Unreliable Narrator

It would be strange if someone kept documented logs of their work on a memory crystal.

IC: Reliable Narrator | Ta-Metru The beheaded zombie stumbled about, arms reaching for the Swordsman before the motions stopped and the body fell limp. The two vahki closest to the disc hunters stared at the corpse and at the toa who'd beheaded it with emotionless and apathetic optics. A rapid chattering occurred between them, and then… they stayed put. It was their job to guard the door. They guarded the door. They were not alone though. The Vahki were always in communication with their hive. The Hive responded. Nuurakh began to flood the streets of Ta-Metru in an attempt to restore order. Zombies deemed unable to return to work functions would be rounded up and placed in containment spheres. Those that resisted would be hit with freeze discs. They responded weirdly to the state of emergency, efficiently inefficient. Vahki knew of injury and death, they did not know zombification. When parts broke, they were repaired and returned to work. The Vahki didn't understand why some zombies looked acceptable for work functions but violently refused to return. It was smoky, ashen mayhem as the robotic police attempted to learn on the fly. Barak's mind touched one of the zombies and felt nothing. Then,suddenly, he dropped to his knees as an impossible force of consciousness assaulted his mind. An alien mass, unintelligible, raw, and powerful lashed his brain with psychic energies until he felt bruised and sore. He didn't feel whatever attacked him did so maliciously. In fact, he'd never felt so much like an inappropriately punished rahi before. With the brazen force of the attack, could he even concentrate on his illusions? Then whatever beat his mind began to fill it with words. He found himself gibbering strange sounds before finally something matoran came out: "It's only a paper Moon… swinging on a star…" IC: Reliable Narrator | The Ripple Varxi's electricity fried zombies and cargo alike. The coursing bolts filled the inside of the cargo hold as everyone braced themselves. It licked across surge panels, and the lights onboard flickered rapidly. The bodies of the undead visorak tremored then went still as Ontrox and Turagak dispatched them. As Tugarak gave the order the vortixx helmsman increased the rate of levitation. The Ripple rose from the barren hills, zombies clinging to the underside. They slowly fell off one by one like insects. Finally, they were free and sailing across the open sea back toward the island of the Barraki North of Destral. A dead silence hung over the crowd as they lost themselves in thoughts of what transpired in such a short time: what they'd seen, what they'd done, and what would happen next. As they passed beyond the boundary where the storm no longer raged, Mazor felt a sudden pulling on the back of his mind. Exhaustion set in. Without realizing it, his mask of undeath had been draining his energy for some time. Now, as he finally became conscious of the problem, he couldn't figure out how to make it stop. He felt like a leaky sink. Then he heard something moving in the cargo hold that sounded… different. His eyes darted around but saw nothing. Perhaps Mazor just needed a nap. IC: Reliable Narrator | Silver Sea, Overtaken Temple With the arrival of the tanks, the attackers secured the beach and decimated the walking remnants. They forced the defenders back into the jungle, and proceeded to follow them through the trees toward the real objective of the operation. Loss bore its weight on their heartlights while they marched alongside the hovering tanks forward through the jungle. The full sense of what transpired on the beach began to sink in. Insects buzzed annoyingly close, reminding the attackers while they once claimed this land for religious reflection they now were little better than pests on the landscape. As the attacking force from Metru-Nui rumbled through the jungle foliage they noticed their destination through breaks in the tree trunks. A dormant volcanic mountain rose surrounded with a few smaller hills beside it. Beyond the mountains on the horizon line the silver sea glittered with the newly added hellish rouge. Between the crux of the jungle, the mountains, and the sea, rose a grey tower with various outbuildings. Shouts and curses mixed with the crunch of metal on stone and the jostling of armor and ammunition echoed from tumbling ruins. Metru-Nui’s forces found the way through the jungle to the League’s base on the island. Their heartlights filled with hope. Maybe, even with the rising dead, there would be hope for their assault. The ruins of a matoran temple were overgrown by vines where the jungle gave way to rocky mountainside. Black scorch marks covered the grounds where the League burned away the underbrush surrounding the temple. Two greater towers of the religious complex rose above the treeline, but the rest crumbled into a mess of grey stones and rusted pipes. The League’s multicolored power cords slithered through the ruins of the complex like sleeping pythons from the generators stationed closer to the shore on the mountainside. Vortixx and skakdi manned what cover they could find, as well as members of a broad and stoic species known most famously by their leader Barraki Mantax. Once the attackers were in range the defensive barrage would begin. There were no mines this time, no Hagah cannons, only the violence and fear two hands and a desperate mind could create. IC: Reliable Narrator | Barraki Base Island It was later in the day than Amartakonen hoped when Takadox could finally see him. They were in one of the towers of the palatial fortress closest to the ocean. In fact, Barraki Takadox had a trapdoor which dropped several stories down to the water. Amartakonen had never seen it used. The floors were stone, as were the walls, but Takadox had done his best to make this is own personal museum to his prestige. Trophies from war on far away islands were displayed on well structured shelves. Takadox himself sat enjoying a meal -- some kind of tan crab with a dipping sauce -- when Amartakonen entered. His eyes flickered up and met his servant, then he gestured for him to find a chair. He cracked a crab leg, tossed aside the bits of shell, and took a bite. "It's been a bad day. What do you want?"

