth sailing alike must make their case to the deity, as does anyone wishing to avoid their overwhelming fury.

Persona

Ao-Yurin’s personality has been complicated by Sala. Whether or not the goddess intended it, as soon as salt and water mixed, Ao-Yurin went from a cohesive whole to two quite different halves, matching the two kinds of water most commonly found on planets with intelligent life.

On the one hand, there is the deity’s freshwater side. Nourishing, kind and gentle, freshwater sustains life, soothes injury and slakes thirst, this freshwater although their freshwater side has all the same power as their saltwater side does, freshwater is far less likely to put their most terrible powers into action.

On the other hand, there is Ao-Yurin’s saltwater side. Although not a split personality per say, the two sides of Ao-Yurin are distinct enough that a god will know relatively quickly which mood the deity is in should they have course to interact with them. Ao-Yurin’s saltwater side draws from Sala’s personality. They are capricious and demanding. Although few petition this side, in an ironic twist, saltwater can often be more attentive to requests than freshwater, for there is little more a capricious deity enjoys more than seeing mortals prostrate before them, begging.

There are several features that both moods share, however. Ao-Yurin is, as a rule, patient and stubborn. Water forces the land to move around it, not the other way around, and if it is not accommodated for adequately, it’ll often aggressively spill out. So too will Ao-Yurin, who despite their patience will not hesitate to raise up a wave tall enough to crush the domains of other gods if they ignore them for too long.

Mortal Form

Ao-Yurin has several mortal forms, depending on their mood and what they intend to do. For interacting with mortal races on their own terms, they tend to take the form of a triton, the mortal race most closely associated with them. Already androgynous, with little sexual dimorphism, Ao-Yurin takes this to its logical end, dressed in the clothes of a simple triton fisher.
When they are in a more destructive bent, Ao-Yurin’s favourite form to take is that of a colossal sea-dragon, capable of shattering ships or riding stormfronts to lay waste to those that have displeased them.

True Form

A frothing, roiling, ever-in-motion form of water and foam, constantly turning and twisting with each movement they take. Sometimes identifiable shapes are created, a face or a humanoid body, but to take this as what Ao-Yurin looks like is a fool's errand for the next moment these features will shift or disappear, their form swirling like the waves that they control do. The form has no real upper limits, when forming in a mortal realm gazing upon this form is ‘safe,’ for it is composed of water that Ao-Yurin drags into their form: should they be sufficiently displeased, they can drain an ocean to create a titan of water that scrapes the sky.

Musical theme

Take Your Pick

Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk. VI

Ao-Yurin

Ao-Yurin

The Wellspring
The Roiling One
The Fickle Deity

Aspect
Water

Essential to life, yet oftentimes equally lethal to that same life. Without Ao-Yurin, the world would be a dry and barren desert, bereft of a single speck of moisture. Ao-Yurin's favour can be curried for great boons, fertile fields, gentle showers and smooth sailing, but Ao-Yurin's fury can salt the Earth, tear ships asunder and wash away everything you hold dear.

Persona
Ao-Yurin has two personalities, matching the two kinds of water most commonly found on planets with intelligent life. Ao-Yurin's first personality is tied to freshwater. Nourishing, kind and gentle, freshwater provides life and slakes thirst, and most petitions towards the deity are made towards this kinder side. Ao-Yurin's other side is tied to saltwater. Although saltwater is home to many species, it is also known for being unpotable and vicious, killing off plants and polluting bodies. Ao-Yurin's saltwater side is vicious and capricious, as likely to drown you as let you pass. This side of Ao-Yurin is rarely petitioned except by the most desperate, but this same desperation can also save one at the most unlikely of times, for there's little more than a capricious deity enjoys than seeing mortals humbled before them.

True Form
A frothing, roiling, ever-in-motion form of water and foam, constantly turning and twisting with each move Ao-Yurin takes. Sometimes identifiable shapes are created, a face or a humanoid body, but to take this as what Ao-Yurin looks like is a fool's errand for the next moment these features will shift or disappear, Ao-Yurin's form swirling like the waves that Ao-Yurin controls do.

