Z. Altius (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chimericalclaw) wrote2025-06-21 09:15 pm
chimericalclaw) wrote2025-06-21 09:15 pm
open post
⬬ The AI filled it out for him this time.
⬬ Saw something you weren't meant to see.
⬬ The person he has to return to.
⬬ Sentencing or otherwise, the truth has to come to light.
⬬ Should have broken it a long time ago.
or whatever shenanigans you please!
more to come...
no subject
Taken, but what does that matter when all of this is fake anyway? Luckily for you, I am a virtuoso in everything false, and I'll put on whatever performance you'd like. Do you need a shoulder to cry on or a guiding hand? A savior? A victim? Someone to save? I'll take on any role for you, as long as you can make it worth my while.
A word of warning: don't get attached. 🖤
no subject
So we've fallen to falsifying ages as well as photos and messages, have we?
is it killing if they're code?
Momentarily surprised by the way the figure slumped out of his hands, Zekarion lets out a disappointed sigh, just barely audible. He'd meant to see if some combination of his magic might do the impossible-turned-possible—to see if he could restore a former Chosen to a lucid state the way Viktor had before his departure.
But is it a limit of his magic, or a mistake of his application? Shouldn't the power of three Spirits be enough, even if he has to restrict the scale? He hasn't had to test something like this in a while, but... perhaps it will be worth the effort.
He hasn't noticed that someone happened to be watching, whether through the slats of the boarded up windows or behind a stack of old pallets.]
ward or prisoner
Between memories, dreams, or this or that photo Altius might have received and shown to others, willingly or not, Ferran is probably recognizable enough to a few others. If not, the young man isn't hesitant to share his name, though he might end up finding that to be a bad decision.
His arrival could have been worse. He could still be unconscious. He could still be unaware. He is, however, obviously utterly exhausted: dark circles under his eyes and a vaguely cautious, confused look on his face as he wanders.
He also happens to be wearing a set of blood-soaked pajamas, as you do—and the black crack markings along his jaw set him apart further, perhaps reminiscent of people once corrupted within the simulation. The tablet held loosely in one hand has marked him for betrayal, but that's not news to him.]
It's not as bad as it looks, [he mutters when someone approaches.]
returning to his proper role
A revelation, you could call it. That nothing they do here matters in any sort of way—an idea that's become fact in his mind now. Perhaps they've been definitively informed they're nothing more than copies, disconnected from their originals. Or perhaps it's become clear they've all been wasting time, that the clearest way out truly is nothing more than destruction. How funny.
His wide eyes are blank for a moment as he stands there in the wake of that realization—and then he throws back his head, and laughs. And laughs. The sound rises and falls, sharp into deep, like another new aspect snags his awareness each time, dragging another unwilling peal out of him.
As the last of them finally trails off, his shoulders drop like his strings have been cut.]
... I've been a fool.
[A crackle of black energy sparks across his shoulders.]
forced honesty
He attempts to keep his interactions short, but that can only work for so long. The force that's brought on this compulsion won't allow him to sequester himself away until it's over, so he can be found with an expression on his face much different from the usual, somewhere on the spectrum of blank to resigned misery.]