You could certainly find out by trying.

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IC: Reliable Narrator | The Ripple Mazor realized quickly attempting to bargain with the undead got him nowhere. His display with the weakness disc didn't upset them further or stop their scrabbling advance. If anything, his showing them the cube increased their rapacity. Slobber and bile pooled from their mouths, and their fingers twitched spasmodically in unnatural directions. A hand swiped near the cube in Mazor's hand. It missed, but only by a hair. IC: Reliable Narrator | Ga-Metru Rooftops As Karista performed her newfound role as a bird, the containment sphere on the rooftop gave a soft beep. The Green gauge for its stored power changed to yellow. Containment spheres were usually placed on a charging pedestal to keep the matoran inside healthy and unharmed. Vhisola's time safely unconscious began to run out.

We've all had that moment. I highly recommend writing in Google docs and then copying it over.

Okay, I think I'm all caught up on what posts I need to make. Thanks everyone for your patience.

IC: Reliable Narrator | Silver Seach Beach Rose torched the ghoulish freak who rose back from the first killing. His body crumpled to ash, and her eyes took in every moment. Despite her terror, she couldn’t look away. She’d pushed forward in response, driving the terrors back by becoming a monster herself. Eventually, she confirmed fire stopped things from getting back up if they burned long enough. Meanwhile, Pardehi surveyed the beachhead. He was right in thinking no other medic currently stood on the rocky shore. The rest of them were on the bluff already, helping the fighters who’d pushed their way into the League’s embankments. They’d used levitation discs on the wounded to bring them to places with cover, and were attempting to maintain a triage system in the fire zone. It was up to Pardehi to make sure his new friends were safe to the bitter end. And the end looked close, in the medic’s eyes. With the large hagah cannons taken out, and the Metru-Nui tanks providing fire at the fleeing ranks of still living League fighters who were hightailing it into the jungle atop the bluff, it looked like the beach was theirs by the nature of them being the only ones on it. Well, them and the undead horde. IC: Reliable Narrator | The Ripple Mazor and the explorers fought their way through the savage pack of undead matoran back to The Ripple. The matoran responded intelligently, but seemed most drawn to Mazor and the strange silver cube in a cloth wrap. They seemed to know its location even without sight. As the explorers prepared for takeoff, the nynrah matoran began clambering onto the sides of The Ripple, crawling on it and trying to bite their way through the hull. A horde of the undead piled up against the closing bulkhead, and the explorers had to fight desperately to keep them from scrambling aboard the airship. It was Ostrox who noticed first. He’d stayed on the ship, and so he had to figure out how to explain why the visorak corpses they’d yet to dispose of began moving again. IC: Othorak | Ta-Metru Othorak plummeted through the skies and his own memories before crashing into the buildings below. Something sharp ran through him, his vision gave way to agony, and the last words on his lips were; "uvu we zcls azor tbuv." They were a guttral noises, and not his own. His eyes glazed as life left his body. Don't you love the stars? How beautiful they are? How stupidly the matoran stare at them and wonder if their motions mean anything? That's silly. I'm just painting who matters up here. Because I can't remember how fast time flies for you. Oops. Wrong timing. Let me fix that. I can fix things. A little rusty but I'm getting the hang of it. No. No I don't need your help. thank you I can do this. Goodbye. Hello. Goodbye. Hello. Othorak's chest combusted; his lungs felt on fire. Looking down he saw they were. Smoke poured from his mouth, but the burning inside filled him with life instead of pain. His vision was pour, a red haze covering his world. He felt lifted, above the squabbles. Othorak was free. He no longer had a master. Time couldn't contain him. He slowly stomped through the wreckage of the building he'd fallen through. Daylight and matoran just like him greeted his eyes. They loved him. They loved him so much they nibbled on his legs, clung to his back, and chased him down the street playfully. Othorak kept walking. He could tell Kalmah this was all a success, or he could enjoy relaxing in his home by the beach in Le-Metru. It was his choice, really. OOC: Undead Othorak is yours, @Azibo. New perk: he's on fire. Can he die? Yes, if the fire gets put out.

