Entry tags:

Arc II Final Log A: Therapy

Who: Everyone who goes to the Mediation Center
When: September 24
Where: Underneath Region 5
What: Rescues, bossfights, and decisions
Warnings: Manipulation, mindfuck, brainwashing, violence, and any trauma you might bring. Label your headers!

Running. Fighting. However you've spent the last few weeks, it's been a busy time. The overwhelming force brought to bear against the reclamation depot was successful in re-arming most combatants, and those targeting the network hub managed to safeguard your communications, disrupt the Savrii's, and download no small amount of data on the side. Soldiers and noncombatants alike have built defenses and helped each other stay safe against the killers that tried to intrude. A few individuals have even tried to sway the public.

Still, there are those who haven't been successful. And whether in death or in captivity, a select few of your number are no longer by your side.

Both before and after the disappearance of their friends, a subset of those fighting the Savrii have made it their mission to track down a certain lair. Streets were scoured. Mediation centers searched. Some turned their focus to interrogation, others to following traces left by those who disappeared. Analysis of the communication data turned up a secured relay in Region Five, and as the pieces start to come together, those who promised Mother aid will hear from her again. Two minds that she formed bonds with have filtered back to her awareness. Shadowed—changed—but... not so far. Under the ground.

As convenient as the sudden re-emergence is, you have little choice but to pursue it. And with the added vector, a way beneath can be turned up. Past Region Five's sewers, in a transfer point linked to the EN-line, lies a set of tunnels wide enough to hold a single car that end in a plain, unassuming door. A chokepoint? Kill zone? The assumption wouldn't be unreasonable, but no matter how long you prepare outside, no one will come. It's even unlocked.

The path to understanding is one everyone must choose to take.

explore

One goal of this trip will be met at its beginning. A few adjoining passages off the entrance lead to a control room with a unique console: one capable of shutting down the Artifixx device locking the Ingress Complex off. Once this is done, the team waiting aboveground can embark on their own mission. Those exploring the center will find their own uses for the room; a map of the complex can be turned up, and the console also offers control over the doors. No monitoring devices appear to be included, though. Apparently, those in charge saw no need.

Saw being the operative phrase. The entry passages give ways to halls and rooms, styled similarly to the temporary residences placed in Region 6. This complex is far more extensive, however—even if now, as then, you seem to be the only persons present.

A small infirmary with soft blankets and warm lights. A set of classrooms and meeting spaces, with circular tables designed to foster unity among a group. The library, full of books and datafiles about the Savrii's history, ready and waiting to educate those in need. There's even a small garden. It's all solid and real. All comforting and kind. A place of learning. Of rest. Just waiting to be filled.

And, perhaps, not recently abandoned. Those who search the rooms in depth will turn up recent indentations on the beds. A hair or two, from restless sleepers, or a residual scent. Your friends were here. They weren't alone. And if you search enough halls and passages, you can find the way down.

reflect

At the bottom of the complex lies a stair. At the bottom of the stair lies a passage, and it's around here that communications to the world above cut out completely. Shaped stone progresses to an unshaped cave, and while the stairs down were illuminated, this chamber glows only with a dim silver light—produced, it seems, by something on the ground. Water?

A pool.

Its light illuminates robed figures, standing in the space ahead. All wear the silver cloth that marks the intermediaries. All regard you silently, features muted and distorted in the dark. For once, at last, the intermediaries of Thisavrou have no words for you and yours. But as you step forward, as your weapons raise, the light from the pool flares up.

Reality mirrors, and then melts away.

The Protected:

While all parties present will be affected by the pool's reflections, those who took the link with Mother will be shielded to a degree. For you, perceptions blur and shadow, replacing the sight of those around you with a myriad of ghost-forms. Some turn on you. Some move away. Some wear the robes of the intermediaries, while others look more like those you know—as allies in this place, or enemies back home. While characters who fall within this group will have trouble discerning illusion from reality, it is clear to them illusions are in play. It will also be clear, however, that some attacks are very real. Are the attackers your friends, distorted and confused by simulations? Or your enemies, using them as cover to strike out? You're in the best position to sort one from the next, but it still won't be easy.

