Resurrection Log: Ź̷̼͖ý̶̧̡̩̫͉͔͇̓̈́̋̎̽̌͐͛̈́̎̒́̐̍͠r̴̢͓̖̲͙̲̮͋̉̓̾͒̑͜͠ͅa̵̡̨̦͍͉̳͎͕̞͔̲̺̰̩̩̽͑̆̈̌́̏͝g̵̼͈̟̗͔͋́̈́̀͆̀̚ą̸̯̽̈́̑͒͑́ṙ̷͙̝̥͔̳̜̗͖̦͉͓͕͗̈́̇̇͂̐̍̒̍̔d̸͇̞̥͓̠̈́͒͋̌̐͝ ̶̨̧̛͔̲̻̖͚̠̣͔̻̰̫̒̇͐͜͠T̴̠͓͔̦̩̻̼̖̽͆̍͆̓̊̽̔̚͠ơ̷̶̵̸̸̸̡̛̛̬̖̰̦̦̮͚̗̞̻̻̞̻̙̘̘͈͈̭̲͙̪͍̭̭͉͚̤̅̾̽͋̀̑̋̆̍̉̇̉̈́̿͋͒̇̊̓̂̿̿̑̈́͆͑͌̂̌̑̆̉͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ţ̷̢̢̛͙̩͎̥͈̝̖̈̄͛̄͊̆̓̈́̊ͅͅȩ̸̠͍̱̖̺̣̖̄̉̔͜ņ̷̡͓̘̥̠̖̝̺͈̥͔̲͊k̴̛̯̫̪͑̽̔́̅͂̿̂͋̉̂̕͘͠y̵̟̟̰̪̻̼̖̌̽̇̓́̍̃͒̾̕̚͝͠r̵̢̨̠͉̼̲̲͛͒̂̽̄͐͌̏͘͘͝a̴̛̰̙̫͂͐̓̐ḿ̷̡̛̤͙͕̼̱̻͙̔͌̓̈̏͑̔̈́̓͘̚ą̸̧̧̯̺̫͈̞͎̻̤̫̂͐̐͘ņ̷̨̱̖̟͖͚̣̂͌͗̌̾̔́̕ ̶̨̨̲̘̭͚̣̝̞̲͔̦̽̾̏̄̒́̚͝K̷̖̻̘̣͐̽̀̅͛͜͜͜ṟ̴̛͇̺͈̲͉̤̰̰̥͉͓̜͑̈́͌̔̍̓́̕ą̷̼̄̾͊̓̽̾͊̈̒̍̍́̉̚͝l̸̨̞͇͈̖͔̘̜̱̦͈̊

Year 76,589 of the —Mother of Ruin—

M:6 D:19

Day 975 of Cycle 3

[transcribed memory/thoughtstream generated by Ṁ̵̢̘̭̬̙̘̦̳͓̺͈̪̒̂ǫ̵̨̛̠̫̻̐̋̓͗͗͗̏̎͂̿͌̕t̴̜̪͇͕͚́̓͐h̴̯͍̼̦̯̝̜̝̤͂͋͆͌͗͝ę̸͉͖͕̜̤̘͙͎͚̈́̏͒̒̄̏̃̋͘̕͘͜ȓ̸̢̨͍͉̱̮̞͔̋̇ ̴̡̛̱̳̘̠͎̫̩̪̦̠̦̣̀͒͛͊̚͠G̷̰̹̝͆̈͜į̸̧̟͙̰͖̳̯̈́̒͜͜g̶͉̗̹̻̟̰̞̭̠͉͙̈́͊̌̈̈̓̐̒̕ạ̵̧̧̘͖͔̟̝̳̅̇̂̂̅̓̇͛̓͋̊̏̇̕t̵̮̉͒̋̄̑̇̌̀̅͑̋͋r̶̻̟͗̋̀̆̿̃̔̄͒̎̊̈́̚o̵̪̦͇̫̾̋̊̾̋͗͗̊͊̄͜͠͝ḡ̵̛̰͎̇̐͒͋̊̀͝ẗ̶̡̮̠͈̗̗̃͛̈̊̾ḩ̴͍̖͖̥͈̻̪̖̤̰̥̣̋͌̚ř̵̝̤̩͈͎̤͎̯̤͔̝̬̖̓̏͐̀̿̊̂̈͋̕͝͝ĭ̴̡̡͙̺̪͕̻̺̥̫̭̜̺̳̃̂͊̓́̅̈́̎̀̽̀̚ͅṃ̵̨͇̺̪̤̄͜ȧ̵͓̟͖̞̩̤͙̩̖̠̝̣̔ź̶̡͇͍̝̳͚̱͖̳͖̬͓̋̂͜ ̸̢̺͚̍̎̈́̂͛̂̐͐̊̕̚͜͝͝Ȉ̵̢̹̜̞͆̃͗̅̈́̋͒̅͝Í̶̡͓͓̰̥̤̗̱̀͛́͆̒͋̂͠͝I̴̟̞̪̯͍̟̿̂̐̌͑̎̅̋͐͆̍́]

