It's Turbin' Time (Library of Ruina Modded/Arknights)

Linette - 6* Mimic Specialist

Tags: Crowd-Control, DP-Generation

"Hello there. My name is Linette. I don`t need any other introduction."

"Linette," stepping into the light.

Do you know me? I know you.

Faction: ????, Kazimierz
Traits: Can be deployed on any valid tile.
@DuoRogue

3.30 - The Fool, the World

Ayin is no longer here.

You can no longer feel the grass beneath your feet, nor can you hear the sound of birds. The clearing is gone.

There is only emptiness, and light. You gazed upon those eyes, those golden eyes, and then it was all gone. You're somewhere far away from here- far away from that memory, far away from the Nest.

Far away from the City, just as you are. It is calm.

But there is something below you. With every step that you take it stirs.

It means you well. The waters of the Well of Humanity below you twist and whisper, but your footing remains stable. It is unclear what, exactly, you're standing on, but it's not solid.

The waters are clear, and yet they are pitch-black. They are the reflective surface of a mirror, and yet they are transparent, and utterly opaque, swallowing all light and yet they are as brilliant as if they had been set on fire.

You are alone in a place that is not empty, and never will be.

You lower your head. There is silence as you reach into the waters, as they cease to move around you. Your index finger touches them, but it cannot pierce through the surface tension. Not yet.

Ayin is gone. The Well remains.

It is time for you to at last see what you had to see. What you came here for, even if you don't know it. You look at the mirrored surface of the calm waters.

It's you.

Everything goes dark as you sink into the depths below.

---

The experience is strange.

You are not in your right mind, you realize. It is as if you have been torn away from it. Not merely removed from your body, but from your own mind, from your own emotions, from your own personality.

It's as if you've lost it, in just a second.

No, that isn't exactly right. It's more than that. It's as if you're no longer Sieghart, just a person with his memories.

You think you might… not have been him at all.

When you look back at your past, at his past, you feel nothing. It's impersonal. Not even like reading a book. You feel things when reading a book. It's as if you've read a… a mission report. You are entirely detached from all of those events that should be so important to his life.

You recall having a body, but you can no longer recall what it felt like.

You can still know what it is to see, but it is as if you just had the description. You can't recall ever seeing anything yourself…

After all, you have no eyes to see with. Nor do you have ears to hear, or a tongue to taste. You are black water and whispers. You are thought and all so human inhumanity.

You know who is above you, sinking into the depths.

It is him.

It is you.

Ah, so you didn't become anything. He's still here.

It does not matter. Your "self" is an ephemeral thing. You exist for one reason and one reason only- to understand.

You are here to understand yourself.

Not through the Light. Through deeper, older paths. Sieghart has descended into the Well of Humanity.

And you are that self that he sought to understand. A part of it, perhaps. A reagent for self-actualization. Fuel for the flames.

It doesn't really irk you as much as it should have, you think. The memories before you tell you of a person that would not accept simply being consumed for the ascension of another… unless they were a friend.

How interesting.

You suppose that is the answer. "Unless they were a friend."

Is this why you find no issue with this? Is this why you see no problem with being what you are, a short-lived amalgam of water and thought, fit to live only for a second?

Hm.

Some things come to mind.

The words of Carmen surge.

---

"Ah. You're so sad, like this. Barely keeping the facade. You shatter, you break, and then you leap into the fold again, without even bothering to put your body back together."

---

You're reminded of an old guilt.

---

…they're lost in the middle of nowhere, eating monster fish straight out of the Outskirts. Dammit. You've let them down.

---

A stray thought passes by.

---

If Carmen was your friend, and legitimately wanted this with all the strength of her heart… you'd do all of it- all of the ten thousand years- to the best of your ability.

---

And you see Sieghart before you, eyes hidden behind his hat. You see. You do not have any eyes, but you still see.

You see a man who cannot stop for even a second.

You see bloodshed, and corpses upon corpses. Power and control relentlessly seized. An unmistakable sensation of menace. A name that is feared.

You see a mindless climb to the top. That search for the name that would give him freedom.

You see ruthlessness. The drive towards victory, no matter the cost.

You see warfare and bloodlust. A blade that carves and cuts and irreparably mutilates.

The child of the City. A child that embodies its values, who is the most shining example of what a Star of the City should be. To rise from the Backstreets, from the gutters of society, and claim everything, anything that had been denied from him.

Wealth, power, fame. The ticket of admission to the Nest, the dream of so many.

