One day, maybe, Richie will be privy to all the details — why Red's voiceless, why Boxer's a sword. What the deal is with the cool glowing sword, and why Red seems just as eager to carry it as Boxer usually is. But for now, both of them keep their cards close to their chest — no fault of anyone but theirs, and the story they refuse to tell. She doesn't have time to wonder how much Richie has figured out, not when she briefly shakes her head at Boxer's question. Not here. The Process was sent back to whatever hell they came from. Then the Storm wiped them out.
She slows down by the door, and she looks around at the walls, the ceiling. Almost as if she's waiting for something to ... pop up, and destroy them all ( wouldn't be too far-fetched, anymore ). Except there's nothing of the sort, aside from an eerie silence, and a chill that prickles the back of her neck. Despite her better instincts, she turns —
And comes face to face with the same apparition — except this one looks a lot less like an old man that Richie and much more like a young woman. Hair shockingly white, an extravagant on her head. A soft smile, where the Transistor helpfully tells her > meticulous?. Horror turns into anger in a flash, and her hand twitches to straighten the Transistor up, the function selection nearly instinctive—
Except she sees the apparition disappear, the same time Richie begins talking. The tenseness on her shoulder doesn't quite disappear, not yet, but she lets the words bring her back down. Slowly turn back ( her gaze lingering one last moment ) before she slips into the room.
She pulls out her phone a second time, much more purposeful than ever before. A quick message to Richie. ]
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One day, maybe, Richie will be privy to all the details — why Red's voiceless, why Boxer's a sword. What the deal is with the cool glowing sword, and why Red seems just as eager to carry it as Boxer usually is. But for now, both of them keep their cards close to their chest — no fault of anyone but theirs, and the story they refuse to tell. She doesn't have time to wonder how much Richie has figured out, not when she briefly shakes her head at Boxer's question. Not here. The Process was sent back to whatever hell they came from. Then the Storm wiped them out.
She slows down by the door, and she looks around at the walls, the ceiling. Almost as if she's waiting for something to ... pop up, and destroy them all ( wouldn't be too far-fetched, anymore ). Except there's nothing of the sort, aside from an eerie silence, and a chill that prickles the back of her neck. Despite her better instincts, she turns —
And comes face to face with the same apparition — except this one looks a lot less like an old man that Richie and much more like a young woman. Hair shockingly white, an extravagant on her head. A soft smile, where the Transistor helpfully tells her > meticulous?. Horror turns into anger in a flash, and her hand twitches to straighten the Transistor up, the function selection nearly instinctive—
Except she sees the apparition disappear, the same time Richie begins talking. The tenseness on her shoulder doesn't quite disappear, not yet, but she lets the words bring her back down. Slowly turn back ( her gaze lingering one last moment ) before she slips into the room.
She pulls out her phone a second time, much more purposeful than ever before. A quick message to Richie. ]
Let's grab it and go.