Making your way home
New
Lunaryon
Dual Aurora Wave
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X][GET OUT] Nobody Gets Out
- [X] Aegis in
- [X] Gallant in
- [X] Kid Win in
- [X] Clockblocker in
- [X] Shadow Stalker in
- [X] Aegis in
- [X] Gallant in
- [X] Kid Win in
- [X] Clockblocker in
- [X] Shadow Stalker in
There are days when it feels like all the world is against you - Where it would be just too much effort to bother getting out of bed. The kind of day where you just want to roll over and give up on achieving anything even before the day has started.
Today had started as one of those days, and only got worse from there.
By the time that you had woken up, the whole day had already been cloaked in a heavy layer of gloom. The sun never seemed to rise, because the sky had been painted in a thick layer of oil-paste thick gray clouds that blotted out the skies, filling the Bay with the kinds of dim shadows that sapped the brightness out of every color and made the city a dreary, colorless mess.
It was the kind of day that made you want to curl up in your favorite chair in the corner of your room with a good book and a cup of steaming hot apple cider.
But instead of being allowed to stay home and relax in comfort, you had to go to school. That's already a step down from how bad the day started, and well…
At least it isn't raining?
You sigh, shaking your head at the bare attempt at finding some kind of silver lining to all of this. You're standing out in front of Winslow, staring up at the flagpole in the center of the school courtyard. There, at the very top a book bag swings back and forth in the unseasonably cold winds that blow through the city.
And of course, that's your bag up there. Why wouldn't it be, after all? This is your life that you're talking about here. No matter what you've tried, or what you've done, Emma and her idiotic friends have still found ways to ruin things for you.
You still aren't sure how they got your bag in the first place. It was only last week that you changed the code on your locker. Again.
With how many times that they've managed to break into your locker, you're starting to wonder if one of the three might know something about lockpicking. The bag swings back and forth again, like a metronome counting your thoughts.
You idly wonder… Just which of the three was the one behind this?
You're having a bit of trouble imagining that Emma did this.
Which would just be such a travesty.
But even if Emma weren't the kind of person who prefers to leave her dirty work to others, you just can't imagine her having spent the time and effort to learn how to pick locks. Because despite the fact that she's managed to wrap so many of the people of your school around her little finger… The fact is that the girl who you used to think of as a sister has always been stupider than you.
So it would probably be more accurate to wonder which of the two of Emma's new closest friends was the one to go about stealing from you.
Again, that bag swings back and forth, and before you have a chance to try and think about whether or not Madison or Sophia was the one to do this, or if they possibly asked someone else to do it for them, you spot movement out of the corner of your eye. On the far side of the courtyard, over next to the parking lot, you can see other students milling about as they start to get onto the buses. Even from here, you can see some of them pointing and laughing.
Some at you, and others at the bag far overhead instead.
Of course, that's all they ever do. Sit back and watch. It sure would have been nice of them to come over and try to help you, instead of being total dicks… But the sad thing is that you aren't at all surprised that they are more interested in mocking you than they are in helping. It's just part of the course at this point. They've never stepped up to help you before.
But what is worse is that it turns out that getting your bag down is going to be even harder than you'd already known that it was going to be. The chains leading up to the flag overhead have been tangled around the winch at the bottom several times over, locking up the mechanism before it was then tied into a tight knot.
No matter which way you pull, tug, shove or jerk the chains, they stay just as taut, and just as tied.
You aren't one to compliment your tormentors, but as you struggle you are forced to admit that this is a very well tied knot. You need the things in your bag, and more than that you'd rather not see what condition it's in by the time the weekend is over, because you can't afford another backpack.
So even as the buses pull away, you tug and pull and wrench on the chains. You shimmy and push and prod, shoving and struggling and fighting against the chains, but no matter what you do, it all seems to be for naught. The knot stays tied, and your bag continues to swing in the air high overhead.