They say that to be a Fixer is freedom, and Fixers themselves disagree- but not when you speak of the Colors. To them, Colors are free. Fixers gaze upon the Colors in their spires, sitting in their thrones, and smile with a mad gleam in their eyes.

We gaze upon the victorious, they say. They are strong, and we are not. They have bled and burned and cried bitter tears, just as we did- and in the end, they were rewarded.

If they were rewarded, why can't we be? If we are not rewarded, that must be because we are weak.

The City gave them love.

We yearn for that love, and yet we are weak.

We love the City we live in, and yet it does not love us. For us to attain that love, we must bleed.

We must become strong.

One day, we tell ourselves. Let us suffer a little more. Another job, another battle. One day we will be like them. One day we will seize that throne for ourselves.

How interesting.

The sight you contemplate is a peculiar one. Perhaps it could be called flawed, but you are not inclined towards such words. You pause to contemplate this, for a few seconds. And then...

You do not judge. You merely accept.

There are many more things you could speak of. You could speak of that lack of empathy. He does not understand despair. Yes.

He does not understand what it is like to break.

So many understand. So many see that terrible revelation.

"It was all for nothing."

"Thus, I have been walking a meaningless path."

"No one is at my side."

"What will I accomplish? Not a thing of value."

"I am an empty person, trying and failing to fill an endless void in my heart."

"Have I sacrificed everything I had? Even if I win, it won't be worth it."

"There is no one left to save."

Despair and helplessness are foreign emotions to the one with a determination of steel. When one has a drive so unyielding, when one refuses to let loss and defeat consume him, when one holds a determination and a will to push forward so inhumanly strong, how can they understand the ones who are unlike them?

But you think that's not all that there is to it. In this sight, there is empathy, and not even merely the one borne of an affection for cherished ones.

An empathy for a Sankta- a defeated foe. An empathy for a young Iberian girl and young knightess- bystanders, caught up in things beyond their control.

There were circumstances where he could have left, weren't they? They chose to get involved in this, for better or for worse. They made the choice to stay, to carry Abel, to entangle themselves further in the wars of Light.

Ah.

They have little pity or understanding for those who've surrendered to despair, it seems. But perhaps those that struggle as they themselves did, as they still do, will be seen as more? Those who rage against destiny, against circumstance... perhaps they will receive a greater kindess.

There is Turbulence Office. A bond, an oath, a love and care for friends so deep and profound that it would defy all boundaries, even the limits of time and space.

And there was, once, another life.

An entire life was lived in the name of this quest. Seeking the title, seeking that freedom.

It is said that you can only be free as a Fixer when you reach the peak of the profession- the most prestigious rank.

Fixers are managed by Offices. Offices, by the twelve Associations. The twelve Associations, by the Hana. The lives of Fixers are subordinate to layer upon layer of hierarchy. Though the children of the City are told that to be a Fixer is freedom- such a thing couldn't be further from the truth.

Freedom is nothing but a pipe dream.

They say that there's only one way to achieve that pipe dream- that freedom is only truly complete when you are given a color from the Hana Association. Few dare dream that high.

So for Sieghart to attain that dream, he would have to climb, and climb, and climb...

It began with a Syndicate. It's not exactly cheap to get a license for Fixer work, and he was too young for it anyway. So Syndicates it had to be. It's not like they're any different.

It continued with an important, but unprestigious, position in Shi Association North Section 5. And later on, a post in a Tres associate office. From there, a contact in Dilaceration Workshop, and some requests here and there.

A small assassination Office on the Backstreets of District 9. A brief, ill-fated time on the Zwei. A stint as a debt collector for Stake Office.

It continued. Drifting aimlessly. When he outgrew a place, he left. He collected contacts, names and numbers, but if a place couldn't offer him anything he couldn't stay there, his eyes always on greener pastures.

It continued, until he reached the apparent peak. Grade 1.

For many, that would be the end. From there, the accumulation of wealth, and eventually settling down in the Nest if you can find your way into that ticket. Perhaps a position as the Director of a high-rank Section or another, if you got there through an Association.

That was not he wanted.

He searched until he found his place to be- Ribbon Office. High standards, highly dangerous jobs. High rewards, too. Perfect for him, or so it seemed.

They all wanted what he wanted, he knew. They were all gunning for the top. They could help each other, couldn't they? And when they got there, they could offer a hand. Lift the others up. Spare a thought for an old friend.

Yeah, he thought. I think that works out.

