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MN-267-643 stands upon a plate of brass, watching the Low Nobility work before it and under it. The light glints off ankle length smart strand hair in many shades. Reds. Oranges. Yellows. It checks a hologram that reads "Low Nobility. Sub-B Sector 533. Reactor-near. Assets. No waste.". It twines a ruby-clawed finger around its own ruby-colored hair and thinks to itself "Not LN anymore."
It leans on a brass rail that creaks under its weight and watches the Low Nobility and Avoxes on the floor below. Its sensors indicate that the floor is hot and low humidity, on the floor below there is a commotion and an Avox falls to the floor. Others gather around it. MN-267-643 sends a glyph ++DUTY BACK++. MN-267-643's enhanced sights sees how the Avox is foaming at the mouth. Slowly, blood drips from the Avox's nose, making a small pool of red.
Next to MN-267-643 is a pastel-red haired Low Nobility, its hair held back by braided wires and a dull orange haired Low Noble, hair held back by black wires. They are talking to each other in signs that MN-267-643 does not fully understand. It catches (Low Noble, bad-turn, gold-hair) one signs and the red-haired Low Noble shakes its head as a reply. It signs back (Taps-Pipes-456. Did?). The orange-haired low noble signs back (Turned. Three.)
The two fade into the shadows before MN-267-643  can send a glyph to admonish. It turns back to the floor below. There is a sea of Avoxes in grey dragging crates, each a meter by a meter by a meter. MN-267-643  checks its hover-slate , grabbing it from the air where it hovered beside. It reads the Low Glyphic on the screen: "Gamemaker bones. For Aeteana. Total amount: Unknown. Bones per crate: 4,100 (20 skeletons)."
Time to time, a lift arrives. The brass needle and dial position indicator moves slowly, from left Sub-Z to right-Sub-B, stopping just short of Sub-A and Surface. When the brass doors open, there are Avoxes in grey escorted by Peacekeepers in their white armor. And in the lift, there are piles of these one meter by one meter by one meter crates, made of bronze, marked with a manifest on parchment ready to stamp and stick with an purity seal.
It leans on the rain boldly, as the Avoxes carry the crates out one by one. The Peacekeepers keep their rifles ready. MN-267-643 glances towards the pastel-red haired Low Noble, and an image flashes though its head of its bright-red haired turner. "Three Avoxes.". It thinks. "Gold-hair. Two others? Who?". It casts its eyes on a nearby Avox, whom makes an sign of apology and averts its eyes submissively.
It calls over the two Low Nobles, pastel-red hair and dull orange hair. It signs in broken Low Noble (Avoxes. Missing. Know any?). Dull-Orange replies: (Pastel-purple hair.) . Dull-orange pulls something out of the pant pockets of its rags. An Avox collar tag. MN-267-643 takes it and turns it over with a claw. The Gyphic markings read "A-653-345-345". It asks Pastel-red. (Third. Who?) and it shakes its head in reply.
----
In the darkened Hall of the Forgotten sits  a transparent haired Gamemaker, its white pants and long sleeved shirt in tatters. Silver eyes focus on its hands, clear, glass-like talons clutching a Gamemaker bone, the moon-silver shining in the half light cast by one thousand meter tall bio-lum mushrooms. On Gothic pillars, leading to pointed arches over a thousand meters ahead, glow shelf fungi.
The hand moves forward and deposits the bone  upon an construction. Around it, in the shadows move shapes with hair in colors of red, orange and yellow. Naked bodies cling to pillars and colorful eyes look out into the dark. Another bone, and another, and another. The  construction takes shape. An arena made of bones, an exact copy of the arena of the 1000th Hunger Games. There is a scratching sound on a shelf fungus, and then the sound of claws hitting Gamemaker bone.
It does not look up. Above its head, claws clinging to Gamemaker synth skin and digging though into a layer of Gamemaker hair underneath, on a mushroom is a feral Gamemaker. Its hair slowly shifts though colors. Red. Orange. Yellow. It looks down at the bone-builder and gestures. More join it. Soon, the mushroom is coved with Clan-Kin Gamemakers, each looking down at the see-though haired being far from the Peaks where it belongs.