Really, at this point you're almost tempted to go and try to find something, anything, a pair of shears, a knife, even a rock would do at this point. So long as it had an edge that you could use to chip away at the chain keeping you here.
But while you might hate Winslow, you'd rather not vandalize the school. Particularly when so many people saw you trying to get your bag back. The trouble that you'd get in just isn't worth it.
No. No. You shake the thought out of your head, because you aren't at that point yet.
It isn't worth it.
Yet.
It's over half an hour later when you start to change your tune on damaging school property. What was a passing fancy of an idea is starting to look more and more needed with each moment, and it is right as you are almost ready to step away and do something drastic that the chain finally starts to shift.
The change isn't much, at least on the surface. You might not be able to see anything different, but when you pull on the chain again, you feel another little shift. The almost welded grasp of the metal against itself is finally loosening.
Admittedly… It still takes you close to ten more minutes to finally pull the knot apart, untangle the mess of twisted chain, and spin the winch at the bottom around and around until your bag finally touches the ground again.
You did it. You're finally free. But the fact that you had to do this just brings your mind back around to that question that you had earlier. How are Emma and her friends getting into your locker? You change the combination again and again, but that barely seems to slow them down.
Now that you have your bag again, you spend a long moment staring at it… Why do you even bother putting your bag in a locker at all?
Then… After a long moment of wracking your memory for anything that might explain the decision you've made, you finally remember.
This wasn't your decision. It's the teachers. Teachers that don't allow school bags in their classrooms. They want you to keep anything not specifically related to their class in your locker. Saying that anything put in there will be safe.
…
Safe…
Was your bag safe? What about your midterm project from last semester…?
What about your Mother's flute?
You try as hard as you can to keep the tears pricking at the edges of your eyes from spilling over, but it is a losing battle. And once you fail there, you can't even try to keep it from getting worse as you remember what Emma did to your mother's flute.
Bastards.
Everyone here at the school are Bastards and Bitches. All those people who watched you suffer, who watched the bullies hurt you and did nothing about it.
There are also the bullies, who actively did less than nothing, adding onto the pain and torment that you were forced to go through. The glue and the gum in your hair. The paper shavings dropped on you. The juice and water spilled in your seat or on your clothes. Being pushed in your locker twice now. So many stupid pranks. So many hateful emails. The things written on your desk in pencil, the lies told to teachers to make them think that there is something wrong with you.
Those monsters who added onto the pain are horrible, and you hate the people who point and laugh, but the ones that you might truly loathe are the people who sit back and do nothing. The ones who like to think that they are innocent in all of this.
Because any one of them could have spoken up, they could have said something. Anything. Just a 'This isn't right, we aren't savages' would have been proof that there is something of worth in Winslow. They aren't innocent.
There aren't any innocents in Winslow.
You don't… You can't understand any of them. You don't understand why anyone would sit back and do nothing. You can't understand why people like Emma and her friends do what they do. How can they revel in pain and enjoy your suffering? What kind of person enjoys the misery of others?
There has to be something wrong with them to act like that.
You know that there has to be something wrong with them to act like that…
And yet…
Terrible thoughts start to swirl through your head. Dark and disturbingly sweet fancies dance behind your eyes where you finally stop choosing to be the better person. Where you make the choice to cross that line.
Musings of going to Emma's house, surprising her with your presence before you slit her throat. Sitting next to her and regaling her with all the stories of the life the two of you used to share as you watch the light fade from her eyes.
Fantasies of taking a metal bat to those long, shapely legs that Sophia is so proud of, and then pushing her down a flight of stairs so that she crashes into a pack of those stupid Empire Idiots, and walking away as they hurt her.
Or even just the idle image of grabbing one of the guns that the Dock Workers' Association keeps on the premises and putting the gun to Madison's head. Forcing her to kneel before you, to prostrate herself in front of you, begging you to forgive her - one thing at a time - for everything that she's ever done to you. Licking your boots to show just how far below you she really is.
But… No.
No.
