Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You browsed the rest of the items. 

Admittedly, you spent your time marveling at things you have definitely never seen before. And Zacharie was more than happy to provide context. You have a feeling you were really going to like this guy.

“Aura of Justice.” Zacharie points to a wispy little light that settled on your hand. It looked like a flame, very small, very faint. Ironically, it feels cold against your palm.  “Goes well with either the Batter or the Add-On.”

You gave it to the former for now, who is somehow able to hold onto his old tunic on his own. Perhaps he had his own set of bottomless pockets. How convenient!

Some more meat, luck tickets, flesh, extra equipment. All wouldn’t hurt, all what you deemed necessary. And cheap. But you refused to imply that part to Zacharie. You’d rather try to stay on his good side. You were fortunate enough to have not only a menu for the merchant, but his own input regarding what would help and what didn’t. The new clothes and… ‘Epidermis’ for the Batter and Alpha respectively.

You wave to your partner, showing off some newly acquired items. He eyes the flesh and you refuse to make the same mistake by quickly putting it in your inventory. Before he could sulk you offered him the new clothes instead, waiting a bit until he was decent. 

You turn to Alpha who hovers right before you. You can’t even begin to understand how it could ‘equip’ an epidermis but somehow it made do. It barely looked any different from what it did before, unlike the Batter’s new tunic. It appears to be glowing the same, hovering the same, and didn't increase in size or get any sharper or anything. Perhaps it’s a spiritual change?

Now it’s another strange phenomenon exclusive to this world that adds to the piles of questions that will keep you up at night. 

You close your eyes in frustration.

If only everyone in the party could talk..

“Anything else?”

That was all.

You thank him with a respectful bow.

In the corner, the box rejuvenates the Batter once more, along with Alpha. Spectres left no blood for long, so it only appeared that his wounds closed up while his Add-On glistened brighter than ever—At least that’s what you tell yourself.  There wasn’t too much fighting in the dark, was there? They couldn’t have been exerted too badly..

You supposed it’s good to be careful.

Dusting himself off, he walks past you.  “I shall head off too. Luckily, we are trapped in a less restricting medium. That’s one of the advantages of this change of script; I can depart whenever I wish.”

You identify a simple depiction of a firework—or a dandelion?—in his lower bicep amidst his numerous tattoos as he waves farewell. 

“Be safe on your journey, yes? And look out for your partner.”

You pat the merchant’s shoulder. You will.

Satisfied, he turns to your partner. “And you, mi amigo?”

“Of course.” The Batter replies. “I will not let anything happen to them.”

Zacharie laughs, the hearty sound is exactly the same as the last one. “Well isn’t that sweet?”

Yeah.. He should see how much your partner springs up to life, all attentive whenever an Elsen brings up the spectres. You’d think you would immediately be torn to pieces if the Batter didn’t keep his word, even if this was still the beginning of the adventure.

Satisfied, Zacharie proceeds to walk towards the darkness where you and your partner came from. He waves off your concern when you try to literally point that out. “I have my ways. What merchant would I be if I didn’t?”

His footsteps were louder than the Batters’ but made up for it by being calm, consistent and unchanging.

Hesitatingly, you try to tail him to at least make sure he will be all right, until the Batter stops you in time. 

You watch his figure slowly begin to get further and further, he turns the corner and he is gone.

You glare at the Batter. This isn’t one of your curious escapades this time!

..Technically it was but it’ll only be brief! Wasn’t he the guy who insisted on eradicating all the spectres in the mines?

“We’re not going back in there.” He says, in a sort-of firm voice, a declaration. “We’re going forward.”

The X persists over your mask due to your attempt at a sigh. You weren’t sure how to voice your concerns over a new friend without a voice. And you think you know by now that the Batter doesn’t budge when he thinks you’re being less like a puppetmaster and more like a moth to a flame—Perhaps he grows concerned you will be lost to the darkness once more, and he preferred to go towards the light. Given his role about being the purifier to the spectres.

Who was the real moth to the flame, then? 

.. ..Alright, you jest.

He lets go and you decide to stick to the front of you.

You’ll listen to him, then.

You were met by an Elsen hunched over a chair in a desk. His eyes were more baggier than the rest of the Elsen you have seen so far, mumbling to himself as he works. 

..Or.. Lack of work. There’s nothing on his desk. He’s on the verge of falling asleep, the way his eyelids were mere seconds away from closing shut. One of his hands was scratching at the desk and the other was perching his chin up, some weird muscle memory making him operate on autopilot.

It takes him a while to even acknowledge you two before you try waving a hand in front of him.

Startled, he stammers and stands to attention. “I wasn’t sleeping, I swear!” Then Elsen blinks once, then twice, and he looks at both of you. It’s as if he hasn’t realized who you were. So what was initially fear and surprise, replaced by an Elsen who appeared utterly baffled by your appearance.

“What.. How.. Where did you come from?”

“From the smoke mines.”

“But.. How.. What? But.. That’s impossible.” He gestures at the lights present around him. “Not a single lamp works there, you couldn’t have..”

“Faith guides my steps.” 

How forward. If the Batter puts it like that.. 

Alright, no, he was the one walking ahead. You can’t even toot your own horn here if you wanted to.

“F-faith?”

“My mission is to purify the mines. But it seems the phantoms here are particularly numerous.” 

You blink at him. They were? There weren’t that many in the dark.. Were there?

“The.. The spectres..”

“Where are we?”

“Uh.. Uh..” The Elsen clears his throat. “Hh.. You’re in the plastic administrations of Shachihata,–” Oh sick, another one of these? Hell yeah! “–the northern part of Zone 1.”

The Elsen absentmindedly returns to his seat, tapping on his desk. He stares at the wall, appearing to be spacing out, even stifling yawns as he tries to speak. You let him talk at his own pace. “Our work consists of filling in forms. Afterwards, we wrap them up with string and send them to the courier service.. There they ship the packages, and in return we receive parcels full of plastic.”

So far, it was metal, smoke, and plastic. You wondered why the latter was necessary–

“There is a lot of liquid plastic that forms lakes and oceans.–” Oh. “There is also solid plastic used to make various objects.”

“As the first of four elements.. It’s an important element.” Your head tilts, confused. You were certain this time; you’ve definitely heard this exact phrasing before.

“Because without plastic.. The world would have no boundaries. People would walk and walk without ever stopping.”

You were originally going to ponder, but the Elsen immediately follows up. “But.. But you hunt spectres.. Both of you.. Really?”

