Totally random but, I was just reading Erha vol.6 earlier and, respectfully, this actually destroyed me:
‘No one remembered that to raise someone to the heights of worship—demanding he take every step along the path the masses dictated, demanding he only live according to the whims of the people, refusing to let him show the slightest hint of selfish desire—was, at its core, an act of cruelest coercion.’ - pg.117
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[SCENARIO CONTINUED FROM HERE.]
You select the second oldest of the available files. An observation log — COLONY keeps these, or so you assume. He never leaves commentary or notes to organize them. He probably just memorizes them instead.
The terminal beeps beneath your fingertips, every click practically a gunshot in the quiet room. Thanks to your pass you are technically permitted to be here by the system — but you know better. There are security measures here that were not to be violated. If you are discovered, if THIS is discovered, you would likely be in trouble.
The screen loads. Text fills the margins. After a moment, you realize that it is not just a file; it’s a transcript and an audio sample. There’s also a small attachment of some kind, likely an image.
You play the audio.
[LOADING. . .
(A short period of complete silence. Then, rustling as footsteps approach, and the familiar whir of a door. A familiar voice fades in with them.)
“… I told you, it isn’t going to work.”
“So you’ve said, Captain.”
(The door whirs again. Locks.)
“Please don’t call me that. Everyone keeps calling me that. Really I mean, I don’t even know what to do with…”
(The sound of movement. Footsteps, slightly heavier but more measured than the first. The sound of something opening with a mechanical hiss — a containment unit?)
(A quiet sigh. It’s barely audible.) “That… isn’t what I think. Right? Another one?”
(A chuckle.) “Don’t sound so unenthusiastic. It’s terrible for morale.”
“Le—“
“Just put them on, won’t you? It can’t hurt. One more trial.”
“… Fine! Fine.”
(The footsteps draw closer.)
“Good. Now grab my hand.”
(A clang, like somebody knocked into something.)
“No.”
“Trust me.”
(Rapidly receding footsteps joined by another set.)
“No!”(A loud bang, like a fist slamming against metal. The footsteps stop.) “No.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m right.”
“This isn’t the answer. It isn’t going to — it’ll never be the answer, Leander, and I don’t even know what it — you know you can’t, right? Can’t come back? Doing this won’t let you see her agai——!“
“Captain.”
(Silence.)
“… shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Prove it.”
”Leander, please.”
“Grab my hand. This will work.”
“…”
“I swear.”
(The seconds tick by. Then.)
“You...”
(Another chuckle. Warmer in tone.)
“Didn’t I say I would do it? Didn’t I promise?”
(Laughter. Loud, nearly hysterical laughter interrupts him. It’s boisterous, disruptive.)
“You did! You did, you… you magnificent bastard, you really found a way to———“]
The audio ends.
You stare at the screen. No matter how long you look at it, the text does not continue, the audio file does not extend. All that remains is a single attachment. Frustration makes your jaw tense, but you don’t have time to waste being angry. You’re running out the clock as it is.
You click it.
[LOADING. . .]
And then the screen goes dark.
No. Not just the screen — the whole room blacks out. Every terminal flickers off, every bulb extinguishes. For a moment, there is total, unfamiliar silence. Even the faint electric buzzing that comes with electronics is gone.
You are completely alone.
You turn, grasping blindly at the records pass, the imprint of the screen still on your eyes. You stumble for the door, and to your surprise the pass blinks green, the only light left in the room. It opens and you shove your way through into the hall —
Only to slam into a barrier. You look around.
There is no hallway.
Of all times for the paths to shift…
The room you are in is tiny. The door behind you closes, and there is no scanner on your side, nor a handle. It is completely featureless. There is no way to open it.
You call for COLONY. There is no answer.
You call for the Captain. There is no answer.
You call for help.
You call for help.
You call.
You call.
you.
c a l l.
. . .
. . .
. . .
[YOU CANNOT BE TRUSTED.]
[. . . ]
[THE CAPTAIN WILL LOOK FOR YOU.]
[. . .]
[BUT THE CAPTAIN WILL NOT FIND YOU.]
[ . . . ]
[I AM SORRY.]
[I AM SURE THAT MEANS LITTLE. BUT I AM.]
[CURIOSITY IS NOT A TERRIBLE THING.]
[BUT I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT HUMANS QUITE LIKED CATS.]
[. . .]
[A POOR JOKE.]
[I CAN’T HELP BUT WONDER IF IT WAS WORTH IT.]
[I DOUBT IT.]
[BUT I DO HOPE.]
(Scenario End. Ending: “Status Quo”.)
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