You shake those thoughts from your head. Those thoughts are Bad Thoughts. The horrible kinds of musings that keep trying to infiltrate your mind. The kinds of terrible ideas that you know that you'll never follow through on. Not because the bitches don't deserve it, because they most certainly do…
But because that despite all the suffering, the pain, the sorrow, and the hatred that they have put you through, you know that you are a better person then they will ever be. Doing things like that would mean that you're sinking down to their level, and that you are becoming the same kinds of petty monsters that they are.
…
Also doing any of those would almost certainly mean that you'd go to jail.
Going to jail is bad. Your father would never forgive himself if you ended up in jail.
…On the other hand… You know that you'd never really follow through on any of those thoughts, they are just little hateful musings that you can throw away when you are done with them. And the hate helps you ignore the cold trying to dig into your bones as you finally finish untangling your bag. Throwing it around your shoulders, you are finally free to start making your way home. All of that took an hour of being all alone, with no one to help you. The sad thing is that you are used to being alone now, even if you don't enjoy it.
And today is still friday. Which means that you don't have to deal with Emma any more until the next week starts. In fact, there's no more reason for you to be thinking of her - to be remembering her stupid face, or thinking her stupid name.
You can just pretend that that bitch doesn't exist until Monday comes around. And that is what you are going to do.
Because fuck her.
Instead, you turn towards the streets of Brockton Bay, putting one foot in front of the other. You can only hope that your hateful thoughts can keep on keeping you warm, because you still have an hour's long walk through the city streets before you will arrive home.
Yay.
Even in your head, that sarcasm sounded pitiful.
…God above.
…Everything hurts.
The rebellious thoughts bring a scowl to your face, as thinking about the freezing cold pain wrapping itself around you only makes the suffering more distinct. And you are exhausted. Enough so that you can't keep yourself from yawning, a brutal thing that makes you open your mouth wide enough that your jaw pops painfully.
You. Are. Exhausted. You. Are. Famished.
You. Are. Lots of words that end in -ed.
So entirely out of energy that you can barely even focus on… on… On something. There is something that you are supposed to be focusing on in order to avoid thinking about something else. But you can't remember. Not through the exhaustion, the cold, and the pain.
Everything hurts.
Right now, the only thing that is in your head is the thundering beat of your heart, a tempo that you try - and fail - to have your feet match. You want to be home. You want to lay down, under the covers, and just pretend that none of the world - yourself included - exists.
You've been walking and walking and walking, lost past the point of pain, past the point where your tears started to flow again, but that doesn't matter.
Because the sign two blocks down is a sign that you know well. It marks your street.
You're nearly home.
Once you finally reach the corner of your street, you stop for a moment, nearly tumbling over as you take a long, deep breath - One that nearly turns into a coughing fit when you spot something that makes the bottom drop of your stomach drop.
There's Dad's old beaten up blue truck, sitting parked in the driveway in front of your house.
Fuck.
Why is Dad home so early? The skies overhead are only now starting to get dark, which means that it can't be any later than… five? Five thirty if you're going to push it?
Dad normally doesn't get off till Eight.
This is just… great. Dad is almost certainly going to have questions about you getting home this late. Questions that you really, really don't want to answer. Especially not if it is your father asking those questions.
You… You stumble forwards, barely catching yourself from falling. You get it. Things have been hard for Dad ever since Mom died two years ago. Dad… basically fell apart.
But things have been hard for you too… And Dad hasn't been there for you. Not when you really needed him.
Huh. Normally you wouldn't ever put those feelings to words. You must be really tired.
It's because he hasn't been there for you that you haven't told him about the bullying. Because there is nothing that he can do to deal with stupid kids being horrible to each other, and it would only stress him out worse.
So you've kept quiet, tried to pretend that everything was okay…
And he hasn't asked you about things, so it looks like he hasn't noticed that anything was wrong. Now all of that is going to be put at risk because you are so tired that you aren't sure you're going to be able to keep your tongue in check.
