Chapter Text
July 2009
“Now, there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight, everyone!” the camp counsellor declared, raising her voice to speak over the near two dozen boys and girls assembled before her. “But please make sure that nobody strays out of camp without one of us, it’s very easy to get lost in the woods, and we don’t want to have to call your parents to say that we lost you!”
Already a few of the kids under their watch were craning their necks, some of them with lips slightly parted, as if expecting to see tell-tale streaks of light against the dark pink of the evening sky.
One in particular, a young redhead standing near the back, turned to her fellow, one of those with eyes turned towards the sky.
“Are you going to stay up for the meteors, Taylor?”
“Hm, I think so, it will be neat, right? To see shooting stars even if just for a little bit, I mean it's not like we can see them in the Bay.”
“All that light pollution stuff?”
“Yeah.”
As the other campers began to disperse, the counsellors did the same, either to follow and direct their young charges were doing or to take care of the next bit of organisation for the night.
“Apparently the meteors are coming at the same time as a comet from all the way from the very far edge of the solar system!” Taylor added, looking back down from the sky to focus on her best friend, Emma Barnes.
“You dork, c’mon,” Emma turned and began leading the way, Taylor catching up after a moment and frowning.
“They said not to go too far, Em's---”
“There’s a ridge not far from camp, just along the road a bit, we can get a good view there!” The tugging intensified, Emma leading Taylor further down the road.
“But---”
“It’s not that far, we’ll be fine, if we hear them shouting, then it’s just a minute or two.”
Privately, Taylor wondered whether Emma’s ‘minute or two’ would really be that long, her best friend had been overly optimistic with time before, but indeed, only a brief walk from the camp later and using the little remaining daylight as a guide, the pair found the raised and rocky seat on which to view the stars.
The sun descended with an agonising slowness; conversation passed between them to speed up the process of waiting for evening to pass into night. When the first stars became visible, Taylor pointed them out with excitement, although Emma got the first streaking star.
One, then another.
Faintly visible streaks across the sky that became more and more easy to distinguish as the minutes crawled by.