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IC: Reliable Narrator | Ta-Metru The vahki stationed by the Great Furnace did not adjust their posture when the Swordsman approached. They were already attentive, and clearly saw his approach through the smoke of Ta-Metru. Nuparu built the vahki to work well in their native environments: the bordakh swam, the nuurakh’s optics were based on movement and heat signatures rather than traditional sight. This led to common jokes about nuurakh being unable to see someone who stood still. It wasn’t true, they’d see the heat signature and arrest graffiti artists all the same, but it made for a good jibe. The Swordsman asked permission to enter the Great Furnace. The two closest vahki standing guard at the closed door cocked their heads and looked at each other in unison before returning their augmented gaze to the elementally-impaired toa of fire and shook their heads: no. Without the proper clearance, be it accompanying a real worker for repairs or an official document, the vahki were unable to change their gestured determination. One kindly pointed to a sign by the door which read; “Closed to the public due to recent incineration. Guided tours for apprentice smiths meet next week.” Before the Ta-Metru Disc Hunters could come up with their next strategy they found themselves in the shadow of a behemoth cargo airship. It flew past them, dangerously low to buildings and far below the legal limit. It tipped wildly to port, floating almost sideways. They noticed smoke coming from underneath, and the Swordsman wondered if he caught a glimpse of crimson on the windows of the bridge, then the airship careened and crashed its way through Ta-Metru. While Othorak cared little for the trivial details and simply considered the cargo airship he’d hijacked as just another in a fleet, this airship had a crew, she had a history, and she had a name: The Grand Vika. This merchant airship’s legacy stretched back to its maiden voyage delivering cabbages and a group of matoran explorers to Zakaz. The explorers never came back, and the skakdi liked the cabbages, but the captain of the airship prided himself on the knowledge The Grand Vika could handle almost any storm or distance. It could not, however, handle Othorak. On the bridge, Captain Faebir wept as he held a fellow crewman in his arms. He could do nothing but mourn, and curse the terrorist who doomed his ship, his crew, and his life. Captains stayed with their crew through fire and flame. Fitting to crash in Ta-Metru. The hearts of those working in the district of fire were aflame with anger, grief, and deeper down a burning sense of terror as the hijacked airship crashed into a smelting tower. The Grand Vika crumpled into the side of a tall metal flue. Her glass ceiling shattered, sharps shards raining down on the workers below in the fire pits. Flame belched from the flue, bursting into blue and purple displays as protodermis from the airship leaked into the smithy inside the tower. Her frame crumpled and twisted as The Grand Vika continued to scrape her way across and into the smelting towers, refineries, and artisan mask maker studios of several Ta-Metru blocks. The destruction from one cargo airship crash would leave a lasting scar on the city’s landscape and morale. Levitation and Increase Weight kanoka discs rained from the belly of The Grand Vika onto the ruined workshops, city streets, and unlucky matoran. Chunks of the damaged towers began to float into the air, forming metal islands of waste and sputtering flame. Other chunks became impossibly heavy and collapsed inwards, killing more innocent lives. What the Brute Squad of Dark Hunters -- and one impostor -- noticed more than the flaming ball of destruction on the city skyline was the devastation at street level. Matoran died to rubble, falling glass, bursting gas pipes which caught aflame. They watched from their meeting place on the street corner as the death toll racked up. Then, disturbingly, they watched the corpses twitch, twist, and begin to move. Jaws fell slack in their matoran masks, hands bent backwards, and knees rattled together as the zombies began milling about incoherently. Undead lungs attempted to inflate for no reason: all their heartlights were red and unblinking. Then a small pack of zombies noticed the Brute Squad and shambled forward aggressively. In a matter of minutes the Swordsman watched part of Ta-Metru become a war zone between those still living their first life, and those enjoying their second or third. IC: Reliable Narrator | Po-Metru Arkius and Nale knew the statue they needed when they saw it: a gigantic figure of Turaga Dume himself covered in graffiti. Someone, or many someones, made sure the city of Metru-Nui knew just how much they despised their turaga. Insults in vibrant colors, phrases used from all walks of life, and even a few rather graphic cartoons involving sharp objects and improper safety handling techniques colorfully screamed from the stone surface. Something in particular caught their eye: Turaga Dume’s staff had arrows painted on it pointing to the ruby-red glass set in the staff’s crown, and oddly a symbol the two toa had seen painted on Po-Metru kanoka discs as well. Likewise, his robed arm pointed powerfully front of him, casting a skewed and warped shadow on the desert sand below with the altered heavens. Someone had lopped the hand off and it lay half-buried in the sand. Light filtered through the red glass and created a fractal on the ground which formed the shape of a warped circle. Looking closely Nale and Arkius made out a strange sequence of letters: “Srzhu fdq rqob uhdfk vr idu Glj lwv judyh zkhuh lw hqgv” OOC: Okay, first puzzle for Po- is discovered. I'll post more later, but I've been under the weather today so I'm moving slow.