Musical theme
TakeYourPick

An Unseasonable Chill

The date is July 24th, 2009. The location is Hildon, New Hampshire. The temperature is 23 degrees farenheit and dropping. Hildon is a small town in northern New Hampshire, with less than 5000 permanent residences. It's most 'famous,' if you can even call Hildon famous, for its year-round sporting activities, be they snowsports in the winter or hiking in the spring, and for being utterly unremarkable in every other way, shape, and form. The last murder in Hildon was in 1995. The last burglary was 2002. Normally, people don't even bother to lock their doors when they go to bed at night, but the last year and a half has changed all of that.

Nationwide, businesses and people go bankrupt from the Great Recession. In Hildon, a much smaller tragedy has begun to play out. Christian Charles, a 18 year old high school male and star of the school hockey team, went missing a week ago. Three weeks before that, Nittawosew, a 20 year old Algonquian native woman from the nearby Little Lake reservation also went missing. Both dissapearances have put the sherriff's office into overdrive, whilst the reservation has isolated themselves as much as they could, refusing to interact with non-law enforcement. Then, only a day after Christian Charles went missing, the temperatures started dropping.

At first, it could have been considered merely a cold patch, a few degrees here and there, but soon it became clear that things were getting much colder than was reasonable. Two days ago, it started snowing, and twenty four hours later Hildon's roads were so clogged with snow that driving became dangerous for those without snowmobiles. Panic-buying stripped Hildon's two stores clean of essentials like food and toilet paper. With the weather worsening, uncovering just what is truly happening in Hildon might be the only way of making it out alive.

---

Character Sheet

Name
A Picture, if Desired. No anime please.
| Like | Fear | Like | Fear |

Physical Description: Height. Weight. Hair colour. The usual.
Age:
Relationship with Hildon: Are you a local? A visitor? Do you have any connections to the reservation?
Occupation: What did you do, before the snow came down?
Useful Supplies: Between one to three items likely to assist you in this suddenly-frigid town. If you're unsure of what counts, ask me. Sample items might be winter clothing, firearms and cross-country skis.
Backstory: What brings you to Hildon, if you're an out-of-towner? How long have you lived here if you're a local? Has anything interesting happened in your life so far?

Locations of Note

For a town of less than 5,000 people, Hildon actually maintains quite a few different locations of note.

Haggarty's Clinic:
A need to rapidly treat winter sporting injuries has kept Haggarty's in business for close to thirty years. John Haggarty, the founder, still works there to this day, alongside his wife Melinda and his daughter Alice. Haggarty's is well equipped to handle almost anything that can happen on the slopes or the hiking trail, up to and including a bear attack, as rare as those are. The unusual cold has had them treating multiple cases of frostbite.

Exxon Station:
Gas and diesel. There was a convenience store here too, but it's been stripped barren by panic buying. You'd be lucky to find a lollipop here, let alone anything actually worth eating. Has a specialised area around the back for snowmobiles, which has astonished staff by seeing use in the middle of July.

Jeremy's Groceries:
Jeremy Shaw's own business, fifty-six years in the running. Despite being in his seventies, Jeremy still mans the cash register four days a week, although lately he's taken to hiring local teens to do a lot of the work for him. The store has been cleaned out- their delivery on the 22nd was cleaned out less than an hour after the delivery van pulled up. The only thing left to be bought here is coffee, which there is ample of because nobody who has spent any amount of time in Hildon is foolish enough to drink Jeremy's coffee.

Gentle Winter Bed and Breakfast:
Gentle Winter's now rather ironic name implies a smaller business than it really is. Originally a revolutionary war era stable, the place has been built up and renovated several times into its current state. The Gentle Winter is the only place for out-of-towners to stay within Hildon, and has twenty-nine rooms. Recently came under the ownership of Max and Emerald Beech. The Gentle Winter is honouring previously made bookings with their usual catering fair and dinners for the same price, but has stopped serving lunch and has dramatically increased the price for dinner for non-guests.

Hampshire Hiking, Skiing and Sporting:
The premiere sporting goods shop in Hildon, fully outfitted with all your summer sport needs! Hiking shoes! Moisture-wicking shirts! Sunglasses! Hiking poles! Unfortunately for everyone involved, it sold off all of its winter equipment in its end-of-season sale back in April. All that's left were a few ancient jackets and socks, which the staff took first dibs on. Any item that might have been remotely useful in the cold have also sold out almost immediately.

Hildon School
Exactly what it says on the tin. School's out for summer.

Sherriff’s Office:
Sherriff Tina Mercer and Deputy Walter Grey do their business here, in the sheriff’s office. Relatively unremarkable, with several offices, three cells, a cupboard-sized armoury and a fleet containing two ten-year-old trucks.