“Yes. I’m purifying this zone. And my Player is here to guide me.” You awkwardly wave hello, which the cautious Elsen hesitantly does back. 

He quickly retracts his hand to rub at his eyes. “The spectres, I know where they come from.” That definitely got the Batter’s attention, who was initially uptight prior. “They all come from the postal service.”

“The postal service?” 

“That’s where we all send out the packaged forms.. Where all our paperwork goes and everything..”

He averts his gaze, shuffling back into his chair, unsure of what to say. It gave you a little more time to think.

.. So plastic water, huh.

That might be the one that surprises you the least. The taste of the rain was already self-explanatory. But this newfound information did make you very curious. You saw a fish leap out of the plastic ocean back in Pentel. It managed to slip under the Batter’s eyes but you know you saw one. 

Are sea animals truly capable of living in it? Like, genuinely? Were they forced to adapt after centuries of human carelessness or was it like this from the start? Something that has always been regarded as waste, significant litter that is becoming—has already become—a rising problem in your world. Now, it is something that the people and animals use here to thrive, it’s always been part of their life, all they have ever known..

How bleak..

But also..

It’s quite peculiar that something still thrived in the sea. Unless the plastic caused some mutations that you didn’t know of.

So you ask yourself the same questions once more; was this world like some sort of strange future? Or maybe it’s like a mirror? You didn’t know.

It kinda fascinated you even more, made you tense your shoulders in an eagerness to prod for more.

He said something about solid plastics right? Used to make various objects? 

To what extent? How much is made from metal? From plastic?

Okay, well, the paperwork is also definitely news to you. And so is this administration. You didn’t expect to see one in a place like this. You initially expected the same blocky, factory-esque aesthetic that was prominent in Damien.

Is this going to be..

Going to be..

Wait a minute..

Wait.. An administration? Paperwork?

Your eyes glint excitedly. 

There’s most definitely free sheets of paper here!

It didn’t cross your mind when you listened to the Elsen’s story, you were too focused on another matter entirely!

You try snapping your fingers in front of the overworked and possibly underpaid Elsen, gesturing writing on a pen and paper.

“Um.. The paper?” The Elsen squints. “Well.. Again.. There should be some.. On the postal service..”

You brighten up, clapping excitedly.

“The problem is that.. Uh.. Nobody can remember what floor it's on.. Hh..”

Your eyes dim, dropping your arms back to your sides.

Whatever, you’ll figure it out.

Heading out, you wave goodbye at the Elsen. Not his fault that the infrastructure sucks.

He waves back, a little half-heartedly from his fatigue. “Um.. My office is in the basement because there is no more space on the higher stories.. I suppose.”

Yikes.. That bad? Explains the spacing out.

You pat the Elsen on the shoulder.

“Um.. Thank you.. But it’s not that bad, I swear!”

You gesture around the room. It’s stuffy and hot in here and there’s nobody else to talk to!

“I-It’s fine! I can’t complain. I like the um, isolation.” He mumbles. “Besides, um. If a spectre from the mines seeps in here, I can take a sick day.. Hh.. Nobody will be here to tell on me..”

Huh, that’s fair.

Wait, shouldn’t workplaces like this have check-ins?

Your thought bubble was cut short by your partner grabbing your attention by having Alpha levitate in front of your face, a light-barrier between you and the Elsen. “Let’s go.”

Whatever.

So again, nobody remembers the floor of the postal service? Maybe it’s a good idea to brute force it.

Shouldn’t be that bad right?

99999 FLOORS?!

The sticky-note attached to the buttons attempts to guide, if you could even call it that, you through the floors.

Basement - 00000

Ground floor - 00001

Roof - 99999

All of this checked out, up until the postal service.

It’s unrecognizable. What should originally be an assortment of five numbers was replaced by a bunch of harsh scribbles, completely defacing the number to the floor.

Who the hell scratches out information like this? At this point, just take the sticky note and run! Unless multiple incidents like this have occurred before.. Shouldn’t there be a boss here?

No wonder nobody remembered what floor it was on!

Was it one employee who woke up one day and decided to ruin it for everyone? Take everyone down with them in this grueling cycle of eating, sleeping and working? One little incident that happened to line up with you arriving in this world?!

You continue to stare at the elevator numbers dumbfounded at what you were looking at.

The Batter tilts his head. “Do you need any help?”

No, no, you shake your head. You don’t need help tapping buttons.

Okay, you’ll play it safe then. 

You opt for the ground floor.

Literally, only one elevator for a 99999-floor building? You’ll say it again, the infrastructure sucks. It’s–

DING!

Oh.

Whatever you were thinking about just now, suddenly evaporated in favor of a familiar elevator sound. It left you briefly grounded, and you were embarrassed to admit that you felt a sense of relief.

The lift barely took a few seconds. Even the Batter rose his head up to attention at the noise, like he didn’t expect it either.

Okay, that’s–that’s going to make this quicker. It makes sense. Well, technically it doesn’t but it’s convenient. You weren’t sure if it was the wonders of technology that was either inside or outside this world but for now, you chalked it up to a miracle.

Still, you wondered, what if there was a fire? Where were the stairs? Where were the safety regulations?

You bonk the side of your head. Maybe the super-sonic elevator was more than enough for them? But it wouldn't help much if there was a genuine fire..

You’re getting distracted.. You’ll focus. You’ll focus!

You just have to ask around for directions. Maybe there will be at least one employee here who knows of the postal service room. There has to be.

They are all hunched over on their desks, similar to the one on the basement. Instead of falling asleep, their eyes were bloodshot, mumbling obsessively over their work. All of them neatly arranged in their desks like unfortunate cogs in the machine. 

Not even any enrichment in their dingy, cramped little offices to keep them grounded. No posters, no colors other than purple, no one who stood out, nothing. They had windows, but even so, is the rain anything to gawk at? Even getting their attention did not provide any use. They were completely in the zone, too far gone in the industry to back up now.

It felt like chanting, with all of them fixated on the same few words, whispering along the lines of forms and stamps. You thought about the postal service for that, how it was so close and yet so far.

You believe you won’t get any answers from them, not the state they are all in. Maybe you might find one coherent Elsen that is aware of the passcode, it would be just like finding a needle in a haystack.

A 99999-floor tall haystack..

Okay, plan B! You’ll brute force it. Maybe try a random number and checklist the ones that are incorrect!