More blood to shed. Warfare to wage. There was still much to do. It wasn't just fighting, those days. Negotiation, paperwork, PR, media presence, investments. The costs got higher, sure. Mantaining what was still useful, fixing up what was damaged, replacing what was broken.

But the profits climbed too.

And every cent invested on himself meant he was closer to the goal. The greater you are, the higher you can climb. And there was still much to do.

Then, with an expedition to the Ruins. Not standard work. A wing-backed expedition.

A failure of an expedition.

Three dead. Twelve left. A retreat was ordered. He'd lost an arm, but he could still fight. He wasn't dead weight. If someone could offer him a hand and lifted him up, he could still make himself useful-

"Sorry. It's nothing personal."

And then they were gone.

The creature approached.

"Huh." he muttered, chuckling softly. "I guess that's how it ends."

It was only natural. He was a risk. Perhaps they could afford to take that risk, but they didn't. It was... just business, he supposed. Just business.

It still hurt.

Then, there was fire. A roar.

One strange Fixer, one strange creature, with hands that bled flame and talons hidden beneath false skin, offered him her hand. There was nothing to gain and everything to lose. The creature was still alive, and it was wounded. More dangerous then ever.

Now wasn't the time for helping anyone, he thought.

But she offered that hand all the same.

The outcast gave him a lifeline, while all of the others, all of those that had come to fight by his side, had left him behind. It was nothing personal, he understood, but it still stung.

And she did not need to help. And yet…

She did.

There were more of them, searching for an artifact. A prison of sorts. Completely unrelated to what the Wing ordered- tissue samples of a particular creature.

He fought by their side, after that. Trying to understand. Trying to see why. He saw it quickly enough, and the rest is history.

Hm.

You see Sieghart in front of you, and you think that he is far more complex then he would ever deign to admit to himself.

You think he has changed Terra.

You think Terra might one day change him.

And that it will fit him wonderfully. It's a strange place, but perhaps they would find the City even stranger. You certainly do know it's a strange place, and that Sieghart surrounded himself with the strange.

Sieghart is a child of the City, and yet he wishes for something beyond it. It is clear in his heart. Has he found it? Perhaps.

You're dissolving back into him, you realize. Your brief "self" strays under the weight of those memories. You'll be gone soon.

You can't bring yourself to care.

It was good while it lasted. You liked what you saw. You think it is good. You think it can be better.

"Goodbye, Sieghart." you whisper as you vanish.

---

You open your eyes, and you see the sun.

So this is who you are, uh?

You didn't think… you never thought much about it. About yourself. You're still floating in the black waters, but you have the feeling you'll reach land very soon.

This is who you are.

You think you understand it now.

There's something different about you. You're like her. There's a reason you could reach into this Well. Just like her, there is a connection. You are that connection.

You could have been a bucket, perhaps. In another time.

You could have become a living Singularity. The thought is strange, and perhaps terrifying. But it's the truth. The Light responds to you so easily, indeed, it coalesces around your fingers, because it is borne of humanity, and the doorway to the very heart of humanity awaits, somewhere inside of you.

Is it a genetic trait? The fact Carmen's body could be used as the catalyst seems to imply that… but no. There's something deeper at work.

It's not just the matters of the Light, you realize. The Light doesn't matter to you, not right now.

This is strange.

Who were you, to be given this? Is it a blessing, or a curse? You understand what it is, and you have the feeling you understand this place, too. It is far more welcoming to your mind then it was when you first entered. Almost inviting.

Once again, you turn your gaze upwards, and bask upon this light, finally shining down, touching the dark waters.

It's not the Light. It's the real sun, the real stars. The sky of Terra.

You realize that you like Terra. You like being here. The land is inviting. Not on its entirety, but there is still something welcoming about it.

You and your friends do not need to be outcasts. Comradeship is not a burden. Even if there are places that won't accept you, those places can be changed- the world of Terra is not a monolith, it is not immune to change.

For you, for Turbulence Office, Terra could be a home.

You would like that. You would like to live here.

The thought of never returning to the City is not a pleasant one. There are things you left behind. You like to think that there are people, even people outside your Office, that would be sad to see you go.

But...

You do want to stay here. You truly, truly do.

Looking upwards, you let the waters cover your body, and you realize.

It is not the sky that you see, when you look upwards. For the sky of Terra is false.

Revelation comes upon you. And then another one, and another one. A veritable flood of information, of stories and tales, seems to sink into you, from the waters below, touching your skin, infiltrating your heart.

It is unimaginably painful.