They sat side by side, hoping to get a meteor right in the centre of their vision... yet inevitably, each falling piece of debris was always off to the side, barely lasting a second or more.
Gone the moment they focused on it.
Five minutes, ten, fifteen.
Taylor Hebert hugged her knees close.
How long had it been since things had felt normal like this? Certainly not at home with her dad, not with the long awkward silences in which both would struggle to find the right words, not with the strange distance formed by her mother’s death.
Perhaps, despite her initial misgivings, this summer camp would not be such a bad idea, time away from home, away from the city. Just able to spend time with Emma, without worries about home and without thoughts about---
A flash filled the sky, a meteor larger than others. Over the course of a few seconds, the light only grew brighter and brighter as it lanced through the heavens towards the earth.
Both girls looked at it.
“Hey, that one's really close---”
The world exploded.
…
…
…
The summer camp behind them was burning. The ground was changing as it turned glossy, a sheen of crystal creeping forward from the impact site in the distance, changing everything it encountered.
A beautiful, alien, shimmering world that had already reached and overtaken.
Taylor's ears rang.
Staring at that thing partially visible beyond the trees, the upper curve of a vast disc. Grey, or silver? No, green… yellow… or a hellish red? It reflected light from the trees burning below it.
Something vast was slowly unfurling like a spider dying in reverse, legs opening and making contact with the ground.
All she could do was stare, as if in a trance, disconnected from the world around her.
“----or!”
Something gripped her arm and pulled.
She could not escape the feeling that just as she stared at the strange thing in the distance, it was staring right back. That featureless metallic face was pointed in their direction.
Was it a face?
The pulling sensation again, wrenching her feet from the crystal that had surrounded and enmeshed her shoes as the thing pulling her screamed something, her name?
She could, with a detached serenity, see the blood left from where she had been standing, why was it being pulled into the ground, drawn towards that thing?