The Affected:

Those without safeguards will find the simulations much more solid and complete. Is there an enemy you failed to defeat? A friend you wronged, or lost, or were betrayed by? Or perhaps your focus truly is single-minded, your greatest enemy the intermediaries you came to stand against. Whoever you fear most; whatever you failed or want to confront, you'll find it here beside you, by the pool. This vision threatens your life, your friends, and your purpose. Fight, be killed, or run out into the darkness, but your nightmares—and your enemies—won't stand idle.

The Controlled:

There are those you came to rescue. There are others, who lived in this place before you came. The intermediaries do not fight, not with fists or weaponry, but they have followers still ready to risk their lives on their behalf. And they have captives who have been given no choice at all. Mixed in among the ghosts and nightmares are the Savrii loyalists and the player characters they have taken. Each has their own reasons, but they will attack you, and the harm they do is very, very real.

As is yours.

For all individuals, in all categories of effect, the light from the pool remains the one fixed focus. Silvery and warm, clear and vibrant: a glimmering center where all reflections coalesce. To break the illusion, its power needs to be blocked—through literal obstruction, or destruction at its source. Contact with the water holds great risk, and can bring you further into the simulations, but once the pool is dealt with, all effect will disappear.

choices

You stand in a natural cave of unshaped stone. Without the pool, the only lights are what you brought, but all of them at least show you the truth. The companions who came with you, and the ones you came to save. The handful or so of other bodies mixed into the fight—barely a dozen individuals in total. And at the back of the chamber, a group twice that in number, arrayed in robes and silver cloth.

The intermediaries do not repent.

With the focus broken, their powers are too weak to alter your minds here. Still, if you allow it, they will speak. They insist their actions were for the betterment of Thisavrou. They insist they saved it from the harm dealt out by you and yours. Converse as long as you would like to—or as long as your allies will wait.

But in the end, it comes to your decision.

[For more information, and to participate in the vote regarding the intermediaries' fate, check out the OOC post linked above. The setting transition will occur immediately after this log; you're welcome to thread smaller-scale aftermath things, but please avoid dating anything more than an hour or so forward.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[This is a mission like any other. A race of alien shapeshifters who have tampered with Ingress technology, and must be put down. This is no different from the...weeks? (~~months~~) of missions prior to this. There will be flickers of faces they know. They've steeled themself to that possibility; they've endured it countless times before. Every mission, they see those dark blots of terror warping into a facsimile of Frisk, or of Shepard, or of Asriel, or of Shiro. The blinding orange streaks intercut with the jet-dark of Rinzler's silhouette. The hot patch of red spreading like a drop of ink in water across Lavellan's front.

Nothing more than flashes of memory. A failed siege, a failed front, a failure of goals.

But not a failure of rehabilitation.

This, too, is its own test. One toe out of line, and they know who will suffer for it. They know who will shout and protest and cry and refuse to be led gently away, to safety, to a warm bed, to a school, to guardians who will care for them - far, far away from a child who might spread the toxicity of their influence to those whom they love.

And it is LOVE. It must be.

It's a mission like any other. And they'll deal with it accordingly.

Even if the faces they remember, those who cannot be here - linger for far longer than usual, in the crowd.]

[A. I BLED ALL I CAN I WON'T BLEED NO MORE]

From the time he woke up to the time he broke free, it's been a special kind of hell. It's not the first time he's been captured, and maybe the treatment's a little better than his stint in the Middle East, but he made it so far.

Liquid died fighting, pushing back against those who wanted to control him, wanted to control everyone. He died helping. And what good did that do him? Everyone just gave up, let some shoddy attempt at 'peace' return, and decided to throw him out like everything he'd fought for was nothing.

Like garbage. It's something that's familiar to him, of course, but that doesn't make it any better.

Damaged. Useless. Maybe they'll get some use out of him if they hand him off to the slavers.

But he broke the lock on his cell. He made it out. He's not going to be sold.

Not this time. They're all here, aren't they? Everyone who betrayed him and Miller and whoever else is getting tossed out. The second someone makes a single move, he's headed towards them, knowing just what they did to him. He intends to kill. It's what he was designed for, after all, and this time he isn't going to be garbage.