“Nope,” said Jack C, making at once to leave.

But he slowed, turning back to observe as I approached the table. The man seemed to be indicating the little white lines of dust.

“Is this some manner of food, or perhaps a drug?” I queried. The men exchanged a series of glances.

“Cocaine, sir!” replied the mustachioed human, with gusto. “The very finest!”

And then, bending over the table and raising the small straw he held in one hand, he demonstrated the unusual manner in which humans consume the substance. I took another step closer, running the new word by Fools and coming back with some very interesting information.

“I do want some!” I declared, bringing forth one of my upper tentacles.

“Oh goddamnit,” said Jack C. “Do not.”

Shosho chirped and fluffed her feathers, seeming to perk up from her despondent mood of only moments before. She cocked her head, peering at both Jack C and I simultaneously.

“Don’t listen to him,” she said. “Live your life, Zyr.”

“Good god,” exclaimed one of the older gentlemen, this one with a bizarre configuration of facial hair which outlined his jaws to either side of his face and came up under his lip, but left his chin entirely naked. “The bird talks!”

Shosho scoffed, or made a sound rather like a scoff—though she could have been preparing to spit on the man and only just changed her mind about it.

Under Jack C’s wary eye, I siphoned a row of powder through a forward tentacle, absorbing it into my system from within.

At first, I felt nothing—save a sort a sort of antipicatory tingling.

And then…then I felt everything.

In that moment I could have sworn that my neural network lit up all at once with a sudden surge of power, that it sang—as though I was truly alive for the first time in all of my existence. Simultaneously, every ongoing bodily process I possessed sped abruptly forward. My mind and fluids raced. The explosion of sensations overwhelmed and delighted and terrified me at once.

Two and half seconds later, I was charging from the room.

“Where are we going?” wondered Shosho.

“Oh, you are not going,” I said, plucking the gla’cui off of my shoulder and turning to hand her to Jack C, who’d exited the smoking room directly behind me. Then, my tentacles twitching and writhing ecstatically all around me, I made for the dance floor.

“Captain Rin!” I called, striding directly up to her, though the present song was nowhere near complete and she was circled in the arms of some pretentious asshole with another ridiculous configuration of face-hair, the goatee. Somehow, in the moment, nothing seemed to matter except that I make my request at once. “May I have this dance? This very dance? And the next?”

Her eyes went wide, pointing first at my face, and then catching on my twitching tentacles. She glanced back to the man and to me again.

“The next one’s all yours, Zyr,” she said.

“Very well,” I replied, my tone edged with a hint of a growl which I could not suppress as I, too, glanced at the man. I had not, until that moment, taken issue with face-hair like his—or anyone else’s, for that matter. But I decided then that it was a ridiculous configuration. Turning my back on them both, I retreated to the outer edges of the first level, snatching a fresh drink from a drone, downing it and tossing the cup over my shoulder. Somewhere behind me, someone yelped. Then I began to pace.

I paced until the song was over, and Rin parted from the wretched goatee-man—at which time I sped over to her, hand outstretched. As she placed her much smaller appendage in mine, I felt as though the heat of it spread down my arm and straight to my core. I swept her into my arms, her lips forming a momentary circle as air huffed out of her. An expression of surprise.

