legionmissions | SILENT HORIZON - [Part 2: Facing the Faceless/Escape] [modplot]

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SILENT HORIZON - [Part 2: Facing the Faceless/Escape] [modplot]

Who| Everyone in Silent Horizon plot
What| Fighting the Faceless, a perilous escape, and a chance to have a breather
Where| In the In-Between, the Silent Horizon, and then the Legion Cruiser
When| Chronologically, only hours have passed in the outside world from when the team disappeared, but it's up to players whether their characters perceived it as being hours or days
Warnings/Notes| Gore, blood, body horror, all the usual

They hear the voice again, calling out to them. Not the Faceless, not the dark whispers of this world. It's the same tinny voice that warned them, that told them not to give into the Faceless' offer. It's the voice that told them their Phalanxed teammates can still be saved if the Faceless is killed in time before they die.

It calls out again. Wherever they are, whatever the landscape is doing, they can hear it.

"I know you have no reason to trust me. I know you've been probably hearing lots of voices in this place, telling you all kinds of things. But I'm trying to help you. There's a way to end this, to stop the Faceless. Just follow my voice. My language synthesizer is broadcasting in the telepathic range like telepathic earplugs and I've managed to reconfigure it to broadcast through the entire In-Between. You should be hearing it wherever you are and you should be able to use its broadcast strength to navigate. I think I've managed to secure it from the Faceless and his Phalanx but there's no way to be sure."

How loud the voice is changes as they get closer or farther away. They can use it to navigate, albeit very crudely. And now that it's clearer, it's far more recognizable: it's the voice of the Robotican in the horrible footage that played before they were taken -- the one that had his head knocked off.

"My name is N-45LEN/Keth Series. My organic crewmates call --" He pauses, and sounds distraught. "--called me Lenny. I was a crew member of the Silent Horizon. This entire dimension is called the In-Between. It's made up of the body of the Faceless and I'm currently trapped at its core. I can see you Legionnaires from here through...what appears to be some kind structure for processing what equates to ocular stimuli for the Faceless. If any of you get lost, I can see enough to guide you here."

If they need it, they'll find that he can give them individualized directions, no matter what the landscape does, and he can give them to multiple people simultaneously. Having a complex processor for a brain has its perks.

"My organic teammate and I managed to discover the core of the Faceless and its nature, but I'm currently incapacitated and Bob...he just lost it. He nearly destroyed what was left of me and ran off before we could stop the Faceless. I saw him eventually accept the Faceless' offer and turn. If you make it here where I am, you may be able to destroy the Faceless' body enough to kill him, save your teammates, and destroy this dimension once and for all."

A pause.

"And if you could maybe take me with you when you leave, uh, I would appreciate that. Like, a lot."

[ooc post here]

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Finding the core of the Faceless is a lot easier when they have guidance. Some way or another, they find a massive, twisted fortress at the center of it all, converging where many of the organ-like structures meet up. It's clear that dimensional space around the fortress is shifting and changing, as if this is the central engine of this strange, shifting, sprawling dimension.

Inside, there's a cavernous circular space with a bone throne in the center and oozing walls that undulate, covered in criss-crossed blood vessels. In some places, blood oozes out of the walls, leaving an ankle-deep pool over the entire floor of the cavern. In many places in the walls there are beating hearts, in half-open ribcages, all of them beating in unison, loudly. It's clear from the bloodflow in the walls that these hearts are attached to everything in this little world.

Over the bone throne is a strange shifting window attached to nerves that has some similar structures to the human eye and part of the brain. Its fragmented view shows locations all over the In-Between -- it's this structure that N-45LEN used to guide them here.

This is the center of the Faceless' entire being. The core of his body and the central point of this dimension are one and the same.

Thanks to their own efforts, or Len's guidance, or the strange shifting nature of this place, they all arrive at the same time, through the many entrances that lead in.

N-45LEN -- who is just a robot head -- lays on an outcropping of bone, where he was bashed and thrown by his insane teammate Bob. Despite being damaged, he is still intact enough that his processors are still firing.

"You made it! We can still save your teammates. The Faceless bragged about how Phalanxing works to Bob. If your teammates haven't bled to death from their transformations you can still save them if you kill the Faceless first."

Maybe he couldn't save most of his own crew but after everything he's been through, Lenny wants to save theirs, especially since he's watched them struggle.