Ina  flurry of signs by hands tipped with claws, the ferals convene and soon, they reach an agreement. (This Gamemaker. Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones.). They watch it for a while and fade into the shadows, heat distortion shimmering around them. It does not look up, adsorbed in building its arena. The bone-arena trembles, but Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones keeps adding onto it. "Must. Be. Perfect." it thinks.
Time passes, and the eyes in the shadows never leave. The bone-arena trembles more now, with the growing weight of bones. When it finally collapses,  Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones snarls in frustration and looks around. Nearby is a pastel-purple-haired Gamemaker, wearing but scraps of white "weeping" silently into its hands. Next to it is an lapuz-blue-haired Gamemaker naked but for an necklace with a single jewel, mouth in a scream without sound..
It looks around at the Maddened Gamemakers around it and then at the doors of the lifts embedded on the walls, like golden portals. A lift opens and the Peacekeepers deposit three new Gamemakers into the Hall. One has snow white hair and is dressed in white rags. One has  midnight blue hair and is dressed in clean white uniform. And one has white hair that shades to the tips into ice blue and then into teal. It is dressed in in the violet robes of the royal family.
The Gamemaker with  white hair that shades to the tips into ice blue and then into teal looks at Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones. In a single glyph it demands. ++RELEASE.++.  Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones just looks back towards its pile of bones as the Peacekeepers drag away the protesting Royal Family Gamemaker and chain it with a moon-silver chain to a pillar. The Angel of Death, a Gamemaker in a black robe, with white hair and black gene-forged wings reads the last rites.
----
Time passes slowly for MN-267-643 but things slowly stop adding up. It noticed minor memory lapses, first such as forgetting the last thing it was doing. When its response times became slower, it cursed itself. It remembers a time-cycle where it was tasked to read the High Glyphic of the crates, and stamp each and seal each with a purity seal in red wax and the seal of the Gamemaker order.
There is a lapse and it forgets for a second, and it finds itself staring at a manifest reading "Crate-000-000-000-000-045-432, Gamemaker Bones, Moon-Silver Reclamation.". The task grinds on, a drudge of crates being shipped in, read, stamped and sealed with purity seals. To check the time, looks at color-shift Low Noble standing in a corner, who's hair changes from yellow to orange to red. When it retires for a sleep cycle, it dreams of purity seals.
The next cycle is more of the same, just with higher crate numbers. The day is interrupted by the hover-slate pinging an notification [Low Nobles LN-055-563-356 and 054-356-224 show Gamemaker Derangement Syndrome signs and are to be cast to the Hall. Glory be the Head Gamemaker. It looks up to see the Peacekeepers dragging the pastel-red haired Low Noble and the dull orange haired Low Noble.
The two are struggling, claws lashing and teeth gnashing. One signs (No Hall.) and the pastel red hair signs (No exile.). They both catch sight of MN-267-643  and sign to it as one (Help. Us.).  MN-267-643 first shakes its head and then hangs it. Meter by meter, the two are dragged towards the lift. They fight like cornered animals, one managing to bite  a chunk out of a Peacekeeper. When the door closes, MN-267-643 hangs its head.
It watches the brass needle and dial position indicator move slowly from left to right. Sub B. Sub C. Sub D.  It keeps watching as it moves to Sub W. Sub X. Sub Y. Finally it, it moves to Sub-Z. MN-267-643 puts its head in  its hands and sobs without noise or tears. It begins to connect the dots. It thinks "Minor memory lapses. Delays in response time.  Staring at nothing. All signs LN-055-563-356 and 054-356-224 showed. All signs I show. I am next."
It decides to itself "Will hide. Will avoid hall. Must.". It turns back to its crates, picks up its stamp and stamps the next crate with "APPROVED.". With a hand trembling slightly, it picks up a container of wax, puts the stamped paper on the crate seal and drips wax on. The seal maker goes down producing the seal.  Then comes the next crate. When it sleeps that night, it dreams of the two Low Nobles being dragged away.
