Scene 11: Traces and Confrontations

Minor note that this is unedited.

You eventually gave up and turned off your visual faculties anyway. Turning them back on now, you wince at the sudden influx of light, shielding your face from the glare. Ugh. This is why you don't like doing this.

It's bright out today, the sun shining cheerfully through a thin cloud layer. You carefully climb down to the ground level again, brushing at yourself to rid your cloak of the dust it accumulated overnight. You really need to find someplace to wash your belongings, but it's less of a priority than continuing onwards.

Exiting the growing tower, you pause near the entrance of the burrow the scavengers went into last cycle, dialing up your auditory sensitivity momentarily. You don't hear anything inside; they must have already left. Or maybe they haven't woken up yet. Scavengers tend to be quiet in unfamiliar territory, you know that much, so it's hard to tell if they're still here or not. You'll need to investigate more closely to figure it out.

>Pssst Innocence. Innocence. Go in the hole.

You are curious... You turn your auditory sensitivity up as high as it will go, straining to hear anything inside the burrow. You hear the sounds of water dripping and flowing, as well as faint chirping in the distance, but nothing inside the burrow. If they were still asleep, you should hear them, so...

You're immediately grateful that your lungs are fully healed as you stick your head into the entrance of the burrow, as dust immediately billows around you. You cough, the sharp sound echoing around you in a deafening roar. Hastily removing your head from the hole, you turn your auditory sensitivity back down. Nothing rustles inside the burrow as you do so, however. The scavengers must have left before you came to.

You peek into the burrow again, slower this time to avoid disturbing the dust as much. The walls of dirt in the entrance are wet, from the rain overnight, but they're still firm enough that you're able to press your hand down without it sinking in. You push on it for a bit, marveling. This is a deliberate design, since if it wasn't packed down to this degree, the entrance to the burrow would have quickly collapsed from the heavy outpouring of water. Do the scavengers use this burrow often, then? They certainly have put effort into making it.

As you start shimmying into the burrow, you, for the first time since you came online, are thankful for the way your creators designed your puppet. Besides being taller than average, your puppet is also comparatively more slender than most, a fact that is allowing you to just barely squeeze into the burrow. You can't imagine Sig's puppet fitting in here—or worse, Moon's puppet. Or Five Pebbles'. Even now, you're having to slowly crawl through what is probably a snug-but-not-tight tunnel for the scavengers, with your antennae pushed as far down as they will go so they don't catch in the mud and having to move each limb individually so there's room to keep going forwards.

It is also extremely dark in here, because you, crammed in the tunnel as you are, are blocking all sources of light. Your neurons are stuck behind your head, so even their dim glow isn't helping. You can't see where you're putting your hands even with your visual faculties tuned to maximum light sensitivity. Blindly feeling ahead of you with your hands, you scoot forwards, and—

Your hands catch air at the same time as the mud coating you finally takes effect, and you slide out of the tunnel, landing unceremoniously in a heap on the ground. Your lance lands next to you with a thick squelching noise. With a groan, you lift your face and wipe at it, then violently shake your head as you realize you've just smeared more mud on your face. Now you're truly filthy. You don't know how much mud is on you now, but honestly, you're not sure you want to know.

At least you can see now. You pick yourself up, pulling your lance out of the mud and looking around. You're standing in what looks to be a wide canal, one that's clearly used to divert the rain water. The canal stretches off to either side of you. In front of you is—you wipe at your face again, trying to get the mud off your eyes—a broken open section of the base of the growing tower, with a big hole in the wall just above your head that would easily let you through. You pull yourself up to look inside.

The scavengers are definitely not here anymore, as there's only piles of bedding left. It's... dry. Surprisingly dry for what you would expect. It's warm in here, too. This would actually be a rather comfortable spot to rest for the night, the sound of the rain pouring outside aside. The canal is deep enough that the rain water would all be shunted away.