"You have to act quickly, before he finds you here! Destroy his hearts! He can't be hurt physically -- he just regenerates his body out of the flesh and blood of the In-Between. But I can see on more spectrums than organics -- the hearts only look like hearts on the visual spectrum; my scans show they're attached to the quantum fabric of this dimension. If you destroy them you'll be destroying the equivalent of his brain. It should destroy the In-Between or at least weaken him enough for an exit to open up. And please, take me with you. I'm not alone in here -- some of my fellow Robotican crewmates managed an upload to my datacore before their physical forms were completely destroyed."

You heard it right, Legionnaires. The Roboticans are alive.

"There are 55 of us in all."

Even for those without functioning powers, there are plenty of sharp bones to destroy the hearts with. There sure are a lot of them, though. Enough that the entire team will have their hands full. And those hands are about to get even fuller.

"Too late," says a voice and the Faceless himself swoops out of the shadows. "Naughty, naughty little robot. I overlooked you. I always do have trouble with sensing and transforming inorganics. But I did sense the entire Legion showing up on my metaphorical doorstep. And I brought friends."

Their Phalanxed teammates heard their master's call and they're here now, along with many other nightmare creatures.

He holds a long-fingered hand to his chest.

"I offer you a gift, something that will spare you from It. Maybe if you see, you'll understand."

All of a sudden, they all see it, hear it, smell it, feel it, slamming into them like a wrecking ball. A memory. They see a vision of a world made of flesh, but it's not as ugly as this place. There are plants and trees and machines and homes that are all organic, that blend in and out of each other symbiotically, and maybe it's not beautiful by the standards of many species, but it's clearly considered beautiful to the people that live there -- the Faceless is only one of many. And those many can warp dimensional fabric -- a gift they use to shape their world and view other dimensions. And just like their flesh blends, so too do their minds, through a form of telepathy.

They lived and died, and loved and hated, and built and destroyed, like any other species. But mostly they loved, and mostly they built, and mostly they cared for each other. But then It came.

In the memory, strange crystalline eye-creatures float in the orbit of every inhabited world in their universe and all their powers and technology can do nothing to banish them. Its Heralds come and sow chaos. The Legionnaires can see two of them, their bodies glowing like living photo-negatives, destroying a city. One is dressed like a clown, cackling maniacally, the other is a long-haired woman armed with a sword, cutting down everyone she sees. The Faceless' fellow flesh-people scream and cry telepathically and try to destroy the Heralds with their reality-warping powers, but they come back again and again somehow.

In orbit around The Faceless' world is where Chronoblivion breaches like a whale, breaking through reality. The sky rips open and they see the Bleed, the nothing-space between dimensions, lacking in light or color -- not dark, not bright, not anything. They can't see Chronoblivion Itself because the Faceless' mind could not comprehend him, but light radiates out from the breech, and...

It deletes the world.

The rays are like the white-nothing blast of an atomic bomb, in colors that don't even exist outside of nuclear fire and the strange isotopes within it that only briefly flash in and out of existence. The rays cut through everything, but destroy it piecemeal instead of all at once. The Faceless' people scream their telepathic screams as they're made into nothing.

The nightmare-vision fades and while their heads are still ringing, Faceless speaks to them.

"Chronoblivion chose me to be one of Its Heralds but the reality-altering nature of my peoples' powers were...incompatible. It twisted me. This is what I am now, always hungry like It is. I managed to slip away, into the Bleed, the nothing-space between worlds, and whenever I can latch onto something drifting into a material universe, I add to my biomass. Whether it's by soul or flesh, you'll be mine. Trust me, it's much better than being destroyed by It -- at least you'll still be a part of something bigger than yourselves. Isn't that what you heroes are all about?"

And then the monsters attack. Time to get with the stabbin'.

Edited 2017-01-15 13:08 (UTC)

After the Faceless dies a screaming death and dissolves like flesh in acid, the Phalanxed Legionnaires drop like puppets with their strings cut. The transformation back is a gruesome one -- they suddenly lose the pacifying voice in their heads telling them everything that happened to them is alright and natural. The blood and horror around them stops looking normal and beautiful. For a single horrific moment they are themselves again, realizing how twisted and malformed their bodies are and how twisted and malformed their thoughts just were to match. The Faceless' black blood either seeps out of their bodies like an oil slick or they cough it up. Others vomit black sludge so much that it's hard to tell where they kept it all.

The more extreme the mutation, the more extreme the transformation back. Some will find it quick and uncomfortable, but not as bad as it could be. Others will spend several minutes in absolute agony as bones shift and reconfigure and unnecessary appendages snap and fall off.