Slowly, the re minor memory lapses become more common and so do the delays in response time. It finds itself  gesturing over and over as if to stamp purity seals. When a Low Noble passes, it hides its hands and signs (Look away, move away). The day comes when a High Noble with  mirror-like hair comes. All stand away from it besides MN-267-643. It demands in High Glyphic ++REVEAL.++.  MN-267-643 shakes its head no. ++SICK. YES.++ it transmits. ++YOU HALL.++.
----
Sitting on the floor under at the base of a large mushroom is an pastel-purple haired Gamemaker, weeping into its hands. Next to it, is the pastel-red haired Low Noble and the dull-orange haired Low Noble. They are sitting facing each other, obsessively grooming each other's hair. The rags cling to their bodies. Around them are feral Clan-Kin, interested in the two Low Nobles.
Ferals watch them from the shadows pointing.The pastel-purple haired Gamemaker pays no attention. There are two main groups in these shadows, one with varying shades of orange hair and one who's hair shimmers in shades of red.  One Clan-Kin with its face tattooed in red gestures at the two. Gesturing at the pastel-red haired Low Noble and then a group of red-haired Clan-Kin sitting in the shadows, it claims the pastel-red haired Low Noble for itself.
The other group reply in a flurry of signs and points at the dull-orange haired Low Noble, to claim it for their tribe. The leader, a tall feral with bright-orange hair and a once-angelic Gamemaker face, now marred with scars  signs in a Clan-Kin sign-tongue (Ours.). The group exchange nods and break apart into the shadows. The pastel-purple haired Gamemaker for a moment stops its weeping and looks towards the Low Nobles.
They too stop obsessively grooming each other's hair and one reaches towards pastel-purple and the other signs a sign at it: (scared). Pastel purple reaches back. Around them is the scratching sound of claws. The pastel-purple haired Gamemaker soon returns to its weeping, the exchange forgotten, for inside, it is again caught up in  its past. In its mind, it sees: //Tongue removed. Agony. Service. Bite. Agony. Service. //
The vision repeats itself, over and over without end. It weeps endlessly. Around it gather the ferals. At the base of the pillar sit the  midnight blue haired Gamemaker, the snow-white haired Gamemaker and the white, ice blue and and teal haired one. Above them are ferals clinging to the pillars like spiders, pointing, signing and gesturing. The three each show their signs of madness, each trapped in their own worlds.
The snow-white haired Low Noble is  moving its hands over and over in a pattern as if to fix wires. The midnight-blue haired High Noble is moving its hands as if to stamp the purity seals on orders. And the gradient-haired Royal Family Gamemaker is tapping at holograms that are but thin air.  No one besides the ferals pays them any mind.  High above and to the North on the Dust-Slicks, a messenger from the Arch Peaks comes.
The message, an ice blue hair tells in signs to the local leader, a Cracked-Hair (New arrivals. The tribes grows. One white. One midnight-blue. One gradient. Fifteen others.). The Cracked-Hair signs back (Thank you.) and goes to notify the leaders of the local tribes. And on the Dust-Slicks, the tribes convene, as soon, more kin will come. When they finally come to a choice, the messenger is told, and soon, the word will spread on Mirror-Hair reflected light.
----
When the Mirror-Haired High Noble, that MN-267-643's HUD marks as HN-4356 makes its choice, MN-267-643  looks down, face twisted in fear. HN-4356 gestures and the Peacekeepers soon move from the shadows and seize MN-267-643 by the arms and begin taking it to the lift. It does not resist as it is taken. Looking back at the work floor, two young Low Nobles look back, faces showing sorrow. The flax-yellow haired one signs (No.)
While the buttercup-yellow haired one just puts its head in its hands. When the door closes with a resounding thud, the last thing it sees is the mirror-hair of HN-4356. It looks around itself. The walls are  brass, with textured footplates, a bulb-lumen flicking orange above and above the door, a brass needle and dial position indicator. Slowly, like many times before, it starts moving from A right to Z.