“Zounds! The both of you, again? You lot are decidedly everywhere! One could believe that you are directing yourself and your puppet to follow me.”

After a… lot of time has passed of you attempting the ‘brute force’ method, nothing worked at all. Every Elsen just did the same thing, almost as if they were brainwashed by business. You thought the implications of their titular town was bad? No, this mega-building made that quaint little place seem like a vacation spot.

You eventually admitted defeat, after you took several hesitant looks at the Batter, who never seemed to have lost his patience with you, following you around and even adding his own input—even if they were just variations of ‘try talking to everyone’ or ‘there could be something useful’—you were glad he was trying. 

Though, a more pessimistic side of you believes he just wanted to find the postal service as soon as possible to get the spirit infestation over and done.

Eventually, you decided to try your luck on the roof after seeing what options you had left. The roof took so many minutes from the ground floor even with the super-fast elevator.

You don’t think the color of the sky has shifted, nor has the rain subsided. That really wasn’t what you were worried about, so you focused on the talking cat before you. You didn’t expect to see anyone here, but you guess you shouldn’t be surprised by the Judge’s presence as a passing guide.

Speaking of which, he looks to be in a more sour mood, his tail is tucked close to his body and is shielding his stomach away from the water. His back fur seems to be soaked heavily in the rain, giving him the image of a grumpy, mangy stray. For once, you deem it a good thing that your voice is gone, you can’t help but do a muted laugh.

You weren’t following him. You shook your head no in response to his accusation.

That seemed to amuse him for a bit until he continued his usual verbose dialogue, “Nonetheless, your steps have not deceived your puppet, for he is here in a lieu that can certainly use sacred blows from his holy bat.” 

It also appears that the Judge is pretending that the state of his fur isn’t bothering him in the slightest, still attempting to uphold his reputation as an impartial guide.

You pet the cat as a consolation prize. You’re so glad the Judge hasn’t regarded you with hostility, you weren’t sure what you would do if you couldn’t pet him.

Instead of leaning into the touch, he pretends he doesn’t feel anything, continuing to talk. 

Somehow that makes you feel worse?

“Perhaps you are already aware of this, but it appears that the storey housing the postal service is overrun by ectoplasm. It would probably be wise to–” He sneezes, making you recoil your hand back in surprise. You weren’t sure whether to call that adorable or hilarious. “–find the storey with the intangible creatures post-haste in order to dispatch them.”

The cat shakes his head, trying to stave off excess water trapped in his fur. It’s ineffective. “But could it be that the task is too difficult for your narrow mind? In that case, I may be able to provide you with some advice?”

His bad mood seems to have bubbled fully to the surface. Perhaps laughing at him wasn’t the best idea when you are stuck in the midst of a postal service conundrum. Was his mean remark directed at you? Because at this point, you get it, after what happened back in Zone 0, you can admit that you had no clue what you were doing.

The Batter appeared offended, making you confused further. Was it on your behalf or on his? “Some help would be welcome.”

The Judge slowly blinked, it almost seemed like a rolling of the eyes. “Open widely your ears and listen, for I will not repeat this twice, not even in the midst of the most pathetic supplication.” 

Okay, you’ll listen. You’re good at that.

“In one of the rooms on the ground floor, all the employees seem to be trained to a particular set of instructions.” He looks down the whole time as he explains, not wanting rain on his face either. “Additionally, if there was a choice to be made, I would prefer to read a signature first over the contents..”

..What was that supposed to mean?

The Judge sneezes one more time.

“That is all.”

Okay, well, you’ll try to decipher this. So the most helpful part of the Judge’s advice is knowing that you don’t have to brute force it. All floors were eliminated except for the ground floor. Good. Maybe you definitely should have been here first. If you had to use the elevator to be introduced to yet another office room floor full of Elsens, you wouldn’t know what you would do next.

So this was indeed a puzzle! All it takes is to see whatever stood out, even though you doubt anything did in an office building.

The Judge turns to the Batter. “So will the final verdict soon be realized? Numerous employees certainly need your muscular wrist.” He looks at you. “And your assistance.”

Good on his word, the Judge will not help you any longer. All of the workers might be in danger due to your incompetence as a puzzle solver and a sopping wet cat.

You take one last look at the Judge on your way back. He is trying to lick his already-damp fur when it will still inevitably get sullied by the rain once more. You marvel at his ability to stomach the plastic rain, but that should be applied to every denizen of this world.

“No amount of affection and prods of endearment will have me repeat myself, my dear Player.” Okay, okay, you’ll back off. You can tell he’s getting desperate to kick you out.

Just what is plastic in this world?

Literally, what is the nature of it?

It could be solid enough for objects, yet fluid to be the substitute for water.

You haven’t come across anything like a water bottle yet, to your surprise. In your vigorous searching of the office floors, you haven’t even come across something like a water cooler.

Is there a purified plastic that beings in this world have to look out for? An average intake? What constitutes drinkable plastic if the majority lies in the ocean? 

Is it how much plastic there was? Is less plastic bad?

Just one drop of the rain had a strong, foul taste. So did that mean it was bad for you and pure for anyone else here?

How will you come across actual water?

You don’t want to worry about water. You don’t. Not food either. Maybe someone sells the stuff– Maybe Zacharie will conveniently have everything you need. He gave you a mask. You can definitely ask him for suitable food and water too–

“My Player?” The Batter snaps you out of your stupor once more. 

You wondered why you would space out here. In the middle of the ground floor. 

You focus. 

You swear it wasn’t so dimly lit here last time. Could it be a budget problem that might be arising here too? Not only did the Elsen had to deal with ghosts, but with the darkness too. And those two things go hand-in-hand.

You didn’t want to deal with darkness.

So you got up and tried to find the postal service as soon as possible.

You tried approaching the Elsens again. They don’t budge. They still mutter incomprehensibly.

Maybe your inability to speak, made you more privy to sound. Made you more capable of observing and highlighting the same set of words. Because your ears have miraculously caught the same set string of words emanating from one specific room.

“Form 02584, stamp 10258..”

02584 huh? 

..That could be it, right?

Rubbing your eyes, you keep the number close to your head—still cursing this very building because where were the damn papers?—and input the numbers.

You falter a bit as you take a look at your surroundings.

..No.. This wasn’t it. 

This was the lost and found. At least what the sign says to your left. 

Well, hey! It’s something right? 

