Blood on the ground. Glazed eyes staring upward, weak spasms as the body strains: to breathe, to speak, to get away. It's hardly the first time Rinzler killed a user, but there's something about then and now that feel very much the same. A line crossed. Shock, alarm, voices raised and weight settling across the scene. Violation, tangible and heavy. Consequence.
Input, to output.
He knows what they'll do.
No point in stopping. No reason to stand down. Just like before, he knows what cost this system will exert, and the only option is to follow through, fight back until he can't. The screams draw and scatter onlookers in equal measure, lights of some kind of vehicle flaring on approach. The drunkard sprawled across the ground pulls a device from her bag; he stomps on her wrist, producing a clean snap. The threat menacing Chara is bleeding, but still swinging blindly toward the pair; Rinzler jabs an elbow in the bloody gash and spins to follow its collapse.
...and continues
Input, to output.
He knows what they'll do.
No point in stopping. No reason to stand down. Just like before, he knows what cost this system will exert, and the only option is to follow through, fight back until he can't. The screams draw and scatter onlookers in equal measure, lights of some kind of vehicle flaring on approach. The drunkard sprawled across the ground pulls a device from her bag; he stomps on her wrist, producing a clean snap. The threat menacing Chara is bleeding, but still swinging blindly toward the pair; Rinzler jabs an elbow in the bloody gash and spins to follow its collapse.
Disk bright, slamming downwards, finish the Game—