There is a tension in the air, the Peacekeepers standing like marble statues, and  MN-267-643 finds itself stamping purity seals in the air again. The dial shows Sub-F. In the work floor above, HN-4356 puts a note on its hover-slate "Find new MN. MN-267-643 talented.". A pang of gilt. A pang of regret. It looks at its face in the black mirror of the hover-slate, at its silver eyes and silver hair.
It thinks to itself "MN-267-643 common color. Shame. Would rise far. Maybe even Royal.". One clawed hand curls around the hover-slate. A glyph pings. Called away for other duties. Glancing back at the lift, there is a knot of dread. "GDS. Happens to all.".  It looks back to the floor and then floats away. Next to it, the two low nobles, with the butter-cup yellow hair and the flax-yellow hair sign.
In the lift, MN-267-643 watches the dial, the needle now at "Sub-S". It hangs its head while thinking though all the things it has chosen to do and those it failed. In its head flash images. The pastel-red Low Noble. The dull-orange Low Noble. All those it have seen being dragged away. Those it failed. When its eyes are cast back to the dial, the needle is at "Sub-W". It clutches its uniform with its red claws, balling the fabric tightly.
The two Low Nobles watch the dial with curiosity. The buttercup-yellow haired Gamemaker signs in broken sign to the flax-yellow haired Gamemaker (Yellow. Orange. Red. Seven. Times.)  and the other replies (Needle. Never. Hit. Sub-Z). A third Low Noble, with a dull, dark yellow hair color interjects with (You. Both. New.). The three talk to each other for a while, until a Mid Noble with fire-orange hair corrals them back to work.
When the lift finally judders to a stop at Sub-Z and the Peacekeepers drag MN-267-643 out of the Lift and into the Hall, MN-267-643's eyes widen. For before it stands a vast Gothic hall, vaster then any space it had seen before. It casts its eyes at the ceiling, at the thousand meter tall mushrooms.  In the corner of the work floor on Sub-B, the Color-Shift's hair continues its cycle from yellow, to orange, to red.
----
In the Hall, next to an pastel-purple haired Gamemaker, a lapis-lazuli-blue haired Gamemaker sits, its legs under itself and its hands by its side. Light from a mushroom glints off blue claws. It screams silently, moth open, light gleaming off a pair of curved razor-sharp fangs. Around it are the ferals, poking and prodding at it,  trying to get an reaction. A tiger-orange haired feral pulls on the smart strands with no reaction.
Its friend, a carrot-orange hair pulls its claws roughly over the left ear of the pastel purple haired Gamemaker. Each pass shreds the ear further.  Leaning on a pillar is a honey-orange haired feral, looking dispassionately at the others playing. Neither the pastel-purple haired Gamemaker, nor the lapis-lazuli-blue one react to the ferals. One of the ferals points at the pillar above.
Above, an group of cold-hairs descend. There are dozens. Blue, blue-purples, blue-greens, white, silver. Many shades. The leader, the cracked-hair signs at the  honey-orange haired feral (Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars. Cold hairs. Ours.). The reply from Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars is (Clings-with-Claws-On-High-Pillars. Orange. Ours. No. Touch.). Clings-with-Claws-On-High-Pillars sighs without sign (Again.)
Soon, the red hairs also appear and Clings-with-Claws-On-High-Pillars signs a greeting to them. (We claim cold ones. Leave us.).  Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars sarcastically signs (Pastel purple. Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes. Useless. Lump.). The party breaks apart towards the cold-haired group. By the base of a pillar sits the eighteen cold-hairs. The half-light reflects off shades of  blue, blue-purples, blue-greens, white and silver.
Clings-with-Claws-On-High-Pillars leads its tribe to inspect them and then points at the fifteen. (Take. Them.). The Clan flows around it, taking coils of stored Gamemaker hair rope from around their wrists and finding the fifteen. Each group of four Gamemakers takes a bound one. Once they are shouldered, they began to carry them up the pillars. Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes breaks from its screaming and looks at Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars and signs back  the local Clan-Kin sign: (Useless. Lump.)
Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars screams in outrage and slashes its claws towards Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes. It moves away. Too slow. A claw rends the right eye. Another claw finds the left flank. Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes crawls away uselessly. Signing after it, Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars (Useless. Lump. Useless. Lump. Useless. Lump.). Its rage spent,  Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars returns to the shadows with its tribe. 
Clings-with-Claws-On-High-Pillars's tribe crawl back up their pillar with their new goods. And from the shadows watches the red-hair tribe, amused at the goings on. Nearby is an golden-haired Gamemaker carving tallies into the ground with claws. For a  moment, the golden-haired Gamemaker looks up from its tallies. Then it returns. The Hall of the Forgotten is quiet again. Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes is  still again. Screaming again. 
----
The Hall reaches before MN-267-643. It tilts its head in wonder at the huge mushrooms, glowing softly in shades from reds, oranges and yellows on the floor, to pinks, purples and balanced greens on the middle of the pillars, to blues, whites and cold purples on the tops of the pillars. In the shadows, light reflects off cat-like eyes. White shapes trail veils of colorful hair. Claws stitch scratch on the pillars, echoing though the vastness.
The shapes move towards and soon resolve into a tribe of red-hair Gamemakers. The leader, a feral with a missing left eye, and scars down its face, gestures at MN-267-643 and the at its tribe. More Gamemakers come. The orange-hair tribe led by Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars appears. They both sign at each other in a flurry of signs. MN-267-643 just stares, unable to understand what is being said.
Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars runs its pale-orange claws though its carrot-orange smart-strands, while the leader of the red-hair tribe crouches tensely with its dark-red claws curled. Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars signs (Kill whelp, let me, Huddles-By-The-Fire). Huddles-By-The-Fire's reply is to snarl and sign back (Our claim. Leave it.) a third Gamemaker, a  tiger-orange haired ones signs (Not yours. Leave it.)
Huddles-By-The-Fire grabs MN-267-643 by the shoulder and pulls it towards itself. With its other hand it signs (Mine.). MN-267-643 struggles and with a yank breaks free from Huddles-By-The-Fire's grip. The tribe close it around it, making a circle. Along the tribe, MN-267-643 recognizes a scarlet-haired haired Low Noble, now naked and standing in a daze, fixing pipes in the air. MN-267-643 signs a greeting to it, but it does not reply.
It thinks "Stage 2 GDS.". Standing up, it pushes though the crowd of Gamemakers. Leaning on the white marble of another pillar, it sees a amber-yellow haired Low Noble, signing to itself entire conversations in the air. "Mind-Mate-Maker"  MN-267-643 thinks to itself. "Create Friends. Create worlds. In heads.". Knowing it would be futile to attempt to communicate with them, MN-267-643 turns away.
It's chest wenches in a silent sob. "All gone." it thinks. "No power." Looking around the hall, taking in the mushrooms, it decides it will journey, to see if there is a way out. And so, it picks a direction and  begins to walk in it, ignoring the sounds of ferals skittering in the dark, and the jeers and taunts of the orange-hair tribe. Passing by a pillar, it see ferals with yellow hair clinging it to in a mass of white bodies.
When it reaches the pillars, the ferals jeer and taunt silently. It ignores them and keeps walking. One feral throws a rock at MN-267-643. It keeps walking. One feral breaks off the group, and soon the others follow in a swarm of alabaster bodies. They sign at MN-267-643 but without understanding the signs, MN-267-643 does not reply. They attack in a swarm of bodies, two neon-yellow ferals leading. MN-267-643 flees.
----
A Gamemaker with hair shining gold sits on the marble floor, the floor around it worn down and carved with tens of thousands of tallies. The marble worn into grooves. Claws scraping marble. The golden-haired Gamemaker thinks to itself "Ten thousand and one. Ten thousand and two. Ten thousand and three.". With each, a claw  carves another mark into the marble. Near to it sits three Low Nobles with sunflower-yellow hair, all signing the same signs to each other over and over.