All of this makes you want to scream. You are too tired to scream. You barely have the energy to think and put one foot in front of the other, let alone plan for how to deal with answering your Dad's questions.
Actually… That's it.
You can leave the responsibility of dealing with all of that to Future Taylor.
Future Taylor is smart. She'll know how to get out of that.
Yeah… She's smart. And Current Taylor is in way too much pain right now to think of a better option. So you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again. You hurt, and you are exhausted and…
And…
There was something else. Two something elses? Your mind is too blurry at the moment to remember. Too tired to deal with all of this.
So you are going to leave dealing with the future to Future… Didn't you already think this? Is your mind just going in circles right now?
Honestly, probably.
But it keeps you moving, far enough to get to the front steps. You don't even have to think about passing over the rotten step before you stumble through the door and into the living room. Somehow, the whole of your world both collapses down into almost nothing, and becomes crisper than anything. You lurch forwards, all but rushing towards the couch. You've barely managed to drop your bag before your legs hit the arm of the couch, and the couch starts to rise up to meet you.
No. Wait.
You're falling.
But that doesn't matter, because Ohhh. The cushions are soft, the air is warm, and you are no longer on your feet. A groan that is made of all your pain, suffering, and the blissful sensations of finally being off your feet escapes you, and you let your eyes drift shut.
Finally.
"Taylor!" Before you have the chance to drift away, your father's voice calls out from somewhere deeper in the house, the fear and worry in his voice enough to drag you back from the inky darkness for a moment, at least.
"Mrhglhbhgl… Daaaaad… Lemmasleep. M'tried." the words mean almost nothing, but some part of your mind is starting to clear away the debris and dust that has been clogging up your thoughts - That must be Future Taylor, and she's laughing at you. But you can understand what you meant by all of that, so Dad should be able to as well…
Right?
You start to drift away again, before there comes a sudden staccato thumping of footsteps down the stairs, and a moment later something warm and heavy lands on your shoulder. "Bluuugh…" Okay. You aren't even sure what you were trying to say with that one, but then the weight on your shoulder - no - The hand on your shoulder starts to shake you, and the world begins to collect back together.
You are still tired, but getting off your feet, and out of the cold is already doing a lot to clear your head.
"Taylor." Dad calls your name, and this time there isn't any fear in his voice. More than that, there is something that you've not heard from him in a long, long time. Years even.
So with a groan you roll over, one hand rubbing at your face and you blearily open your eyes to look up at him.
"Daah?" You try to speak, but are interrupted by a long yawn. Dad looks the same as he always does, tall and thin and vaguely sad in a way that is hard to put into words. A constant exhaustion and bags under his eyes.
Damn it Past Taylor, you knew that there wasn't going to be any time for you to think up a plan on how to deal with this conversation or the questions that Dad is going to have. Not slacking off and putting everything on your shoulders.
But there's nothing for it. You push yourself up into a sitting position before you realize that you aren't wearing your glasses. A quick glance around finds them half slipping into the gap between the seat and the back of the couch. "Sorry…" You start to say, your words split by another yawn. "I was…" There has to be something that you can think to say. An excuse, something…
Anything.
"Some jerk at school got into my locker. Must not have closed it all the way." Wait. No. Stop. Not that. "Whoever it was ran my bag up the flagpole. I missed the bus trying to get it down. So I had to walk home. M't'red."
The one thing that you didn't want to do was make your Dad even more stressed by explaining the bullying to him. What the hell are you thinking, admitting something like that right now.
But is that really the real reason? In the moment you want to take that random thought out to the back of your mind and shoot it like the ending of Old Yeller, but it's too late to stop things now.
You didn't want to tell your dad about the bullying because there isn't anything that he could do about it, and while this was annoying, and took a lot of time away from you, it was… Well, not the worst thing that they've ever done, but it is the peak of what else they can do. And even then, you are starting to have a few ideas of what you might be able to do to avoid this happening again.
