There is one single thing that has been impressed with most force upon my mind during my collection of sweeps: outside is impossible. We have been separated from the infernal red glare of the dying sun by tinted glass, saved from the dismal prospects of life out in the wastelands by a dome of perfect security, and no longer must we fear the sea. It is from the aftershocks of our own folly that we must save ourselves, and the wars have cost us much. The air outside is deadly to all who venture beyond the glass, save the highbloods, who continue their exodus by way of space travel - ships bound for the places that have been left for them to spoil, ships provided for by the corporation, the ruler of the All, the creator of the Machine.
The Machine is our surrogate mother, our god, and our protector. Under my alabaster skin I see the jade wires spreading in web work from my heart, the translucent properties of my outer shell aiding the revelation. The wires may turn cold, but my pulse beats on. I am alive.
No one has ever returned from the wastelands. Until moments ago, I had never known anyone to leave. The papers clutched in the skeletal fingers of the cat-horned prophet reveal what she and so many others fought to stop. The City - the Machine itself - has been controlling the minds of the denizens. It has been compelling the excess population out into the wastelands, as a means of providing for the decreasing amount of citizens it had the resources for. For how many years? Or for how many centuries. And if memory of these hundreds... thousands... of skeletons was erased in our nightly updates... who have I forgotten?
In the center of the City, there is a castle, its wicked spires reaching almost to the top of the dome. No one knows how long it's been there. Legend tells of a man, the man who created this town. With a sweep of his hand, he summoned it from the depths of the frozen sea, so that the citizens - also conjured - may keep him company. His ghost now peers down from the tower even as he did in life. It is there I know I must fly. There is no place for me, a rainbowdrinker now immune to the Machine, who knows the truth and can survive the wastelands. I would be killed, or worse, enslaved. While I suppose neither would be so bad - I would, after all, escape the City - I do not find them particularly pleasurable options. So I creep through the labyrinthine streets until I find myself stumbling, exhausted, to the barred door of the castle. I could use my chainsaw, but I wonder if that would make too much noise. Instead, I wrench at rotting wood with desperate, clawing fingers, until at last I dig my way inside, leaving none-too-inconspicuous traces of blood on the planks.
I collapse on the stone floor gratefully. But, almost immediately, the sound of heavy breathing tells me I am not alone. My glow illuminates a horrid, ghastly face: a young man whose bilious eyes bulge with fear. "Horrid creature," he hisses. "Get out!"
"Please, wait!" I scramble to my feet.
"This is my house! Out!"
Instead of fleeing, I find myself leaping forward, my hands reaching for the man's throat. His head thrashes against against the flagstone harder than I'd expected. I find it hard to resist biting into his exposed neck. "Please, I'm not a creature. I'm a rainbowdrinker, I suppose, but I didn't used to be. But you didn't used to be a ghost, either. I don't know how I happened to become what I am, but I know that your City will hate me now, and probably kill me. And if you really don't want people in this castle, then maybe a rainbowdrinker and a ghost would make a good team, like they do in the... novels..."
The man is... laughing? I climb off of him, realizing I've been kneeling on his chest. He sits up, rubs his face in his hands. "I ain't no ghost, an' this ain't my City. I'm just the descendant and the heir to this castle. An' you ain't no rainbowdrinker 's far as I know, just a girl with lamp-skin. But even if ya are, I can maybe arrange some livin' quarters for ya, or somefin. What's your name?"
"Kanaya Maryam."
"I'm Eridan Ampora, he says, helping me to my feet, "an' you've no idea how long I've been alone here."
FILL: TEAM ERIDAN<>ROSE
The Machine is our surrogate mother, our god, and our protector. Under my alabaster skin I see the jade wires spreading in web work from my heart, the translucent properties of my outer shell aiding the revelation. The wires may turn cold, but my pulse beats on. I am alive.
No one has ever returned from the wastelands. Until moments ago, I had never known anyone to leave. The papers clutched in the skeletal fingers of the cat-horned prophet reveal what she and so many others fought to stop. The City - the Machine itself - has been controlling the minds of the denizens. It has been compelling the excess population out into the wastelands, as a means of providing for the decreasing amount of citizens it had the resources for. For how many years? Or for how many centuries. And if memory of these hundreds... thousands... of skeletons was erased in our nightly updates... who have I forgotten?
In the center of the City, there is a castle, its wicked spires reaching almost to the top of the dome. No one knows how long it's been there. Legend tells of a man, the man who created this town. With a sweep of his hand, he summoned it from the depths of the frozen sea, so that the citizens - also conjured - may keep him company. His ghost now peers down from the tower even as he did in life. It is there I know I must fly. There is no place for me, a rainbowdrinker now immune to the Machine, who knows the truth and can survive the wastelands. I would be killed, or worse, enslaved. While I suppose neither would be so bad - I would, after all, escape the City - I do not find them particularly pleasurable options. So I creep through the labyrinthine streets until I find myself stumbling, exhausted, to the barred door of the castle. I could use my chainsaw, but I wonder if that would make too much noise. Instead, I wrench at rotting wood with desperate, clawing fingers, until at last I dig my way inside, leaving none-too-inconspicuous traces of blood on the planks.
I collapse on the stone floor gratefully. But, almost immediately, the sound of heavy breathing tells me I am not alone. My glow illuminates a horrid, ghastly face: a young man whose bilious eyes bulge with fear. "Horrid creature," he hisses. "Get out!"
"Please, wait!" I scramble to my feet.
"This is my house! Out!"
Instead of fleeing, I find myself leaping forward, my hands reaching for the man's throat. His head thrashes against against the flagstone harder than I'd expected. I find it hard to resist biting into his exposed neck. "Please, I'm not a creature. I'm a rainbowdrinker, I suppose, but I didn't used to be. But you didn't used to be a ghost, either. I don't know how I happened to become what I am, but I know that your City will hate me now, and probably kill me. And if you really don't want people in this castle, then maybe a rainbowdrinker and a ghost would make a good team, like they do in the... novels..."
The man is... laughing? I climb off of him, realizing I've been kneeling on his chest. He sits up, rubs his face in his hands. "I ain't no ghost, an' this ain't my City. I'm just the descendant and the heir to this castle. An' you ain't no rainbowdrinker 's far as I know, just a girl with lamp-skin. But even if ya are, I can maybe arrange some livin' quarters for ya, or somefin. What's your name?"
"Kanaya Maryam."
"I'm Eridan Ampora, he says, helping me to my feet, "an' you've no idea how long I've been alone here."