The golden haired Gamemaker pays no heed. A tribe of yellow-hairs watches from the shadows, eyes on the sunflower-yellow-haired Low Nobles. The leader, a camouflage-yellow-haired Gamemaker with a chest covered in burn scars signs to its second in command (Need. Those. Three.). The second in command, with lemon-yellow hair signs back (Orange hair territory. Dangerous. Tribe small.). Lemon-yellow looks warily at the leader.
The leader signs back (Be sneaky. Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars will never know.). The reply is a nod of understanding. The two slip away into the shadows. Two neon yellow haired Gamemakers squat by the pillar watching the Low Nobles, eyes envious. It ignores the pastel-purple haired Gamemaker sobbing into its hairs and the lapis-lazuli-blue haired Gamemaker screaming into nothing.
"Ten thousand and four. Ten thousand and five. Ten thousand and six." more tallies carved. Next to a pillar outside of Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars' turf, the yellow-hair leader meets with their tribe. One of the neon-hairs signs (Unguarded. Can be taken.) and the other says (You. Sure?). The other neon hair nods . The the base of a large yellow-glowing mushroom, fifty Gamemakers, all hair in pastel shades of yellow tend to mushrooms.
Around, in the shadows stalk thirty Gamemakers with varying shades of dark-yellow hair, eager to hunt. And standing guard clinging to mushrooms like insects are seventy Gamemakers, hair all in bright shades of yellow. Far away, the golden-haired tally counter looks up from its tallies, to the Gamemaker the ferals call Builds-The-Nests-Of-Bone. It has just started building its arena of bones, with only an outline of the large build.
"Ten thousand and seven. Ten thousand and  eight. Ten thousand and nine.". With its eyes, it has seen the grey tunic dressed Avoxes take away bronze crates. It observed while the bones of the dead are packed in crates. It thinks "Must. Count." to itself. It carries on clawing tallies into the ground, each tally being a crate taken by the Avoxes out of the Hall. It gazes at the bone drifts around itself with its golden eyes.
In massive piles, lies the deathy white bones of Gamemakers, shot though with silver shining in the mushroom light.  The golden haired Gamemaker thinks to itself "50 million Gamemakers exist at a time. Each lasts 40-45 years. 1300 years. 1.5 billion Gamemakers' bones.". With its claws, it carves another tally into the marble as a crate is carried into the golden portal of the lift. And on the lift, the bronze position indicator starts to move from Sub-Z to Sub-B.
----
MN-267-643 wanders aimlessly for a time before catching a glimpse of purple in a pool of mushroom-cast light at the base of a pillar.  Its pace quickens to move towards the purple. Thoughts appear "A royal?". When it finally reaches the pillar, it opens its mouth in a gasp, for at the base of the pillar sits the white, ice blue and and teal haired royal. Its once fine violet robes are in tatters, and it taps pointlessly at the air.
Its  robes and body are covered in  white powdery Gamemaker bone-dust, and in its hair are stuck some small, yellow, dust-coated finger bones. It sits next to the royal, who ignores it. MN-267-643's hands reach towards the royal's air to groom the air, but then stops, hovering near its head. Thoughts: "Cannot touch. Too high.". The royal just taps its holograms, ignoring MN-267-643 and the ferals around it. It walks closer to the Royal.
In greeting, MN-267-643 bows and attempts to send a glyph of submissive greeting,  only for the HUD to flicker like a dying star. Then, the royal does something unexpected. There is brief eye contact, and for a moment, the royal stops tapping at its holograms and just looks at MN-267-643's ruby eyes. The eyes of the Royal are an gradient of ice-blue to teal, and they track MN-267-643’s with a predatory, intensive gaze.
Its hand moves. But, rather then tapping an hologram, it slowly, and carefully traces an line on MN-267-643’s cheek. It traces the line of bone dust off the cheek.The fingers hold onto the alabaster skin of MN-267-643 for a moment. MN-267-643 thinks to itself "Is it checking if I am real or not real?". Soon, its gaze goes vacant again, and the hands and fingers return to tapping the air holograms.