You sit and look around for a little longer, admiring the canal. Did they dig all of this themselves? It's quite the impressive feat.

>Maybe search the bedding if there’s anything of worth?

You rifle through the bedding briefly. There's nothing of note in here. The scavengers appear to have taken all their belongings with them, and the only thing you find are food scraps scattered around the bedding.

The bedding itself is some dried plant matter. You recognize it as one of the scraggly plants that grows out of crevices all around your facility grounds, particularly in your communications sector. The way the bedding is clumped together is unimpressive, but the degree to which the plant matter is desiccated is. This plant is equipped to survive the rains your facility grounds receives, but to harvest it and then dry it to this extent would require definitive planning, as well as a means to keep it dry.

You... weren't really expecting them to have bedding at all, actually? It makes sense in retrospect, but you hadn't considered it until you investigated their burrow. You're not sure what you were expecting, though. Maybe that they would just sleep on the bare ground. It's a silly idea now that you're thinking about it.

You lift your hand, and the bedding comes with, stuck to the mud coating you. Grunting in disgust, you violently shake your hand, then wince as the mud flies off and splatters on the ground right in front of you. Their bedding is all muddy now. Maybe you should have cleaned yourself off first.

>Give yourself a mud bath because mud is good for your skin (not that you have skin, but, you know)!

You glare down at the overseer. It's the same one every single time, telling you to do some stupid shit like this. "No." You have enough mud on you already, and you're just going to get more on you as you explore the rest of this area.

>Welp, looks like we may have exhausted this area. Maybe you should try to find some scavenger footprints and follow them?

You half-hop, half-slide out of the scavenger nest, looking around. Thankfully, mud preserves animal tracks extremely well, and at a glance you spot four sets of scavenger tracks leading away from you on your left. From the depth of the tracks, it seems they were not in a hurry to get to their next destination.

You decide to match their pace, ambling along the length of the tunnel at a stroll. You run your hand along the walls as you go, checking the humidity of the soil you touch. Your end of the farm sector was always more old fashioned, in addition to experiencing more erosion. It's still a surprise to see just how much soil there is, though the tunnel you're walking through now is just barely high enough that you can walk without bending over, and you still have to duck every so often. The soil itself is moist, but not as waterlogged as you would have expected. It would explain the integrity of this tunnel.

You pause briefly where the tunnel bows outwards, creating a small chamber nestled into the walls of the tunnel. This nook is sized for scavengers, and you have to bend down to inspect its interior. It's a cozy little thing, you suppose, with how small it is, though you're not sure what its purpose is. You crouch, peering in more closely, and—

You pull your head back, retracting that thought as you notice the droppings inside. You're abruptly very glad that your biological waste is simply exhaled.

The rest of the trek is relatively uneventful, and you find yourself at the exit of the burrow, which has a similar verticality to the entrance you used. You strain to see out from where you are, adjusting your visual depth, but to no avail. Beyond the tiny patch of sky you can see through the exit hole, you have no idea what awaits you outside.

... well. You should have figured you would have to do this when you slithered into the first hole. You sigh, pulling your lance closer to you, and start climbing your way up to the hole.

You don't want to think about how long it takes you to crawl your way out of this tunnel. It's longer than you would have liked, especially considering how your feet slipped and sent you sliding on your face back into the tunnel several times. But you get up eventually, covered in even more mud and significantly more irritated than before. That's the last hole you're going into, no matter how curious you are.

As you emerge from the depths of the tunnel, you spot a strip of red cloth wrapped around a piece of rebar, gently waving in the faint breeze. The rebar is jammed into the growing tower next to you; clearly the work of scavengers. A quick sweep of the area around you brings more growing towers into view, as well as other subtle markers of scavenger presence: A string of pearls hanging from a chipped dent in the wall, a shard of bone inserted into another crack in the wall, a knotted rope hanging inside one of the growing towers, among others. You're definitely in their territory proper now.