C̥̙̯̋ͮ̏ͯ̓̌͌̅ō̙͖̭̝̥̲̣̳͕̂ͩ͆̈́̈͊̂ͯͥ̏ͅǹ̹̫͓̜̖͇̦̠ͭ̍ͤ͆ͤ͒ͧͤ̑s̲̲͂̇͌̔ͤ͑̋ͬ̿̓ͦͧu͍ͫ͂̓̃̊̾̓m̱̫͈̹̻̫̖̲̗̗̤͂̅̈̅́̃̃̚p͚̭̖̤͓̻͔̮̪̙͍̔ͭ̊̒̉̓ͤ̄͌t͕̥͓̫͍̦̳̤̰̦̦͙̾̓ͣ͛̌͗͌͑̆̆i̹͖̹͙̫͖̙͛͑͊̓ͅo̳̻̜͉̟̣̜͕̭̣̿̆̋͒̿̑ͤń̯̝̐̽͛̑ͭ̿ ͎̜̩̙͗͆̉̇ͫ̄ͫ͂̅o͚͋͂̆f̣͇̄ ͍̙͒ͪ͌̄̎ͩͧ̃ṉ̰̝̟̜̥̖̳̥̬͓̣̒̇ͧ̑̐̚ȧ̙̠̪̺̜t̯̫̖͍̬̻̲̱̅̃ͣ̈ͣ͛ͨi̘̲̰̳̘̦̰̼̩͓͕ͣ̌͒̚ͅv͚͈̻̥͔̞̜̤̜ͨ͒̀͊̆ͧ̀̽é̪̯̈́ͧͮ̚ͅ ̬͐̃̂o̫͔̬̫͖̎͂r̭͎͈͙ͦͮ͗̇̅̎̓g̺̰͔̈́͂ͣͭ̎̏̃a͚͕̟̮̍̇ͧ̾n̗̭̱̪̬̻͚͚̣̟̜ͮ̐̌ͪḯ̼̹̪̮̖̈́ͯ̈ͧͯ̊͛c̙̞̃̌ ͖͓̜̬̣͇̤͍̫̼̽ͧ̓̓̿̌ͨͬ̍̃ͪͪͅm͙̞̘͇̻̘̘̤͙̾̌̍ͅa͇͇̙͕̗̻̮ͧ̏̓͐̋̈́̓̿̂̎͆̆t̳̼̠̲͎͚̲̬̍̓ẽ̲̲̜̄ͣͧ̓r̰̞͙ͨ͛̋̂ͥ̚i̩ͥͪ̎̇ͭͥͧa̰̟̦͇̬͈̦͇̻̻̾ͭͦ̑̓͊̋̿͆̎ͥl̙̖̫̘̻̦̭͇̿͌̏̈̂ͫ.̩͔̥͙͇̠͇͎͎͌ͧͧ̀̒̐͑̇ͫ ̬͖̠̣̓ͨ͌̉ͫͅŰ̩͉͖̝͖̦̰̿ͬͮ̎̈̐ͫ̂̚s̩̥̖̭̪͇̹͎̙͆̄̊̐̉ͨͭẹ̍f̤̞̝̠̻̅̍̂̍̏̎̏ͪ͒ͅu͙̬͚͔͙͚͈̭̜̪̾ͯ̊ͅl̮̫̮̣͓͕̻̄͗ͬͭ͌̇̃n̤͍̬͔͕͎̮͍̲̋̌͋̆̐̐ͅe̯̪̱̦̭̺͓̟͉͍̯̘͂̉̈̅͂͋s̺͎̭͂̊͐͋͆͂̇ͪͤͯ͊s̻̩͓̫͖͕̻̳͕̜̙̞ͬ͛̅ͨͧͦ ̯̫̖͈͖͌ͣ̄ͭͣͬ̑n̤̝̞͚͔̰̙̮ͨ̀ͯ̚e̼͎̱̖̙̰͔̙̫̼̗ͮ̑͌̎̄̅̚g͕̠͛̈̀ͅͅl͙̠͕͉̤̯̔̿i̘̮͌̋ͭͥ̐ͯ̑̐̓̈ͫg̲̞̩̣̯̹̞̙̺̗ͣ͂͌͌͊ͅi̻͕͖̙̺̩̣͑̿̏̍b̬͚̞̻͔ͨ̅̑̍̋̐l̹̾ͥ͂͛̓ͧ͛̑̏̄́̅e͇̰̭̲̭͈̳̻̘ͨ̂ͮ̊͑̿.͓̣̤̪̳̱͇̲͓̪͇͗ͤͣ
(Consumption of native organic material. Usefulness negligible)
Ȁ̰͈̳͕̪͎͕̪̤̲͔͔̀͋̀n̳̟̝̝̹̻̖̙̮̗͕̚ä̯̪̫̰̤̫̲͓ͥͪ̈͐ͫ̐̃̎͂̓̈l̹̬̜̤̠͇͚͇̹ͤͧ̐̊̿ͣ̃́͗̿y̖͔̪̺̪͇̼͚̤̭̹͒͐s̰̼̫̙̿͌̐i͙̔̈́ͨ̃̑͛̓s̻ͮ ̞ͬ̈́̅̒̚ő̖̓͂̽̾f͇̦͇̎̽̾͊ͥ̽ ̦̘͎̰̺̰͇̗̗̩̲͑ͯ̋͑̍̅̂s̫̲̜̼̅̒͐̓̑ͫͣ͒o̩ͥu̜͙̣̲̙̰̤̮̞̰͍̱̿̍̐̆ͮr̯̿̈́ͩ̈́̋̈́̓̆ͣc̗̠ͤ̔ẻ͙̣̮̋͊ͮͦͩ ̪̱̯̤͈͎̯͎ͬ̑͒ͦ̚ͅc̪̬̱͙̅̉̽̽͌̚o͇̤̬̙ͬ͒ͣ̏̃̈́̇̔̓m̙̯̫͂ͬ̀̔̓̇͑ͯ͑ͮm͇̭̘̻̩̙̤̹̞͇ͬͪ̍̀ͥ̍̇ͭĕ͇̒ͭ̈́̚n͎͈̯̬̭̠̠̲̖̟̥͕͗̂̐̉̆c̹̟̟̰̯̬̙̓ͧ̍ͧͤ̚ͅi̺̞̼̦̲̘̜͔͇̱̓ͬ͛͊̿̈̅ͦ͑ͯ͊̚ͅn͎͉̙͌͌͊̈́͗̆͊̔ͮͮͬ̏g̹̜̰̲̠ͬ̏̋̈́͒̈̏̑̊̚.̘̮̫̗̗̈ ̻̹̲̻͚̼͎͇̹̤̦ͥ̀A͇̰ͤ̍̓ͦ͗̅͐͊̎̑ͫ̂n͇̻̘̘͇̩̙̈́ͦ̑ͦ̍͐̈̉á͖̤͍͍̤̣͈͓̩̯̣̥̓ͣ̇̉̎ͮ͒̅͌̓l̜͇̠̩̣͛͊͊ͫ̏ͩ̆̚y̥̣̝̤̝͍͓͍̌͋ͭͬͨ̉̀ͦͥs̹͍̙͈̤͔̽i̪͉̖̤̣͎͕͛ͬ̓̓͑̆͑ͧ͂̆s̹͉̰̭̟͈̹̘͚̘͌͒͐̌̏ͩͧ͊͒ ̙̖̟̹̮̹̘̩̠̤͒̀ͨ̀̃o̬̩̬̥̻͔͍̞̜̼̦̩ͩ͋f̗̣͕͓̗͇̭̲͚̦̲ͧ͌ͯͦ̏ͣͧ̋̌̓̅ ͓̲̘̞̼ͤ͛ͧ̽͊ͮͤͫ̐c̝̮͔͍͈͍͖ͨ͌͑̃̂̊o͎͓̪̖͚͉̲̩͔̿ͫ͑͐̈͐ͦ̀̎ͯͭn̼̺͎̞̟͎̰̂̓̽̈́͌̒s̳̘̟͎̝ͨ̂͌̇̂̿̂̚p̱̗̰͈͔̙͑ͅe̯̼̬̦̟̭̭̲̬͙̯͐͗ͦͦͭč͖̤̤̩̼i̮͇ͨ͊ͧ̓̽ͯf̼̦͐͒ͤi͓̯̪̾̀̿̏c̜̖̟̤̩̩ͧ̃ͅͅs̺̱̞̫͚͉̝̜̥̎̀͑̏ͣ̅̍͂͗̿͒ ̳̜̦̺̞͚̹͙̆̓ͩ̆̈́̆̄̃̔ͪt̘̟̂̅ͣ̆͛o̙̬͉̹̹͈̹̩̫̱̞͋̓̋̔͑͒͋̚ ̲̺̱̻̙̲ͤs̭͖̉o̺̤̯͓̯͍ͥ̔ủ̪̭̮̗͖̜̋͋̔ͣͬ̓̔ͩr͖̬̂͒͆ͦͮ̂̚c͎̔͊ͫ̒ͩͤ͂͊̄ͦ̽̈́ȇ̫̬͊ͬ͑ͮ̔̿̽͑̀͂ ̟̳̫̱͍̖̦̲͖̣̞͐́͑w̺̬̟̍̔̊͒i̭̟̟͎̯̱̞̣ͮ̒ͩ̊ͪͦ̑̽̽t͔̜͍ͥ̀͆ͫ̒̍̔̂͌͗̉ͤh̘̳̪̘ͦ̎̔̍ͩ̊̅͂̂͒̃̚i͓̬ͨ͐̓ͦͩ̾ͬ̉n͔̜͚̳̼̙̅̔ͪ̍ͧ̏ͫ̊ ̩ͧṙ̬͇̳̯̞̥͙̫̺̪̑͂̂͗̅̓͗̈ͭ́̐ȃ̲̩̻̬̳̬̰̰̬̓ͫ̽d̹̱̎́̈͋̽i̩͓͑͑̄̊̆ͬͪ̍̂͆̓u̬̹̥͉̳̫̟͂͗ͣ̃͒s̟̟̹̐ͮ̈
(Analysis of source commencing. Analysis of conspecifics to source within radius
̟̗̘̰͎̩̦̲̰̣ͮ̽̀ͣ͂̆̉͌̍͒͛Ȧ̭͍͍̂͗ͣ͊ͯͬͤ̆ͩ̄n͎̗̣̪͇͙͚̭̪̔ͅo̠͔͓̬̯̙̫̜̔ͧ̈́̃̋͒̑̈̉͆ͅm̖̼̻̔̉ͬ̓ͣa̙̱̺̲̺̦͚̙̬͍͕ͤͦͧ̐l͙̹̺͍͖͚̦̭̦̠͇̅̆͊ͅy̟̟͓̥ͫ͂̂ͯ͆̓̚ ̟͔͕̺̳͖̪̩͇̒̈́̾̊d̺͍̥̙̺̅͐̎̇̎͒ͮ̄̆̓ͫͩe̳̲̙̯͎̔̇̈́̄̈͂̾ṭ̮͇͖̝͓̼̩̰̳̹̗͐ͨͪͣͪͨ͂ͭ̓͆e̻̦͖̹͎̜ͪ̽̀̑ͬ͑̚ͅc̜̲̲̪̣̄͗̐̾̑ͅt͉̩̒ẽ̺̥̹͙̭͕̭̹̙͙̓̿͌͑̍ͮd͓͔̰͚͙̞̟̹͉̺̲͈ͭ͛͆̌ͭ̄̅͌̿̓͌̚
(Anomaly detected)
Even as she struggled not to black out, she could not feel any sort of sensation apart from the utter need to get away. Yet she could not, not of her own will.
Just looking at it made her feel utterly hopeless, as if she was caught under the crushing weight of an ocean.