It was fun to read.

@Onaku, Raz is approved. Maybe give the mask a name? @Biological Chronicler, Amartakonen is approved.

Dark Hunter Hit (week of 02/17/2020): Eliminate the terrorist in Ta-Metru Nidhiki escaped custody, is responsible for the death of several matoran in the coliseum, and is at large. Find and eliminate the traitor. Last Week Summary: The Ripple: Mazor touched the orb in the grotto. A wave of undeath washed over the known world, bringing the crew of the Tactical Panda back to some form of life as zombies. Anything freshly dead seemed to spring back from the dirt. With the orb being touched it turned into a puzzle cube. Mazor fell into the Between, and found he was not alone. Upon returning to reality and leaving the grotto he saw the suns, moons, and stars were all present in the heavens, as was a "red sky" -- a ring of crimson on the horizon line in all directions. Le-Metru: The Le-Metru disc hunters gather themselves after their near death fall. Otharak hijacked an airship sewed chaos on the docks! Got in a fight with the Dark Hunter Sidra, who followed him onto the airship. They flew to Ta-Metru. Ta-Metru: The Ta-Metru disc hunters decided to speak to the vahki and ask nicely to be let into the Great Furnace. The stolen airship from Le-Metru floats over Ta-Metru precariously as Otharak and Sidra fight fiercely in the engine room! The dark hunter Brute Squad assembles as Leonn passes himself off as "Ghost" to Vyarik and Waveahk. Po-Metru: Jabali halts Vashni, Jutori, Atamai, Kilo-M9, and friends in their search for the Great Disc. "Informant" begins searching for the Great Disc using his duplicates The Taku squad land their ship in the Po-Metru sculpture fields. Nale and Arkius bond while searching for the Great Disc. They find a clue. Ga-Metru: Tekmo runs in circles Vhisola is placed in a containment sphere by the Vahki, but not before Waveahk shoots her with a zamor sphere. Okuo hijacks the vahki transport and takes Vhisola in her containment sphere to the rooftops, but is stopped from immediately healing her by Karista the krahli being nearby after Paju and Ellie stampede through the area. Onu-Metru: Look who's back? Back again? Should he be back? Kill him again? (No one has confirmed either way.) Ko-Metru: Something is terribly wrong with the stars... OK something was terribly wrong with the stars in terms of astronomy but now they're just flat out wrong. Try turning them off and on again? Silver Sea Beach Conflict: The fight leans towards a Metru-Nui victory! Push the League scum back! Skyra blew up the gunnery on the mech cannon. Rose held the line! The vahki are a success! Pardehi keeps his streamer friend Thom alive twice. Zombies??? I believe that's all for last week! Love you all! Remember the night is always darkest before the dawn...