Ranger Station Sequoia:
Halfway between Hildon and the Little Lake Reservation squats Ranger Station Sequoia. The rangers haven't been seen for several days, but considering their training, experience and vehicles, they're likely the best equipped to weather the storm.

Little Lake Reservation:
A Wabanaki Confederacy reservation populated by Algonquian-speaking Native Americans. There is also a small Iroquois presence in the area, largely distinct from the Wabanaki groups: a sure way to annoy everyone is to conflate the two. The reservation was suffering tremendously even before the credit crunch, and in the global economic catastrophe that followed, only fell further. Although the recent disappearance of Nittawosew has caused the community to isolate itself further, few outsiders visiting were welcome prior.

Discord

Good luck, and stay warm.

An Unseasonable Chill: A Horror RP

@Asesina

Remember to join the Discord!

An Unseasonable Chill: A Horror RP

It Is Cold For July

It is July 24th, 2009. The place is Hildon, New Hampshire. Population: 4,536. Located directly next to the Second Conneticut Lake, Hildon is a little known holiday resort for those that enjoy long hikes, lazy fishing, and a peaceful atmosphere in the summer months. Alas, the Great Recession has put an end to much of that. Although a few holidaymakers have still ventured forth to Hildon, the town is unusually quiet, and something has been wrong as of late. The local sherrif's office is persuing not one, but two missing person's cases, and the normally welcoming Algonquian reservation has gone quiet, refusing most guests outright. Worse yet, for some inexplicable reason the weather has been growing far colder than it has any right to. A bitter cold has gusted down, blanketing this tip of New Hampshire with summer snow, harsh enough to isolate some of the smaller communities. Something is badly wrong in this small New Hampshire town, and as a blizzard rolls in and the arteries to and from Hildon are squeezed shut, seeing the weather warm again has gone from a guarentee to a tenuous prospect indeed.

You take the role of someone in the small community of Hildon this unfortuante summer. Be you a local, a holidaymaker, or something else entirely, you have had the poor fortune to be here now. The last opportunity to leave was two days ago, and panic-buying has stripped the shop and the convenience store that service the community bare of supplies. Something is wrong, and uncovering what it is might just be the only way you'll avoid ending up buried beneath the rapidly-descending snow.

This will be a small group of hopefully dedicated players who want to stick out the slow points, uncover the mysteries beneath Hildon, and make it out of this town alive.

We have a Discord Channel.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed]

"I DON'T KNOW BUT I'VE BEEN TOLD!" A single voice screamed through a megaphone.

"I DON'T KNOW BUT I'VE BEEN TOLD." Came the reply, barked out by far more people.

"LIFE OFFWORLD CAN GET REAL OLD." The back-and-forth continued.

"LIFE OFFWORLD CAN GET REAL OLD." Again came the response.

"OUR ALLIES CALLED US SAID TO COME!" Crackled the megaphone.

"OUR ALLIES CALLED US SAID TO COME!" Echoed the response.

"TO KICK THE ASS OF REBEL SCUM!" This line was said with some relish, even through the megaphone's distortion.

"TO KICK THE ASS OF REBEL SCUM!" The reply was equally as enthusiastic.

"MATUVISTAN VOLUNTEER CORPS!" Shouted the drill sergeant.

"OOOOOOOORAH!" Rippled out from the crowd of uniformed soldiers, rifles held high.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? TO NOT BE HEARD? PUT SOME EFFORT INTO IT!" Spittle flew from the drill sergeant's mouth.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORAH!" Came the second response, so loud that it threatened the integrity of nearby windows.

"THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!" The soldiers continued marching, another cadence call starting up as they did so. The Matuvistan Volunteer Expeditionary Corps were prepared and ready, drawn predominantly from the army, but a few men-at-arms and marines had also joined the crew, being formed into auxiliary units. It wasn't a large force: only a few thousand soldiers, but they were here to assist, not to steal all the glory. This was the final batch of the Expeditionary Corps to be sent to New Hollywood, the soldiers marching their way towards the spaceport that would carry them into the stars. For many, this was their first time ever leaving Matuvista, and for some, it was their last time ever seeing their homeworld.