A͚͚̦̗̝̦̝̰̖̝͕̿̀ͦ͋̀͗ͨṅ̮̭̳̜̯̲̗̑̏͊̅̉̋ͭ̅ͅò͉̰ͦͬ̆m͕̞͔̬̜͔̞͕̝̤ͭ͗a͔͈̻͇̗͖͔̪̲̥̬͌̓͆̋l̫̮͎̲̻̼̣̥̎̄̄̉͌ͧ̏̄ͭ̚o̭͓̮̤̗̘͙͓̝̯̗ͮͭ̊̍ͯ͐͂̄̓̾̄̚ū̙̩̼͓̺̝͖̻̟ͩ̈́ͯͮ̋ͧ̾ͩͣ͒s̱͔̘̝̺̻͔̼̯̼͚͙̒͊̏̓͌̉ͫ̚ ̦̮ͩ̇ō͎̲̩̳̮̲͔̣̖ͪ͂r͈͇͉̺͔̙̓ͯg̘̫̘̮̬̥̣͍̜͛͆̀͗̈́̔͊̎̽̉ȃ̱̔ͬͪ̿̂ͅn͖͕̳̮͍̬̱̖͙͈͋ͯ̔ ̫̼̙̦͖̓̈ͭͯ̽̿ͅd͓͉̪̪̤̩̟̩̱̓̀͊̆͐ͫ̋̿͐e̘͓͙͎͍̦̝̞̦̤̙̠͗̾͒̅ͤ̓̔ͪ̅t͖̣̝͚̣̰̮̭̱̾ͯ́̓e͎̯̤̹͍̝̩̱̤̘ͬ̔͆̍ͪ͗̐ͩͧ̚c̗̲͍͖̠̩̭͉̳͔̗̑ͯ̽͛ͨ͌̈́͐͑̈́̅t̘̪̫̭͖̪̯͍̟͕͒̓͂̌̉ͅͅe̜̳̮̤̞͉͉̺̪̦̅ͪ̄͂d͉̫͉̭̳͎͙̗ͯ̃ͫͭ̄̓́́̀ ̝͕̩̰̙̏́͑ͫ͐̚w̳̭̗̺̫̠͙͇̳͎͚̤ͩͥͧ͐ͣ̔͐͆̃́ī̖̘̥̮̥̰̼̼̺͎̲̈́ͬ̍ț̲̼̻̥̺̠̪͊̾̄h̹ͦ͌̈͒͒ͮ́̔̉i͍͖̬̰̼ͨ͋͛̅͗̓̈̒ͧ̽ͅn̞̜̝̘͓̼̣͇͕̺ͩ̐̀̏̍̆͛̇̅̚ͅ ̫̖̰̪̜̪̻̅̀͗ͤ̌̋́̓͂̚t̟̗͕̣͈̋͌̓ͤ̀ͯͩh͚̰̳̜͇̲͙̠͓͕̳͙̾̌͑͐̑ͩ̚e̤͙̗̲̳̻̱͙͒̋͗ͬͨͤͅ ͓̜̝̮̲̮̳̇c̘͗̆͐̊͑ͅr͈̞̗͉͕̜̣̯̳͖̞͇͐͗͐̒̊̊̅̅̆̒̅̒a̱͉̮̩̫͍͈̺̋͒͋̂̎͒̓ͅn͖͕̗̫̝̝̖͇ͦ̈̏̇̒̽̾̎͌ï̝̪̊͌̈ͯ̑ͪ̀͂̉̚a͎͉̙͓̭ͦͬ̆͐ͮ̈̍ͅl̩̳̦͎̼̩̪̺̲̀̎̈́ͫͅ ̖̋c͇̯̗̗̟̓̿̍͗ͧa̰̗̣̘̳̞̅ͮ͗̆͆͊̚s͔̠̘͉̦̜̱̯̫̼͉ͫͭ͋ͨͩ͛ͅi̗̤͕̲̝͇̻̞̰̓̌ͤ̽͗̍̓ͤ̐ͅn̤̭̤̻̼͈͇͊̍g̼̝̝̮̲ͣͧ͒̋̅ͨͅ ̤̦̞͙̫͓͇̿ͯ̒̈́̆ͣ̐̄a̰̓ͫ̆̒̈́͌̔n̘̩̙̹̲̳̭͖̗̝̟̳͊ͮ͂̊ͩͣ̑ͤ̂͂̚d͖̺̘̖̼͚̣̖̜̹ͮ̂ͅͅ ̲̪̙̬͍̮͖̠͓̖̪͇͑ͧͣe̪̳̖̳͚͕̪͇̫͙̗͚̒̏̉̈̂̔̀ͬ̑̃n̠̖̥̪̳̓ͤ͌͐̄̊̒̐͌c̻̺ͧͦ͗̅a͔̟̼͎̺͍͊̔ͬs̫̼̎͛̏ͤͯ̓̑̽ͤͮe͙̠̺̗̤͓͙̫̯̝͛̿ͩ̌̎̐̈̌̈́̏̾ͦd̼̞̬̙̠̮̳͈̣͆͋͆̈́̽̄ͭ͋̆̈́̌ͯ ̫̳̎̆̏ͯ̓͑͛i̩͕̹̓͐̉̐̉̓̆̀̀n̙͙̲̦̳̂͑̊̑͂̚ͅ ̺͕̤̥̺̤͕̮̩̭̠͌̎ͤ̓̒͛ͫ̎̚t͉̞̳ͫ͐̏͐̑̄̒̚h͕̤͚̺̭͚̖̰̲͇̗̅̾̿ė̟͚̫͍̩̩̻̟͉͓̼̪̈́ͤͭ̊̔́ͫͬ̃̌̚ ̮ͪ̃̓ͦͅc̭̼͙ͦͣ̽͋͋͋̄̋ͨ̽͊ỏ̙̠͍͓͎͈͕͙̠͔͑̓ͥ̉̚g̤̖͚̮̒̌ͪͧ̑͊ͩn͔̼͕͇͈̅ͤͥͬ͗͐ͩi̼̲ͮ̍̐̄͑͗̓̾̚t͇̝͙̱̾ͬi̮͙̓͂̋̄̚o̥͈̻̙̳̭͍̙͚̬̓̐̏̉ͥ̉̏ṇ̦͉͇̬̗̟͌ ͉͕̱̲̜̳̜͚̣̠͈͙̽̾ͬc̩̰̲̹̜̪͉͛̄͊e̩̯̩̺̖͊̊ͮ͂ñ͖͔͖̟̩̜ͨ͛ͧt͚̘͍̦̲̻̗̠̉̒̓ͬ̐̈́͊ͤͭͣͧr͚̠̖̠͇̪̲̼ͧͤ͆͑̽ͧ̀e̖̰̲̮̙͚̤̰ͦ̂̌͑ͦ.͓̮͈̟̗̲̮͉̺͆̏̀͋͌̇̃̐ͯ͗̅ ̤͔̣̰͉̪̱̜͔̟̥̂̇̓͊͋ͦ̇ͩͬA̳̝̜͔̮͚̐̉ͭ͂ͫ̃̍̚n̪̩̩̲͓͕̻̞̱̲ͥͦ̆ō̲͔̮̞̳̺ͫͧͅm̗̦̦͑ͦͨͤa̳̤͌̓́͒ͧ͛̅ͧl̲͚̬͉̖͎̺̰̯̻͍̆́̑̊ͩ͆̀̃o͖̜̖̺͉̺̞͚̹̗͖ͧͥͩ̃ṳ̝̜̼͚͉̻͛́ͦͧ̾͊̎̎̃s͖͕̣̽ͣͦ̂ͤ͊ͬ͆ ̤͎̪̫̣̦̹̦̜̦̙̮͆̊̅ͯ̓́o̯̘͚͔͎̹̗͖͙̭ͥͧ͌͊͊ͪ̓͆̓̉ͦ̆r̺̯̘̺͉͙̻̗̹͈̩̾̾g̰̑̀̿ͤ͊ͫ̈́a̩̹̼͓̲̻̻̥̠͉͇͊̽̇ͣ̑ñ̳̙̰̭͚͕͖̹̲̭ ̞̱͉̃ͬ̈͆ͭ̌n̙͔͔̻̪̩̙ͯ̆ͣͪ̐̿͗ͧͅo͉͖̹̳̯̙̟͂̂̌ͤ̌̂͌̂̈̓ͅt͕͎͙̠̘̙̹̻̝̖̗ͬ͑̌̔ͦ͆ ̞̲͇̪̥̜̮̬̬͙̊́̋͂p̩̝̱̭͛͌͆ͅͅr̗̞̱͔̙̦͚͙̫̦͗̑e̞̺͖̘̪̊s̪͇͎̲̲̺̱̤̗͌e̙̅̓̔̿̐̽̎̑̄̀ͯ̃n͙̮̟̫̦̥̼͛͒̎̓̓́̀̂ͫͫ̔̚t͎̝̭͚͎̓͒͊͋͐̑̀͆ ̩͕̼͍̺̭͓͔͙͎̮̣͐ͪ̍̂ͪ̄̏͋i̱͓ͧ̔̃ͥ̎̊n͙̮̰̍̒̍̑̌̉͒ͣ̒ͧ̐̐ ͕̦͙̦͇̘̜̥̗̝ͦ̇̎͋ͯ͆̚ͅc̘͈͈ͧͨ̏͌̐o̙͔͕̠͂̿͒͛͒ͥͯͣ̊ͅn͙͖̬̼̥̟̲͖͙̏͆ͬ̎̾̐s̺̟̗̖̭̰̋ͪ͂͂͛ͭ̾̆̃p̜̮̣̟̪̲̲̩̝̏ͪ̈̈́͐̉̈́̉̚ȅ̤̞̳̝͚̘̋ͬ͛̐͆̐ͯ͌ͅc̜̗̩̰̎̍͆̏̈́ͨi̭̜̮̍̄̈́̈́̌̉̊̎f͕̼̮̭͇̜͖̜ͧ̈͆̾͋̆̚i̪͚͓̦͓̫̜̭̤͎̟̖͂c̝̜̲ͥ͗͐͊̉ͪs̫̲̝͚̺ͧͭ͋̑ͮ̊̔͋ͅ
(Anomalous organ detected within the cranial casing surrounding the cognition centre. Anomalous organ not present in conspecifics)
Just looking at it made everything feel hopeless.
Her mother was dead. But that was insignificant to this distant monstrosity, nothing could be done.
Her dad was barely holding it all together even a year later. But that was insignificant in the face of everything, in the face of everything else going on in the world.
The Endbringers could attack wherever and rip the very heart out of the entire city she lived in. Who would care? Would anyone notice? What could be done? It was like she was looking at a force of nature, except it was a nature from beyond the Earth.