You check out the conveniently placed treasure chests in the center. Maybe there’s paper–

Spectres immediately sprung out from the chest, making you immediately fall back and stumble on your feet. If you could speak, you would have yelped. They were chittering between themselves like they were laughing at your surprise, at least what was written on your face.

Meanwhile, the Batter grits his teeth, his eyes darting between you and the spectres circling the team. You recover quickly, so you both went to work. He locks onto the ghosts as soon as you have access to the menu and the strings.

They weren’t necessarily challenging, not too hard to take down. It’s the slipperyness and the numbers that slightly threw you off, but it was just like any other fight so far.

As Alpha deals the last hit, slicing cleanly into the One-Eyed Spectre that is exorcised into mere puffs of ectoplasmic-smoke, the Batter checks on you.

You weren’t hurt, not a scratch or anything from the fall, but your partner insists his protectiveness remains tenfold.

You grab his arm. You’re fine.

Still not quite convinced, he continues to stare. As if he’s expecting you to do something first. 

Rolling your eyes, you pull out a luck ticket and stamp it into your hand. It disintegrates and, while you feel a small burst of energy, it doesn't feel any different from before.

Regardless, this seems to satisfy the Batter, and you return to square one.

At this rate, the Elsens were more lost than the actual lost and found. The floor wasn’t even marked down by the post it. That should be an oxymoron right? The lost and found being lost.

It’s your turn to leave in a more sour mood.

There was no paper.

..Wait a minute..

‘Signature’ ‘Stamp’

Your eyes brighten, immediately dashing towards the elevator.

You check the Elsens one more time, the ones muttering the same orders over and over again and then you try the latter code.

10258

The sign to your right depicts the pair of words you were so eager to see.

‘Postal service’

You slap a palm onto your head harshly.

Oh my God, you actually figured it out! Are you a genius or what? 

You felt it odd—even a little mean—how unfortunate employees in the workforce all became part of a puzzle, but at this rate, you should have deemed it normal.

If this world had any similarities to yours, it had to be the exploitation in the workforce. Cool.

Employment horror stories aside, you lay out an open palm to the Batter, offering a high-five. He returns it with a fist bump. He’ll get better.

“That took several minutes of our time, my Player.” He states. “Good work.”

Was that sarcasm? You narrow your eyes at him. You just can’t tell with this guy.

Before you could think about it further, he focuses on the numerous layers of boxes stacked on top of each other, similar to the Lost and Found.

“No one?” 

This prompts you to follow his gaze. There truly wasn’t anyone here.

He actually had a point. For a room that is said to be ‘where all the paperwork goes’ there is a notable lack of employees doing their magic here. In their defense, everyone else in this building seemed to be completely engrossed in their work and would have likely been completely lost otherwise. Why can’t postal service be an obvious number?

You see the boxes cover the path and tower in front of the door to your right. Now, the Batter complained about boxes blocking the way, but these you can understand. Even if you did have the climbing skills, you don’t think you want to have anything fall down in case of heavy contents.

Safety in the workplace or whatever..

With no other option, you rush ahead to your left side. You just slightly catch stairs on the end of the wide hallway until an Elsen. He’s shaking a little bit, arms slightly outstretched from one another like he was scared to touch anything including himself. Other than that, he appeared like the other office Elsen that were around here.

You tilt your head. Is this another storytime?

Your partner catches up to you in no time. Quietly, like always. As a result, you jump a bit when he suddenly puts himself in front of you.

“I’m the Batter.” He replies immediately—almost impatiently. His free arm is slightly outstretched, with Alpha hovering behind you. A method of protectively covering your bases. The stance made more sense from what he inquired next, “Where are the phantoms?”

You shift right behind him, slightly aggravated.

…No introductions for you? Alright then.

You wipe an imaginary tear from your eyes, but it’s not like your partner will notice. His attention is focused on the Elsen. Perhaps he was still shaken up from the ‘impure receptacle.’

“Hh, I’m very afraid.. hh..”

The Elsen is heaving, struggling to intake the air—or smoke—in his lungs.

He’s slowly approaching both of you as he begins to crumple, you want to comfort him because this one was just barely hanging on. So many times you keep seeing some of these Elsen hold their heads from the pressure, and this one is already going through the weight of it all.

You try to get closer. It’s like this Elsen is struggling at performing any sort of bodily function. Shivering, afraid; it made you think of Pentel. Albeit maybe it’s a little worse here.

The Elsen’s breaths are getting heavier, his gaze falling to the floor. You squint, and you spot.. Something coming out of his mouth and eyes.

Is that tar? Ink?

You shift uncomfortably.

“..Help me..”

Then his head explodes.

Startled, your eyes immediately darted to the most concerning thing your brain latched onto. An ashy and smoky black substance erupting from where the Elsen’s head used to be. It reaches the roof of the floor in no time, spouting like a water fountain.

And he beelines straight to you, reaching his hands out attempting to grab you and you could only raise your arms up in defense because you can’t react in time–

The Elsen barrels down, crumpling up after the Batter fiercely slams his baseball bat into the body. The force that the latter puts into the swing was enough to barely make you realize that this was a purification in progress. The fight simply ended as quickly as it came.

The Elsen shakes, almost convulses as he mutters. “Maybe, maybe his suit has taken control of his.. Hh..” The fountain begins to dissipate until the strange substance could only weakly seep out of his eyes. “His brain..”

And then no more. 

“Strange..” The Batter lowers his baseball bat, briefly shaking his hand to stave off the ache.

He’s.. dead.

Shocked, you inspect the body, prompting your partner to speak.

“He was purified.”

You look at the Batter, backing up a bit.

Did you just..

Did he just..

This was a person, you..

By ‘adversaries’, you expected something completely different..

There’s a clear distinction you believed you have made once Batter announced himself back within the mines.

The January, while slightly more humanoid, still behaved like any other spectre you both have run into.

The Batter called them all spectres, phantoms, impures. They’re ghosts. They’re ghosts! Where else do you think a ghost would come from? Thin air? No! 

Um, you had a Joker in your pockets somewhere. You begin to uselessly fumble around in your inventory. You remembered their use, from what you glossed over in the middle of combat. Maybe.. Maybe it could–

“Just leave him.” The Batter tells you. “It is already purified.”

Purified? It?

You take a step back, from him..

His already-narrow pupils constricted even more.

Um.

You look up at him, the cross briefly flickers around your mask; what would have been nervous laughter replaced by what appeared to be numerous spasms in your chest.