When they finally change back, all of them will be dizzy from blood loss. Some might need help escaping. Others might even pass out and need to be carried.

The In-Between starts to shake and fall apart. They can all feel the tug of the exit calling out to them, as if the Faceless' dying body is trying to expel them as some kind of irritant.

Reality shifts and starts to break down, halls and walls crumble, bridges snap, and blood vessels burst open. The more they run, the more this place looks like the inside of a body. Even the final corridor leading out of the In-Between and onto the bridge of the Silent Horizon looks like the interior of a throat. The closer they get to the final corridor -- and the Silent Horizon -- the more reliably their powers will work again.

At the end of it lies salvation -- at least until the Silent Horizon starts to blow apart, too. Without the Faceless holding the derelict together, it starts to fall apart, doomed to eventually fall into the nearby sun. Even when the group is free of the In-Between, they'll have to hightail it to the Legion Cruiser in its docking bay, and have to do that thing where they run down exploding hallways looking cool in slow motion, helping each other as the ship blows to smithereens around them.

Though there are many different shifting paths to get out, if they work together to escape the crumbling pocket universe and the monsters, and then the exploding Silent Horizon -- they might have a chance.

After the crew gets on board, the huge Legion Cruiser disengages just in time to fly away. Through the windows, they can see the Silent Horizon fall into the nearby star, compacting down to an insanely small size because of the gravity and then exploding.

(Good riddance.)

The Legion support staffers waiting on the Cruiser take care of them, buzzing Legion World to let them know injured team members are incoming and offering first aid or setting up the more severely injured team members on advanced medical beds with automated emergency care robotics.

On the Legion Cruiser, the Legionnaires can finally take a breather, get patched up or use the automated beds for their more threatening injuries, get cleaned up in the showers, and check on each other. Though they're far out on the fringes of UP space, it's only a few threshold gate jumps back to Legion World and that gives them a little time to get their shit together before they get there.

Been a long time since he worked with a team. In a team, he remembers, each member serves its own small purpose. His purpose is to protect the two hearts he feels beating behind him. One is about twelve feet up and a couple feet to his right, the other three feet off the ground, directly behind his legs. With every beat of them the vines curled around the remains of his face, the leaves sitting in the cavity of his chest, seem to beat, too, color shining a little more wetly on the petals of the rose growing there. The color overflows every now and then and splats down onto the toes of his boots.

Pale blue eyes peer around from about the vicinity of what was once his chin, picking out a target. The hand he raises to that target looks, from a distance, like it's wearing fingerless gloves - blood pumps sluggishly out from the place the flesh sits sagging around his knuckles. With that hand, he pulls. The ability the Legion gave to him seems the most appropriate way to save them, pull their power out from them and their energy out from them and from his other hand pour that stolen energy into the Faceless.

Perhaps Roland can steal a little, weaken whatever Legionnaire stands before him, before they find a way to break the concentration it takes for him to do this. Or perhaps he won't be quick enough. Or perhaps they'll want to talk, instead. If they seem distractable, hesitant in any way, the mouth set low in Roland's throat will open and he will speak to them, in whatever words come to him first.

"Stop this foolishness. You know as well as I do we both took an oath."

He's up and walking before it's finished. Stumbling. Whether or not the mouth traveling up his throat and climbing his jaw is screaming is an unimportant question. What is important is getting out. He tightens his grip on the shattered end of some bone sticking out from the wall, can't help but notice the noise as the tip of his trigger finger grinds against it, bone on bone.

Nevermind.

Nevermind what's happening to his body, nevermind the whimpering moans coming out his mouth now, nevermind that inane curiosity about just where that mouth is located now, exactly. It's especially important not to pay any mind to that. What matters is making his body, whatever it's doing just now, work, and he does. Doesn't focus well enough to see reality twisting around in front of him, though, the first he notices his path is blocked is when he stumbles on a bunched up ring of muscle and looks down and sees a Legionnnaire below him.

Focus. What matters is that he can't get through the archway, or whatever it is, from this angle. The opening is low to the ground and he, for reasons he can not afford to examine too closely, is standing on the ceiling. He reaches out, leftover blood pooled around the flesh bunched up around his knuckles raining all a sudden down toward the other Legionnaire's head and shoulders.

"Help me," is what comes out of him first, a rasping, pointless sentence. "Pull me down." There's the more useful one, simple, direct. Focusing only on what needs to be done.