He'll get his revenge.

He can't fail again.

[B. I CAN'T OPERATE ON THIS FAILURE [generally for people he knows but he could always recognize seeing a face around]]

He's seen a lot of these people around. They all went through similar things around here, but now they want to play nice. There are a few people he might not recognize as who they are, the few people he's really close to, but as someone who doesn't get close to people too much... everyone is clearly here to sell him off, so his only choice is to fight back.

And when a particular face comes into view, it sends him into even more of a rage. How dare they do something like this, and still have the gall to come... see him off? Shake hands with his supposed new owners? Laugh at what he's supposed to become?

"You!" he screams, running towards them, ready to slam them to the ground, or at least throw a punch with all his weight put into it.

Maybe they'd better duck.

[C. WILDCARD]

[so yeah, he's really mad, since he's been brainwashed to think that everyone decided to work with the savrii and sell 'violent' people like him to the slavers from the outpost. so here's some basic fighting stuff, or maybe 'try to talk him down from fighting' stuff, but he's kinda fucked up. whatever you might wanna do, feel free to plot with me here or at

agentkaz!]

A. Explore

This rectification facility isn't any place that Rinzler's been before. It's somewhere, perhaps, he would have been sent if things had gone a little differently. If Shepard had talked... or if Chara had. Not that it mattered anymore.

Rinzler stalks through the hallways. Rinzler checks behind each door, a brief pause in the library. And Rinzler stops, every so often, to place a hand to the ground. Scanning. Tracking. Passerby can see the dim impressions that float up from the ground beneath: footprints, dim and white and hovering above the floor. Each time, he lets them fade. Each time, until a certain pair comes into sight. Smaller than the rest.

Rinzler stills. Rinzler stares. And Rinzler follows, making his way toward the passage down.

B. Reflect (Protected)

Hesitation has never been a fault of Rinzler's. The moment the threats come in sight, he moves, disk snapping free and splitting in the space of one blurred step. Then light flares, a singing hum crackling through scans, and the world splits to a maze of shadows. Reflex twists him past the strike that snakes in from the side, a lit disk rising to parry a second blow from a robed figure. But their attack has no force. His return slash hits nothing. A cry jolts out from somewhere nearby though... and slowly, input catches up to execution.

The threats are everywhere. Behind, ahead, transposed with impossible speed and improbable skill. They flicker and move in ways they shouldn't, seethe in scans as a distorted mass. But there are other glimpses, too. Faces he knows, allies he came with—mingled and distorted by the too-bright light.

Rinzler wavers. Rinzler hesitates. And then his ticking rumble rises in a snarl as disks dim. Low power. Enough to strike; enough to hurt: a buzzing, concussive charge on impact. But not enough to slice the threats apart.

Not when he can't tell them from his allies.

Precautions taken, Rinzler wades right back in: slashing and weaving, evading blows with jumps and flips and his usual inhuman speed. He won't attack carelessly, but he will attack, particularly any blurred, uncertain figures hanging back. The admins are orchestrating this. If they go down, things might reset.

Then he can kill them.

C. ~~Choices~~ STAB THEM DEAD

Fighting hadn't cleared the error in the end, but it still happened. The illusions were gone. Chara and the others recovered—if still glitched. Which leaves only one objective.

Making sure it doesn't happen again.

The disks in Rinzler's hands hum louder, power flaring as he steps toward the robed figures by the wall. If anyone wants to intervene? They should be quick.

Rinzler will be.

[Spam or prose freely! Unless the vote heads toward kill, option C is looking for intervention; if your character is also pro-murdering-intermediaries, they'll just need someone to hold both of them back. Apart from that, all's fair, including wildcards!]

Explore

The familiarity of this place to their prison does little to alleviate Frisk's worries as they search the facility. The clean walls, the seemingly kind atmosphere...all it does is accentuate the truth they know lies beneath, couched in smiles and kind words that do nothing to change the damage they wreak.