“You seem…different,” she mused as her free hand went up to my shoulder and mine curled about her waist. Rin lowered her voice to a hush. “Did you do drugs?”

“I siphoned the white dust,” I informed her. “I am exhilarated. I feel magnificent. And highly agitated.” I could not bring myself to compose my movements to the tempo of the music. I had to move faster. And faster. We whirled across the dance floor, awash in shimmering emerald illumination, speed ever increasing—the other dancers clearing a broad space for us.

“Oh,” said Rin, her pupils contracting suddenly. “Oh no.”

“Yes,” I insisted, doing as the deputy prime minister had done and spinning her briefly away from me, tethered by our clasped-together hands. “Yes,” I said again as we came back together, our bodies bumping momentarily into one another before she reoriented herself. “Yes.”

“Er,” said Rin, between panting breaths. “You’re kind of freaking me out, Zyr.”

“Forgive me,” I breathed. “I’ve just…never felt…so much before. In all of my existence.” Was it the dust alone? The dust and the drink? The dust and the drink and the human DNA becoming more and more thoroughly a part of me with every passing moment?

I fixed my gaze on hers.

“Rin, are you attracted to me?”

At once, the skin of her face flushed pink.

“I—I mean…yeah. I did design your whole look.”

The song was reaching a passionate culmination, so again I spun her outward, enjoying the way it made her dress flare away from her legs. But caught up in my euphoric rush, I pulled her back in a little too hard. She lost her balance, began to fall. In less than a human heartbeat my tentacles had flared forward to catch her, wrapping about her body in a way that sent waves of pleasure shivering down every appendage as I set her right again.

“Th-thanks,” Rin panted, staring up at me with a furrow deepening between her brows as my body went suddenly rigid. “Zyr? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The task,” I said, pointing my eyes to the back of the deputy prime minister’s head where he conversed with Maye near the banquet hall’s exit. “Is complete.”

“What is he doing?”

“Is he back to his place yet?”

“Can you see the thing on him, like…you’re really sure it’s there, man? Maybe he ate some calamari then touched his neck.”

“Ga! Gabadabalala!”

Back in a sitting room common area of our guest suite, the humans, Tursa, and Shosho crowded around, the adult humans questioning me incessantly and the babies babbling as I attempted to focus my awareness into the World Sphere. My tentacles continued to twitch and writhe despite my wishes, providing further distraction.

“He is walking. He is not back to his quarters yet. I cannot see the thing on his neck, but it is both beneath the surface of his clothing and most likely camouflaged. You are all annoying me now. Stop speaking at once.”

They did. Except for the babies, who continued on as loudly as ever…if not more so. Spiteful little larvae.

The deputy prime minister had only just reached the entrance of his personal suite, a blue light flashing as the doorpad scanned key components of his biosignature. Then the light turned green and the door slid open. Stepping inside, he shut it at once behind him. Figures approached from deeper within, other Warped humans. One covered in growths like cartilaginous armor plates, the other muscular and prickly, with feathers for hair that shone red or green depending on the light, and a mouth that had protruded forward into a horny, serated beak.

They did not speak, at least not out loud. Instead the two other humans merely fell in behind the deputy prime minister as he made at once for his restroom. Without hesitation, his escorts followed him there as well, taking places at his side as he bent over a broad tub full of murky, greenish water. As he tipped his neck toward its surface.

Then, quite abruptly, the escorts took hold of his arms. The deputy prime minister began to thrash as the parasite slipped from his neck and into the water. He shouted, incoherently at first, as the men dragged him off. Out of the bathroom and over to a bed.

Coherent words emerged at last as they pressed him down, the feathered one producing a syringe from a pocket in his overladen utility belt.

“You Beno bastards are done for, now,” he shrieked before breaking into a mad peal of laughter. “The Lyr—”

But he was unable to finish his sentence, for in the next instant feather-human stabbed the needle into his arm. Almost at once, the deputy prime minister’s eyelids closed, and his body went limp.