A̼̪͇̎͛̾̆̓̓̚n͈̫̱̊̎ḁ̖͎̬̻̙̬̖̮͒͒̍ͧ̋̂̾̅͐̾l͓̯̽̌͋ͣͩͅy̭̙̳̳͚̪̐̂͋ͮs̻̰͉̄ͭ͒͂̒̇̉̇i̺̘̤̘͎̫̼̹̣̗̰͍ͪ̽ͪ̃̓͋̋̌̚̚̚s̼̎ͧ͋͋̿ͨ;̹̹̮͓̥͐̓̈ͯ͊̆̇̓̚ ͔́̉͋ͩ͒ͫ̉̑̌ͥ͛̚o̞̫̫̣͂̀͌͆̈́̔̃̿ͧ͑ȓ͇̺̹͓̯͔̱͖̝͎̅ͫ͐ͅg͖͚̬͚͇̞̪̤͛̊̇̆̅ͅä͓̭͙̤̘͎͎̙̞̦̈́̄̔͋̽ͅn̻̠̟ͦͧ̊ͯ̍ ̭̠͔ͭͮ̚f̞͚͓̯͎͚̈́ͪa̲͖̬̖̮̰̼͍̐̽̾ͥ͂ͯ̎͆ͧͭ̉̚ͅc͚̞͐̏̎͂ͨ͌̏̅̚i̲̞̟̒͋̇ͤͪ̄ͯͫ͐̏̈́̏l̼̙̣̝̠̤̳̝̰̦̓̚i̥͖̰̼͔̗͎̞̜͍ͯ̅̆̅́̏̔t̙͎͇̖ͦ̄̔̾̓̍ͨ̎̐a̜̹͉͚̻̪̩͖̳͙̅͒̀̽̃ͩ̅̎̓̓t̮̼̰̭̔ͧ̐̈́ͫ̑̈̅̓i͔͍̘ͥ̋͋ͦ̈́̔̽̿̎ͮ̚n̗̮͍̏̉ͤ̏̒͗̎̅̓ͪg͈̠̰̯͇̗͎̰̼͚͇͊̏͋͋̍͂ ͓̹̩̑̂̿͊c̘̬͇̺ͣͬͭͨ͐̓̅̓̿̚o̩̙ͦń̩̃̿͋̓n̯̯̠̰̤̙̞̳̗ͣͬ̐̍̃̍̃͆ͮ̅ͪ̂ẹ̫͙͎̜̳̳͎͖ͨͫ̀͑̆ͅc̼͉̬̤̦͚̩ͪ͗ͫ͗t̘͙͖͈̙̻̗̥̰͎̹̂̚i̯͙̤͇̱̰̞̝̓ͯ̚ô̥̯͋̒͌ͪ͌͌ͭ̍̉̈n͇̟͛̂͑̇̽ ̭͈̟̩̼̥̰͉̳̱̍̌̾ͮ̐ͮ̃̇ͅő͉̜͉͎͔͇͉̒ͦ́ͯ̏̾ͅf͓̮̬͖͐̒͌ ̘̘̘̟̦̥̾͆ͬ̌ͮi͇̋̾ṉ̥̯̗̲̜͈͓ͫͭ̒v̠̺͔̳̝̩͖͙̘ͮ̃ͥ̆ͣ̐͋a̪̰̹̹̜͙̠͖͈̲͋͆̅̓̄̊ͨͬs̞̰̻̘̟̦̰̬̦̣̖̿̾ͪ̂ͯi̻̞̹̯͖͙̝̭͖̖̲͌ͭ̊ͤͩv̩̮̊͗͛͋́̇ͩ̑͛͋e͎̭̦͔͕͔̳̪͍̲ͭͣ̿̀̉̄ͣ̍̚ͅ ̮͓̥̳̗̣͇̰͍̋͂̓ͣ̿̉ô͇̰̼͙̗̫̰̾r̝̜̝̮̮͕̙̰̜͎̯̐g̪̗̭͍̬̟̗̝ͭ͗̑̄ͧ̉͆̚a̰̜͚̬̮̲̬ͦ̌ͯ́̂̐̊̚n͔̳͓̟̼̟͋̈́̌ͤ̾ͣ̈͊ͮ̾i̳͎̙̫͓̥̝͚͈͕ͥ̑̓ͣ͂̆ͫͪͩ͆ṡ̰̹̯̞̬͙͔̬̼̥̗ͣͬ͗ͥm͉̻͔̩͌ͧͧ̈̅
(Analysis; organ facilitating connection of invasive organism)
In the face of utter hopelessness, Taylor allowed herself to stop thinking, to stop resisting Emma’s efforts to pull her along like a lost lamb even as the crystallisation progressed with each footstep they took over the warped alien world around them.
̯͙̭̗̟͔̝̹̰̱̉̏́̅ͤ̍Ṭ̲͉̮̼̞͈̙̦̗̌̃ͫ̓̄̑̽̑ͫ̏̊e͔̞̘̲̗̰̣̠̱̝̭̎͆̎̚ȑ̦̘̰̪̜̠̳̻͖̮̂̔͂̍m̝̱͖͔͕̞͉̱̔͊i̫̖̭͓ͮ̔͊̐̍̐̈̑̅ͣͅn̟̩̜ͨạ̹̮͚̥̦͍̪̥͖̱̘͋̈̎̈́̓ͦͪ͛̽͐̚t͚͓̠̪̯͐͒͑ĩ͉̞͒ͮ̏̍ͭ̅͛̑ͨ̏̽n̯̱̹̻ͪ̃g͇̻̮̠̖̬͖͖̍͛͛̌ ͔̯ͪ̋̓̓̂̑c̥͙̪̰͖̲̓́ͅõ͚̞̞̱͓̩̞̭̣̠͍̩͆̊͒ͦ̊ñ̥̖͔͙̲͉̘͍̯͈̮n̰̹̣̤̫̥͓̱̦̺͍̏e̝̗̰̩̠̦͖̹̩͔̜̐ͤc͈̖͓̉ͬ̒̏͋̾ͯͦ̐t͙͈͈̦̜͎̣̜͍ͪ̏ͭ̆ͪ̂ͦi̞͓̯̰̩͎̲̰̮͔̯̟ͭ̑́̓̐̿͌o͚͙̞̱͔̺̭̩͗̓͒n̟̳͊̅ͩͅ.̱͔̮̭͖͈̳̹̘ͯ͐ͭ̄ͣ͂ͥ͂͋ ̰̳̗̖̻̙̪͇̲͈͐̃Ẽ̜͓̙͙̖͙̱͇̞̮̏̅s͇̿͒͊͌ͨt͉͕̓̐͑ͨ̌͗ͬ̃̎ȧ̹̻͇͈ͪ͐ͅb̲ͩ̍͑̂͆̃ͩͬl̮̖͓̮̻̲̺͈͙̭͚ͯ͛̉ͭ̉ͥͪ̾̾ͤ̏ͬi̤̩͂̒ͫͩͪs̜̿̇̔͑̄̋͋̾̚̚h̖̳͖̦͈̔̀̃̌̑ͫ̌̈̋ͣ̎͊i̭͔͙͙̣͈͔͐ͩͤ̍͒ͪͪ͌͋͗͂̚n̬̞̥͊̓̂ͮ͛ͩͮͯͧg͚̝̦̖̹̩͎͍͎̭̥̘͌ͪͩ̇͒͆ͭͫͨ̏̚ ̠̝̰̦̪ͧ̓̂̂͒̋r̻̯̥̝̟̪̫̺̹͔͎̜̈̔͂̎̈͐͊̎̒́̃e̟͖̝̫̘̤͕̎̆ͦ̔̆p͖͖͉̳̲̿l̠͚͊ͮͣ͌ȧ̰̱̘̮ͥͦ̽̉̄ͥc̟͚̮̽̽ͤͬé̺̱̥̮͚͎̝̬̝̪̪̾m̝͖̜̹͈͍̩̜̲̍̓̋ͯ͊͊ͣ͆ͭe͍͙̲̜͖͙͎̻̼̠̗͔͐̀ͭ̌n̳͕͖̼͑ͨ̎t̯̟̽̉́̑͒ͧ̎͑̄̀̃
(Terminating connection. Establishing replacement)
20th March 2011
“Your crystallisation has progressed by only eleven millimetres, Taylor.”
