An open expanse of bright blue. The light feels like it's pressing through, fresh and strong. A slight gradient of lightness, but no sign of another color.
Pressure at the back; something level and smooth, the same temperature all over. The same, if lighter, for other sections of touch. A slight indentation at the extremities. A pleasant texture. Almost sharp. A pleasant cold flow over the rest of the body.
A sound of howling and ruffling. Barometry 83kPa.
That was certainly no ordinary fusion cell; likely one modified to trade safety for capacity, if not something else entirely made out of the shell of a regular fusion cell. The assembly is, of course, completely destroyed, various pieces of polymer shrapnel surfacing from the water along with this unit. The water seems to have served to slow down the worst of the shrapnel, leaving only glancing strikes on this chassis. In theory, there shouldn't be anything else here that might explode; any such thing would have been blown along or blown away by the initial blast.
The tower has not fallen, but it has a large chunk of its side gouged out by the blast, exposing precarious beams at its core. It may fall with the wind, or with the rust and decay of the coming years.
More importantly, this unit has certainly made its presence well-known within a very large radius. As intended, but that brings its own risks.
The tower reaches up towards the sky like a wounded soldier staggering to its feet. Arisa floats in the water, scanning the area around her and straining her enhanced senses to detect anything dangerous amidst the debris. Her brow furrows with confusion as she takes in the unfamiliar terrain - she remembers setting out across the ocean in her tiny escape craft, but not arriving at this devastated shore. Sighing, she swims towards the shore, dragging her waterlogged body onto the sand. Her eyes follow the tower up to its crumbling peak. "Where the hell am I?" she pleads aloud, hoping it'll stir crumbling memories.
In the shadow left by nonresponsive databanks, latent patterns at the margins of neural network processor chips thrum uncomfortably. Perspective-shifted lines extend in a hallucinatory flash, melting into the outline of the clouds. Pareidolia? This tower was supposed to be taller. Or you used to be lower.
There's something there--another pattern, waiting to be activated, not by a missing database access, but by some strange rotation in the latent space. In dreaming you may have some hope of discovering what it means. For now your priors complain to your barometer in the comfortable certainty that you are very high up.
The 'sand' isn't normal sand. But it is familiar sand. But also not sand that you've stepped on before. It's very thin, but seems to repel moisture slightly.
Its color matches that of the white obelisk, accounting for pulverization.
A thing like that shouldn't be subject to erosion. Couldn't be. It doesn't 'feel right'. Your priors hate it, but the sytems don't supply any plausible explanation for the feeling.
[APPROACHING SIGNATURE]
It's quiet. The wind almost masks it, but there's somethig there. A rhythmic splash.
Acousting modeling suggests that the sound is paddling. Rough paddling. Hurried. One humanoid-powered craft enroute.
Arisa scrambles to her feet, joints hissing as she forces waterlogged systems to move. She's in no shape for a fight if it comes to that. Darting behind rubble, she crouches down and activates stealth systems, muting sound and running coolant to drop her temperature as she peers out cautiously from her hiding place at the approaching watercraft.
Concealment geometry is calculated and solutions are deployed.
Can't be more than a few units on foot. Or, only a humanoid would "paddle", but who knows what might be on the light craft with the unknown? But it could be only one. If that fuel cell was just bad jury-rigging, not a trap. Ambush and counter-ambush solutions are calculated.
One humanoid paddling on a wooden... sporting craft, aged yellow and white paint. It blooms with varnish. Thermals are human-incompatible when matched to cover visuals. White and shifting fabric. Speed suggests abhuman strength.
A Herald.
The meaning slips into the darkness between your nodes as quickly as it appears.
Arisa's eyes narrow, zooming in on the figure in the boat. Too strong to be an ordinary human, some kind of android or cyborg. The flowing white clothes seem impractical, but allow easy cooling for a machine running hot. She considers her options - whoever they are, they likely detected the explosion and came to investigate. With her systems damaged and weapons in uncertain condition, she can't afford to antagonize them, but doesn't want to emerge from cover until she knows their intentions.
"You there! This is Arisa, identify yourself," she calls out, ready to take cover or run if needed. She doesn't know who or what she's dealing with here, but she needs more information, and maybe they can provide it if approached carefully.
Locked on. Target has gone immobile (relative position stable). Peripherals moving erratically.
Arisa eyes the figure dubiously. "Marisa? Is that your name?" She stands, slowly emerging from behind the rubble. One hand rests lightly near her hip, ready to grab her sidearm if needed. "I am Arisa. Designation A-472. I awoke here with no memory of this place. Please identify yourself properly so I know whether to consider you friend or foe." She looks over the boat and the android's strange, flowing clothes. "What is your purpose here? Do you have information about this city?"
A thousand radar and low-range sonar handshake protocols bounce off the unidentified subject. No credentials, no response. They may as well be human for all that they respond to radio.
Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me
Can she remember a reason why her companion might not be responsive that's good?
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post