Leonn approved

The undead rising are Mazor-based. Imagine if a toa of fire had grabbed the orb. For full transparency since I got this question a lot and that means I probably didn't do a good job writing it out, raised dead are a short term effect and only recently deceased are brought back. This effect will fade in a matter of a few IRL days.

At this time no character has their powers changed by the effects of the cube or what occurred in the grotto. All powers recharge as normal. The orb's effect has been used. No further consequences will be added.

Lots going on! Some clarification from my most recent post: 1.) Weather is permanently changed. There is no longer a day/night cycle. The flow of time seems to be holding fine otherwise. 2.) Since Mazor is undead himself in a sense, the zombies rising is an added consequence of touching the orb. Other characters touching the orb would have created different consequences, with varying durations.

IC: Reliable Narrator, everywhere Mazor felt magnetically attracted to the glowing orb. The lightning inside crackled and sputtered brightly as his hands wrapped around its surface. Heavy despite its size, it had the strangest feeling of surface tension when held. Was it a solid or a liquid? Before Mazor could think deeper, the world disappeared from view and his eyes rolled back in his emaciated skull. Everything happened between two instants. The world blinked and Mazor was gone. Crawling from the chrysalis of time, Mazor fell into the void. Without even a line to base reality on, Mazor existed alone. His thoughts rolled out from him, conversing with themselves. He saw his youth, his work with the Dark Hunters, his present life on the run, and strange and twisted versions of all the possible future lives he lived. He felt strangely connected to the nothingness of his own life in this place between time. It was comfortable existing without meaning or purpose. Mazor lost definition of himself. He was the void, the unspeaking unseeing unfeeling unthinking something found in nothingness. Was Mazor even something? Mazor let his existence, his subjectivity, spindle outward and unravel. Then the void pushed back. He had never been alone here. And all at once Mazor felt very real and very, very small. Something weird pet his mind as if he were nothing but a docile rahi, and then his eyes flickered open as he returned to reality. Mazor lay on the floor of the cavern in a pool of his own puke. Pushing himself up with an elbow he realized the orb had changed from a strange sphere to a tiny silver cube and his arm felt drenched as if a balloon filled with water popped in his hands. For everyone else in the grotto, when Mazor’s hand touched the orb the red glow of the suva pulsed twice then went out, as did all light in the grotto, and the party’s breathing echoed in the darkness. The silence slowly filled with the sounds of their heartlights beating in sync to something old. In the cave’s umbra something moved. It uncoiled from the shadows, dripped from the ceiling, and slowly twitched with pulsing veins around the party’s feet. It smelled of ash and rotting protodermis. The suva in the cave regained its glow after a few moments and Mazor slumped to the floor. Something changed: strange metal obelisks up to a toa’s height were embedded in the floor, walls, and ceiling. Red symbols written in an unknown and freshly painted script covered their surface, and the veins in the carved pillars around the suva pumped with an organic rhythm. The stalactites of repentant matoran gave off otherworldly moans but remained unmoving. The crew of The Ripple felt watched by something behind them, but no matter where they turned no one could be seen... Pridak leaned back into his sofa as Nidhiki exited the throne room, the softest tap of his Turaga staff echoing from beyond the closed door. The Barraki leader opened his mouth to speak, but a blinding flash of red light made him