You brush the mud off your eyes with a huff. You're most likely going to be running into more scavengers shortly. What you have on you will have to be enough to gain their favor.

>Peaaaarls. Want to try read them? Don't pull them off though, I will be lookout for any scavs coming through.

Why not. You scrape more mud off your hands. You're curious too, you have to admit. These are within easy reach; they are perhaps high up for scavengers, but for you, it's just about at eye level.

You glance around quickly, ensuring that the coast is clear. You don't hear any scavs around you at the the moment, but you keep your senses tuned as you approach the pearls. They could just show up at any moment, but real quick...

The first pearl is a truncated number series. If you had the full string, you could maybe figure out what it could have been used for, but as it is now it's a useless string of numbers. The second... is just a diamond sphere. You're surprised it has no data on it. That has to be rather rare, given the prolific use of pearls as data storage mediums back in the day. The third...

You stiffen. When was this conversation—? Fuck, there's no time data on this one either. But it has to have been a long time ago, if they're talking about—about...

... there's something in this conversation that you simply do not have any memories of. It's familiar. You know you used to know this. You must have left the data behind in your can. But this seems... so important, why didn't you download it?

You read the pearl again. You can scarcely believe it. Five Pebbles, remorseful? You would dismiss it as a joke if you didn't have this whole conversation. Even though you have it, it still seems out of place.

"That group of friends." You grumble. That would have to be Des, Night, and Silver. Maybe Moth. You can't tell when this conversation happened. He can't even bother to say their names.

... but the fact that he seemed to... care?

You put the string of pearls in the same configuration you found it in, then stare at it a while longer. One conversation doesn't mean anything. That doesn't make up for everything else he's done. It doesn't make up for every other time he's been an asshole to you.

It doesn't make up for the fact he killed Moon.

You move on.

>Let's get out of here before the scavengers notice your grubby fingers on their pearls! Tally-ho!

"'My grubby fingers?'" you echo in a mutter, but step away from the pearls regardless. You agree, you do not want to be caught around the pearls by scavengers. They really could be here any moment—

A loud, angry chirp interrupts your thought. You turn, looking up, and are greeted with a group of seven scavengers, all of them scampering down the nearest growing tower to where you are. Most are armed with spears, some of which have bright strips of dyed rope tied to the ends. The scavenger leading the party, a dark brown one with long, thin eartlers and narrowed yellow eyes, is rustling its spines angrily. You pull your lance closer, then, after a moment's hesitation, loosen your grip again. You shouldn't present yourself as a threat when there's this many of them.

The scavenger party stops a short but not insignificant distance away from you, arranged in a rough line. The leader continues chittering angrily at you, gesturing towards you with its spear. You attempt to take a step back, but it barks, raising its spear, so you opt to stay still instead. You... think your puppet can deflect spears? But you'd rather not find out.

Upon scanning the line up, you recognize the white scavenger you freed from the worm grass last cycle, as well as the brown one that was with it. The white scavenger is staring at you, blinking repeatedly as it surveys you. The brown scavenger is merely staring. Neither of their postures convey aggression, unlike that of their leader. They seem to recognize you.

>Nonaggression go! Slowwwwly and carrefulllly put the tip of your lance into the ground, so they know you're not a threat. ...Actually, is this a toll? Do they want payment? We have plenty of goodies to trade. (Just not the pearl, because they can take that over your COLD DEAD BODY.)

No, this doesn't seem to be a toll. It seems you have walked into their territory, however, and these scavengers are not taking kindly to your trespassing.

You begin lowering your lance, moving as slowly as you can muster. The leader bristles, raising its spear, but you keep going until the tip of your lance is brushing the ground. It doesn't take its gaze off you as you reach into your pockets, pulling out one of the centipede armor plates and offering it to the scavengers.

None of the scavengers make a move. You keep holding the plate out, scanning the line up. The leader is still glaring at you, and the other scavengers are blinking at you warily, spears clutched in their hands. The white scavenger and the brown scavenger from last cycle are still just staring at you, though they exchange a glance as you look at them.