His baseball bat and his uniform now had now been stained with a mix of black and red, matched with the murky fountain that erupted from the Elsen’s head, as well as the blood that he left behind. 

You could vaguely detect the smell even with your mask. It didn’t smell like iron or carrion at all.

It was very sickly-sweet. A dense sugary-scent that reminded you of burnt marshmallows and caramel. Your head briefly drifted to Zone 0, but why?

“Leave it.”

You can’t.

He’s an employee, right? Won’t someone notice him going missing? Won’t someone look for him? There’s 99999 floors but surely, someone had to look.

“Why?” His eyes were wide, teeth slightly gritted.

..’Why?’

Why what? Why were you upset? Why do you feel bad? Why were you..

“Why do you keep putting yourself in danger?” He asks, the most he’s raised his voice against you, still not enough to be considered yelling. He’s still not mad at you. “Why do you put yourself in front of the impures?”

Your eyes soften. 

You were just..

You put a hand to your face, to your mask. Suddenly, a strange wave of emotions hit you at once.

He can’t understand.

He literally can’t.

No, you weren’t thinking about his inability to understand your curiosity, nor his ability to magically read the exact times you were going to walk ahead of him, again; it’s your silence.

He can ask why. Ask many questions accompanied with that word and he would still be met with silence.

You could not answer.

You gently tug on his sleeves. He eyes your fingertips, but otherwise doesn’t react. Still wouldn’t dare direct his wrath onto you.

He won’t.

You tug harder, burying your face into his shirt. The mask shields you from his scent. You weren’t sure if you expected either nothing or like metal.

He won’t.

He.. only went after those that were hostile, right? It’s some sort of messed up rationalization, a circumstance where you wished you were more familiar with the inner-workings of this world. How are Elsens dealt with when their heads explode? Is this just a common occurrence? Any other way?

What if you were face-to-face with something nonhostile? Something in his way? Clearly, you aren’t okay with–

You bow to him respectfully. It’s the least you could do.

Thank you for protecting me.

Because in the end, what could you do? You couldn’t talk, you knew nothing about this world, you weren’t equipped to deal with spectres, hell, your body isn’t even well-adapted to be here in the first place.

Without your puppet, you were completely, utterly, helpless. The situation filled you with dread, the fact that you really couldn’t do anything other than to help your companion on his mission.

The Batter doesn’t question further, turning his head forward. “..I see.” 

Whatever that meant, whatever he thought you meant.

“Stay close.” And he says it slowly, clearly this time. “Please.”

You sneak a glance at the Elsen’s corpse, one more time. 

It’s..

The Batter puts an arm to your shoulder. “Let’s go.”

And you decide to let him lead once more.

At the very least, allow him to handle the brunt of everything. In the end, you weren’t the one holding the weapon, your partner did.

You make your way upstairs, slightly unsettled.

The corpse was gone.

His Player likes running ahead of him really far.

It’s a problem, because of spectres.

He is aware that he comments on this trait over and over again, but what else is he to do when it is their most significant habit?

So it’s good that they learned to fall back when necessary.

On the next floor, something in the desk catches his attention. He briefly recognizes it as the ‘paperwork’ the Elsen in the basement has mentioned.

“Something strange is written on this form..” His Player suddenly snaps their head to attention. “First version–”

They swipe the paper before he can finish reading, stuffing it in their pocket. Not before they quickly scanned it beforehand, a glint in their eyes that he vaguely remembers due to the way it's commonly paired up by their clapping or jumping. It did catch him by surprise. Usually they stop to wait until he finishes talking.

Well. At least they were resourceful in that regard. 

His Player spots another one of those strange forms, and then, to his annoyance, another enemy rears its head. Some quadruped, spiny, cat-like creature hisses at the both of them. Its back was arched, tail swishing side-to-side—it makes him think of a particular white feline with too many teeth and words, the one that vexes him to no end.

He feels the command for Wide Angle as soon as his turn begins. It’s not out-of-character—he doesn’t recall his Player seeing this adversary before until now. His Player’s curiosity never truly subsides. 

Tiburce

Flying ghoul with bad intentions.

45 HP / CP: 10

But he knew that already. In fact, what he chose to focus on was a strange feeling. It’s new, in his chest. A simultaneous mix of familiar and weird. Not too dissimilar to when those Elsen mention the Queen, not too dissimilar when he laid his eyes on her arrogant supervisor.

Something was missing. And he didn’t like it.

The Tiburce rushes over to bite Alpha, and in turn, the Batter feels it sap away the competence of the Add-On. How irksome.

Something is not there and it’s making his breathing heavier, like a rock caught in his throat, maybe even the feeling of a Magnolia prickling his eyes, leaving him blind and lethargic.

His Player takes a few seconds to decide on the next command, ordering him to Run with Courage. He hits the creature with enough force that it releases Alpha in its tiny grasp.

It’s the excitement. It had to be. It was gone.

He doesn’t feel as alive. Not even when the Tiburce lets out a pitiful shriek when Alpha slices the adversary cleanly in half as a finishing blow—a common sight he’s come to expect to see. The Add-On tends to deal just enough damage right after his swings.

Again, just like that Elsen from the first floor of the postal service, his Player appeared shaken up. He wonders why. What specific change back then prompted them to start acting this way?

They inspect the corpse with great curiosity before moving on to the next area.

There, he felt it again.

Ire.

He wipes his face using the hem of his shirt. There’s something about this place that felt more grueling and irritating than the time spent in the mines, and it has only been a short time spent here so far.

He didn’t feel excited like in Pentel or in Damien. Instead what he felt was something that can be described as ire. It felt like fire was set off in his chest. Something that threatens to burn out of him and he doesn’t know why.

It was new. Because it’s ire and only ire. He had a mix of it with excitement before, having the ability to stomp out the arrogance and impurity in the spectres, perhaps he even entertained the idea of his baseball bat meeting the face of the Queen’s accursed supervisor also counted as ‘excitement’, but he felt no satisfaction when he attacks the adversary.

The fight ends, and not even a few steps further when something else approaches them. Another one of those headless Elsen staggers towards them, almost dragging its feet, giving enough space for purification to begin.

Distracted, but not enough for him to lose focus of purification, he feels his Player’s command, Wide Angle. Again, not out-of-character. They tend to commonly use it as soon as they run into a new adversary. This was the exception, of course. The last one was purified too quickly for him to analyze.

Burnt

Employee of Zone 1 in poor health.