“That’s good.”
The words came out automatically.
It is what she should say. Objectively, it was good news, that the slow, inevitable progression of the fatal condition had only claimed another eleven millimetres of the space just below her knees. Even looking down at her fully crystallised toes, which sparkled and glinted like polished opals, she knew she should be glad about this news.
The doctor was kneeling, examining where the crystal met flesh. With a pair of extra thick gloves, she poked and prodded about the pink, inflamed flesh at the very edge of the crystal. They always used the gloves, even though it had been proven that the crystal doesn’t infect and spread between people.
“You’re a very lucky girl.”
Lucky?
Why did everyone keep using that term? Lucky. Lucky to not be one of the ones who were fully crystallised by the impact, or did not come back with most of their bodies already changed, or lucky that her inevitable death would be a long way in the future?
Lucky that she got away from an S-Class threat?
“I am going to take a chip for the people at the PRT to look at now. Is that okay?” the doctor said, taking out a long, dark metal chisel.
Tinker-tech, apparently, designed to be minimally invasive and without causing unnecessary unpleasant sensation and damage to surrounding crystallised tissue. The first, almost tentative time the hammer struck the end it barely made the instrument scrape along the glossy crystal.
They always promised to send back any results if they found them. Nothing yet.
The first strike was too weak; or perhaps deliberately so that Taylor would know to prepare herself for the next one. Not that the five following attempts to dislodge a piece of the crystalline material were successful, only on the sixth did a small piece come loose, carefully picked up with tweezers and sequestered away in a translucent plastic bag.
The material was so very hard, and the doctor so tentative about hurting her.
“We’ll get you booked in for another check-up in a month, seeing how your crystallisation is very slow.”
The smile on her lips seemed forced. Or perhaps as a specialist on the matter she had truly adopted the bedside manner of one who attends to doomed individuals?
Wordlessly, Taylor slipped on her socks, hiding away those ten twinkling toes and the foot they were attacked too. She could still move them, which was better than those folk for whom the crystallisation had reached the spine, which led to paralysis slowly creeping up their body.
“Any work on a cure?”
“I’m sorry---”
‘But there is no cure.’
All the pleasantries were taken care of, the ‘see you soon’ and ‘have a nice day.’
The Oort-Spider they called it.
That’s where they thought it came from, from somewhere far outside the solar system called the Oort Cloud.
The Simurgh came out from behind the moon, so the first thought was that it must be the fourth Endbringer, some new horrific abomination that would strike as part of the rotation of Behemoth, Leviathan and the Simurgh. Yet, the Oort-Spider just sat there, perfectly still unless disturbed. There were enormous fatalities during the first encounter between the PRT and the creature, only the Triumvirate seemed to come out unscathed, and the area had been closed off utterly since that day.
Sitting in class, alone, Taylor could not help but idly wonder whether it noticed her.
That night, as the world was turning to crystal, it had been facing her. If it had eyes, it would have been looking at her, but did it even notice her?
She had wondered about it many times over the year and a half since that night---
“Taylor?”
A hand on her shoulder.
She jolted.
“Emma?”
Her best friend stood beside her, her one remaining hand gripping her bony shoulder. Once, Emma had a good chance at becoming a successful model, but with her left arm up to the elbow crystallised from a brief moment of contact when she fell in the Crystal Valley… well, amputation to save the rest of the arm was the only choice. She rejected the chance to have her legs removed, though, like Taylor.
For some reason, that had just been... too far.
She wasn't sure why, it had been like a powerful, nagging itch in her brain that had created such a strong and visceral reaction whenever the idea came up. She couldn't get her legs removed she couldn't she couldn't---
Anyway, at the current rate of progression, they both had a decent amount of time before full crystallisation... right?
Had it not been for Emma, she would have just stood there staring at the S-Class threat until the crystal consumed her.
Taylor looked away from the redhead, focusing on the desk as a familiar guilt rose.
“Where were you, Taylor!?”
Emma was leaning too close again; ever since that day, her friend had been different. Everyone who came out was different. Nobody could look at that thing and be normal again.
"I ate on the roof.”
“Why?! I was worried!”
Emma especially.
“I’m sorry, Emma.”
She tried to make it sound genuine, to force through the enthusiastic apology that would make it all better. But the redhead’s frown only made it worse. Did Emma resent her? Did her dad resent her? Hell, did Alan and Zoe Barnes resent her, for being the reason Emma was out stargazing that night? They still invited her around, so that was a good sign, right?
Why couldn’t she muster up the enthusiasm to show it?
To let her emotions really show to them all, rather than just apathetically shrugging and making platitudes. Stuck in a constant mental quagmire in which it was hard to care about anything but going through all the motions of life, struggling to pretend, to put on a false front when people asked.
At least her own crystallisation could be hidden more easily than a lot of the survivors, at least for now.
“I needed a moment,” she forced out, looking at the artificial wood grain on her desk.
“Hmph.”
The redhead took a seat beside her, sitting with a huff and moodily pushing her chin into the palm of her solitary hand.
Even when one was irked at the other, they needed one another. When one felt hopeless, the other would stay over, or be there to listen and talk when it became too much, either the survivor’s guilt or the aching pain in their legs.
Across the room, another girl was looking at them both, dark skinned and with a slight frown. Sophia Hess. They were in the same class, but Taylor had never really noticed the girl much. The few times they had interacted, she always seemed a bit abrasive.
Emma looked at Taylor, and then followed her gaze. For a moment Sophia Hess and Emma stared at one another, until the former looked away and went back to her own business.
“She was talking earlier to me, all about how people…” Emma paused, frowning a little and distractedly turning her attention back to Taylor. “Something about the rules of the world, how I could be different and be on top and such.”
“What did you say?”
The other girl was silent for a moment.
“Emma?”
“I told her to go to the crystal valley.”