"To the Legion of Superheroes, I make this solemn pledge," Hiccup recites, partly to at least remind Roland of what that oath had actually been. Mostly to distract him as Toothless gets into position.

"To use my powers for good. To fight for justice and protect the innocent. To aid my fellow Legionnaires in times of peril and to keep their secrets safe. I don't know what you think, but I'm fairly certain I'm following it to the letter right...NOW!" The last word is a shouted command, and Roland suddenly has a fairly large dragon charging at him.

Edited 2017-01-15 18:50 (UTC)

He is not and never has been the type to talk and fight so what answer he has - and he does have one - will have to wait for the soonest calm moment. For now, he has no time for anything but the essentials and the split second he has in which to react to them. In that split second he decides his lefthand gun as the right choice here and stops trying to draw energy from the young man in front of him to draw it, shooting strong cord out toward Toothless's face in an attempt to keep the thing from being able to open its mouth. He won't dodge, won't abandon the heart behind him that way, but he will back along the wall a little ways, try to draw the dragon toward him. If he can make sure it's focused purely on him, rather than on the hearts, maybe he'll be able to lead it away long enough to get rid of it.

The rope connects, and wraps around Toothless's mouth, but isn't much of a deterrent. The dragon hadn't planned on biting Roland or setting him aflame in the first place. Just ramming into him as fast as possible.

Meanwhile, Hiccup lights Inferno. Aiming upward, he throws the flaming sword into the air, his metallokinesis guiding it upward and onward with tremendous force, and stabs it right into the Faceless's beating heart.

Roland grunts, grits his teeth, and it isn't the force of the dragon ramming into him that he minds. Pain is unremarkable at this point, little more than background noise, but the destruction of that heart he can feel very well.

"Think I'm not aiding you in your time of peril?" He calls it out because he may still have little time to talk, but convincing the other Legionnaire that he's right has just become much more important. As he talks, though, trying to hide the movement behind Toothless, he raises his righthand gun, meaning to put it right against the cord wrapped around the beast's muzzle and fire one of its flimsy but electrically charged bullets close against it. It's set to about middling power - too much electricity for a human, but hopefully enough to at least distract a dragon, so long as Roland stays clear when he fires. He hasn't made the connection between the flying sword and metallokinesis yet and so does not consider that his righthand gun, for all its plastic and rubber, does contain a couple small metal parts deep in its insides.

"Your peril is your pain, your heart! You think you can fight for justice as you are now? For how long? How many years until the pain of it trips you up, until the grief strangles you alive? Leave these hearts alone, boy. Leave them and give me yours. Then I'll show you how the Legion will thrive."

"Sure, why not listen to the crazy, brainwashed person?" Hiccup said, voiced drenched in sarcasm, "Oh, right, because you're crazy and brainwashed."

As much as Hiccup loved to talk, taking was very obviously not working. The only way to stop Roland was to physically stop him. The metal cord unwrapped itself from around Toothless's snout, and Hiccup mentally threw it at Roland, attempting to rope it around him before the gunslinger could react.

Being crazy and brainwashed might keep him from being listened to but, luckily for him, it has not dulled a lifetime of training and his reflexes, fast as they've ever been, have him throwing himself down even before it occurs to him what's coming at him, or why. Figuring that out happens as he's trying to slide himself behind the dragon, still unwilling to go too far from the one heart remaining in this particular area.

If he gets far enough without being trampled by the beast, and if he can act before that cord gets sent after him again, he'll try again to give the dragon a shock from his righthand gun, this time on the ass. A little like those disreputable men used to in his childhood, when they moved into town on Fair Day. They'd take their shaved bears, their painted dogs, give them a surreptitious pinch on the ass with some hidden tool to make them fierce. Not the wisest move when for all he knows this dragon might move backward instead of forward, but if he's able to do it maybe it'll make the beast clear off long enough for him to get a shot at the Legionnaire controlling it. If Roland can only get him weak enough, then the Legionnaire will listen. Then he'll understand.

"I'm sorry for you," Kubo said, when he'd understood the Faceless' story.

But he still strummed a powerful chord on his shamisen, his paper floating around him at the ready. He'd timidly journeyed through the Faceless' land of horror, seen what the Chronoblivion had made of it, and the story would never leave his mind. No matter how much he'd wish that it would.

"But you are doing to my friends what the Chronoblivion did to you, and I can't let them die like this."

And more than that - he'd fought and snuck and labored his way through the Faceless's mass, and somewhere in that horrible pit of suffering, he'd found his mother again.