After another moment's hesitation, the white scavenger scurries forward and takes the armor plate from you. The leader barks, surging forward, but it halts as the white scavenger chitters back. Then, as you watch in astonishment, the white scavenger sets its items down and begins to move its hands in a way that you distinctly recognize as a sign language. The leader does the same, tossing its belongings down and roughly signing back at its companion, a motion too practiced, too smooth for this to be new. (-1 centipede armor plate)

You lean over, trying to watch their hands as they aggressively converse. Language, they have language! You were never sure if they were advanced enough for something of the sort, but now you have explicit evidence of it. Their intelligence is truly beyond what you were able to glean from them in the past if they have a definitive language. If only you could understand them.

You can, at least, partially guess what they're talking about; both scavengers keep gesturing at you. The leader also keeps pointing to your lance. You pull it closer to you, then wince as the other scavengers bristle at the movement. You hope the white scavenger is arguing in your favor. You did save it from worm grass, so...

With a final sharp sign, the leader scavenger brushes the white scavenger aside, retrieving its weapons and ambling directly up to you. A little baffled, you stare down at it. Its head only reaches your chest, but the height discrepancy clearly isn't deterring it. It starts circling you, gaze sweeping up and down and all over you. You flinch as it taps your leg with its spear, your metallic hide clanking from the impact. It's... apparently inspecting you?

>Try not to move and let the scav do its thing? You might scare it if you move and you also might get speared.

Like last cycle, the instant your overseer pops out of the ground, the scavengers all screech and raise their weapons. You quickly step in front of it, hissing out a half-command for it to leave. Despite your overseer being further away this time, it was still close enough to draw the attention of the scavengers. Any further away, however, and it'd be hard to reach you. You're either going to have to avoid the scavengers from here on out, or somehow get them to stop trying to attack your overseers.

Said scavengers now have their spears pointed at you. You glance around at them; the white scavenger and the brown scavenger from last cycle have their hands on their weapons, but unlike the others, their weapons are still at their side. The two of them are merely staring at you with narrowed eyes. You lower yourself, slowly bending down, and reach into your pockets for the other centipede armor plate. The white scavenger at least has some level of trust towards you. Maybe you can build on that.

The leader is quick to accept your offering this time, sauntering forward and all but snatching the armor plate out of your hand. It chatters at you, waving its spear in your face, then makes a few sharp signs at the white scavenger. The white scavenger blinks at you a few times before responding with a series of less certain signs. You recognize a sign from their last conversation, one that, as far as you can glean, means "dangerous." They use it several more times in the ensuing conversation, both scavengers pointing at you as they talk. (-1 centipede armor plate)

You sit, shuffling your limbs closer to you and trying to make yourself look as small and as non-threatening as you can manage. Your overseer did have a point. As long as you go along with what they're doing, they'll probably stop poking at you, you think? You're honestly not sure. They're not wrong to regard you as a potential threat. You just don't know how to convey that you don't want to hurt them.

One of the other scavengers approaches you, prodding at the sharp end of your lance. You pull it back slightly in fears that it will cut itself on the metal, but it hisses at you, raising its spear. You concede, lowering your lance, and the scavenger gives you a quick glare before continuing to examine your weapon. It drags the end of its spear along the serrated edge of the Miros bird beak, then lifts the tip to inspect it. Whatever it was looking for appears to be there, as it grunts appreciatively and gestures for the other scavengers.

You think they were attempting to confiscate your weapon, but before the scavengers reach you, a loud, high pitched shriek sounds behind you. A deep, throaty growl follows it, and then a snapping sound. All of the scavengers immediately stiffen, staring at something behind you as they grab their weapons.

>Behind you!

