Mcmolly

Amygdala Circuit

The Ange hung, poised above Illun like a sleeping whale. Though time was scarcely concrete in space, as the cycle of night closed around the station, its levels fell into a calm, solemn quiet. Lights dimmed in the shopping centers, their stores shuttered, the walkways void of civilian and crew alike. Only in the sparsely-lit halls of the labs, and the medical wing, and the offices of those with the schedules of owls, did the faintest proof of life remain.

On the pilot’s floor, that proof was Quinn. In the dim lights and suffocating quiet, her footsteps were the only sign that anyone was here at all. Of course, the others must have been around, likely retired to their rooms, or perhaps sequestered away in the gym across the level. Either way, Quinn walked alone—or alone as she ever was, anymore. The day was behind her, and tomorrow had yet to rear its forbidding head. So, like the Ange, she too hung in limbo, drifting like the station itself.

Their side had rotated away from Illun, and through the windows she could see nothing but the blackness, pinpricked by so many microscopic lights. Something suggested, or rather, pleaded with her, to wait. To stop, and look. There bubbled up within her a wonderment, a familiar longing. Images, or more like emotional sensations eliciting the moonlit lake at Hovvi flashed within her mind. For the briefest moment, if she let herself imagine as much, she might have been able to believe she could feel a small, cold hand gripping hers, as she stared out into the infinite night.

Curfew is now in effect. Non-pilot personnel please exit the floor.

The robotic voice, soft and considerate as it was, still tore the silence apart with jagged nails. The stars were so beautiful. Lights in the dark. Such anintimate thing. In the glass she could see her reflection, and over her eyepatch, there hovered a particularly bright cluster of incomprehensibly distant and luminous secrets.

Curfew is now in effect. Non-pilot personnel please exit the floor.

There were no non-pilot personnel to exit the floor.

Curfew is now in effect. Non-pilot personnel please ‘decide where power lies.’

‘There is no king in the mirror.’ the gentle voice said, and its robotic edges frayed, gave way to something much smaller, and frailer. A young and quivering voice, speaking slowly and quietly, as if she did not wish to be heard by anyone else.

‘Only a throne, a crown, and a promise. And with great pains, I will see this done.’

The lights went out, and the long hall was plunged into darkness, broken only by intermittent panels of starlight. Silence’s reign was brief.

Curfew is now in effect. Non-pilot personnel please exit the floor.

Quinn, who was only ever as alone as she could be anymore, suddenly knew she was not alone.

Curfew is now in effect. Non-pilot personnel please exit the floor.

The darkness ahead of her led towards her room. Behind her, to the lift. The alien wonderment within her curdled, and what remained was the tiny imprint of a panicked voice that did not like the darkness behind her.

Curfew is now in effect. Non-pilot personnel please exit the floor.

It told her to Go.

Amygdala Circuit

“Oh gosh, I wish!” Tillie said, and an excited gleam glinted to life in her eyes. “I’m serious, we’ve never seen something like that in a Modir before. They’ve all got template states they return to whenever they’re damaged, always. Arm off? Fine. Leg off? No problem. Even head injuries—like with Dragon’s jaw—boom! Like nothing ever happened.

“But Ablaze…it’s unprecedented. The earliest ideas were that the Modir had some brain damage from when it was captured, but nothing came up on the initial scans, or the secondaries. And besides, it wasn’t a random thing, y’know? It didn’t just fall out outta nowhere. It happened as soon as you connected. For some reason, Ablaze mirrored you.” A wide grin split across her face. “Isn’t that so cool? Centuries of pilots getting the feedback from their Saviors, and you’re the first one to do the reverse! Some countries still don’t believe it, they think we’re just using a patch to cover it up.

“It’s huge, though. It could be the secret to cutting off the Modirs regenerative powers, maybe even more. Imagine if we could find some way to harness that sort of process, weaponize it. We could fight the Modir without the Saviors. All the little places across Illun that can’t afford a pilot program could start defending themselves too.”

She blinked, remembering suddenly that she was not, in fact, alone in her room, monologuing to her posters. “Oh gosh, uhm! Sorry, rambling. It’s still way too soon for anything. For all we know, you just got the first anomalous Modir, which, even if it doesn’t go anywhere, is still super cool!”

Time passed, and though Quinn wasn’t filled with many more questions, Tillie volunteered a handful of new topics. She explained a bit about energy-reading, tracking singularities and the like, then jumped to how the speed of movement that Modirs possessed was still an inexplicable mystery to the entire field. At length it devolved into fringe, if enthusiastic theories and failed attempts at turning complex mathematical formulas into analogies. Eventually, however, their time ran out.

