2022-05-30: Drowning in Memory

• Cutscene: <Drowning in Memory>
• Cast: <Ple Two>
• Where: <The Shower>
• Date: <2022-05-30>
• Summary: <Puru Two remembers simpler times with one of her ailing clone sisters.>

(This cutscene takes place after Puru Two is in the same map grid as the Garencieres, and by extension, Marida Cruz.) The shower has been running for half an hour, by now. The pump has long since flicked over to cyclical mode, because in the age of compact fusion reactors, electricity is cheap. Pale fingers splay against ceramic tiles. The cubicle's sole occupant does not stand, so much as lean against an imminent collapse. (Eleven identical children struggle against their restraints, the visors of their normal suits clinking against a porthole. A grand sight awaits them: the sun rising over the mighty spires of Axis. Soon to be their new home. To their young eyes, it is as mighty as magic kingdom as one could wish for.) Almost a perfect white noise, the arrhythmic chattering of water drowns out the static from within Puru Two's soul. Her back and neck are seared a brilliant red, as if recently slapped. The vapour fills her lungs and dizzies her. One finger lies still upon the stud which increases the water's temperature, and the display dully blinks: 107 F. (Ten identical children crowd around one who has fallen in a grassy quadrangle. The one who has fallen is thrashing, writhing, choking on something so harmless as a mouthful of nutrient gel. Being children, they panic. They cry. One of them runs for the sliding doors of the compound in search of a minder. It's not the fallen girl's fault. Her body is tired of the medicines, the augmentations, the changes in pressure. Her mind is tired, it resists the rigid structure forced on it. This is an unknowing act of rebellion.) A bath was preferable, but a shower? Almost as good. As each sense gradually grows too overloaded to keep track anymore, it's as good as turning them off. Eyes squeezed shut, Puru Two stares at the evolving fractals of grey-green that dance in the absence of sight. She feels only the numb drumming of the shower, hears only the distant roar of blood in her ears. The scent of faded shampoo has supplanted anything natural. The thin, recycled water in her mouth tastes of nothing. She is as removed from the physical world as can be. (One of these children drops to her knee and throws her book aside. The tablet spins lazily, end-over-end, in the low Axis gravity. She lifts her gagging sister in her arms, covers her eyes with one hand. One less sense to be overpowered by. Swiftly now, she moves both hands to the girl's abdomen. Closes one hand to a fist. She can feel the colour of her sister's presence, wild with panic and yet--so tired. So wearied, ready to just run out of air and escape this life.) Puru Two's mind and spirit linger in the space between past and present, somewhere deep within. Withdrawn within her shell, submerged beneath the waters of a distant memory. The only place she can escape the whisper of nearby minds. Whispers she can usually withstand, but not today. Not right now. (The child with the numeral II on her gown gives a guttural grunt of effort as she tugs her fist upwards into her sister's ribcage. Choking noises give way to something liquid, wet, awful. And then--coughing. Crying. Tears of pain, and relief. The thrum of the sick girl's presence regains a warmer tone. The chilling fear of the end abates, giving way to more pedestrian complaints.) For eight long years, Puru Two has spent every cent that she has, she has stolen and lied and threatened and run from one place to another for a single purpose. Forever chasing a sign that someone; any of her kin still live. (A scheduled spring breeze washes over the frightened children. The one suffering the most lies with her head buried within her savior's lap. Arms loosely cling to her waist. Her every sense screams: I want to go home! But this is all home is. Axis. The training compound. The staff. Each other.) (Each other.) (Puru Two's hand rests atop her sister's head. She strokes the girl's hair. Pats her back between cough-hiccup-sobs. Wipes her messy face. Why, she wonders, did that happen? She didn't do anything to deserve that. She's so upset. She could have died. It wasn't even a fight. So stupid. So unfair. I'll never let something like that happen again. Ever.) The hiss is almost imperceptible as the faucet closes. Pale fingers stab repeatedly at the controls. The drumming rainfall soon becomes a staccato dripping, a gurgling, and then... a deafening silence. At least one of them still lives. She doesn't know how to process it.

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