HP: 70 / CP: 10

Almost immediately pulling back, it appears their Player initially wanted to run. But they knew by now that it wouldn't happen. 

The strings went more loose, clearly that must have meant that he is chosen to have the details of the fight in his own hands. This one was clumsier than the last Burnt, making it easier to react. Alpha managed to aim for one of the limbs, pinning it down for the Batter to end the fight. 

This one had no parting words; it simply curled up and went slack.

The Batter frowns, annoyed at the lack of satisfaction.

He wasn’t this irritated before. Not even in the dark where his Player grew too distracted to notice the spectres that followed them in those corridors. Those shameless fools that would try and attack both of them while his Player was engrossed in their own head.

Even so, something isn’t making sense here.

So he sees his Player, in much deeper thought than usual, slightly hunched over, not looking at him at all. It truly was just like the time spent in the dark, so what was the problem? He doesn’t know what it is, he doesn’t know how to solve it. He can’t just pause in the middle of an infested area.

He takes a deep breath once his Player reaches for the paper. He would have told them that they had to move on, would have immediately started to walk ahead once the Player gets what they are looking for, but he does not.

Instead he..

“What.. is wrong?” He found himself asking, before he could think about asking. Through gritted teeth and lightly squinted eyes.

Normally, he would berate himself. That he would dare speak out of line, be so ungrateful and ill-suited to the role of a puppet. But his Player catches his eyes, and he remembers the instance where the merchant informs him of their inability to thrive in a world covered in smoke and metal.

He’s not stepping out of line. He is not. His Player is ill-suited to this filthy world, and he had to make sure they will not waver at any point during the mission.

They look up, in the midst of stuffing yet another paper in their pockets.

They point at the purified Burnt, shaking their head.

He looks back at it, confused. Do they want him to flee from now on?

“We can’t.” He tells them. “Running away isn’t an option.”

While it was, it’s one he refused to take. It’s impractical. Purification has to be complete once it starts. He can’t just leave any of the spectres alone like this.

Their arms briefly drop to their sides, shaking their head no. They continue to mimic the same motion as before, pointing at the Burnt.

“What is it?” Something he hasn’t noticed? “Do you want me to search it?”

Again, he was wrong. Their gaze slowly falls to the ground, lost in thought. It leaves him even more upset, like the strange feeling in their chest festering more, spreading throughout his body.

His Player absentmindedly shuffles about, stuffing yet another one of the papers in their pockets before they pause. They are squinting, and it appears that they have–

The Batter is taken aback once his Player starts clapping to themself, grabbing one of the forms they initially snatched. It’s the first one. His Player appears to search for something, and points at one of the words in the contents.

'wrapped'

He tilts his head. What is that supposed to mean? “Wrapped?”

Once more, they shake their head, tapping at the word over and over. He tilts his head forward, scrounging for some detail he isn’t understanding. Was it something else? Was it.. The letters?

wr”a”pped

He repeats the letter aloud and they hurriedly nod their head, giving him a positive gesture. Whatever it was, he was spot on apparently. They were indeed pointing at the letters.

Then, they continue, leaving him to decipher the correct code they have given him.

“u”nder

me”t”al

versi”o”n

‘Auto’.

Then once more, they point at the Burnt.

Or at least where it used to be. But he understood just fine.

“You want me to fight the Burnt on my own?”

They nod quickly, putting both of their hands into a thumbs-up.

“Alright.”

They do some sort of strange gesture from his response. It was positive enough, given the jumping and the way they were shaking their fists like a mini-celebration.

They do it again, opening their palm in front of him. He returns them his hand, softly brushing it against theirs. Shrugging, they signal to move on, in a slightly better mood given the way they eagerly let him lead.

Is his Player not comfortable with the prospect of purifying Burnt? As opposed to taking care of spectres? Interesting. It made no difference to him, it slightly confused him even.

It can’t be the blood. Spectres leave traces of it. Nor was it the humanoid figures of some of their adversaries, they were up against the January and the Magnolia before. Yes, he counted the latter enough. Maybe it was a fondness for those pitiful Elsen? Some sort of remorse due to running into many of these intelligible beings so far?

He shouldn’t question the wishes of his Player. Perhaps it was simply a trait he was not privy to, the fact that they were already otherworldly enough made him passive to their decisions even if he didn’t understand.

And once again, he is a puppet. How could he? In fact, he should be spending this time marveling at his Player, the idea that they deemed him worthy enough for a conversation. Even one as limited as the method they have chosen.

Alpha shifts, its soft glow adjusts more brightly yet carefully; the indication that a threat is nearby.

Another adversary draws in their way. Multiple, this time. Two of those Tiburce, none of the Burnt.

He feels the strings go taut, and he feels that something has returned.

His chest felt lighter now. There’s no fire, it diminishes to only give way for the rise of the excitement. 

The Batter smiles, baring his teeth until it almost stretches ear-to-ear.

It appears whatever ails him is starting to dissipate.

“Uh.. Uh.. The access to the secret lift is uh.. forbidden.” There’s just one last Elsen blocking the path. It looked just as miserable as the ones evenly scattered throughout this building. 

Perhaps with the one in the basement as an exception. 

The Elsen puts hands over its mouth. “Did.. Did I say secret?”

“We must pass.” The Batter can already hear that loud, booming voice just a floor away from here. They’re so close. 

“Ah.. Uh, really? No, uh.. I think that’s uh, impossible.” The Elsen puts its hands down, awkwardly and slowly shifting side-to-side. “Unless.. You, uh. Hh.. Know the code?”

His Player taps their fingers in a strange rhythmic way, the X briefly flickers over their mouth. So if it were a tune, he wouldn’t know. One of the times he found himself sullen that he couldn't hear the sound of their voice. They shuffle around in their pockets, gesturing for his attention.

They use their fingers, underlining the individual words. He’s starting to understand it now. He was the translator. The fact that this new dynamic still had him retain his role as the puppet filled him up with pride. 

“681452.”

“Hh.. The code, it.. Hh is.. It is.. Hh.. Exactly correct..”

Every Elsen makes the strange sound of heavy breathing whenever they speak. The exact same one that resembled a raspy inhale or gasp. The Batter has realized this pattern by now, based on the amount of these Elsen that his Player insists on approaching.

“Hh.. H– ..How?” 

So he hears this one, breathing faster and faster, making that noise more often, the Batter braces himself. 