Teachers might be willing to turn a blind eye towards little pranks, but there has to be a limit to what they can do, if only because the gang kids are held to that limit. The teachers have to step in and stop things from getting bad if they don't want the tension between the Empire Kids and the ABB kids from boiling over.
With clearer vision, you can see that your father is frowning heavily at what you've said. "I don't think that counts as a prank." Your father mutters, but before you have a chance to disagree, he shakes his head and continues. "Back when I was in school they called that theft. Why didn't you talk to a teacher about getting it down?"
There are a lot of reasons, but admitting that you just didn't expect them to help, when they haven't been willing to help with anything else would just raise questions.
You glance away, not answering, and your father huffs.
"Just… Keep that in mind if something like that happens again." Dad says. "I know Winslow doesn't have the best teachers, but they're held to standards just the same as every other professional, and if they aren't willing to do their jobs, then I'll have to talk with someone to make sure that they do."
"Okay."
"Good." Dad says, before giving you a look that makes it clear that what he is about to say is not up for debate. "Now, I'm not comfortable with you wandering through the city without some way to protect yourself."
That's entirely fair, and you understand why he feels the way he does - Here in the Bay of all places, but it isn't like the solution to protecting yourself is just going to fall out of the sky and into your lap. "Now come on, let's get some food in you. You'll feel a lot better once you've eaten."
You try to respond, and the groan that comes out of your mouth certainly sounds like something close to an agreement. Dad helps you up to your feet, and just like that the pain and aching muscles make themselves known again. Some part of you, idle and separate from the rest of your thoughts, wonders if you would have even made it to the table without your father's help.
Dropping into the closest chair, you slump forwards, allowing your head to hit the table with a th-
Bap.
Eh?
That wasn't the sound of your head hitting wood, and whatever your head hit wasn't as hard as the table either. Pulling yourself back up, you rub at your face before looking down at whatever it was that you hit your head against.
There's a package in front of you.
Why is there a package in front of you?
"Why is there a package on the table?" You ask.
Dad chuckles, shaking his head as he moves about the kitchen. "No idea. It's addressed to you."
What? That can't be right? Who in the world would be sending you anything? You pull the package closer to you, taking a better look.
Hopefully it won't take long for Dad to put something together for you. You're still starving. But until food is ready, you have something interesting to take a look at. Picking up the package, you do the natural thing - Bringing the box up to your ear, you give it a good shake. Two good shakes, but you don't hear anything moving, nor did you feel anything shift around. Shaking it a bit harder gets the same result. So that was a bust.
Whoever packaged this for you did a good job at the very least.
And now that you've let the primitive monkey-brain have it's fun, it's time to do the actual smart thing instead. You check the shipping address.
Taylor A. Hebert
14 W Maplewood Street
Brockton, NH
Well, that's your name and your address. Not only is it your name, but it's even spelled correctly. It is a little frustrating how many people end up adding an 'r' between the e and the b in your last name. Not Herbert, but Hebert. Even dad has trouble with people misspelling his name on contracts with the Union.
Even more interesting, the address is typed and printed on a sticker, not handwritten. It all looks professional enough that you don't think that Emma or Madison would be behind this. Well…
Where's the return addre-
Eh?
Uhhh...?
That's the Logo of MiT. One of the best universities in the United States. Hell, one of the better ones around the world when it comes to technology. If this is real, then it explains why all of this is so well put together and professional looking.
The only problem is that this raises all the more questions. Why the hell is MiT sending you, Taylor Hebert Nobody Extraordinare, anything at all? You take another look at the box, freshly suspicious that there is something off here.
And yet… A second look over all of this still checks out. The logo is correct, not just in how it looks, but all the shipping is correct, and the return address is right as well.
You almost start trying to check to see if there is anything that you might have missed, before you hear your dad chuckle. You're being silly. Because there is one thing that you haven't tried yet that might be able to explain all of this.
You just need to open the box.