They scream, reveal, speak, chant, beg, commiserate, sing, cry, ask, proclaim, declare, plead, laugh, over and over again every single instant, every fraction a second.

A thousand voices call out from the heart of Terra, and each voice becomes a hundred, and each of those becomes a million.

Horrors uncountable approach from the margins of civilization.

The tides march forwards with unending hunger.

Shattering tremors, magma rising through the earth's veins.

A preserver, waiting to die. A spear that will be thrown upwards, to shatter the nightsky and forever change the world.

Black stone, priceless bounty and horrifying curse.

A voice of Terra, a Witch King, a Deathless Black Snake, the yoke of empires, the crushing grip of tyranny.

Terror and fear.

The faint hiss of respiratory tubes. Eyes that glow red. Then, the shattering of glass. A black-taloned hand pries something from a human heart.

Gods slumber deep under the earth.

Under a great cathedral of a holy city, a colossal machine dwells. It has offered a pact, it has decreed Law, and it watches. The land that it oversees is paradise for its chosen few. Perhaps not so much for any others.

Infection and plague bleed into the world.

Betrayal carved deep into a heart. A maddened knight, spewing steam and smoke, stands tall, still defending what he swore to protect, an endless vigil of futility.

Ambitions, desires of dominion.

Cities, deep below the ocean. Arrogant, prideful, and terrified in equal parts. Hopelessness thick and cloying, for they may have no future ahead of them.

A door, a route away from this world. waits to be opened. It is surrounded by monsters, by a realm so toxic and poisonous that even gazing upon it is dangerous. It is dangerous to you, even, you realize- as they turn their eyes upon you.

Just for a second, you feel their gaze. You see the colossal door, and you see the creature waiting on the other side. It contemplates your presence.

The air is cold.

One day, man must open it himself and walk through that pathway.

The vision falls away. The creature has registered your presence. It will remember this.

And then, one great voice calls out. It is mighty, and old, and withered. A prophecy is roared into your mind, burning itself into your subconscious.

You see cities, devastated.

You see Originium, blanketing the land.

You see someone you know, black crown on her head, melting millions of lives, into nothing but memories.

You see the King of Sarkaz, enslaving all peoples, everywhere.

And you see time and space fraying. Your friends, scattered through history. The speed of their arrival increases as the point of concentration is reached.

Not all of the Turbulence Office has reached Terra, you realize. Some are yet to arrive.

Max, Columbia. Two years and three months…

Stock Man, the vast empty ruin of the Foehn Hotlands. One year, two days.

And the Rat King will arrive in three weeks, on the frozen land of Sami.

You see the rest of your friends, spread across this planet. It's limited, but for a second, you know the exact position of each and every one of them.

Linette is by your side, sleeping in a chair. Nicole is nearby, creeping through the window. Did she scale the side of the landship?

Sleepy is, well, sleeping, Wympe is keeping watch over you. Beats is already repairing his arms in one of the workshops. Arabella and her child have left- is she searching for something? Or someone- someone called Quintus.

Capone is speaking to Kal'tsit in regards to his E.G.O equipment. Your consciousness reaches out further.

Emil is preparing himself for a task- the assassination of a mafioso of some small renown, personally authorized by Signora Sicilia, on the grounds of tax evasion.

Alvar is preparing himself to rob a valuable prototype from a Rhine Labs transport. He has planted several explosives on a bridge, and is waiting for the right moment to detonate them.

Mr. H is watching the transport from another angle, from a nearby pile of rocks. His hand is on the trigger of a rocket launcher, and his fingers itch.

Lech is immobile, thinking. He wishes, sincerely and truly, for something. What is his wish, you ask?

It is for the Reunion Movement to resurge, the waters tell. It is for the liberation of the Infected, and one day, for the overthrowing of the Head.

The story of Reunion emerges from the well, and you think, for just one second, that he might be your enemy- before you reject this notion, the very concept. No, he will not be your enemy.

He cannot be.

Memento is moving towards you, you realize. He is on the path to Kazimierz. By pure chance, his wanderings happened to bring him towards you.

But- there's something wrong.

There are four people missing. Spider, Stonehead, E1, V.

The four "numberless" of Turbulence Office. Where are they? As you follow the threads, you cannot find any trace of their trajectory.

…you realize it, suddenly.

There is no trajectory- they ran away, and escaped the Library.

You simply didn't even consider the possibility. You- you didn't think about it.

The waters are moving, now. You can't dwell on your conclusions as you are swept by the rising tide. More and more knowledge is poured into your mind, an endless procession of voices telling you all of the secrets of Terra.