Silence reigned between them again. Not an unpleasant sort, Taylor knew exactly what she meant. How could anybody believe in a notion they were on top when things like the Endbringers and the Oort-Spider existed?
Taylor set her head down on her arms, glancing at the clock. Only a few minutes until class began again.
There were times when Taylor felt something watching her… or through her.
The hairs on the back of her neck would stand on end, she would find herself focusing suddenly on things she should not.
Perhaps it was just paranoia.
Perhaps that feeling of sudden, cold analysis that would come when watching cape fights and Endbringer battles on the news was just some detached part of her brain that had developed from the shock and horror of what she went through at the summer camp.
But she would watch the footage, not blinking for minutes at a time to take in as much information, as much data as possible.
She tried to avoid the news that showed such things, only to find her head turning to watch when it came on. When she would check PHO for news on Alexandria, her fingers would move her through to discussions about new capes and powers as if on their own, a cold but morbid interest coming over her.
She could be up for hours just… absorbing it all.
Taking in as much as possible, despite having no use for it.
It was when she would cut herself on a knife whilst preparing food, only to find the injury gone the next day as if it were never there. Or how within a day of becoming sick it would be gone suddenly with the sure feeling that she would never suffer it again.
Emma didn’t have that.
It was the sensation of not belonging, or running her fingers along her crystallised limbs with familiarity and the sensation of it belonging.
She mentioned it once and promptly was scheduled for a psychiatric evaluation.
That strange, morbid desire to return to the crystal valley and see that thing again... a sensation not unlike standing at the edge of a tall building and wondering what it would be like to just... take another small step...