Which turns out to be easier said then done - Apparently MiT uses the most tyrannical tape in the world. The stuff clings to the outside of the box like it's its job to keep whatever is inside sealed away for the rest of time. It takes so long that you end up actually taking a break and cleaning off a plate of beef stroganoff. And once you have some food in you, you feel a lot better.
Better enough that another obvious thing makes itself clear to you. Grabbing a pair of scissors makes opening the box so much easier.
Now that you've freed the box from the sticky, clinging grasp of the forces keeping it closed, you finally have a chance to see what is inside…
…It's another box! Right. Great.
Wait… as you shift the first box away to turn your focus towards the smaller box, you feel something shift about in the larger one. Oh.
A letter.
This might explain what all of this is.
Opening the letter, you quickly skim through -
Dear Miss Hebert - You find yourself appreciating the fact that they got your name right again. It really shouldn't be something that surprises you, but even after years of your Dad working for the union, there are still times that he gets contracts from the city where they add an extra r into the name.
Thank you for filling out the previously sent survey and agreeing to take part in our Experimental Technology Trail.
Survey…
Survey… You think about it for a moment, trying to remember what kind of survey you might have - Oh! Oh yeah!
You remember now. It had been a little more than a month ago - Your Math class was in the computer lab for the day, and you had finished up your work rather early on. So after checking to see if there was any interesting topics over on Parahumans Online, and then checking the news, you still had some class time left.
With nothing else to do, you checked your school email.
There is a reason why you don't do that often - among all the stupid spam and the hateful emails that Emma and her stupid friends have sent you, there was a single email from an address that ended in .edu.
Now that you are thinking about it, you do… sort of recall the MiT logo being on the seven page survey that was in the email. Maybe.
And with nothing else to do for the rest of class, you decided that you might as well.
You completed the survey and sent it back.
…And apparently, based on the boxes in front of you, you made the right choice in answering the survey honestly instead of just clicking random answers the way that you had been tempted to at first.
You skim the rest of the letter, looking for anything else important. Something something, experiment testing out a new communications technology using a…
'Quantum Entangled Suprapositioning Analogous Relay'
Or QuaSAR for short, whatever that is.
Uhhh… Trial is set to last for the next six months, and once it is complete, you will receive a check for…
…
You sit there for a moment, staring at the number on the page in front of you.
You must have seen the number wrong.
You look away, then back again.
The number is still there.
You flip the page over, then check again.
The number is still there.
That… that can't be right. There's no way that that number is real.
The trial is set to last for the next six months, and once it is complete you will receive a check for… $120,000.00
One Hundred and Twenty Thousand Dollars. Or an equivalent amount of alternative currencies.
That…
That that…
That just…
Every part of you is screaming that there is either something wrong with this tech that MiT is sending you, or this is all the most elaborate prank that you've ever heard of, let alone seen.
A hundred and twenty grand is more money than you've ever seen in your entire life.
Why the hell would MiT be willing to pay that much for what is essentially a tech experiment?
And for the first time since you've opened the box, it is the part of you that thinks this might actually be real that is the part that is starting to worry. Because if this is real…
That kind of money would mean so much for you and Dad.
And thankfully, you have the chance to ignore all of that, because the next page of the letter is the contract. Filled with legal jargon that you can't even begin to comprehend. The kind of thing that your Dad needs to know in order to do his job as a hiring manager and Union Representative.
Oh, wait a second.
Hurrying to shuffle the pages back into order, you slide them across the table, to where your dad is finishing off his own plate of dinner. Watching you open this package with a kind smile on his face. "Hey, dad. There's… uhh… Legal stuff in this. Not sure what all of it means. Could you…?"
Dad chuckles, nodding as he slides his plate over to the side. "Gimme a moment to clean my hands." He agrees, popping up to his feet.
Okay… Anything else?
Ah, there was another letter in the same envelope as the first one…
This one is hand written.
