Kobey cleared the window without a hitch, leaving no trace behind other than perhaps the dust off their joints.
Their body's reaction to the outside was immediate, the plates on their back sliding into position side-by-side before they even fully touched the ground. They clicked into each other with the perfection of handcrafted puzzle and the tines stood just a little straighter, lapping up sunlight like starved. No wonder Kobolt was so eager to leave, Kobey figures. Can't blame it that much.
Kobey freely lets its frame stretch to compensate. The sudden illusion of true warmth would be enough of payment, but getting to dance away from the gaps in the ground like a twirling ribbon dancer was a welcomed bonus.
Kobolt's movement was a flowing, mesmerizing thing. Kobey wasn't in a body of barreling steel- Really, they were merely a goldfish guiding a water-filled plastic bag down a steep skateboard ramp.
To Kobey, it always began as trying to walk on ballpoint pens. For every intended step, this body managed four and each of them so weightless Kobey was sure they just hoofed it into a hole. That scare ricocheted them onward, feet not willing to stand still till they find something tangible on what was so rapidly sliding away with every move.
But then Kobey's panic settled into a lulling hum and it all felt like... ice skating, almost. Probably?
They couldn't grasp the moment enough to give it a name. Keeping to shades and crannies, only to
leap onto rickety lamps and cross the street from above at jackrabbit speed- All the while they did not think much at all, other than it all felt right.
Later, Kobey would imagine this is because they held the crown for most skipped P.E classes in their grade- maybe in life as a whole. They have been missing out and oh, they were making up for it triple now.
For a series of long, clear eternities, Kobeys focus was solely on the run. If anything of Kobolt's creation was ever clear, it was that it's frame was cauterized beyond any feeling that general feedback- but in the suddenly so minuscule gaps between Kobolt's processor and their consciousness, they thought they could feel the press of gravel into the tendons between Kobolt's taloned fingers. The racing wind between it's animated tines. The teacup slowly but surely slipping away from their loosening grasp.
The processor just barely manages to aim them towards the nearest hiding place before the reverie's end. They awakened with a jolt, banking off-course both from their one-track mind and from the route they couldn't exactly remember choosing before they bolted.
Their body has flattened against a mound of black shrapnel opposite a kiosk of broken glass, and Kobey gets to take a first true look at their surrounding. An instinstual part of them wills their subspace to open and it responds with untangling of Kobolt's crest and squelch of new, delicate membrane tearing to pieces. But Kobey cant help but to keep their gaze on the lifelessness all around them.
Kobey admits they wouldn't recognize this place for what it once was. Then again, Kobey of better days wouldn't recognize a picture of New York unless there was broadway front and center and alligator peeking out of the sewers in the back.
These streets look like they were run over by a blunt cheese grater, chunks of pathways - everything- missing and giving to the underground. The buildings don't fare any better- without the colorful screen advertisements plastered over their side, they're black talons full of cracks, barely-hanging structures, and tart hollowness.
For a weak moment, Kobey wonders if they still call it 'New York'. Maybe it's the trademark Czech pessimism and disinterest of supposed western grandeur sinking into them at last, but their mind helpfully supplies them with rebranding it to 'Buried York'. Kobey doesn't get to pull the brakes on that train of thought themselves- this was someone's home, people must mourn it still. Instead, Kobolt's voice is back, putting halt to everything else. Nothing can ever really be detected from their tone, but Kobey notes that it sounds a little bit more unmoved than usual.
.:SUGGESTION: Continue movement. Standstill heavily discouraged under current circumstances:.
Another intervention. Kobey lets a flinch slip out as Kobolts ears suddenly make their best attempt at strengthening. A wall of filters drops and Kobey braces-
Buildings wheezing
No voices detected
No nearby heartbeats
Except
Underground movement
Small, light, so small-
Buildings coming apart
Too loud
WARNING: Audio processors 6-18 failed
WARNING: Unable to retract audio sensors
Distant sound of battle
C r a c k s
WARNING!: Unable to contact S-S--
crying out
crying out-
A shrill whinny rings out across the street, bouncing off the shattered glass like a chipped bullet. It's piercing and the sudden auditory spike colors Kobeys HUD in vivid blue. Kobey's unpracticed vocalizer cant hold the wail for long before it disperses into garbled static.
Kobey's body slides against the shrapnel before they can get their legs to respond in kind. The subspace hastily stitches itself closed, taking some shrapnel with it. It lodges itself between the seams. Kobey can't feel a thing.
They're on a run again, seeking the pacifying hum from before, but the noises force them into focus. The filters are up again, but the noises still aren't gone. Their processor split into three and is compartmentalizing them while Kobolt talks, unmoved.
Kobey runs. They don't get to pick the directions and their previously graceful gait feels like a distant memory. There's no rhythm to it anymore, only a desperation of something pushed along.
.:Requested location, 'Paragon Tower'. GOAL: Reallightment and update on current developments. After, further follow through with Task 'Get Us Home':.
Kobolt promised. Kobolt doesn't lie. It knows more than them, and Kobey trusts it. They must.
Kobey wishes it didn't stop talking so fast. Without anything else there to fill the silence of the dead city and body that doesn't breathe, the voices echo as they please.