You turn, grabbing your lance as you do. The source of the commotion is a mud lizard, one that has a scavenger's arm in its jaws. It clenches down harder with a growl, almost drowning out the scavenger's pained yelp. The scavenger party is already rushing towards the lizard, chattering angrily and raising their weapons. One throws its spear, the metal sinking into the soft part of the lizard's neck. It roars in pain, dropping the scavenger in its mouth, and swings a claw at the offending scavenger, who dodges the swipe lithely.

You jump to your feet and heft your lance up as you run, skidding to a halt next to the injured scavenger. It stops its panicked crawl as you crouch down next to it, cowering away from you, and it curls into itself as you lean over to inspect its injuries. Its arm is mangled, broken in several places by the powerful jaws of the mud lizard, and it's covered in blood and dirt. Its wounds will need to be cleaned and its arm set so it heals straight, but you don't have the means to do either of that right now.

Another screech. You snap your gaze over to see the mud lizard pulling its bloodstained claw back. A scavenger slumps to the ground. The rest start shrieking, howling in panic. You run, lance held in front of you, as the mud lizard lunges for another scavenger, and you swing.

This is the first time you've drawn blood. You did blow up a Miros bird, but this is... different. The blood of the lizard, a dark violet ichor, splatters all over you, coating you in a shower of deep purple. It clings to your hands, soaks into your cloak. A few droplets land on your eyes. You don't dare lift your hand to wipe, as the mud lizard roars, whipping its head around as blood continues to gush out of the gaping wound in its face, now blind in one eye.

The lizard stumbles forward; you take a corresponding step back. Its head turns, its remaining eye, dark and glistening, locking onto you. Recognition lights its gaze, then understanding, then rage. With a snarl, it pounces.

It's big. It's so big. It's longer than you are tall and its weight is crushing you, and the only thing stopping it from biting your head off is your lance, wedged firmly in its jaws as its drool mixes with its blood and splatters all over you, a shower of yellow and purple raining down on your face. It's pushing down on you, jaws clamped around your lance and it's pushing, your arms aren't strong enough for this, you were not built for this you can't hold it up, it's opening its jaws again and it's lunging it's going to tear into you and rip your face off—

A spear lodges itself in the lizard's throat with a meaty thud. The lizard gurgles; you pull your lance back and scramble away.

It explodes. You cover your face, feeling blood splatter on you. Your auditory faculties protest at the noise, one so close to you and so loud, but you hold still, keeping your arm over your face. You don't dare move.

Then, silence. Stillness. Slowly, you move your arm, peeking out from under your sleeve.

The lizard's decapitated corpse rolls to a halt a significant distance away from you, blood pouring out of where its head used to be. Smoke wafts off the shredded remains of its face. Unidentifiable chunks of its flesh are scattered all around the ground, surrounded by puddles of blood.

It's dead.

You're alive.

The leader scavenger walks up next to you, breathing heavily. Its hand is clenched around another spear—an explosive one, you realize. It scans you with its gaze, a quick but thorough sweep, and then offers a hand to you. You accept it, pushing yourself up. You're alive. Covered in blood and spit, but alive.

>Try to bring the scavvies to a safer place!

Despite your overseer popping up right in the middle of the crowd of scavengers, they don’t react to its presence. Understandable, really. They have bigger issues to deal with right now.

The scavengers already have a head start on you on getting to a safer place. The white scavenger from last cycle is helping the scavenger with the broken arm hobble to the south. It’s also smaller than the white scavenger, you notice; a juvenile, perhaps? You can’t come up with another reason why it would be out here on its own otherwise. At any rate, the youngster got extremely lucky. Any later and you’re sure it would have died to the mud lizard.

There was that other scavenger, the one the lizard attacked. You spin, searching for it. Two other scavengers are helping it sit up, but there’s a dazed look to its gaze, and blood is still gushing from a set of deep claw marks on its chest. The assisting scavengers have fear painted into their gazes, their chattering a low, quiet murmur that rings with worry.