Frisk's method of searching at first seems somewhat haphazard, running up and down corridors as they look in and out of rooms seemingly at random. But from time to time Frisk looks down at their hand where a compass is clenched tight, its needle spinning round and round as if whatever it should be pointing toward is constantly moving--

Or maybe, they're right on top of it.

Reflect

Chaos descends quickly once the final door is breached. The world twists, separates, and there are--faces. Faces too familiar, that they know can't be here. A king with his head bowed and swinging a great trident, a heroine striking out with flashing spears, vines and sabers that strike out from the darkest shadows. There are some that remain just at the edge of their vision--red eyes and a placid smile that watches on. Dark skin and hair, with a face that defies description.

Frisk does not ATTACK. That isn't their way. Dodging and fleeing, Frisk makes their way through the fight as they search for the reality amongst the illusions. It's not easy, and they nearly throw themself into as many attacks as they avoid. But if they can just find them, if they can just find them...!

They won't fail their family this time. Everyone will come home.

Choices

It's dark. Always dark after the worst fights.

Frisk is not entirely sure what did it, how the reflections in reality melted away into nothing, but the intermediaries have been de-fanged, for now. In what little light is left, the faces of their companions are tired, hard...considering. Something has to be done, and the immediate options is...they can't allow it. Even with all the crimes they've commited, all the hurt and pain they've caused...

MERCY. Always, always. There must be a way.

"We can't hurt them."

...if anyone will even listen.

Edited 2017-10-01 02:33 (UTC)

(1) STORM THE CASTLE
[As soon as she has a gun in her hands and her armor on her back, she's joining in. Like hell is she going to gun down some hapless civilians, but these assholes? These Intermediaries? Fair game, as far as the turian is concerned.]

[Once the door is down, the rooms are also fair game. Searched for anyone familiar. Anyone who clearly shouldn't be in here. She hasn't seen Cayde in a while... he better be alive. Idiot robot.]

[Vetra can be found raiding an infirmary. Stuffing bits and pieces of first aid gear into the pockets on her armor.]

(2) THE POOL
What the hell...?

[This is not what she expected to see in here. It looks like some kind of horror movie, to be honest. A feeling that only intensifies when the lights come up, when the figures appear. Vetra's rifle snaps into her hands, and her aim is utterly sure.]

[And then the world goes sideways. She didn't mess around with the 'mother' or the 'protection' offered. So completely fucking sideways is probably a better description.]

(3) wildcard!
[Hit me up with anything!]

[The Mediation Center is in chaos, and it's really all Asriel can do just to trail after familiar faces and see where he's needed. It's been hard to keep track of the people he knows, and even harder to be particularly useful to any of them.

His disk is humming in his hand, circuits glowing bright orange-red.

He sees them, just a little further ahead. They're... okay? It's hard to tell from where he's standing.]

Chara! Chara, over here!

[Clearly this is a great idea.]

[They work to their strengths. A kill squad, not a capture. These creatures, this race, these abusers of Ingress technology - cannot be redeemed. The Savrii do not favor violence, but when their moral superiority fails them, when the benefits of preaching that saccharine, manipulative, merciful doctrine begin to lose traction in comparison to the costs, they have those they've molded to their needs. They have their kill squads. And in their hands, the question of purpose, the question of what it is they're still doing here, the question of what they are and why they're here becomes excruciatingly, overwhelmingly, exquisitely - ]

[Simple.]

[Hesitation will lead to further processing. Disloyalty risks escape. They are not the one who suffers for their own transgressions; the siblings they left behind, far from all this, safe from all this ("we're family, aren't we?") will be stripped away and taken to god knows where, if they fail.]

[So they will not fail.]

[A familiar face among the crowd. It lingers for far longer than most do. White fur, soft ears, the lilt of his voice. They had the nightmares, after the first time it happened. Had to be consoled, like they were some sick gasping thing ("we all see things we shouldn't. It was just a flash. It wasn't the least bit real.") ("see, Chara? I'm right here."), and had to be sent back so that their mind could be better ordered for the purposes of a kill squad. A soldier who won't hesitate. A killer who won't let * Please don't kill me rip them back to a hand trembling at the hilt of a blade that never cleaved down, because they were never there.]