Their body's reaction to the outside was immediate, the plates on their back sliding into position side-by-side before they even fully touched the ground. They clicked into each other with the perfection of handcrafted puzzle and the tines stood just a little straighter, lapping up sunlight like starved. No wonder Kobolt was so eager to leave, Kobey figures. Can't blame it that much.
Kobey freely lets its frame stretch to compensate. The sudden illusion of true warmth would be enough of payment, but getting to dance away from the gaps in the ground like a twirling ribbon dancer was a welcomed bonus.
Kobolt's movement was a flowing, mesmerizing thing. Kobey wasn't in a body of barreling steel- Really, they were merely a goldfish guiding a water-filled plastic bag down a steep skateboard ramp.
To Kobey, it always began as trying to walk on ballpoint pens. For every intended step, this body managed four and each of them so weightless Kobey was sure they just hoofed it into a hole. That scare ricocheted them onward, feet not willing to stand still till they find something tangible on what was so rapidly sliding away with every move.
But then Kobey's panic settled into a lulling hum and it all felt like... ice skating, almost. Probably?
They couldn't grasp the moment enough to give it a name. Keeping to shades and crannies, only to
leap onto rickety lamps and cross the street from above at jackrabbit speed- All the while they did not think much at all, other than it all felt right.
Later, Kobey would imagine this is because they held the crown for most skipped P.E classes in their grade- maybe in life as a whole. They have been missing out and oh, they were making up for it triple now.
For a series of long, clear eternities, Kobeys focus was solely on the run. If anything of Kobolt's creation was ever clear, it was that it's frame was cauterized beyond any feeling that general feedback- but in the suddenly so minuscule gaps between Kobolt's processor and their consciousness, they thought they could feel the press of gravel into the tendons between Kobolt's taloned fingers. The racing wind between it's animated tines. The teacup slowly but surely slipping away from their loosening grasp.
The processor just barely manages to aim them towards the nearest hiding place before the reverie's end. They awakened with a jolt, banking off-course both from their one-track mind and from the route they couldn't exactly remember choosing before they bolted.
Their body has flattened against a mound of black shrapnel opposite a kiosk of broken glass, and Kobey gets to take a first true look at their surrounding. An instinstual part of them wills their subspace to open and it responds with untangling of Kobolt's crest and squelch of new, delicate membrane tearing to pieces. But Kobey cant help but to keep their gaze on the lifelessness all around them.
Kobey admits they wouldn't recognize this place for what it once was. Then again, Kobey of better days wouldn't recognize a picture of New York unless there was broadway front and center and alligator peeking out of the sewers in the back.
These streets look like they were run over by a blunt cheese grater, chunks of pathways - everything- missing and giving to the underground. The buildings don't fare any better- without the colorful screen advertisements plastered over their side, they're black talons full of cracks, barely-hanging structures, and tart hollowness.
For a weak moment, Kobey wonders if they still call it 'New York'. Maybe it's the trademark Czech pessimism and disinterest of supposed western grandeur sinking into them at last, but their mind helpfully supplies them with rebranding it to 'Buried York'. Kobey doesn't get to pull the brakes on that train of thought themselves- this was someone's home, people must mourn it still. Instead, Kobolt's voice is back, putting halt to everything else. Nothing can ever really be detected from their tone, but Kobey notes that it sounds a little bit more unmoved than usual.
.:SUGGESTION: Continue movement. Standstill heavily discouraged under current circumstances:.
Another intervention. Kobey lets a flinch slip out as Kobolts ears suddenly make their best attempt at strengthening. A wall of filters drops and Kobey braces-
Buildings wheezing
No voices detected
No nearby heartbeats
Except
Underground movement
Small, light, so small-
Buildings coming apart
Too loud
WARNING: Audio processors 6-18 failed
WARNING: Unable to retract audio sensors
Distant sound of battle
C r a c k s
WARNING!: Unable to contact S-S--
crying out
crying out-
A shrill whinny rings out across the street, bouncing off the shattered glass like a chipped bullet. It's piercing and the sudden auditory spike colors Kobeys HUD in vivid blue. Kobey's unpracticed vocalizer cant hold the wail for long before it disperses into garbled static.
Kobey's body slides against the shrapnel before they can get their legs to respond in kind. The subspace hastily stitches itself closed, taking some shrapnel with it. It lodges itself between the seams. Kobey can't feel a thing.
They're on a run again, seeking the pacifying hum from before, but the noises force them into focus. The filters are up again, but the noises still aren't gone. Their processor split into three and is compartmentalizing them while Kobolt talks, unmoved.
Kobey runs. They don't get to pick the directions and their previously graceful gait feels like a distant memory. There's no rhythm to it anymore, only a desperation of something pushed along.
.:Requested location, 'Paragon Tower'. GOAL: Reallightment and update on current developments. After, further follow through with Task 'Get Us Home':.
Kobolt promised. Kobolt doesn't lie. It knows more than them, and Kobey trusts it. They must.
Kobey wishes it didn't stop talking so fast. Without anything else there to fill the silence of the dead city and body that doesn't breathe, the voices echo as they please.