Now she was ready, with the Sword Unbreakable to kill the creature that had separated them, and Kubo was ready with everything he had to protect her while she did.

"Stop this now, and let them go. They don't belong here any more than I do."

With his mother alive, nothing could convince him he belonged anywhere but at her side.

He didn't want to regret this story, and he would regret if it ended with the Faceless' death, instead of its healing. But if the choice was between it and his friends - and especially, between it and his mother - Kubo knew which ending he would rather live with.

Still - he held out a spark of hope that the Faceless could choose right.

He held his bachi, ready to defend his mother at her work, just as hard.

Locus is there, but barely seems present at all. He's retreated and let something else take command, a ragged figure in broken scout armor perched atop his back, and using the chains winding about his limbs and throat to puppet him forward to attack.

Massive hands swipe to knock down anyone who stands in their way as he barrels forward, something dark oozing from the jagged, teeth-filled gash of his mouth. There's none of his usual fighter's grace, just brutal movement and the intent to tear apart anything he can lay hands on.

Just make it end. Bring it all to an end.

When these desperate tactics seem to fail him he retreats into shadow, vanishing. Waiting for one of the other monsters to lure the Legionnaire's in, to capture their attention, to allow him to bear in from behind. Best to keep an ear out during any of the fights for the tick-tick-tick of that gear embedded in his back, or the raking of chains as the corpse on his back reins him into action all over again.

The corpse version of Felix that had been perched on his back? Simply vanishes, as if he never was at all. Locus doesn't have that luxury.

Instead he collapses forward, gripping at the ground as his body reshapes and retreats, the bony gear and chains falling away and slipping out from under his skin, and the organic growths over his armor peeling away. The undersuit beneath is a black-slick ruin, and he's lost his helmet somewhere along the way, but he barely seems aware of that fact.

Or anything, really.

Even once the transformation is complete and it's definitely Locus sitting there, he doesn't move. Doesn't respond. He'd thought it was over, and the things he'd seen...things he'd done...

They were better off without him. The Faceless hadn't been lying on that count.

He belonged here. Even as the In-Between started to collapse and fall apart, there was no sign that Locus was voluntarily going anywhere.

There are a lot of injuries to tend to. Places where his body split open to make room for that monstrosity, oozing blood and black until he barely knew where it stopped and he started. It's obvious enough that he needs tending to that there's little time lost in getting him onto one of those beds.

He doesn't fight it. Doesn't do much but letting the robotics do their work, patch him up, seal his wounds and give him leave to go clean himself off. After that...

What comes after that?

What comes after seeing the sins of your life laid out behind you in a bloody trail? What follows having mind and body invaded by some malevolent, devouring force and still feeling like you were probably in better hands with it than on your own?

You thought you got to just up and leave that all behind? Shit. Thought you knew better than that.

Oh yes. Can't forget that he's still hearing that voice, despite the monstrosity that had attached itself to him technically being gone.

He does what he can to avoid the rest of the Legionnaires on the way back to Legion World. And if he can help it, he'll be able to avoid the rest of them on the way to his biome before locking himself in.

It'd been agonizing, the turning, but it'd been gradual. Cocooned as he is in wires and pulsing veins York hasn't so much as moved since Cortana locked Delta away in his own little corner of his brain, distant enough to give York peace of mind, close enough to keep him from feeling entirely abandoned. But changing back? Within the confines of his digital prison Delta coils and curls and shrieks in fragments of code-

York is left to feel every wire retract, every vein burning as it peels it's way back through his body to the implant site. After a few gargling moments when he thinks he can move- needs to shove himself over enough to hack up buckets of black bile- he clears his throat and screams. No morphine, no healing unit, no deeply wound code to divert the pain and he must feel every inch for every moment it takes for him to become, well, him again. For the thing that had been Delta to be banished from their systems and leave him a collapsed, shuddering mess on the meaty floor.

Running- running isn't happening. He doesn't think he could stand.

His first salient thought is that Cortana is a beast. The little cell she'd sequestered Delta in holds true even after the turning, keeping York viscerally aware of his own aches, pains, and mental isolation and just as relieved to be able to think without an audience. Little of it's kind. Less is coherent. All lizard brain aches and agreement so long as relief is offered, the robotic surgery suite an odd point of familiarity in the middle of a fucking hellish experience.

Moving feels like a shit idea but- as soon as he can? He reaches back to rest a hand on his implant, eyes in the middle distance. No wires. No veins.