It's not just a handwritten letter, but a fancy handwritten letter. The kind of fancy that doesn't belong in a letter being sent to some teenager in Brockton Bay, this kind of handwriting should be in a museum, next to a fancy plaque that translates it for people who aren't fluent in loops and swirly bits.
You can't make heads or tails of it.
No… Sitting there, you squint for a moment, until you can start to get an idea of what you are looking at.
That first line says Dear Taylor Hebert,
Thank you for agreeing to take part in the Experimental Technology trial that we here at MiT are holding. My name is STEVEN, and I wanted to personally thank you for applying. Times are difficult for all the world right now, between the troubles with heroes and villains, and the ever looming threat of the Endbringers and their source. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that things are only going to become more difficult in the future before Peaceful Days return, and further I believe that it is through the usage of the system that we have sent you that you will have the ability to face the oncoming troubles better than you would have without them.
Things may be scary soon, and they may be difficult. So I offer you the only advice that I can.
DO NOT CLOSE YOUR EYES
DO NOT COVER YOUR EARS
FACE THE FUTURE HEAD ON
ACCEPT THE CHALLENGES THAT WILL COME BEFORE YOU
And above all else, Miss Taylor -
SURVIVE.
I do not know how long it will be before your Peaceful Days come to an end, but when that happens things are only going to get hard, there will be pain, and there will be grief. You will lose trust in the people you respect. You will gain trust in those you didn't. You will see things that you wish you didn't, and if things become as dangerous as my assistant Naoya Taniyama thinks they will, then you may have to do things that disgust you.
But in the end, if you manage to keep your head high, if you face the truth and keep moving forwards, then you will make friends, find allies, meet interesting people, and see things that few others across the world have seen before. Beyond all of that, you will also do things that few others have done.
The night is coming, Taylor.
It is long. It is dark.
But for every night there is a dawn, and if you keep your wits about you, then we will find that it is not a Golden Dawn facing us, but a peaceful one.
I feel that it will not be for some time, but I do look forward to the day that we meet.
STEVEN
Inside of the package in front of you is a COMP.
THERE WILL BE AN HOUR VOTE MEMORATORUM TO ALLOW FOR PEOPLE TO THINK THINGS OVER BEFORE BUILDING PLANS
You have Eight (8) points to spend on Applications for your COMP. Your COMP already comes with - Phone Access, Texting, The Devil Summoning Program, an internet browser, and a Basic Harmonizer.
[ ][COMP] Skill_Crack.cor
- Costs 1 Point
– CAN BE FOUND ELSEWHERE. A skill program for your COMP that registers Spell manifestations as a Data file, which when assigned to a User, allows them the ability to cast the spell without having learned it through more regular means. However, spells equipped this way cannot be improved the way that naturally learned spells can, until they are learned normally.
[ ][COMP] Elem.Lib
- Costs 1 Point
– REQUIRES Skill_Crack.cor. A Library for your Spell Crack system, containing the basic Fire, Ice, Electric, and Wind spells
[ ][COMP] Sup.Lib
- Costs 1 Point
– REQUIRES Skill_Crack.cor. A Library for your Spell Crack system, containing a healing spell, a spell that wakens those who have been knocked unconscious, a few support spells to make combat easier, and a spell that rids the target of all toxins and their withdrawal effects
[ ][COMP] Laplace_Clock.cor
- Costs 1 Point
– How… What? Somehow, you can see numbers floating over people's heads. Some people. They carry a number, ranging from 0-9. According to one of the files that you've found on your COMP, that number over their head count down the number of days until they die. Right now, the number of people who have a number over their head seems to be… Less than 1 in 10, hard to get a better look. Thankfully, even the people with numbers, the majority of them are at 9.
[ ][COMP] Meta.TV
- Costs 1 Point
– Somehow, this app allows you to… See through TVs into another place if you use your Camera, and you can… Enter the TV. Somehow. What the hell is this? Other than a much faster way to get around, because it seems like you can travel from one place inside the TVs to another faster than makes sense.