But the saints could ferry a soldier to the afterlife no matter where they fell, and so they ventured forth, confident and ready to keep another oligarchic nation from losing its way. They were put under the command of an up-and-coming young jetknight: one Isabella de Lobasla, the person to propose the alliance to her politically influential father. Comporting herself well on this task, regardless on its actual success, could springboard her political career... Or relegate her to being just another jetknight commander without a future. Still aboard the Santa De Angelo, the young woman took on her new duties with the taste and decorum required by a patrician, no matter how much she wanted to stay and continue to indulge with her new oligarch friends.

---

Addressing |@Liotrent|

If there was one thing the Zetan Consciousness was good at doing, it was learning from its mistakes. For too long, they had allowed others to control the narrative. Now, despite the gala actively ongoing, they were not about to let another opportunity slip past them. Sigma-Devi was currently occupied with the gala, but Alpha-Newton was not. There was the small problem that Alpha-Newton was not a diplomat, but this was such a small problem that it hadn't even occurred to the Collective. They were now regretting this.

Still, he was the only person available to respond to this 'New Haven Directorate' from Zeta, and they needed to hit the ground running. Once the music was done, the various communications beacons aboard the Zetan part of the meeting space turned towards this new craft, and Alpha-Newton's monotone voice sounded out.

"The song was rather... Enjoyable to listen to. My name is Alpha-Newton, representative of the Zetan Consciousness, a nation dedicated to furthering mankind's understanding of the universe. You have arrived at the Meeting Place, an international neutral zone for the various galactic nations to interact with each other. I am afraid you've caught us at a slightly awkward time: much of our diplomatic staff are currently aboard the rather large vessel you can see in orbit some distance away from us for a gala." He paused for a moment.

"However, we are both happy and available to take guests at this time. Should you desire to meet face to face, we can supply directions and docking instructions to our section of the Meeting Place."

Political, Discord based fantasy roleplay

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed]

Isaque paused. The jungle was quiet. Far too quiet. That was to be expected though. Yyasums could do a lot to hide their bases from detection. Sensor jamming, old-fashioned camouflage, murdering recon teams that drew too near, but ultimately, they were intruders on this planet, and it was impossible to linger in someone else’s home indefinitely without drawing their attention. When their presence had been confirmed, ISOC teams had been dispatched to eliminate them. They were dug in hard; intelligence suggested this settlement had been here for a few years as they built up strength, a remnant from a previously-shattered base. A jetbike assault could have worked, or it could have been suicide: there was no way to tell. If the ISOCs could remove any countermeasures though, jetknight reinforcements could hurtle in to take care of the remaining survivors.

It was a simple operation, but simple didn’t mean easy. Xenos-busts were a staple of most military branches, but the Yyasum were never pushovers. Turning to his left, Isaque nodded towards another soldier, who locked eyes with him, nodded back, then pressed a figure of Santa Jorge against her lips for good luck. Moving in single-file now, the group crept through the undergrowth, each footfall carefully chosen to minimise their presence.

The camp unveiled itself slowly.

Isaque had seen similar structures before. Yyasum engineering was a peculiar beast. Squat, barrel-shaped buildings jutted up from the ground like a collection of malformed teeth. Between them, Yyasum could be seen- some patrolling, some clearly carrying out tasks of some kind, others, perhaps, at leisure.

All, however, plotting the downfall of Matuvistan society. That was the simple matter of the Yyasum presence here. There could be no compromise, no peace, no mercy. The planet may have been large, but humanity’s continual existence demanded that they stay the only, unquestioned master of this world. This was why, as Isaque took up position behind a rocky outcropping, he felt no mercy towards the creature on the wrong end of his gun barrel. It would do the same to him.

The shooting began with a single word issued over their closed communications. The ISOCs, having spread out to provide overlapping fields of fire, caught any of the Yyasum in the open in a devastating fusillade of lead. Isaque knew, of course, that it would never be that easy. These villages weren’t just what you saw on the surface- Yyasum built down too. As he relinquished his pressure on the trigger and let his gun cool off, he looked about for the next foe.

He didn’t have to wait long. One minute the camp was silent but for the dripping of foreign ichor, the next, Yyasum warriors burst out in a counter-attack. The air was filled with the crackle of ozone, the Yyasum guns conducting their lethal charges through the moisture in the air. Isaque watched as one of the unfortunate ISOC’s nearest to one of the aliens was caught by the blast, body twisting and twitching in unnatural ways.

