You descend into the depths of Stormmont, to the Thornton Lab Level, floor sixty-six. The elevator gives a ‘ding’, and you step into the cold hallways. A young Scholar of – you do a double take. Her brown Scholarly robes no longer bear the familiar symbol of SEED, that duality of machine and nature. The symbol is replaced with sixty-six in a red circle, in an intersecting circle is a red thorn. Emma rolls her eyes at your surprised glance.
“[That armor loves to play up the ‘demon’ bit.]” Emma expresses, contemptuous.
“Can I help you?” The sixty-six scholar questions, quiet and polite.
“…yeah, we’re here to see Silas.” Emma states.
“Oh. He’s not receiving visito—”
[13 vs. 4] ”We’re here to see Silas.” Emma insists.
The scholar gives an odd twitch, bowing her head. Turning, she leads you down the hallway. She unlocks a non-descript door and ushers you inside. The room is dark, lit only by makeshift monitors. Papers are strewn about the place and crunch underfoot. Silas is resting his head at his desk, with half-lidded eyes fixed upon his own hand. It shines gray and silver in the dim light. He tracks his gaze to the two of you, silhouetted as you are by the doorway.
In a smooth, graceful motion, he draws out an autoinjector. With a click, it deposits its chemical payload into his veins. Within seconds he is sitting up right. A warm smile stretches across his lips, but it does not reach his eyes. He waves with his synthetic hand. You track it.
[20]“How?” You question, as he flexes it organically. You can tell there is no lag between intention and movement. Implants at this level are centuries beyond what should be possible with the technology this planet possess. “That’s…decades beyond what should be possible here.”
“Ava. The Demon. Flesh.” Silas beams with excitement, “It’s called PlagueTek. What I’ve done is broken down the Plague to its smallest possible form, built a small emitter field to reconstruct it, then bonded it with the neutralized Plague nanites in my own system. She showed me how—her avatar, the Demon Armor, is of similar construction, but uses a complicated ferro-silicate as a medium as opposed to a Plague based one.”
[5-5][19-5] Silas’ hand twitches. He pales, swallowing. Then it separates into dozens of tentacles, shifting and moving organically. Then it shifts back into a hand. He gives it a flex, giving you a warm smile. "Your implant will be of a similar nature."
"[Are you afraid?]" A nearby monitor questions, with a modulated, feminine voice. It speaks in high Empyreal.