“You.. You must not pass!” The tar-like substance escapes the Elsen’s lip, its eyes. Then it clutches its head, and that’s the final strike. He definitely knows what to expect now. “I don’t want to die!”

Its head explodes. He doesn’t move from his spot, brandishing his weapon. Even Alpha is already prepared, feeling its form glow brighter behind him.

Purification in progress…

His Player doesn’t watch. Their gaze falls on the ground, eyes half-lidded. Hands modestly remaining to their side, strings loose and unfastened over his form. A sigh almost escapes his lips.

The Burnt barely gets a hit in. The disadvantage at being behind a wide counter and tripping on its own chair gave him and Alpha the first move. Red stains the purple floors, but that didn’t matter. 

And it ends just like every other fight in this accursed building. Not a moment too soon, they can progress. 

“I’m going to..Alma.. “ The Elsen still manages to squeak out its last words. It no longer had that shortness of breath the most of them had. It came to terms with its own sullied nature, accepting purification with at least some semblance of grace. Such a sight left him with a mix of pride and satisfaction. “..It will be nice..”

It stops moving, and the Batter expects it will disappear just like any other of the impures soon. Despite the fact that this one saw reason, it is better that way. Only until the very end of its life did it see the error in its corrupt ways. This world is incompatible with the likes of his Player. That should be proof enough that there was simply no room for the vile spirits to rear their ugly heads in his vision of a purified world.

Those obstacles in the way of the elevator disappeared, and his Player’s eyes lingered on the Elsen. 

What is the problem this time? He thought too quickly.

No, he looks away. That is way out of line. If he didn’t berate himself before, he had to now. He can’t possibly ask that of his Player. Just the very idea about it is blasphemous. 

He just needs to ask the same question again. 

“What.. is.. wrong?” Again, it doesn’t flow out of his mouth well. 

They look up at him and blink, slowly grabbing one of the papers from their pockets. 

six

hot

First

wrapped

they

..Sorry?

They were sorry?

“Why?”

They pinch their eyebrows once he asks that, and the Batter is almost seriously beginning to believe that swinging his bat around is the only thing he’s good for.

They wave him off, directing his attention to the door. Do they not want to talk about it? Does his Player not want to confide in him? Simultaneously it did and did not make sense to him. He was just a simple puppet, he doesn’t have half the purity that his Player does. He would never understand them, and he believed there was nothing he could do to change that..

But..

..At the same time, there’s a strange feeling in his chest that persists. Something that he’s learned to keep it down in such a short amount of time.

How is he supposed to take care of his Player if he could never understand them? Was he devoted by just being subservient or attentive? These complicated questions troubled him so, and he refused to be the one to slow down the mission.

There’s a box up ahead, and he can hear that supervisor just beyond that door.

Giving himself a reality check, he stretches his arms. 

Mulling over every little detail, acting on his desires, they meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. It is the definitive proof how he will never understand his Player ever. He huffs impatiently, eagerly awaiting to go inside. But first..

He gestures to his Player.

“Close. Please.”

No telling what this envoy was capable of.

“Miserable morons!” It screeches, at the spectres surrounding it. “Piss off!”

So this is the supervisor..

The spectres approach closer, no sense of self-preservation in spite of the fact they are all immediately exorcised before they can lay even the slightest finger on the screaming guardian. Or any other appendages that the spectres had. Whatever. The Batter could care less.

“This is my zone! You ain’t got the right to be here!”

It’s a good call that he chose to make his Player stay close and behind. The way the supervisor fought was barbaric, flailing its hands everywhere, a use of brute force to eradicate the spectres. In any other situation, he would have applauded, but the adversary before them was a pest. It didn’t matter in the slightest. 

The phantoms try to creep up on him, but the supervisor is surprisingly agile. Maybe he was quick to notice. “Get outta my sight, you phantoms of shit!”

It heaves from the barrage. Either exorcisting these spirits took that heavy of a toll on it or it just had that low of stamina. Maybe if it didn’t thoughtlessly swung its hands around without assessing the spectres first would it not be acting like this.

The way it tries to catch its breath, it is like heavy ashy steam is escaping this thing’s mouth like the hazy breath of an agitated January. 

Finally, it took notice of him. Its eyes were inside of what resembled a gaping maw. Its suit was starting to wear and tear due to its owner flailing about with reckless abandon, some of its buttons detached. 

“YOU!” It screamed, hands balled into fists. “It’s YOU! YOU’RE the source of all my troubles!”

As it begins to impose itself, standing upright, he notes that it is way taller than he is, and the Batter deems it a blessing that it has not noticed his Player yet.

“The ectoplasmic lord who’s been eyeing my beloved zone!”

The absolute audacity of this wretched being.. The Batter can’t help but grit his teeth.

“What do you want?” It begins speaking in such a rapid session, word piled onto word, the Batter can’t even find it in himself to reply. “Why’ve you decided to be such a pain in the ass? I’ve dedicated my whole life to this place! You’ve got no right to ruin it with your damn ghosts!” It slams its hands on the desk. “SHOVE OFF!!”

Was it done? 

Finally.

He takes a step forward. He wants to show this arrogant fool that it had no idea what it was talking about. He’s nothing like these vile spirits, he’s not in control of them, he’s not ruining this zone, he’s going to purify it.

“You’re mistaken.” He readies his bat. He feels his Player shift close behind him, feeling their radiance behind his back. “I’m not a phantom. I’m a purifier. And I’ve come to purge the world of these ectoplasmic beings.”

This creature needed to be enlightened, bathed in his holy wrath.

“How dare you respond?” 

The Batter didn’t know why, but it made something in his chest spasm, the way he can just agitate this thing so easily.

“And how dare you imagine that I’d just put up with this shit..”

It tries to be as intimidating as it can, but whatever is going on, it seems to get him excited instead. No, it’s nothing like his Player, tugging at his nerves to swing and dance around the spectres, but it’s something else. A rise out of his throat, threatening to bubble out.

“Listen good. I’ll make this simple.” It takes a deep breath, barely exhaling properly before it warns, “Get outta here and take your goddamn specters with you, or I’m gonna kill you.”

His grin grows wider and he thinks he’s starting to get it. It’s funny and he can’t stop shaking.

“I hope that’s clear enough for ya.”

“If I see you again.. You’re dead.”

Before it departs, it pauses. It’s squinting and then it sees them. His Player. They were confused, trying to make themself as small as possible and it’s awful that the supervisor noticed them at the last possible second.