There was a bell chime, then from speakers in the hall outside, a gentle, automated woman’s voice said:

Curfew is now in effect. Non-pilot personnel please exit the floor.

“Oop,” Tillie said, hopping up onto her feet and checking her phone. “Holy moly, I had no idea. Look at that! Time flies, huh? This was so much fun, really—I hope you had a good time too. I’d love to do this again some time, when we’re both free, but in the meanwhile, y’know, you’re totally free to hold on to any of these. I sorta brought them along just in case you wanted to—I’ve got them all on digital anyway, so I won’t miss them!”

She began to gather up some of the less-entry-level books. Not that should would mind if Quinn asked for those, too, but she figured they’d work up to them over time.

Curfew is now in effect. Non-pilot personnel please exit the floor.

“Alright alright, I’m going,” she giggled. “Wouldn’t wanna get us in trouble. Wanna walk me back? I think I need your clearance to use the lift anyway.”

Amygdala Circuit

Tillie could have died happy knowing she made Quinnlash Loughvein laugh at a joke. Not even a joke, really, just a silly little thought. But even if it wasn’t that funny, she found herself laughing right alongside her. It seemed she hadn’t been annoying the pilot after all, and the relief of that realization just made laughing easier. It was nice not to worry, to just cut loose and enjoy herself in the moment. It reminded her of her early undergrad years, and getting locked out of the dorms on rainy days. It reminded her of…

Well, she was having a good time.

Gosh, and she’d been so anxious about coming to the Ange. She hadn’t been anywhere but Runa for almost ever, but Casoban was turning out great! The people were polite, the crew were kind and the scientists just as invested in their work as she was. And she got to do this—hang out with her favorite pilot ever.

She owed the commander big time.

“Oh no,” she said, rubbing the happy ache out of her cheeks. “I totally get it! Uhm! This is a lot of fun! I really appreciate the opportunity to share this stuff, especially with a pilot. It's important, for sure. Do you have anything else you wanna know about?”

Amygdala Circuit

Oh, whoops. Right. Tillie let herself go and for a moment she’d forgotten that this was a complex and still not entirely understood field of science, through which many of its most capable scholars traveled blindly by hope and intuition, and Quinnlash Loughvein was sixteen. It seemed teaching was more difficult than Tillie had thought. But, oh well, who did anything perfectly on the first try?

“Oh gosh, uhm! My bad!” she broke into another giggling fit. Best to laugh it off, right? The last thing she wanted was for either of them to take this too seriously. Learning was supposed to be fun! The only reason Tillie was here was because she enjoyed learning, it was only fair she at least try to give Quinn the same experience.

“I know it’s a lot. Trust me, hoo boy, the first exam I ever took, I was totally lost. Ex nihilo is just how we classify the regeneration, it just means that something comes out of nothing. Cause, y’know, it’s not like the Modir body is eating anything, or sticking pieces back on. It sorta just happens out of thin air. Isn’t that neat? What else can do that, y’know?

“For awhile there was this theory that the Modir could summon replacement cells to rebuild from. You know how you draw your cannon out? We thought it was like that, just on an iiiiiitty bitty scale. But we can read weapon summons, the same way we can read the energies of a singularity opening, and there’s no spike during the regeneration process. So actually, we don’t really know much about it.

She shrugged, just a bit embarrassed. That was the way it was with modiology; sometimes the facts presented themselves with no explanation, and absolutely refused to budge for reason. The Modir said it could regenerate from nothing, and the laws of nature had yet to prove they could refute the claim.

“As for the melting, well, like I said, I couldn’t tell you why. But if you cut a piece off of a Modir, or a Savior, it’ll break down like ice, or wax. Turns into liquid modium. Can’t change it back, can’t slather it onto the body again. You either bag it for research, or you destroy it. It’s neat to watch under a microscope, actually—and through a few layers of hazard gear.

“As far as anyone can tell, it just happens to anything that isn’t attached to the brain, or attached to something attached to the brain. It’s like without the head, it doesn’t know it’s supposed to be a body! Could be the modium’s just rotted them so much, or…” she snickered, eyebrows shooting up. “Maybe the Modir are secretly just big, nasty cans of soup!”

Amygdala Circuit

Tillie frowned in thought, tongue pressed against her teeth. Well, if Besca Darroh had mentioned it, then surely there was more to the theory than she thought. RISC’s commander might have put her lab coat aside, but in the few and admittedly brief conversations they’d had together, Tillie was acutely aware that the woman’s passion for modiology had not withered over the years. Tillie respected everyone, but she super respected commander Darroh.