[...]

[They've learned to look past that, now.]

[Maybe it's a mental field. Shapeshifters, taking after the memories they can glean from the minds of their attackers. It matters very little, in the end.]

[What does matter is that he is in their way.]

[The Knife gleams a trail of scarlet as they surge at him. Their expression is cold, bereft of recognition.]

[Aiming for the kill.]

[He only catches a glimpse of the knife, and he reacts instinctively. He tries to twist himself out if the way of a fatal blow, holding up his disk in an attempt to deflect the attack.

Their last few run-ins with each other haven't exactly gone well, but this...

What are they doing??]

Chara, stop it! It's me!

[Familiar? Yes. Shouldn't be here? Also yes. Of course, Rinzler came in the same door she did, and at more or less the same time. The usual low rumbling announces his presence in the infirmary, and when Vetra glances back, he'll slant his helmet sharply to one side.

Found anything?]

Explore
     The armor he's donned is chosen only because he feels it's better in terms of mobility and a fair balance for defense. He's not here to be a king, but he can't disregard the actions he felt necessary to take. It seemed wrong to sit back and let things play out. They were all a part of what was happening here, and Alfor wanted to do his part, especially for the good of the new paladins, for his daughter and their friends.

     Perhaps his actions are reckless. One might say he wears the Red Paladin armor well, but then even before Keith had been chosen, Alfor had been. Still, it's almost a funny thing to consider that the young paladins he's found himself in the company of have had considerably more experience at it. But they'd also already just found two of their rank missing. He can't ask them to accompany him into already dangerous territory. He won't.

     The Mother had promised her assistance in exchange for their's. This is also something Alfor feels he needs to fulfill in some form or another, and so it's with the group he finds going to a recently pinpointed area that he now finds himself. Although he tries not to let himself fall back or wander too far, there are things that draw his curiosity. The control room, for one. It seems standard operation to find information you need in such a place. His bayard disappears from his hand as Alfor approaches the console, studying it behind the visor of his red and white helmet. Then he begins to set to work.

Reflect: Protected
     It's been quiet and unnerving a trip further into the bowels of the facilities. But there are still things left undone, and Alfor goes with the others, preparing for the worst, hoping, perhaps naively, for the best. His bayard is in hand, unactivated but ready.

     The glow is a curiosity, but before he can ponder it any further, he finds they're no longer alone. Eyes narrowing, he looks across at the Savrii intermediaries, the ones who have been responsible for everything. He does not raise his weapon immediately, but he does step forward, mouth opening as though to call out. But he isn't given the chance to say a thing.

     Below, the light flares, and taking a step back, Alfor shields his eyes. Something's off. Something's wrong. His head swims, but as the brightness fades, it's still obvious to him that there's something at work. A spell of some kind? The Mother had warned them of the danger of intermediaries and their abilities. Even now however, it's difficult to figure out what's going on exactly. Figures around him seem out of focus, as though looking through a dirty glass. Are they comrades or the Savrii? He grips his bayard tighter, unwilling to put it to use, but at the moment he doesn't realize just how bad things could possibly be.

Choices
     They have done so much. They claim they had only done what they felt right, and yet no repentance touches their voices, no remorse for the pain they've caused.

     And yet Alfor cannot agree that eliminating them is the answer. It is a difficult matter to be decided so abruptly, and he knows that his voice, his decision is only one amongst the many that he had accompanied here.

     "Executing them will not change nor solve matters. It may not seem like they are willing to understand or capable of seeing how to do things differently, but if they can realize their wrongs, then that will benefit us all. But I know that will need time and work, and unless we can be certain that they won't abuse such abilities as they already have before, we run a great risk. ...and there is still the matter of deciding what will become of things for us in general...."

[The protests fall upon ears that have learned to train out such falsities. They do not exist. He is little more than a false recreation - some empty-shelled husk, meant to trick them, meant to spur them into stopping. They will not stop. They do not stop, not for a mess of aliens who oppose the Savrii.]

[Who oppose the only people with the power to remake and destroy them.]

[The power to remake and destroy the real Asriel.]