Just the usual hard patch of the chip and nothing else out of the ordinary. If it weren't for the bone deep ache and new bitching scars he'd think it'd never happened. Just a very real, very weird, very bloody hallucination. For the moment he's...alright. If. Rattled. He is by turns attempting humor with a rough rasp of voice or dozing, trying to put it all behind him and focus on other people from where he's laid out prone on the bed. At least until Delta attempts some manner of conversation through his cage- his reaction is immediate and uncharacteristic as it is instinctive-

He rips Delta's chip from its housing, slams it into a storage slot on his bracer, and throws that across the room to the nearest empty bed.

Pissed- yes. Betrayed? Incredibly. So callous as to want to destroy Delta? Never.

But he's done with the voice in his head and that formerly soothing wash of green.

He is, to his mind, partially responsible for what happened to York. He can't decide if he feels more guilt or relief, knowing that he wasn't the only one to crumple.

They haven't spoken since...since the discussion about Chorus, really. Their encounter inside The In-Between doesn't count -- maybe, he thinks, depending on how much of that was really him -- but he finds himself drifting towards where York is being kept before sequestering himself away for the remainder of the trip.

He arrives just in time to see the AI chip go flying, and he hesitates at the door.

York turns his back on the door (he can't really keep anything from happening if someone really wanted to fuck him up right now) and does his best to fall in a protective curl. Moving his legs still hurts but then so does everything else. Doesn't matter who's around or what's going on, he's not moving.

He has clocked out for the moment, fuck everything.

Delta's chip, on the other hand, lights up the storage unit with a hastily cobbled together morse code of blinking lights, attempting to communicate in that fashion if York wouldn't permit him their usual means. In the storage unit he is- isolated. Blind.

Locus's eyes shift from York's body language -- a clear sign that he is in no mood to talk -- to the AI chip. Freelancers were given AI, he knows this, but he wasn't aware any had retained theirs. Washington no longer worked with one under any circumstances, and the Epsilon unit...

Quietly, he moves towards where the chip had landed on the bed, plucking it up before glancing back in York's direction.

Why would he discard it now?

From the holes in his armor to the holes in his skin, york had been and is still a mess. But wires aside... He hadn't changed. The empty node on the nape of his neck is where he'd been hung by those wires. Where the strings come from.

In locus' hand, the blinking slows. Detatched from york's mind he is, technically, free of the box cortana made for hi. Enough to force out a quizzical bit of code- a holographic question mark now that he's got it online.

It takes a minute more than it really should have to come to the conclusion he needs to. York didn't transform. He was a byproduct. What had morphed, changed as he had changed, was that node on the back of his neck, the source of...

His AI.

York wasn't the monster here. So there was no point in discussing it with him. Brow furrowing, Locus lowered his gaze to the AI before closing his fingers around it securely. Looks like I have more in common with a machine, after all. You were wrong, Washington.

Silently, he drifts out of the room again, Delta's chip still in hand.

York's scream echoes around the circular room and god, is that a sound she never needed to hear. Project Freelancer had more than its share of 'scientific failures' and training missions gone wrong; it's not the first time she's heard a team mate scream in pain, but it jars her all the same and shakes her into action.

Her feet slip across the blood soaked floor between her teleporting jumps across the room as she stumbles to a halt at the crumpled side of her friend.

"Easy now- just breathe, York."

He's lots so much blood. Connie doesn't know what Delta's status is but her best guess is that he's also incapacitated, which leaves no one to run York's healing unit.

"How do they look, Cortana?"

It takes a moment for Delta to work through the limited means available to him before he can form a more concrete image. Hovering and green, armored and still, he tips his helmet up to Locus. A tinny speaker crackles to life on the underside of the storage unit.

Hello.

Edited 2017-01-17 21:14 (UTC)

The image chosen doesn't surprise him. He's already seen Cortana here, but Delta more closely resembles Epsilon in form. Just green, instead of blue.

"York didn't mention that he had an AI."

Hopefully the lack of niceties doesn't offend, but...Locus is rather to-the-point on the best of days. There was a reason he wasn't the 'people person'.

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Page 1 of 14

SILENT HORIZON - [Part 2: Facing the Faceless/Escape] [modplot]

FACING THE FACELESS

THE ESCAPE

THE AFTERMATH

Roland Deschain - phalanxed

Roland Deschain

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Kubo and Sariatu - defending

Locus (and zombie!Felix) - phalanxed

Locus

Locus

York & Delta

York

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