His training instincts kicked in. Focus. He dumped his magazine, slotted a fresh one in, and sighted his next target. His rifle rattled and barked under his firm grips, one of the gangly figures spasming as bullets rent holes in its form. As a figure turned towards him he ducked down behind the cluster of rocks he was using as cover.

He had managed it just soon enough. He heard the sound of a Yyasum gun firing up, but with him out of the way it was conducted harmlessly down and away from his body.

Not harmlessly enough. By now the gunfire, explosions and electricity had caused the damp underbrush to catch on fire despite itself. Smoke began drifting up into the air, even as the muffled detonation of an HE charge sent vibrations rattling through his teeth. Peeking back up and out of cover, Isaque was met with a hellish scene.

---

Blood. Fire. Corpses lying on the ground. Explosions rocking the tiny fraction of the universe that his world had been compressed into. Alpha-Amundsen pressed himself against the subterranean rock, gun lying forgotten on the floor, a tear streaming down his face. Then, the Undefeated soldier, unmerciful, uncaring, unforgiving, stomped through the tunnel. Its armoured form barely even turned to acknowledge him, instead merely pointing its gun down towards him and muttering ‘fucking Clanker.’ Then, it pulled the trigger, and…

Alpha-Amundsen was violently pulled out of his sleep cycle. Electronic neurons fired violently, wrestling this way and that, until at last they settled and he felt himself able to exert control once more. If he still had a body, he knew his lungs would be heaving, his face slick with sweat and clammy, but instead, the room was deadly silent, the military grade chassis’ cooling systems naught but a whisper, and he didn’t need to glance down at his articulated, artificial fingers to know that no sweat beaded across his skin.

Wordlessly, Amundsen let out a scream of exhaustion and frustration, stopping himself from putting a fist through a nearby wall with some effort. Every time he slept, the nightmares tore through him. Always the same. The same place, the same people he was fighting, the same result. No matter who or what he tried to do to stop them. Speaking of who though, Alpha-Agnesi had been roused by his violent awakening.

The feeling of warm skin against his metallic shell brought some sense of relief to Amundsen. His fingers searched for hers and squeezed down, hard, a drowning man clutching at the first thing that could be found.

Of the half a billion people that lived on Zeta-5, not a single one was a psychiatrist. Oh yes, there were people who academically studied the discipline of psychology to learn about it, but when intimate thoughts were shared and everyone was united in a common thread, what need was there for shrinks? Before the war, Amundsen had been of the same mind. Now though… With Eta-Theta roaming around and acting more independently than anyone else before had, and with so many shaken by the fighting, he could only wish that there were people around who could help him.

---

Eta-Theta looked up at the raindrops falling from the sky.

They had never felt rain before. They never would, the android supposed. They could sense it now, of course, water dripping down, soaking the oversized clothes they had draped themselves in to help conceal their form if it was glimpsed in an alleyway or slipping through a doorway, ran down their metallic face, spilled out onto the concrete beneath them…

But they would never feel it with flesh. The thought… Eta-Theta scoured themselves for any sign of what that thought meant to them, and came up blank. Oh well. They pressed on, through the abandoned alleyways, the sound of marching feet sending vibrations up and through their carefully-engineered form. Then, a voice from the crowd catches them. Holds them still.

They recognise that voice.

They move through the alleyway and lean against a filthy wall, tugging their collar up to give themselves the best chance of disrupting their inhuman silhouette. "Just more bodies in the ground. Just more dead people. Stop, everyone, stop. Walk away. Go home."

Oh Yun. They had listened. Listened to Eta’s proclamation in the desert, with blood and snot running down their nose. But, Eta-Theta knew something. Sometimes, it didn’t take many bullets to kill many people. Sometimes, all it took was just one, placed well.

Their chest holster pulled open, and Eta-Theta removed their handgun. They examined it carefully, then eased back the slide. The crowds are silent. Ashamed. The fate of this night, perhaps the fate of the entire ECU regime, hangs in the balance created by a single ex-protector.

And that balance will be destroyed by a set of mechanical hands.

The gun twitches a little as Eta-Theta pulls the trigger. The suppressor’s ability to… Well, suppress had been somewhat compromised during their time here on this planet, and the resulting bang, is muffled, yes, but still distinctive enough that everyone knows what has happened. A neck-shot is a little too good for the people that turned Eta into this form, but it will do, the android watching as Hollywoodite blood spills out onto the street.

They don’t stick around to see how much havoc one well-placed bullet has caused.