“Y’know, why don’t I look into it a little, hm? I never gave it a whole bunch of thought, but, uhm! It could be fun poking around in shelved theories! I’ll let you know if I come across anything interesting, how about that?”

With her fun little side-project established, she turned her attention to Quinn’s next questions. These didn’t surprise her much. Speculation on Modir and the Circuit was wildly popular all over Illun. There were hundreds of years of theories and stories and films all centered around the idea of what exactly it was humanity was dealing with. It fascinated her, too, and she felt bad that she wouldn’t be able to give her a real answer.

“Well, uhm! That’s sorta out of my wheelhouse. See, modiology is split into two big fields, two sides, y’know?” she held up her hands parallel to each other. “You have this side of the singularities—us—and you have that side of the singularities—them. I study the ‘us’ side. I can tell you that modium melts, and to a degree I can tell you how and under what conditions; which, by the way, happens at a molecular level and to any bits of the Modir that become disconnected from the brain. I can tell you that regeneration happens ex nihilo and basically in the reverse.” she giggled. “And, up until you came along I could have told you that regeneration is a static process that returns each Modir to their ‘template state, without variance. Buuuut, now we have Ablaze and we get to study this whole new exciting theory on it!”

She paused, only just noticing that Quinn was leaning into her. Uh oh, was this her way of telling her to scoot over? Maybe she didn’t like someone else crowding her bed; Tillie could sympathize, she was very particular about her own spaces. Quinn was a nice girl, surely if she was annoyed, she would have said so. Tillie held on to that hope, and decided it was best to carry on with her explanation until instructed otherwise.

“But when it comes to that side—the why side, I’m kinda in the dark. I’d say we all are, for the most part. The Modir aren’t really forthcoming with information, and the few times I can think of, ever that people go into the singularities, they don’t come back. Unfortunately pretty much all of our knowledge about the Circuit comes from psychological evaluations of pilots, and, I mean I only studied it a bit in undergrad and, don’t get me wrong they’re super interesting, but they’re also not really reliable. No one knows what the Circuit is, just that it’s there.

“Sorry I couldn’t be much help.” She smiled again. “Actually, it’s kinda funny. You probably know more about it than I do. Technically, that makes you a modiology expert too!”

Amygdala Circuit

“Yeah!” Tillie beamed at Quinn’s conjecture, and inwardly exhaled a little sigh of relief. Okay, so she could explain things without tripping over herself and getting it all wrong—that was good! But it still wouldn’t do to leave things half-correct, or only partly described. She chewed her lip for a moment, contemplating how she could convey herself without sounding like a graduate thesis.

“Well—kinda. Uhm! You got the right idea, phasing is definitely tied to your connection. See—and forgive me for getting a little more complex—phasing is like a secondary thing, and we’re not…actually super sure how it works. The way you said it, y’know, with everyone having different sized bridges, that’s more or less one of the prevailing theories, revolving more around the idea that everyone has a different baseline connection. The other one is more like…everyone starts with the same connection, and the variance is just how fast the bridge expands.

“I lean a bit more towards that one cause it makes phasing a bit more concrete. Uhm! Everyone phases differently, right? So I like to think of it like, everyone’s connection clears at different rates, and also, everyone phases at a different point in that clearance. It also stands that once you do pass that point, your clearance rate speeds way up! And we don’t really know why that happens, either.” She flipped the cover over, tapped the title. “That’s where the ‘meta’ part comes in, I guess. And the ‘human’ bit.

“‘Cause Modir, y’know, they don’t phase. That’s a Savior thing—a human thing. But it’s also clearly something the Modir are inherently, physiologically capable of. There’s something unique about your place bridging the Circuit, some way you fit in, that allows it. Isn’t that so cool? It’s like our species were made for each other!” She blinked, and her excited smile withered a bit. “Eugh, uhm! Now that I say it out loud, actually, it sounds kinda creepy. Maybe don’t think of it that way.”

Tillie was grateful when the subject veered, though she did find the change odd. No phasing? She didn’t dismiss the idea outright, but she did spend several moments racking her brain, searching for anything she might have read that would support Quinn’s question.

Eventually though, she shook her head. “Hm. No, I…hmm. I don’t think so. At least as far as I learned, phasing is really a yes-no thing. Granted, some people are really small bridges—or slow-growing bridges, if you prefer—uhm! But those people generally don’t get cleared to pilot even if they technically can. I guess it’s theoretically possible for someone’s phasing point to be so close to the Circuit closing they would never know, but, I’ve never heard of a pilot who couldn’t phase.”

