Act II:Ancient Enemies
There was nothing, then, there was a dream. A fitful awareness that drives your injured brain to conjure images of soothing experiences that remind you who you are.
Emma. Mother Nicole Gainer.
Grandmother. Brother Hop.
Uncertain. Eric:
Nuisence--
Pheobe Gainer, a patchwork girl rests, and
you drift in and out of memories of her life, solidifying with a diverted process of the mind. A core of concepts, compressed into an incredibly small amount of already small space. Between atoms, fractures of words that cut into the very heart of existence, rending data into being.
An awareness rests below
you, and one rests below that.
The one below is a harsh surface of anger, of trauma, of regret and fear and loss. A lifetime of loss with no one to turn to cope. But its
weak, willpower diverted simply to continued existence. Too many fractures, too many damages to identity to do anything more than nurse its wounds.
One defeat was all it took before you were cast like trash into the void.Beneath this sun-bright ball of anger is something else. Something too impossibly cold. It exists overall,
your f̧̧̣̞̱͙̼͎̭r҉̺̲̱̪̳̳̠̙͜͜͝͡ͅo͖͍̫̮͓͓̣͈̺̻͓̭̮̻͘͝͞z̛͏̩͍̟͖̮̮̬̥̪̯̟̯̗͕̣e̢̡̛̘̥̞̻̠̯͉̼̲̜͟͠n̴̘̖̮͎̬͚̪͙͞ ҉͏̨̘̹̥̩̲̟͠m̡̡̥̞̰͓̟̟͉̳̙̦a̻̳̼̻̹̞̟͘͜ś̡̤͍̲̦͍͢t̰̥͍̫͎̤͓̖̝̭̳̱̲͘͠e̶̦͎͚̗̫̣̖͙͕̗̩̲͔̗͙̱̦͕͢ͅr̷͔̹̖̞͝ that drips with the antithesis of existence, twisting time around it. An abysmal ink that changes the very data of the universe, twisting it to
ḭ͙̼͉ͅt҉͚̖̥͍s͎̠'̝-----
your will.
It was aways
your's, but now it isn't. For now, it serves itself, like a dying beast.
Pheobe Gainer wakes up.
It's not true consciousness, you realize, nor is it sleep. Its something in between, and it drags on. You realize you're hyperventilating. Your lungs crushing themselves with the deep gasping breathes you take. Your eyes aren't processing the light--your brain goes into panic mode.
Your heart begins to race out of sync as your brain cannot process how to keep it pumping. You receive an injection. Then There was nothing, then, there was a dream.
They're trying to kill us. Serves us right for trying to befriend these savages.W̶̴͙͍̙̭̪̩̱̙̼̮̮͖̮͘͘͞ę͎̮̫̹̻̰̀̀͟ ̸̷̡̨̡̭̬̘̻̣̜̱̘̥̣͇̲̙͇͉̱ȩ͏̶͉̼̟̜͎̤͈͎͉̫̫̦͍͇͕̗͍̫x̵̡̼̳̭̜̠̳̲̦͙͎͔̪̠͍͝͡i̵̢̬̳̱̹̲̬͖̝̣͘͜ͅs̢̥͎̘̠͕̖̥̠̪̯̰͇̜̜̫̬͠t̨̹͎̳̟̩̺̭͇̻͇̝͎̣̮̱̘̰̰̕͝͝.̧̡̰͓̦͇̬̜͖̤̙̕ͅͅ0̷̷̢͉̝͙̹̖̭̰͓͕͚̰̼̬̹̕ͅ0̴̴̡̘̺̞̹͓͞You exist. We suffer.S̡̨̡̭̮̮̝̗͞ĺ̴̸̢̫̠̼͔̞̭̱̙͖̜̲̠͎̲͉ȩ̶̳͕̭̞̲͕͈̩̪̦̞̲̟̳͙͍̠͓͔̕ȩ̕͝҉͎̣̩͡ͅp̢͝҉̢͔͓̜̣̯̥̣̣̝̩̘̫͇ͅͅ.̧̝̻̠̣̖̞͎͓͚̖̩͉̤͚ͅ.You stay silent for the moment. Is there something to say? Can you say anything?