Crawling out of the floors was something Stark was sure that people would find freaky—but the reason she’s doing it was that her simply walking in was deemed scarier.

Ah well. The things she does for humanity…

Stark didn’t dwell on it—especially since she’s going to see a crowd—or a person—or just a quartet of people anyways—but even then, there was no use in that. There’s more important things, and some of those things were here that needs her attention… More.

If anything, she stewed in if “more” was the right word there. Probably not…

As it finally donned on her that she’s been holding herself up so long that siVis passively activated to keep her arms in place, she flipped upwards out of the hole, stumbling on her two feet when she was supposed to land. Flinging and being flung in the air for years and there’s still a lot to learn…

She looked around, taking in her surroundings. It was like a half-made hallway, fashioned into a waiting room. There was a bench behind her, with a compact window above it. Likely attempts of giving people proper time to absorb what’s happening, to ground them.

But, her turning towards the stainless steel wall—so shiny—reflective that she can see her, it gave her time to be proud of what she created.

Her hair, normally what people call “a wild helmet”, was straightened into a bob that went passed her chin—as she styled three bangs to be prompted up on each side of her head. Even her fringe was tidied up, though she covered her eyes with violet shades, dark lenses.

She wore a denim-blazer, that was various shades of darker blues, all in a patchwork fashion with the buttons being round and black. What followed was a silk-y, puffy dress that covered her legs—a violet hue that her glasses have, simmering slightly with glitter. Complete with black, open-toed boots and black leather gloves on her hands.

Stark was pretty impressed with what she threw together—what, with her original outfit being louder and more thrifty than this. Despite her dissatisfaction with the direction of this entire thing, she had to be more constructive in her approach or people WOULD have a logical reason to bar her from coming. Creating something, from constantly melting clay, was always rewarding as much as it burned her in the past.

But she didn’t want to wear complete black. She refused to.

As she adjusted her shades, she felt the rumbling in her ear. It took her a few seconds, but she then used her two fingers to press the toggle button on her—well, she guesses they can still be called—cellular device.

“Hey Pap~a!” Stark answered in a chipper tone. Always best—to give the best that you can be.

“Are you sure you want to be there--?” the concerned, rather youthful voice asked. Still cracking, still nasally after all these years, Stark figured she got that trait from him.

“Papa, I’m capable of handling myself,” Stark assured. “I know it’s different, but you’re yourself—y’know you—you’re starting to sound like the others…”

“I trust you,” her father continued. “The outside is something that you need to be wary of, just like the rest of us. It’s commendable that you’ve found value in these people, but it’s okay. You’re allowed to stop.”

Allowed to stop. That’s going to twitch deep inside of her brain for the rest of the month…

She had to take a deep breath, and then exhale. Repeat, and establish a pattern. Clear her mind, so she could properly speak. And her father, knowing his child, gave her the space to give her response.

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“…Considering that logic of karma, then I have every single right to do anything I want—given what I’ve gone through.”

“And if they truly knew your story, they’d finally leave you alone. And understand.”

“—Regardless…Sorry,” Stark forced herself to pause. The world isn’t me. And the world isn’t just those people--or people in general.”

Stark winced a bit at that. Before sighing. Resuming.

“Point being, yes… I have the right to control my experiences—and I should practice restraint in experiencing those experiences… But to go to the extreme of avoiding life itself isn’t the way here. I’m not going to just sit with my concerns, I need to verify them, and that means having first-hand experiences.”

There was a long pause. “Fair enough—I should’ve figured really… You have my curiosity, after all. But so, so much smarter than I could ever be.”

Stark giggled sweetly, “You can compliment me without putting yourself down. I’m just happy that you’re home~”

“H-hopefully I can… Y’know. S-stay.”

Stark felt the energies of her smiling suck away, now she’s keeping it up out of principal, habit, obligation. “That’s all we can hope for. Love you.”

“Always.”

She pressed the button again, and began to walk forward, out of the cove she found herself in.

And into the over-the-top madness, she finds herself in.

The State of Existence Conference. It used to not be a conference at all—it was an annual meet up of siVictims that wanted to try: that sought for rehabilitation when the world had no idea what to do with them. It didn’t help matters when the original attempt resulted in banding the Original Trends together. But people saw the possible good, and kept on as long as they could—inviting the leading people in siVis-humanity relations, as well just teaching modified psychological methods. It was open. It was humble.

Excessive doesn’t even begin to describe this.

The building was commissioned by Extant Head Davenport, and is a globe-structure that harkens back to the World’s Fairs of old. Okay—reasonable foundation.

But internal structure had to conform to the sphere-like shape.

Instead of floors, there were these roaming, metal bands. Each band had large stretches of walkway of white-tiled flooring, which glowed green through the spaces. All of it lead to massive circle structures, which Stark assumes are where the themed rooms are. And each band can intersect, locking in place as people cross over with a motion-detector like toll monitoring if motion resumes or not.

Stark… Thought it was impressive—she always thought Davenport’s projects were and considering how outlandish they are, she can respect that he makes the impossible, possible. But aiming for a future, this extreme?

She found herself crossing her arms—something that she doesn’t even do. But as she looked up from where she was… She guessed standing—she saw something that was pretty inspired.

A massive crystalline core, hovering in the middle of the building. Emitting such a powerful, yet soft light from within—the beams vector through different colored glass—yellows, oranges—blues—greens, that also reflect from the steel walls. It created an ethereal atmosphere.

And more importantly, in Stark’s eyes, that this is 100% a response to the destruction of the “World’s Mural” that was supposed to be in the Mall that was used as a siVis battlefield. An honest sign of growth.

Looking at it, it got her excited to see if there’s an art floor.

Stark looked around… She actually wondered where anything was located—

“How is anyone supposed to find the bathroom--?” she wondered aloud.

Within an instant, blue A.R. particles collided above her, causing her sharp reaction towards it. It manifested into an arrow, pointing towards where…Well—where the bathrooms were.

“…Okay, you got me—” Stark admitted. “Well then—art exhibit, straight on ‘til morning!”

The arrow adjusted itself, leading her to her designation, as she simply followed.

She always wondered. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, to not let it get to her—but she always wondered… If they thought she couldn’t feel their stares.

It didn’t take long for her to gain attention of the others. She heard a gasp first, but fought everything insider of her to keep her head straight, up. Seeing others gawk at you from the corners of your own sight, the inaudible mumbling that you know that pertains to you.

But Stark’s been through it before and will again. She was doing well, surprisingly so.

Until other blue particles swirled about her, causing her to stop.

Each of them created her Trend Biofile. Every detail about her, right down to the dehumanizing pixel.

Only to ultimately spell out towards the possible mob; “POSSIBLY DOCILE: COMPLETELY UNKNOWN”.

Stark once again sighed, looking past the annoying blue boxes, and waved muchly at the crowds.

“Hey—remember—human,” she tried injecting cheerfulness into her tone. “Just doing human things—like wanting to check out this fair made for humans—hoping what’s next for humanity’s future—because I’m a human.”

But she then walked past it all, knowing that it’s a lost cause. She just wants it on record—for a people that’s so concerned about that first now.