[There's an earsplitting shrill of crimson-worked steel off the curve of the disk. Interesting. These...things seem to favor the same sort of fighting style that Asriel himself did. A disk. Perhaps it has his mind nestled away in it.]

[As if they could be trusted around such a thing.]

[The child spins, seeking to take the legs out from under him with a well-placed kick aimed at his knees.]

[She startles, at the sound. Swinging around with her weapon in hand before he comes into clearer sight. Before the sound registers. Once it does, Vetra lowers her rifle quickly enough.]

Don't sneak up on me.

[But then, at the unspoken question.] Medical supplies. Need any?

Chara, stop! Don't-!

[Whoops, too late. He lets out a surprised squeak as he falls onto his back. He gets a brief look at their face - and their expression is practically unrecognizable. Almost like Chara doesn't even know it's him...]

Wait wait stop, it's me! It's really me! What are you doing?!

[If he had been trying to sneak, Rinzler would've damped his noise. It rises in irritation at the misplaced command, but if the enforcer's hunch is a little closer to a combat crouch as Vetra spins, he doesn't quite draw his own weapons.

He shakes his head to the question. User supplies are worse than useless to him, and he's not coded for any repair functions on others.]

Signs of allies?

[...so that's a thing now. Rinzler's voice is harsh and naturally edged, with an electronic flanging in the background.]

He can't do this. He can't, he doesn't know how to fight, doesn't know how to help-- but what else can he do? He's failed enough already, he can't just give up.

But if he's not careful, any attempt he makes will be cut short before he can do any good at all. So he stays out of sight as well as he can, even after he finds one of the Savrii - and that's who they are, he's sure of it - searching for any weapons they have on them that he could steal, that might give him any kind of an advantage.

Once he thinks he might see an opening, he'll make a grab for it.

(( OOC: hmu here or at

omixgirl10 if you want to discuss/plan a fight! ))

[Did it think them stupid? That it could force them into submission with a pretty trick, a face they can say they remember? They see the faces of everyone they've failed in those they've killed. This is no exception.]

[The undiluted, unalloyed power of someone determined not to slip, and make things worse for everyone in the process.]

[There is no answer to his pleas. Instead, they rear back, the Knife gripped firmly in two hands as it swings up above their head.]

[Ready to strike a killing blow.]

[Lavellan doesn't go looking for them until after it's done, after the pool is taken care of. He suspects it won't help much; after all, he'd never seen it before now, and "therapy" was quite effective on him anyway. As Chara knows. Should know.

He isn't there to fight. He couldn't, even if he wanted to: he's exhausted, and as soon as he seems them he falls to his knees, out of energy. His heart crumples to match. It's undeniable what's happened to them, and it's just as undeniable that it's his fault. His fault. He should have done better, been better. And now a child is suffering for his failures.

It takes a while, too long, to catch his breath. He's defenseless like this. He flashes, suddenly, to the confrontation with their shadow, where he'd just as openly exposed himself to harm--but then, if his suspicions are right, that wasn't their shadow at all, was it? He can only hope that the similarity is enough to stay their hand the way they did before.

And if it isn't, then maybe putting him out of their misery will bring them some peace.]

Chara.

[Please look at him. Please talk. Please let him make this right.]

[Another monster. Another shape they well know.]

[Injured, as well. An interesting coincidence, they should think - or possibly the product of an unhinged mind, trying to project a problem where none exists. The options, as they stand, are very simple. Very, very simple.]

[If they do not FIGHT, everything they know will be taken away. Perhaps everything should - but in the case that they do, the distress painted on those faces, monster and human, will be too much to bear. Too much for them to bear again, after innumerable times.]

[If his word stays their hand, it is not for very long.]

[They're coming. The Knife gleams with its sick crimson glow, the kind that leaves a comet's trail with each swipe. Its own ghastly aura, supplemented by - by - ]

[By...?]

[A test. It does not matter.]

[The child pitches forward in a dead charge.]

It's in the library that their paths cross, though Lavellan doesn't notice at first. He's too distracted--by one of the round tables, his back to a bookcase, he's folded in on himself near the ground and staring into nothing.