flinch. The world suddenly grew dark and cold. The stars flickered. When the suns reappeared the stars and moons remained in the sky. The world felt alien. The tides rushed away, pulled far out from shore, then rushed in with all the collected force. Ships battered against the docks and broke. "What was that?" Takadox yelped, his sensitive eyes most affected by the red blast. "A success," Carapar replied with a shrug. Kalmah looked out toward the sky from the window with a concerned frown… As the fight on the rocky beach began to cede to a Metru-Nui victory, a blinding band of red light filled the sky. It stretched across the Heavens in a wide ring to settle on the horizon. Time itself seemed altered and out of sync. As Pardehi worked to save Jephro his head turned as something twitched on the beach. He couldn't tell what, but something moved. Rose in the bluff saw something twitch as well out of the corner of her eye. The fingers on one of the dead moved. Surely it was just the newly arrived howling winds? In the City of Legends, Turaga Dume felt weak. His knees wobbled and he sank back into his desk chair as the sky permanently changed. Looking out through the open doorway to the balcony of the Coliseum, the elderly Turaga had a perfect view of the changes. "Did Artahka actually do it?" He muttered to himself. "He couldn't possibly have felt this desperate." A matoran page knocked on the hallway door and entered. She look terrified. With her were scholars from each Metru. "We need answers," the scholars said sternly. Not even a how are you how was lunch did you also see the freakish change in the sky? "I agree," Turaga Dume said as he regained composure. He tightly wrung his hands beneath the desk. "Lhikan said the heavens would change if his plan succeeded. I did not imagine he had this much sway with the stars. I will speak with him one more time. Maybe he's repented enough in that cell to be of use to his people." "Lhikan predicted this, but you didn't say?" "He's said many things. He was babbling when captured in the Great Temple. You don't expect me to take everything a murderer says seriously do you, Nuju?" "You should when he was the protector of this island. When prophets speak the faithful should listen." "Well," Turaga Dume sniffed, "he'd stopped being any form of prophet by the time he said anything useful. Leave. I'll get your answers." The matoran nodded and shuffled from the room. He heard them whispering in the hallway, then realized they'd seen him in a moment of weakness. The matoran needed a strong leader or they would fracture as they were prone, not an elderly man in glasses pinched to his mask. Rising, he approached a mirror in the corner of the office. He stared himself down, counting his flaws and hardening them, pushing his weakness and grief aside into the small metaphorical jar he kept tightly sealed in his heartlight. He froze as a shape appeared behind him. He knew who it was, but it didn't make sense. They'd plagued him in dreams for weeks on end. The shadowy specter placed a cold hand on his shoulder. He felt nails digging into him through his robes. Warm breath passed his audio receptors as they leaned down close and whispered; "Hello Turaga. It's time." As they made their way from the cave the crew of The Ripple stared in awe at the changed weather. The storm surrounding the island vanished, replaced by an eerie ring of crimson on the horizon in all directions. Wherever they looked, the color stained the furthest point. Further concerning, the stars and moons lit the afternoon sky alongside the twin suns. The tide came in harsher, and withdrew quicker and further than previously noted. Several dead fish floated on the water’s surface, and when someone got hit with sea spray they noticed it was oddly warm. Then they heard the howls of the haunted, and saw the swiftly shambling corpses of nynrah ghosts clambering ungainly and bloated from the wreck of The Tactical Panda.