“You..” It appeared as though his Player was something it’s never seen before. Neither living nor spirit, something that isn’t supposed to be there.

His Player looks around awkwardly, pointing at themself, confused.

The Batter’s smile is dangerously wide. He’s so angry, he’s so happy. He’s so happy.

He feels something pricking the skin around his lips.

Try me.

Try to touch my Player.

I’ll purge this world of these parasites, I swear it.

Noises are starting to escape his throat and he can’t stop it. Can’t help it.

Alpha is similarly just as eager for a fight, glowing just as dangerously bright as the Batter is smiling.

He wasn’t sure if it actually thought to back off, or if he deemed his Player not worth acknowledging.

It puts its hands behind its back, looking at him. “..Arrogant prick. You’ll be sorry if you show your face to me again..”

Finally, it warps away through rings of light.

He lowers his bat, scanning the room with all four of his eyes. Something in the air makes him exhale sharply, which is strange. He doesn’t recall holding his breath.

His Player is looking at him like they have seen a spectre, but quickly avoids his stare.

He found himself conscious of his own breaths. Whatever he just did, against the supervisor, he wasn’t sure what. It’s some sort of infliction, it had to be. Something tricked him, forced him to feel the excitement.

It’s unbecoming for him as a puppet. 

His Player lightly taps him on the arm. They tilt their head towards the door.

There’s nothing left for them to do here. 

So he unquestioningly follows his Player when they decide to go back.

His Player is just standing behind the entrance.

It brings him to attention when they rush back inside.

They squint at the sky before stepping outside, hastily shoving their papers back in their pockets. Of course, it’s the rain. The Batter should have figured. Good call.

As if nothing happened, his Player runs ahead—not too far, to the Batter’s relief. They make sure he is following close by. At least something managed to help them learn how to stay safe.

It is a shame. Just like the mines he hasn’t managed to strike down every last spectre in the building. But of course, merely small pieces of the greater whole. The supervisor needed to be dead. That was all.

Returning to their usual dynamic, albeit a more cautious version, his Player walks up to an Elsen. It mildly intrigues him that this one is less erratic than their office brethren.

“The Queen’s general has an office here.. But his true house is in Alma..” His Player nods at the Elsen’s words. 

They point at the train. “Oh, um. No.” The Elsen blinks. “I’m waiting for Elsen. This one’s going to, uh. You know.. Alma.”

His Player widens their eyes, immediately going on board. The Batter already finds himself inside once he spots his Player’s attention directly towards the vehicle. Good. 

He didn’t want to have to purify the Elsen. He misses it, aches whenever it happens, the strings pulling against him. Maybe the next destination had more spectres than anything like the Burnt.

They tap on him a few times during the train ride. Pointing at the paper for him to read. It’s safer here; less wet and less spectres.

high

He blankly stares at the message. When he truly thought about it, they never really had any time to say hi.

“Hello.”

His Player blinks multiple times. Were they confused? Do they want him to talk more? He can’t inquire this in time, for his Player already shuffles through the papers and shows him another message.

They

are

under

Quickly, they shuffle the papers a second time.

spheres

‘Yruhere?’

He hums quietly, thinking what that meant.

Why was..

Why was he here?

At least that’s what he believed they meant.

“You’re my Player.” He answers. “I’m supposed to follow.” To protect you.

Their shoulders rise and fall, the X flickers once more. They point at a letter again.

They

Why?

He failed to understand this question. There are a lot of reasons why he was here, why he was doing this. A lot of good reasons.

A tool is used to hack, to saw or to cut. To be held by the wielder. It’s as simple as that.

He was born to fulfill his sacred mission. It was also as simple as that.

But his greatest concern lies with the phantoms. The wretched creatures that he was chosen to get rid of.

“The spirits are hostile. It is part of my duty to relinquish them of their pitiful existence, and send them to the nothingness where they belong. You are here to see the end of my mission.”

His Player appeared confused. Have they forgotten what they were told at the beginning? What the cat has taught? Then he will remind them.

“Do you not understand?” He says this as softly as he could. Their body constitution, their feelings, their careless curiosity and adoration for this world, it’s all alien to him. His Player was still newly introduced to it all, therefore they don’t know any better. He is here to fix that. “The spectres sully this world. The supervisor is a pest that continues to destroy it. I am merely purifying the lands, little-by-little.”

It is unfortunate that he was unable to exterminate all of the impures in the mines, but once they reach that hostile supervisor, it will all be perfect. The world will correct itself accordingly.

It seems to satisfy them enough, as they move on to the next message.

They

His Player pauses. Longer than intended. It almost made him think they were asking the same question until they settled on another paper. Two of them are at least readily available for him to read; the fifth version and the fourth.

Throughout a small process, they manage to spell out one question he can understand. Ultimately, it spelled out;

‘Y purify Dedan‘

“He is hostile.” It baffles him that the supervisor has a name, and that it was apparently worthy enough for his Player to remember it. “If we purify him, the rest of the zone will be purified.” It’s truly efficient. Maybe it would be more if they beelined straight towards the supervisor’s office in Alma, but he can’t stand the impures frolicking around.

They ask another question, using the same forms.

‘Y purify Elsen‘

“He was hostile. It was better that way. We couldn’t save him.”

It’s the truth. His Player needs to see that. They were almost hurt, and he refused to let any incident similar to that and the impure receptacle happen again. Purification is the best possible option for the damned. There was no other choice.

They continued to write down their next set of words grabbing even more of the paper, but paused, fiddling with their hands before they showed him;

‘but u r‘

His Player pauses again and he waits for them to shuffle the papers once more.

They don’t do it this time. It’s taking them a long time to decide and he believed that was the end of the question.

He was.. what?

They use a finger to ‘cross’ out the words, seemingly ‘scratching’ the question, pointing out the last set of letters out for him to scan.

smoke

..Alright then.

Their conversation ends at that.

He hopes he provided sufficient enough information. 

He spots his Player’s eyes. Half-lidded, looking at his baseball bat. They have done this before, occasionally glancing at it when they thought he wouldn’t notice. But of course he’s always noticed. He won’t keep his eyes off of his Player, and he makes sure Alpha stays vigilant too.

Are they disappointed that his new weapon could be sullied? Interested in it? But they don’t ask. So he believes his Player doesn’t wish to talk further, and he will obey.

The train stops.

The big sign plastered on the name of the last district of this zone, to his knowledge.

Alma