Conversation · Noid

Start the war (Hey! Hey!) Hit the floor! (Hey! Hey! ) We need more (Hey! Hey!) Army of hard core! Yea.

Long live the world that gave shape to hard core to complete itself! A true heir to Dolorian values. Three-and-a-half centuries and the gift still keeps on giving.

Endless are the wonders borne out of the cultural collaboration so wisely facilitated by the free world!

I've got the money, I've got the place/ You've got the figure, you've got the face/ Let's get together, we're jumping all over the world!

JUMPING ALL OVER THE WORLD!

I'm thinking of wearing sports apparel as my hard core getup to maximize the mobility of limbs.

You might as well make it complete with a whistle, then.

I am going to truly wreck myself as a machine of modern party in a final showdown between flesh and spirit!

That's a good way to go.

Hard people. Hard republic. Hard cell. Hard party. Hard riot. Hard government. Core membership. Core secretary. Core teachings. Core fighters.

Predictable, but solid.

I don't seem to have anything to add to the core.

So you've come empty-handed and pure, without burdens. A hard-core supplicant. That will have to do.

This is taking place in Revachol, hard core rising. It could only happen here, in the bottom of the geopolitical abyss. Those are the warhorns of today. We'll be given a fresh start.

Oh yeah it feels manly. Beautiful.

You know it feels unfair, there's a party everywhere.

That level of conceptual thinking is not part of your skill set.

Your conceptualization accepts this in solemn admiration and gratitude.

SEE THE SUNSHINE/ WE AIN'T STOPPING/ KEEP ON DANCING/ TILL THE WORLD ENDS!

IF YOU FEAR IT, LET IT HAPPEN. KEEP ON DANCING TILL THE WORLD ENDS.

I want to have fuck with you.

Say that again?

I want to have fuck with you!

You know it, baby!

Aggressive. Monotonous... but also somehow sacral. Primitive, yet futuristic, like a machine man. Nothing exists, but the here and now. All are one, one purpose... All you've managed is a list. The parts don't form a whole.

"What did Tiago tell you about the church?"

"The crab-man's been lurking here for a while. He's experienced things. Things that give off bad sines. As far as we can tell, the Ubis built this place about three hundred and twenty years ago as a sarcophagus."

"What's it for?"

"Encasement. Confinement. Of something they were afraid of. Something new and unheard of on the isola." He looks up, into the darkness beyond the beams. "I think that's what the crab-man is experiencing when he climbs around upstairs..."

"Like, this is some old world shit the Ubis had heard about... and thought the best way to deal with it was to build a church. Surrounding it. To contain it."

"I don't get it, contain what exactly?"

"I dunno... and it's not something they properly understood either. What it does. But it's what this Soona person is looking for, and trying to measure." He nods toward the woman.

"It'll be fruitless, though. She won't be able to measure it. People like that always want to measure everything, all those things they really can't."

The wood creaks as a gale blows by outside. Dust particles fall through the darkness, settling down on the age-bleached floor boards. The structure does not feel particularly durable.

"What makes you think Soona's going to fail?"

"Seems to be the trend around here, doesn't it? You can't measure shit like this... it's not like... with substance."

"This building seems... less than structurally sound."

"No, it's pretty fucking un-sound if you ask me. They should have built a club for anodic music around it instead." He grins...

"Anodic music will definitely contain whatever we're dealing with." His words echo in the chamber...

"And if it can't, well..." He shrugs non-committally.

"Well, if it's without substance I guess there's nothing to worry about."

"Maybe you can figure things out, cop-man. I think we got on a good level here... the sines are syncing up well."

"I found a Doomed Commercial Area in Martinaise proper. Maybe it's the same thing the Ubis were trying to contain?"

The young man rubs his chin, in silence, then mumbles: "... like a concentric ring spreading out... the struggling villages..."

"... and that is what caused the communards to fail in defending the beachhead. Yeah, a lot of failure has gone down around here."

"Now that I think of it, it doesn't sound plausible."

He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. It's not a thing we can answer, cop-man. Even I have limits -- I'm a limited-psy person."

"You think there's any merit to the theory?"

"Huh, spooky. Let's talk about something else."

"Sounds like a job for the Remote Viewers Division."

The young man shrugs. "I doubt it. I don't even think the Ubis properly understood it. What it does. But it's what this Soona person is looking for, and trying to measure." He nods toward the woman.

"Do you mean there are dead bodies here?!"

"Not like a literal sarcophagus. I'm just being... metaphorical."

"You got us in, cop. I can't believe you got us in..." He looks around the hall, examining the carpentry.

With wonder in his sharp eyes.

"Between you and me -- I don't know if you've noticed this about me... I'm a little suspicious of authority. But you -- you really came through for the hard core underground."

"Yes. You really came through. For the hard core underground." He spreads his arms, looking around at the speedfreaks setting up shop. "How come?"

The would-be leader is cutting some futuristic shapes on the floor, sweating profusely.

Acele using her contact mic to listen to a tree, underwater.

The one with the large head is blasting the dance track on repeat, while the stained glass window behind him is rattling from the bass.