Ic: Reliable Narrator, Ta-Metru The party of disc hunters worked their way through the smoky and ashen fire pits toward the momentous Great Furnace on the other side. Above them large buckets on rails carted scrapped works toward the pits and the nearby buildings to be melted into slag and fed to the Great Furnace. Some of these rails and conveyer belts went through openings in the Furnace's upper stories. The sun cut through the smoke and glinted off the vortixx's armor. She stood out like a sore thumb in this place built for matoran and toa. The Swordsman noticed something strange about the lava rock pebbles their feet crunched into between large open pits of flame: the matoran's feet left very big footsteps. Stranger still, the lava rock pebbles occasionally had the seeds of some plant scattered in the mix. As the three grew near the Great Furnace, a monumental structure full of so much residual heat they felt it from where they stood, they realized vahki guarded the doors. Would they try and bluff their way in against robots known for being uninterested in verbal deception, or would they find another way in?

IC: Reliable Narrator Ga-Metru Okuo found several kanoka disc sellers in the neighborhood. The closest was a few blocks away from the college, with good ratings and Ga-Metru disks up to a power rating of four. He'd have to navigate the rooftops carefully with his new pal the containment sphere or risk getting spotted by the vahki. Speaking of… The bordakh chasing Waveahk proved difficult to lose. Their ability to swim confounded him after his initial exposure to the rorzakh. In the end, he realized the only way to out pace the robots involved going beyond their operating range from the charging hive they'd been assigned. Ooc: at work, any further posts from me delayed until done with shift.

IC: Reliable Narrator | Ga-Metru The vahki transport glided through the streets of Ga-Metru quickly. Most of the vahki aboard the transporter were tucked into racks along the roof and powered off, maintaining as much of their internal battery as possible before docking with a charging hive. One remained powered on in the central cargo area of the transporter, watching the city float by through the open bay doors before Okuo made it float away. Another worked the steering and power for the craft by providing its clockwork processors as an outsourced computing system for the onboard driving technology. It was unable to see what occurred. The lid of the copper colored containment sphere opened with a hiss as Okuo pushed the release button . A horrid smell of burnt organics and a cloud of rancid vapor wafted past him. Vhisola lay curled up in the pod, half of her and the interior cushioning twisted, pock-marked, and tortured by the acid from the zamor sphere. the armor covering her body bent at strange angles, as if she'd been hammered out of shape. The acid corroded part of her heartlight panel, but the soft yellow glow beat out a timid rhythm. She was unconscious, terribly hurt, and alive. Okuo noticed a small slot on the side of the containment sphere with Vhisola's kanohi tucked inside.

IC: Reliable Narrator | Le-Metru Otharak rushed through the urban jungle of Le-Metru. He moved carefully and cautiously, but there was only so much the titanic warrior of the League could do to not stand out. He took the side alleys, the long metal fire escapes, the shady corners of the undercity. His travels brought him through the graffiti galleries of the Le-Matoran, with messages and tags -- AVAB, Blink, and Red Eye Mob being popular -- sprayed across the walls and floors of tunnels and abandoned chute stations. Finally, he saw his destination: a Le-Metru airship port. Large silver cargo galleons floated in the air next to the docks, rails and feeder belts extending from their open holds to the shipments waiting their turn to load. Matoran dockworkers milled about in a mostly orderly fashion. The vahki could do only so much to curb the comedic and playful nature of Le-Matoran culture, especially when legitimized work functions in Le-Metru included “whoopee cushion maker” and “drunk machinist”. The air region knew how to work the system. Otharak remembered his orders from his Barraki lord: dismantle the city’s regulated system of transportation to upset the war effort. From the safe vantage point he’d found, Otharak took in the docks and worked on his plan... Sidra’s report to the vahki prompted a small claims ticket to be printed and given to her from a device on its torso -- in case she wanted to follow up in the future. The claims ticket she held had a red bar along the side of the receipt paper, and it rolled in on itself no matter how much Sidra attempted to force it flat. While her nektann scurried about, Sidra noticed a scuttling squad of vahki making their way in the direction of the upper-city docks and chutes... IC: Reliable Narrator | Silver Sea conflict Skyra looked down-sights into the eyes of a skakdi gunner. She was the same element, with mottled green and yellow armor giving the sense of leaves changing from Summer to Autumn. Her eyes were a deep crimson, and sweat brought on by the heat inside the tank trickled down her back. There was an emotional connection of recognition between them, then Skyra pulled the trigger and fired orbs of light and destruction into the gunnery. The skakdi turned to slag, the inside of the gunnery filled with whatever once comprised the crew, and burnt paneling hung loosely on broken wires. The effects were immediate: the giant hagah cannon powered down.