D͎̣̙̀̀̓ͣ͂͋̃̑ͤ̚a̦̮̦̙̩͕ͤ͛t̬͔͍̼̃̿̊́ͣͤ̔̈͗͋ͧă̪͓͎̙̖̪̗͉̩̺͔̿̅̒̉͋̀̏̉́ͦ̃ ̖̪̩̺̫̦̺͈̱̙̗̞̍̂̈́̍͂ͬͬ͌̓͒̒a̱̘̮̻̤̼̣̩ͯn͈̱̣͚̮ͨͯͤ̌ͤ̅̄̈́̎́̚ȧ̤̠͎̣͚̬͙̬̘͉ͫͦ̈̎͒͆̒̚l͚͎͚͍͓̟͚͗̆̇ͩ̈̾͑y͓̹̤̦̹̳̣̏̆͒s̲̟͇̓͌̍̿̀ͩͥͅi̖̳̮̊ͤͤ̃̑̑s͓͑̓͋̽͊̌͆̂̽͛̋ ̩̯̖̳̻̹̞̳͎̣͚͋̓ͣͭ̎́c̥̋ͥͤͪ͒̐ͨͫ̊̈́͂o̖̻̼̐̓ͮ̚ń̬̼̟͓͔͚̬͚ͤ͐̃͑̍͛̉̓t͙̪͚̗̤͓̝͓̝̎͌i̘̰̹̎ͪ́ͧ̊͂̈́n̙͙̈́̒͑u̙̭̹̗̹̙̻͓̝͚͍͒̀̈́̇̑̈͑͐͑ͦͫ̔à͕͓̗̲̺̉ͤ̔͗̂̈́̃̉ͬ̓t̤ͭ̊̃ͧͯ̂͌̌̀͒͒i̫̔̉̀̄̍͋̂͒̏̇̑̓o̲̫̪̫̼͖̝̓̎̍̀͒̅ͥ̀n̰̱̩̦̉ͭͬ̅ͤ͆ ̱͍̖̞͙͈̖̲̗͎́͂̿͆͌͊̉ͅͅỉ͚̘̬͕͇̱̋ͯ̏̓͌̀ͪ̆͑ͯn̘͖̭̟̬̻̩͈̹̱͐ͨͩ̑̊̍ͤͥ͐́ͅ ̻̞̤̪̤̗̭͚̹̣ͫͧ͋͊̚r͕͚̓͌̂͋ͅẹ̑͗m̞̫͓̲̋̓̄̽͂ͤ̃ͮͅo̱̝̞̐̈́̌ͬ̑̈́t̥͒̀ͤͥ̏̑̒ͤ̾̒e͖̹̩̹̙̥̗͎̦̙̭̺͆ͭ̀ͦ͆͗ ̹̜̪͉͍̦̾ͯ̎ͣ͆̎ͩ̾d̖͈͚̩̫͔̤͔͚͗ͣͭ̉ͥ̓̅̆͋̄ͥͅr͈͔̳̘͖̙̞̯̄̔͂o̮͕͙̳̰̳̗̭̽̓͋̔ͫ̋̅̾n͕͇͎̖̱͔̤͉̆̃̈͋̽̔ͅë̥̳̝̽̾ͤ.̱̠͉̹͈̦̭̻̠̠̉̉̄͐ͥ̊͆̓ͯ̿̇ ̹̙̫̞ͯͅC̖̰̏́̎ā̞̳̼̭̮̰̣͉̗̲̞̈́̅̈́ͫͤ̊̌n̲͚̈́͌̆̐͊͊ͩ̍̐ͅc͚͋̊͋̋ͥͬͧ̊͋ͧ̊̚ḙ̠̜̯̳̫̖̟ͣͫ̄ͨ̂̀̎̇̈́̍ͬl͈͓̫̬̲͕͓͎̯͇͊̂͒̀͂̎̀l͎̯͎̭̄ͧ͐̈́̒̋͐̓a̯͗ͪͧͧ̓̽͆̀̉ͩt̘̜̹̳̠͙͇͉͉̙̹͐ͣ̌̅ͪ͒̉ͤ̂͒̒͊i͔̣͔͍̥̭͎̯͛̉͐̽̒͊o̱͈ͫ̂͌͛̑̾ͬͭ̏̏ͣn̙͔̺̼͉̩̞̒ͮ̑ͭͩ ̙̫̼̳̙͔̖͍͉͊͊̑ͮ̇̂ͅo̜̠̻̝̠ͯ̏ͬ̂ͧ̾̿̇̐ͯͩͣf̲̳ͧ̊̓̎͆̑̄ͮ͐ͦͤ̋ ̤̯͉̣͈̞̱͓̙̜̾̔̏ͣ̿̀͛̈͗̀n͕̜͙͍͉̙͎̥̟͇̜̤͐́͌ͥ̍̉ͨ̊͗e̺̺͖̣͚̹̼͑͗̅̉ͯg̜̳̲͍̦̥͎̮̠͖̒ͨͥ͋ͅͅa͎̻̫͖̰̤͍̦͇ͦ̃̅̌͛̃̉̄͌͒͗ͫť̮̪̫̪̪̙͖̗̗ͧ́̂ͯ́̾̃ͣ̅ͫͬī̤̪̫͙̞̟̲͂̈̇̾̃̃̀͛̚v̮̭̫̥͈͓̻̲̘͈͇̓͑͗̏ĕ̗̦͈͙ͥ͛̇ͯ̽̓ͮͅ ̣͚͂̌́ͥ̍̐ͯ̈ͭ̈́ͤa̭̹̠̘ͪ̽̇ͮͫt̤̙̠̝̠̳̙͗ͥͨ͋̃̈̌ͯt̼ͪ̍̏ͤ͆̊͛͆̓̉̆r̰̥̮͇̤̬̮̞͉̓ỉ̲̞̭̟̱͇͓̮̝͚̲ͮ͆̇̾̿̓͑ͫͯb̝͎͎ͬu̥̮̦̝̺͚̼͈̞͓̭͉͛̊ͭ̅͂̉ͩ̃͌̊̌t̘̥̯̙̗̰̬̠̮͎̘ͨͧ͒́͐̍é͖͕̰͇̬͎͖̯͔̚s̙͉̠̈́̓̎̈́̉͗̒ͩͪͬ.̹͙̣̣̜͙̥̟̠̺̄͐̿ͪ̌͒̓̚̚ ̤̰̺̤̥̖̜̳̟̺̔̄̾͊̃̂R̜̹̝̤̭̻͉̠̮̐̀ͮ͛ͧ̔̌͌ͤo̓̓ͅu͎͈̥̤̥͖̪͉̳̞̖̠̓ͤͨͦ̒̍͋̋͌̿̆ṫ͎͈̝͙̜͇̝͇̗̱͐͛͐í̖̬̹̩̣n̯̙̩̮͍̭͇̂̽̾͒ͅë̗̫̩̘̮̻͇̠͓ͫ̃̇̀ͤ̓̃ͣ ̠͍̪̠̖̞̗̤ͤ̽̏̈́͗̀̽m̩͆̌̾̓̅̈ͪ̓ͬa̩̫ͥ͛́̄̅͒̆ͫ́̑̍ͅi̖̮̠̱̤̠̮̫͔̥̬̦͌̓ͨͥ̈̓̀n͉̦̹̦͖̗̳̙̿͌̓t̜̹͉̙̲͓̹͎̆͛͗̓̃̎̉ê͖̏̉̍ͫͪ͋͌n̠̘͙̹̥̯̫͖͔̾ͪ̄̚a͚ͣ͒ͩ͂̎̐͌ͤͧ̔̆n̮̜̯͌ͭͪ̈͗ͣ̐ͨ̃c͓̤͍̎͗̈́ͩ̀ͦ̉̊ͦ̋ͩ͂e̱͇͇̝̩͓͎̳̼̙̥̩͑͑̾ ̠̺͕̻̤̠̳͙ͬ́̾̾ͬ̅ͧ̓̒ͅo̖̻̟̪͖͕͕̤̩̯̠̞ͧ̒͋̃̿̒̔͛͌̅̅̚f̖͙͈̟̭̠̘͚̦͖̼̽ͤ́ͩ͋̋ ̱̠̙̺̒ͧ̑̽ͧ̑̀̈́̍p̙̦̝̤̦̰͇̳͑͛͊ͦ̒h̗̺͉͕̹̯̺͗̃͋ͭ̌͗̚y̞̭͇͇̜̖͎͉ͪ̂̽̚ŝ̝͔̉ͨ̎̈́ͩͯ̀̔ỉ̟̘̰̹c͔̮̭͉̦̖̞̦͔͚̳͈ͭ͑͋ͥ̎ͫͣ̀́̏̄ͥă͕̦̭͈͕̯͙̥l̩̪̮̣͙̝͙ͮ̓͋̅̉̏͂́̎͗ ̹ͨͪͣ̌͒͗̒ͫͬ͑̇ṡ͈̫͎̘̪͒͒̋̌̎̔̄t͓̞̞͇̪͕ͧ̎͗̆r̬̳̠ͧ̍ͭȗ͖̻ͩ͑ͤ̅͂͋͌ͤ̈͑ͅc̬̫̥̋t̻̝̺ͤ̅́̓u̯͇̱̠͕̺̍̎̌r̠̒͂͊̎̄é̦̏̓ͩ͑ͦ̉̏ͩͮs͈̯͎͚͎̖̲̫̮̬͔̃ͩ̚.̄́̐͊̇̓̍̆͂ͅ ͇͋̈̆̆ͣͯ͗ͨͯ͋C͕͔̘ͧ̿̄̂͂̈́̅ͦ̉ͮ͌o̟̗̓̈́ͤ̆͑͂̾n̺̦̮̹̮̫͂ͩ̍͌̇ͥ̿ͦt̩̻̜͕̖͓̜̟̲̣͉͐̀̀̔ͣ̇ḭ͔̹̼ͤͬͭͥ̽̊͐n̪̺̞͙̤̬̭͈̖̻̯̳̋͛̐̓ͮͤͪ͐͆̌̆ǔ̜̘͙͉͙̼́̃̌̑i̬͎̘̮͎̹͍̣̹͎͂́̐̄͒ǹ̟̈̑ͨͦ͑ͧͣ͗̒g͎͔ͬͮ ̗̻̺̼̼͎͚͎͖̘̝̑ͩͦr̙͓̻̟͍͖͉͓̳͕͖͋̓̀͋̑̑e̲͓̰̖͙̎͒͑̎ͤm̜̬̮̫̳̪̩͙̤̦̥͎͗̐ͤ͛ͣ͐o̖͓̝͚̯ͮ̽ͥ͗̿̔ͧ͌ͨͫͫ̐t͖͖̠̭͖̬̹͋͐ḙ̭͕̈̎͂͐̐́̃ͣͩ̉ͅ ̖̠̠̺͛̔ͮ̉ͬ̔ͦ͒͛̽̅̊o̜̬͙̝̤̠̺͙͍̞̜̪͋ͮ̐͂͛̿͊́b͚̹̞̺̯͎̻̪͙͚̲̊ͤ͂ͅs̟̳͙̄̊̍͐͊̐ͥ͊ͥ͋ͤĕ̠̘͓̞̝͈͓͈̖̙͍͖́̃ͣ̉r̬̣̓́͐̚ṿ̉̃̅̂̐́̓ͧ̈́̾a̰ͪͥͥ̊t̼̩̮̫͍̺̝͈͇ͤ͆ͫ̔̃ͣ́̂̇̏i͉̮̙̣̥̫̳͇̔̓̔ò̟̝̞̟͕̲̱̜̲̈́ͩ̚n̲̦̘ͮ͌ͤͪ͌̑͋ͣ̃ͪ͒͂
(Data analysis continuation in remote drone. Cancellation of negative attributes. Routine maintenance of physical structures. Continuing remote observation)