Challenging · Shivers ≥ 6
Yes, spindly extremities have been here, snapped the cords keeping the buoy in place. A little longer -- and it will be floating somewhere out in the open sea...
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
711 · Voice lines
Yes, spindly extremities have been here, snapped the cords keeping the buoy in place. A little longer -- and it will be floating somewhere out in the open sea...
Moves across the water, leaving no traces. You're cold again, as always...
Cold. Air. Tendons. Snapped the cords keeping the buoy in place. A little longer and it would be floating somewhere out in the open sea...
It's just rapid movement across the water. It leaves no trace. A whisper...
And in them -- a chill, like electricity running up your spine. Crawling into your skull:
South, the Bay of Martinaise is dotted with little freckles of islets, turning green, with white flowers in white snow...
On Meroe drive in Central Jamrock -- in a darkened hall lit by orange desk lamps -- far away from the noise outside -- a middle-aged man taps commands into an old radiocomputer. A printout falls on the desk. Behind him, a lonely reader scours some dusty bookshelves, looking for a paperback...
You look south, over the crumbling balustrade. There -- 1.2 kilometres away -- a piece of broken stone cuts into the sky. A tomb. On it, a mural that used to say: tomorrow is just a whisper away. You cannot really see the Feld building from here, but somehow you feel like you should return to it.
Inside, in a cell, a young woman is withdrawing from amphetamines, barbiturates and alcohol. All at once. While two men in brown suits wave ICP badges at a young policeman. She hears the door open...
On the platform a young woman is withdrawing from amphetamines, barbiturates and alcohol. Yet still she smiles among the crowd, fading from your mind's eye...
...and knows it's over. They've come for her. Outside it's springtime, the river flows blue and green into the Bay of Martinaise.
Midtown, across the bay of Revachol. Cold rain falls on forty-story towers. Above them -- Lausanne Central Aerodrome; a cocoon suspended in the grey sky by a web of suspension wiring, encircled by hybrid aircraft.
Midtown, across the bay of Revachol. Snow falls on forty-story towers. Above them -- Lausanne Central Aerodrome; a cocoon suspended in the snowy sky by a web of suspension wiring, encircled by hybrid aircraft.
Across the harbour, on the South bank of the River Esperance, white snow falls on a two story box of duraluminum. Precinct 57, near the gates to Terminal H.
...and knows it's over. They've come for her. Outside night falls, the river flows by, treacle black into the Bay of Martinaise.