You scramble over to them, swiping the mud and blood off the hem of your cloak and tearing off a generous strip of cloth. Better to have an infected wound than be dead, though you would much prefer having something clean to use. The assisting scavengers blink at you as you rip the cloth strip off, but they make no move to stop you as you lean over the injured scavenger, who only manages to paddle at you weakly as you wrap the cloth strip around its chest. You pull it tight, your fingers fumbling as you tie the ends together in a rough knot. The priority right now is getting the scavengers someplace safe. This makeshift tourniquet will have to be enough to slow or stop the bleeding for now.

One of the assisting scavengers tugs at the cloth strip, confirming that it’s secure, before it and the other scavenger heave the injured scavenger up onto its feet. The three stumble off together, flanked by the remaining uninjured scavengers. They’re not going very fast, though. A quick scan of the area reveals no lurking lizards, but it’s hard to say for sure. You really hope there isn’t another mud lizard lying in wait.

You get to your feet, starting to walk back towards your lance, but jump as something tugs on your cloak. Looking over your shoulder, you’re greeted by the brown scavenger from last cycle, who is staring up at you with wide but unafraid eyes. It tugs on your cloak again, pointing in the direction that its brethren are going in. You stare down at it, confused. It tugs on your cloak a third time, pointing more insistently. It seems to want you to come with.

Hesitantly, you point towards your lance. It glances over, then scampers towards your lance, wrapping its hands around it and trying to lift it to no avail. You walk over, gently brushing its hands off, and heft your weapon up, shaking some of the mud and blood off. It skitters away from you a few steps as you do so, but it hangs around, pointing southward again. You give the area another quick glance, then oblige, following the brown scavenger and the rest of the scavenger party.

No other threats greet you along the way, and for that you are thankful. You still keep your lance at the ready as you walk with the scavengers, trailing behind them at a distance far enough that you can swing your lance without having to worry about cutting one of them by accident. The brown scavenger alternates between walking beside its group, chittering at the others, and running back to you to keep pace with you, like it’s checking if you’re still there. It’s not aggressive towards you, nor is it afraid of you. In fact, from the way it glances up at you from time to time, it seems almost eager to have you here? You’re not sure what to make of this.

The ground is starting to slope upwards, and accompanying the terrain change is a decrease in mud. The further you go, the drier the mud, until you’re walking on soft soil instead. You look up at the sky, tracing your gaze along the clouds. You’re just about at the boundary between your facility grounds and that of Five Pebbles’. Here, Sig and Wind’s rain ceases to have an effect, though currently, you still have Five Pebbles’ output to contend with.

The infrastructure here is markedly less destroyed. The stone, though partially eroded, is still intact, and the growing tower ahead of you almost looks fully functional. It hasn’t been operational in many years, but the fact it has survived this far is a feat. By design of your creators, really, but you’d rather not give them the credit.

The scavengers are squeezing into a small tunnel that leads down below the growing tower, similar to what you noticed last cycle. The injured scavengers are escorted in first, disappearing into the dimness of the tunnel. The rest shuffle in after them, with the brown scavenger bringing up the rear. It glances back at you, blinking, and scratches at the ground. When you don’t move, it scratches at the ground harder, then signs at you in a beckoning motion. Haltingly, you take a step towards the burrow. The scavenger doesn’t take its gaze off you, completely undeterred by your presence. This scavenger, at least, appears to fully trust you.

You look up at the sky again, watching the grey clouds race across the sky, and sigh. You might as well? It would be rude to refuse their hospitality if they’re offering it.

With an irritated chitter, the brown scavenger pulls itself out of the tunnel and tugs on your cloak again, starting to drag you towards its burrow. You nearly trip over it as it yanks you forward, staggering forward and falling to your hands and knees. It chirps at you—is it laughing at you?—and releases your cloak, ambling its way down the tunnel, but not before signing at you to follow again. Seeing no other choice, you oblige.

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