[ ][COMP] Blood of Bel
- Costs 1 Point
– CAN BE FOUND ELSEWHERE. Not a part of the COMP, but it seems that your mother carried something special in her blood. Something that you have access to as well. Strong Demons will hunt for you.
[ ][COMP] D_Conv.cor
- Costs 1 Point
– CAN BE FOUND ELSEWHERE. A Quality of Life Program for your COMP that comes with a full automatic translation suite for Elementals, Fouls, and Machines, allowing those species to be negotiated with earlier than they would otherwise be. If both D-Conv and A_Conv are owned, additional translations for rarer Races will be included.
[ ][COMP] A_Conv.cor
- Costs 1 Point
– CAN BE FOUND ELSEWHERE. A Quality of Life Program for your COMP that comes with a full automatic translation suite for Elementals, Avians, and Beasts, allowing those species to be negotiated with earlier than they would otherwise be. If both D-Conv and A_Conv are owned, additional translations for rarer Races will be included.
[ ][COMP] Cath_Shad.cor
- Costs 2 Points
– CAN BE FOUND ELSEWHERE. A Fusion Program for your COMP, granting access to a basic two demon summoning system within your COMP so that you do not need to learn about and visit the Cathedral of Shadows that has opened up in the Bay for fusions.
[ ][COMP] Mini_Shad.cor
- Costs 1 Points
– REQUIRES Cath_Shad.cor. An Advanced Variant of the Cathedral of Shadows ritual work, designed by Naoya himself for a certain individual. Allows access to All types of Fusion and Special summoning that the Cathedral of Shadows has access to in the Bay.
[ ][COMP] Macca 4 U!
- Costs 2 Points
– Once your COMP finishes installing, you will find an Email from a Star@Arch.Bab that contains ♄500. A large amount of a currency that you've never heard of, with a simple message that simply says that this might be useful to you. Separately, it makes you want to punch the person who sent the message, because they apparently never learned basic grammar and spelling. They text like a valleygirl.
[ ][COMP] Burrough.cor
- Costs 4 Points
– Once your COMP finishes installing, you will find an Email from a GBRL@Arch.Bab The email mentions giving you access to an assistant who will guide you through the dangers facing the Bay. Cannot be taken with Fay.Con
[ ][COMP] Fay.Con
- Costs 4 Points
– Once you COMP finishes installing, you will find an Email from a Naoki@Amala.net, which contains a message mentioning a hope for a better future for humanity, and a slight bit of assistance. Once the email is read, the Devil Summoning Program will recognize a new contract being formed with a Pixie that is willing to assist you in combat, and act as a guide through the dangers in the bay. Cannot be taken with Burrough.cor
[ ][COMP] Velv.Con
- Costs 5 Points
– CAN BE GAINED ELSEWHERE. This is a contract of some kind, along with an address. But the contract is odd. It simply says 'What happens, may. So long as you take responsibility for thyself.' Weird.
– Allows for the awakening of a Persona, which is sort of like a demon, but inside your head. Grants access to new skills that you would not normally find elsewhere.
[ ][COMP] Mantra.pry
- Costs 6 Points
– A strange app that comes with a readme file that you know that you've read, but you don't remember. Whatever. Upon activating the Demon Summoning Program for the first time, you will gain access to an Atma Avatar form, allowing you to transform fully into a demon, rather than fighting alongside them as a Demon Tamer. This comes with a great hunger, one diminished and controlled by the Mantra app, but you will still require to consume demons in addition to other foodstuffs.
[ ][COMP] I'm Sorry. Come Find me.
- Costs 8 Points
– …What the hell is this?!? Why is there a text from your MOTHER ON HERE! How? Why? What does it mean, 'I'm Sorry. Come Find me in the Expanse.'?
– Taylor is a Devil Child. Half-human, Half-Demon. Annette didn't die. She was cast out of the world. Battles are harder. Demons have opinions about you, making some harder to work with, others easier.
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