The Collective
Tuesday, 3rd of November, 198 A.C, 13:10
“Sometimes strange fragments show up in our data records. They’re like memory recordings that have been jumbled together, but there’s something *more* to them. I wish I could dig through them, but I meant it when I told the others that nobody could view the recordings without their approval. I guess I’ll keep them for now, see if I can figure anything out about them.” - Private recording by [redacted]
Our attention shifts. Kai Verdant sits alone in the basement of Impulse’s stout safehouse. The Veil of the Duelist is laying in a crumpled heap on the table in front of him, quietly studying him as fiddles around with his Chipper.
He is not thinking too hard about the implications of hooking himself up to a homebrewed app that records his thoughts. He tells himself that if it seems secure enough for Rebecca, it is secure enough for him. He tells himself that it does not really matter anyway.
Rent just went up again. His poor mother is being crushed under the weight of it all. He does not want to think about what might happen if he cannot get something big soon.
***
We are pulled upward, to the garage above. Two men are in the midst of a heated argument. Neither is yelling, or even raising their voice, but the tension is all the higher for it.
The Veils of the Runner and the Surgeon sit awkwardly in the armory, watching as their users trade rhetorical blows. Axel is on the offensive, his usually breezy demeanor stretched tight across his face. He knows that there are others his anger would be more justly directed towards, maybe Sable or Lilith. At least Darren’s trying, he thinks. Maybe that is exactly why Axel is so bothered.
Darren is just about managing to keep the dread welling up inside of him under the surface. Axel is right, he thinks, he should be doing more. He repeats the same point again and again, that any more would put everyone at risk, but the words hollow out a little more with each repetition.
***
We move up another floor, where the two permanent residents of the safehouse are trying to ignore the argument going on below. The Veils of the Berzerker and the Scout shudder beside their companions in the armory.
Yumi is sitting on the floor, every muscle in her body clenched up. Fortunately, the panic attack is beginning to ease up. Axel is by her side, desperately searching for a way to help. Normally he would give a hand squeeze or a hug, but for her, that is not an option. Instead he just gives a smile and a thumbs up.
Yumi can only manage a slight nod. She slumps against the wall, failing to catch her breath.
Kai cracks a joke that he knows is dumb, but Yumi laughs anyway. She knows it will be her turn to do the supporting soon enough.
***
Our attention is ripped away, off to the Northeast. A man sits at Alcove, alone save for the bartender and the unwelcome presence in his head which is currently criticizing his taste in liquor.
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Tears are streaming down his face and into his drink. Already the urge to reach into his bag and slip on the Veil of the Heister has become almost unbearable.
It’s not fair, he thinks. Freedom is such a fleeting thing.
The bartender splashes some water in his face, snapping him out of his stupor. He opens his mouth to complain, but ends up laughing instead. The bartender jokes that he owes her for the water.
***
The Veil of the Scrapper is hung up back at the safehouse, but we can see a hazy image of its user having lunch at her apartment. School is starting up again and she is making the most of the time left with her father before that happens.
Rebecca is more than a little annoyed as her mind returns once again to her conversation with Sarie on the balcony by Alcove.
She wants to be wrong about Veiled. She wants her dad to be wrong about Veiled. Which means she will have to be wrong about herself.
She is struck with a sudden urge to tell her father everything. She quickly presses the idea deep, deep down.
***
Our attention shifts again, this time to Sarie slowly nodding off at her desk. She has an exam coming up, but cannot quite get her head in gear. The Veil of the Aegis sits in a box beside her, equally lethargic.
She should have listened to Darren’s advice, she thinks. Maybe then she would not have fainted on shift and been forced to take a medical leave. She never thought that it would be so hard being under orders to ‘take it easy.’
Her clothes are even more loose than normal. She hates her body at the best of times, even more so when she isn’t using her Veil regularly.
***
We are quickly pulled away from the cramped dorm room and into a recording studio in Central. Lilith tunes out the exasperated ranting of her producer. She is ruinously hungover (again) and was appreciably late to the shooting (again). She itches for the Veil of the Deadeye, hidden away in a secret room in her penthouse.
She is no stranger to angering her producer. At this point it hardly phases her. The hint of sadness on her sister’s face, though…
She shakes her head and swaggers on stage with a witty retort. She knows that she will have to reckon with it all, but not today.
***
This time we move only a few buildings over, where Sable is finishing up a workout. The Veil of the Pugilist creaks on the wall of his bedroom.
He wipes the sweat from his face and starts off towards the shower. Along the way he passes by his kitchen and sees his maid preparing lunch, his knife making quick work of some vegetables.
A deep sadness wells up within Sable. He had loved to cook. Sometimes, when he’s feeling adventurous, he’ll watch his maid work, giving tips and doing small tasks like grabbing spices or mixing batter.
He swallows the lump in his throat and thanks the maid for his hard work. He checks his phone, discarding the latest voicemail from his parents.
He grabs a change of clothes and heads into the bathroom. His mind works doubletime as he waits for the water to warm.
Unless some miracle mission came about, their best shot would be helping out on New Year’s Eve. He knows that, even if he doesn’t want to believe it. He thinks that perhaps his best plan is to stop trying to weasel out of it and start figuring out how everyone is going to survive it.
***
We are not sure why, but our attention suddenly shoots ahead and rests on… well, it is hard to make out through all the haze. It looks like some sort of bird. A crow, maybe. No, a corvus. Just one, without a swarm to call home.
We are not sure how it is still around. It looks wounded, but it cannot heal. Not without any friends around.
The fear is there, but there’s something else. We notice an aching loneliness and… a touch of hope? That can’t be right. But… somehow, it is.