... And that's Vhisola off the canceled hit list..?

IC: Reliable Narrator | Ga-Metru streets Vhisola's body became too weak to resist being shoved into the containment sphere on the vahki transport. Her head felt like a bowling ball, and it lilted toward her faintly beating yellow heartlight as air filled her in ragged gasps. Her fingers were full of pins and needles, and her arms became too heavy to move. Stars swam in her vision, the faces of bordakh crowding around her diminishing from view, losing focus. She felt the soft cushioning inside the containment sphere and melted into its embrace. After the trauma of the day, at least something held her close and made her feel like there might be something alright in a world gone terribly wrong. Waveahk timed his shot so the zamor flew perfectly through the opening in the vahki as they backed away to close the lid of the containment sphere. The zamor pustule was a lime green harbinger of death. As the enforcers pushed down on the lid and it began its automated closing, the zamor flew through the opening and hit Vhisola. It broke on her chest, splattering its acidic contents through the inside of the sphere. Unable to stop the process, the lid closed with a hiss, leaving only the faintest steaming trail of acidic vapor exiting the sphere for anyone to guess at Vhisola's fate. The vahki quickly rolled the sphere out of sight into the transport, drove off, and turned the corner out of view. The remaining squads of Bordahk began to search for the assassin, diving into the waters of Ga-Metru's canals and scuttling down shady alleyways.

Ga-Metru: Vhisola and Bordakh Vhisola gave out a croaked cry as Okuo disappeared. He understood her call for help to be for the Bordakh to hear her, but she’d meant it for him. Vhisola was scared, the effects of the disc were only just wearing off, and she needed a matoran’s shoulder -- any matoran -- to cry on. Instead, she got the metal hands of the of the bordakh closing in around her, pulling her out of the apartment, dragging her to the parked vahki patrol vehicle outside. There were too many for Okuo to make his move without being overwhelmed. Terrified, Vhisola tried to pull out of their grip, but there was no way a single ga-matoran could escape the clutches of the vahki. Ahead of her in the patrol vehicle she saw a bordakh opening a strange sphere. Inside she saw it was padded and had strange flickering lights. “No, please I didn’t do anything,” Vhisola stammered. She didn’t understand had happened. Today, she’d visited her professor, been harassed by Okuo, been attacked in her own home, and now the police were systematically punishing her? Vhisola couldn’t understand, and in the moment didn’t want to know. She wanted to escape, to run free and go back to class. A vahki’s hand descended onto her face and ripped Vhisola’s mask off. The tubes that ran into her face and helped her breath disconnected with a splorch. She blinked, stunned. The harsh light of the afternoon blinded her, her lungs couldn’t get enough air, her vision started to dim as her body shut down, and then the vahki began shoving her into the containment sphere. They would whisk her away to some unknown location, and return her to her work functions when it was safe to do so. It was their programming. It must be right. Another group of bordakh circled the apartment, seeking “Informant” to no success. Kovac Krossfari sprinted for cover, making it away from the scene without further incident. His armored chest heaved as he gasped for air. The protodermis in his veins pounded in his audio receptors. Did he run far enough away? Only time could tell, but the bordakh definitely knew what the vigilante looked like. OOC: Okay, Dark Hunters, this is your last chance to take the shot before Vhisola is gone.