He doesn't know what he's feeling, or why this is happening. He isn't thinking at all. He's just--remembering, in flashes of sensation, his own experiences here; the lessons, innocuous as they were--even helpful! How long had he spent here?

How much time had he wasted, being fooled by these people. Shouldn't he have seen through it all immediately?

He sits there for a long while, breathing harsh, feeling overwhelmed by something, and doesn't notice Rinzler's presence at all.

[Visuals are still glitched. Audio works a little better, and even when the vocal tones shift in and out, words seem to make it through intact. Still, it's not just Asriel's pleas that draw Rinzler to the scene. It's not just the name he speaks.

It's an ID. A signature that Rinzler's been tracking for days now. That he followed all the way to here.

Chara.

As their knife comes down, they will find it intercepted. Not by one disk, but by two, paired and matched to catch their blade between the curves. Rinzler knows what this place is for, and Chara's intent isn't difficult to understand. But here and now, it won't be executed.

He made them a promise.]

[He manages to dodge the strike at the last second, no more than a clumsy jerk out of the way at the moment of impact. He lets out a cry of pain as the wound in his stomach stretches and tears, and starts to bleed freely again.

He has to brace against the ground with one arm for several breaths, until the white-hot pain finally fades from behind his eyes.]

Chara, wait. Please. Listen to me.

[It comes out breathy and small. Pathetic as is possibly imaginable.]

They've lied to you.

[Asriel flinches, waiting for the killing blow. His breath stops in his throat, as he tries to reassurance himself that it's okay, it probably won't hurt this time-

The blow doesn't come, and the sound of metal against metal causes him to look up.

It's...]

Rinzler! I can't - I can't get Chara to answer me!

[His tone sounds a little desperate. He doesn't know what to do for them, or what's going on.]

[It's been months since they last saw - since the fire guttering from his palms died out, and the sharp crack of a bullet struck him across the middle. He was shuttled quietly away, after that. The attack failed. He was among the many white-sheet-covered bodies that had to be resurged, and rehabilitated.]

[It was of little matter. He's endured it before. He was so desperate to help them, was he not?]

[It does not count, if they led him astray. If they were right, or if they were wrong. It does not matter, if what this thing is spouting is true in any way. Because it will not be their life, their mind, their SOUL, that pays for it if they fail.]

[So they will not fail.]

[The Knife rears up above their head, clasped with both hands, to deal what is undoubtedly meant to be a final blow.]

[Twin - ]

[Disks?]

[No.]

[Their vision blurs. A sharp shake of the head. Not disks. Can't be disks, not possibly. There's the skid of sparks, and whatever it is that counts for a blade, whatever it is these things are using that counts for one. Whatever it is they think will trick them into slowing down. But they won't. They won't.]

[They lunge instead for the secondary target - the more combative one, and thus the one that requires dealing with before they can move on to the next.]

[He lets out a blast of magic, a last, desperate act of resistance. The effort knocks another gasp out of him; it's all he has. He can barely keep himself upright. He won't survive another attack.

But maybe he bought enough time to reach through, though it takes him yet another moment to find his voice again.]

Do you... do you remember when you helped me realize my memories were wrong? That the intermediaries had altered them?

[His voice falters even now. He still hasn't managed to convince himself it's completely true.

But seeing Chara like this makes his heart break. There's no telling what the intermediaries did to them to make them act like this. Is there even anything left?

He has to believe there is. That's all that's keeping him going, now.]

Please. Whatever they showed you, it's a lie. I can prove it.

[He has no idea how, but they'll think of something.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

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Arc II Final Log A: Therapy

explore

reflect

choices

* It's me, Chara. | basically hmu if you want a brainwashed toddler trying to stab your ankles

Liquid Snake | Metal Gear | ota | brainwashing, violence, slavery mention

Rinzler | OTA!

Frisk | OTA

VETRA NYX | ota

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cw for probably this whole thread: mind manipulation/brainwashing, violence

Re: cw for probably this whole thread: mind manipulation/brainwashing, violence

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King Alfor | OTA

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Ginko | OTA, cw for brainwashing and violence and all that

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boy do i

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a (for now!!!)

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