Amygdala Circuit

“Oh,” Tillie chirped, face pinching quizzically as she hunched down and danced her fingers down the spines of the bookstack. She plucked one vertebra free, a thin book titled: ‘Metamortality: The Human Link’, and popped up with the wide smile back on her face. “That’s a good place to start! Easy enough, too. Uhm! Here,”

She flipped through the various dog-eared pages, colored tabs, and post-its scribbled over with illegible shorthand, and turned the book to her opened to a diagram of a Modir’s head. The skull was cross sectioned to depict the brain, which, for the most part, resembled what anyone might think of when they pictured one. The only anomaly, aside from the size, was a dark, spherical object at the back, bridging the fissure between the hemispheres. A tally marked it quite clearly as: cockpit.

“So,” she said, plopping down beside Quinn with the book on her lap. “I think a funny way to look at it is like this: when you’re in it, it’s a Savior, and when you’re not, it’s a Modir! ‘Cause, see, you know how Modir can regenerate basically anything, right? Well, they say brains are the exception, but that’s not really true. A Modir’s brain can regenerate, if it’s conscious, it’s just that usually any real damage is enough to put it out for good. Disrupts the Circuit.”

She tapped the cockpit on the diagram. “That’s where the tricky part comes in. We can’t cut too much, or it’s actually dead and it’ll just melt, like what happens when one loses an arm or a leg. So, we cut just enough to fit the cockpit, and then that’s where you come in!

“Pilots can actually slot in to the Modir’s brain, and neurologically close the little gap we make for the cockpit. See, Modir can’t function without the Circuit, so think of yourself like a drawbridge that’s a little bit thinner than the rest of the road. When you’re connected, the bridge is down and traffic can get across, just a lot slower than usual, then when you disconnect, the bridge is up and traffic stops! Sort of.” She giggled anxiously—metaphors were never her forte, and she found herself suddenly thankful she wasn’t doing this in front of a class. “Basically you’re a buffer for the Circuit, and the longer you’re connected, the clearer that signal gets. That’s why you don’t stay in for too long at a time. Completing the Circuit is pretty much just like bringing the Modir back to life.”

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

As Asher went on describing the situation, and the shape of their mission here began to sharpen, Ionna grew excited. This was by all accounts new territory for her, both figuratively and literally. Having spent her whole life in Rodion, she was no stranger to stories about monsters, but her own experiences were severely limited. She’d fought nobles, peasants, up and coming duelists, even a few soldiers—and recently, mysterious magic terrorists. But she couldn’t recall having ever raised her blade to a monster. Did that make her a bad knight?

Well, technically she supposed she wasn’t any kind of knight. Still, she couldn’t help but feel just a bit anxious. People she got, people could be read and reacted to and when everything was done you could grab coffee and laugh the bruises off. Monsters, though…no emotions to read, no strategies to discern, and certainly no laughing after the fact. Then again, she supposed you didn’t have to feel bad after you beat them. That was a plus, right? Justinian certainly didn’t seem to feel bad, and she wagered he had more experience than most.

Between him and Theobald, this place didn’t have much to worry about. Two hours. If she had to guess, her Scion would want to charge in rather than wait, but she didn’t know what Bianca and Justinian would suggest. Her own mind wandered to the tent of supplies, and a little pit formed in her stomach to think that they might be expected to use firearms. Harpies flew, after all, and she couldn’t very well shoot them down with a sword. But if they gave her a rifle, she’d bring unparalleled shame to both herself and anyone unfortunate enough to witness.

Well, she’d burn that bridge when she got to it.

“So, what do y’all think? We going hunting, or we setting up here?” she asked. “Not that I don’t have confidence in you, but, uhm, I’ll say I’m a little worried about staging an attack this close to the town. Fire, rocks, fiery rocks, y'know like Asher said.”

---

_{@Hero@Xiro Zean@Raijinslayer}

Amygdala Circuit

Tillie had said evening, but as she rode the lift down to the pilot’s floor, she still felt anxiously late. How could she not? Quinnlash Loughvein had asked her to teach her about modiology! No one had ever asked her to do that without a grade or paycheck on the line. In a way that was how most professions were, but to Tillie, the study of their invaders had always been more akin to a passion. So, while she’d long since squared herself with keeping her excitement to herself, this opportunity had her practically vibrating with excitement.