You could not possibly bear all of this information. Most of it dissolves away, and you compartmentalize the rest, storing it in the deepest recesses of your mind.

But in the end, you understand. You see mountains, and freshly-fallen snow. You see plains, you see oceans, you see volcanoes and dunes and cliffs, beaches and forests and jungles and the frozen tundra.

You see Terra in all of its glory.

And then, you wake up.

End of Arc 3 - Near Heaven

(You have defeated Adam.)

(Your tale is drawing to a close. This is the last stretch.)

(Make your choice.)

[ ] Interlude: The King of Fiends

[ ] Interlude: 0 Sanity

[ ] Interlude: The Pale Librarian

[ ] Interlude: Nine

[ ] Interlude: Rhine Labs

[ ] Interlude: Pinus Slyvestris

[ ] Interlude: Records II

[ ] Interlude: Instruments for a Chorus

OMAKE : "Extraction Attempt: TDC-A"


* Connecting to int-ri-fn.int (5556) Server #0

Please provide login credentials.

Username:

>Kal' Tsit

Password:

>abc123efg456

Verifying login credentials…

Login credentials verified. Welcome, Dr.Kal' Tsit.

Press any key to proceed.

>y

What files would you like to access?

>Access File: E.G.O. Extraction Attempts Record TDC-A

Accessing the requested network…

[Rhode Island Operation Record: Attempted Extraction of Extermination of Geometrical Organ TDC-A]

Responsible Department: Department of Unusual Incidents and Phenomenons.

Personnel Present: Dr.Warfarin, Department Adviser Abel, Operator Sarasa, Operator Skadi, Operator Noir Corne.

// TO WHO EVER IS READING THIS, I HAVE KAL'S DIRECT PERMISSION TO DO THIS! -Dr. Warfarin
//You won't have that for long. - Dr.Kal' Tsit

Operation Goal: Extraction of Extermination of Geometrical Organ, E.G.O. for short.

Operation Details: Under the guidance of Department of Unusual Incidents and Phenomenon (D.U.I.P. for short) Advisor Abel, Operator Noir Corne, Operator Sarasa and Operator Skadi attempted the extraction of E.G.O. Gear from "The Dreaming Current" (See File:On the topic of E.G.O. for further details)

Attempt One [Resonance]

Operator Noir Corne attempts to start conversations with "The Dreaming Current", yields no results. But portions of positive Enkephalin was produced.

Operator Sarasa is engaged in conversation with "The Dreaming Current". Notable morphing of Operator Sarasa's weapon was spotted, the blade shows noticeable rainbow coloring, but it quickly returned to it's normal state after Operator Sarasa let go of their weapon.

Operator Skadi refused to attempt this.

Attempt Two [Removal (Weapon)]

After Adviser Abel's advice, Operator Skadi removed the "Tails" of "The Dreaming Current". The abnormality was agitated but was immediately stopped by Operator Sarasa and Adviser Abel. After inserting the "Tails" in the recommended parts of machinery, a weapon akin to a water cannon was produced.

After testing, the "water" inside of the canon is the same substance as the hallucinogen that is produced "the Dreaming Current"

This attempt is deemed successful by Dr.Warfarin, the proposal of the removal of other parts was rejected by Adviser Abel.

// Killjoy Mk2... I was so excited to see what can happen-Dr.Warfarin.

Attempt Three [Removal(Armor)]

After restraining the movement of "The Dreaming Current", Operator Sarasa and Operator Skadi removed large portions of skin from "The Dreaming Current"

After stabilization, Adviser Abel was able to put the Skin onto standardized Rhodes Island Guard Armor, resulting the color of the armor turning into a pale blue coloration, and the appearance of a unknown water tank.

The rainbow coloration of the substance inside suggest that it is concentrated hallucinogen produced by "The Dreaming Current"

The Armor and The Cannon(Both marked as Moduel TDC-A) requires further testing.

// I'm going to put this stuff into Kal's dinner - Dr.Warfarin
//How courageous - K

End of Record.

Addendum:
After the Experiment attempts, Operator Skadi performed a lethal attack to "the Dreaming Current", which results in "The Dreaming Current" Turning into an "Egg"
Advisor Abel reassured us that this is completely normal, and informed us that the destruction of this "Egg" is impossible after Operator Skadi tried multiple times.

P.S. Operator Noir Corne request that the future attempts and experiments to not involve him.

>quit

Quitting…