The doors opened to a wide, warm, and very quiet hall. Tillie adjusted the small stack of books in her arms and scurried on. She couldn’t help but marvel, not that she knew what a pilot’s quarters should look like, but if anyone deserved so much space it was them. As she made her way along though, the faint but omnipresent thrumming sank bone-deep, and she thought the silence might suffocate her if she had to live here.

Thankfully she didn’t—was that bad to say? She was perfectly happy to visit, more than happy in fact. Eventually she came to Quinn’s door, and after mustering enough courage—and shimmying an arm under the books—she knocked to the beat of ‘Walking Solstice`.

When Quinn answered, Tillie beamed, but her greeting yawned when she looked past her into the room.

“Wooooah…” she mumbled, entering in a daze when Quinn stepped aside. It was like the royal suite of a palace, with the ceiling of a cathedral, and staring up Tillie nearly dropped her books to the ground. “Oh! Uhm! Sorry, wow, got a little distracted. Thanks so much for inviting me, what an awesome place!”

She set the books down with a quiet “Oof!” and whirled back around to Quinn. Once again she couldn’t help herself, and a wide grin split across her face just imagining all of the fun science they had to explore.

“So! Uhm! Don’t be intimidated by all the material. I didn’t know what you might be interested in so I just brought a bunch of different stuff. Actually, where did you want to start? You don’t have to know anything specific, but if you have any vague ideas of what you might like to know, it’ll help me sorta, uhm! Steer, y’know?”

Tillie stopped then, and actually looked at Quinn. “Oh wow,” she said. She was wearing a dress—a really, really nice dress. That shouldn't have been too surprising, after all pilots were usually expected to dress sharp. But for most of Tillie's admittedly brief tenure at RISC, she'd really only ever seen Quinn in casuals, or in her pilot gear. Turned out she cleaned up pretty well!

“That's gorgeous!” she beamed. “You look so pretty! Ohmigosh, is there some kinda event coming up?”

Amygdala Circuit

Camille listened intently to Loughvein’s answer. She had done her due diligence long before the girl arrived, studied the dossiers the CSC could compile based on what information was shared by RISC, and also what had to be inferred. Especially when the alliance between their nations became tenuous, and the more anxious of their program’s numbers feared there may be conflict. But Camille knew better. War was pariah sensationalism, largely taboo but always considered; everyone on Illun feared theirs would be the generation to see the Accord crack again. Runa and Casoban had been allies for too long for that. Theirs would be the war of the modern age, fought on the fields of international law, using weapons of mass embargo.

All this to say, she had prepared herself to fight nonetheless, be it against Dragon or this newly anointed Ablaze. Camille knew both pilots as well as one could through second-hand assessments. Loughvein’s combat record aside, her personal records did not impress; she was by all accounts a meek and miserable girl who should have been mulched in her first duel. Naturally, she understood that about herself, but she was also surprisingly honest about it.

Good, it was easier to speak plainly with people like that.

“We’re afforded many things as pilots,” she said, still staring down at her in the same level, unyielding way. “Money, glory, influence. We live lavish lives and our funerals are matters of national importance. Pick any day out of the year and you’ll find memorials to a dozen of us. Our pictures hang in people’s homes beside their loved ones. In their most dire moments it’s our names they call out for. We’re given trust, and hope, and love.” she sighed, shook her head. “But we’re never given time.”

Camille looked down at the mat, to the sweat and scuffs and, if she really searched she was sure she’d find flecks of blood from raw knuckles or bitten lips.

“It’s paradoxical. Few paths demand as much from someone as piloting, and yet its first steps are the most unforgiving. You can’t take them slowly. You can’t learn how to walk, you already have to know how to run. Being here necessitates talent you didn’t work for, and determination you haven’t earned. There is no time to train yourself up to par—you perform, or you die.

“In all likelihood, the Derisas will be dead before the end of your first rotation here. As captain, it is my duty to ensure they survive anyway. I will push them. I will be cruel. You will not interfere. Your time here is largely unstructured because you do perform, but make no mistake, should I feel it necessary I will be cruel to you, too.”

She stepped away from Loughvein then with a curt nod. “I have been told in no uncertain terms that you will not be dueling during your tenure here. This does not exempt you from professional responsibility. The CSC may not hold you to a schedule, but I will expect at least a modest number of hours each week from you simming against Modir. You may train with the Derisas should you wish, but ensure that you align yourself with their routine, lest we have a repeat of today. Otherwise, you may utilize the sim’s AI, request a specific tutor from the station’s staff, or if necessary, ask me.

“Put the rest of these pads away, then you’re dismissed for the evening. Loughvein.”

With that, Camille left her there, and the familiar quiet returned.