Watching the holograms,  MN-267-643 notices a pattern. It is the exact pattern of purity seal stamping. Its hands rise and as if they are moving themselves, begin stamping the purity seals into the air. It realizes "It is approving the manifests.". In its mind, there is a sudden pain and then, a sound. The sound is familiar: it is the distorted, metallic voice of an long dead worker for the Hunger Games.
It says "Welcome to the 1000th Hunger Games", but it is shot though with the scarping of static, sounding exactly like the sounds of the feral's claws on marble. For a second,  MN-267-643 is elsewhere, an flash of an Arcadia before them. Pastel green trees swaying in the wind. Moonlight shining on the false water of the lake. The wind blowing blossoms though the air. The sound cuts out. The hall snaps back before  MN-267-643.
Now, there is just a void in the mind. Silently, it gasps, no longer feeling the wind of the arena on its skin. The air of the hall is still  stagnant and dead. It casts its eyes to the Royal, vacantly staring at the void, with its hands tapping approvals on non existing holograms. For a second, the tapping slows, and a white to teal claw brushes MN-267-643's knee. Then, it is over and they both stand alone.
----
For a pastel-purple haired Gamemaker, formerly an Low Noble, the Hall is hell. In a ball, it curls, weeping. Its tatters of its left ear are scabbed silver now. It itches, and the pastel purple haired Gamemaker breaks from its weeping, to scratch. The pastel-purple claws tear away scabs and ear alike, soon leaving just a stub. The nanites set to work, and soon the ear scabs again. Itches again.
It weeps less now. Time to time it looks away from its weeping into the shadows with a predator's gaze. It eyes the sunflower-yellow Low Nobles, still signing to each other. "Hot. Floor. Them. Me. Middle. High.". Eyes are cast to pillars, but then the gaze goes vacant again. Hands over eyes. Weeping. It may of hours or days before the pastel-purple haired Gamemaker stops its weeping again.
It crawls over to the sunflower-yellow Low Nobles and begins grooming the nearest one's hair. The three do not react  for a while, but slowly, hesitatingly one begins to groom the pastel-purple haired Gamemaker's hair back. The moment lasts only briefly before the hands of the purple-haired one go back over its eyes, and again it begins to weep. The  sunflower-yellow trio look upon it, and find it fair.
And so the three stop their signing and huddle around it. One signs to another (Protect. This. One.). Soon, they are lost to their meaningless, repetitive signing again. When it stops weeping for the final time, it clambers to its feet and looks around. One of the sunflower-yellow Low Nobles signs (Climbs) and another chimes in with (Swiftly). And so, it names itself Climbs-The-Shaft-Swiftly.
From the shadows, condense the yellow-hair tribe. At the front is the camouflage-yellow-haired Gamemaker  with a  burn scarred chest and  its lemon yellow second in command. They gather like a tide, and swiftly, they close upon the sunflower-yellow three, who hiss and spit as they get close. The  camouflage-yellow leader slashes the face of the nearest, knocking it over. One of the sunflower-yellow Low Nobles picks up a skull and throws it.
Though the air the skull sails, fangs and moon-silver lacing shining in the light. It misses the camouflage-yellow leader, but insted his a warrior with neon-yellow hair, whom falls into a pile of bones. The bones slide, and in a chain reaction, there is an avalanche of bones, burying the other neon-yellow warrior. The sound echos though the cast hall, and soon there are skitters in the shadows and eyes in the dark.
Alerted by the sound, and appearing over a bone-hill are the orange hair tribe, Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillar in the front. with a pounce, sailing with unnatural grace Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillar lands on the camouflage-yellow leader. A trembling hand is lifted to sign (Please.). The three sunflower-yellow Low Nobles look away as  Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillar begins its work.
Climbs-The-Shaft-Swiftly looks up a pillar, sinks its claws into yielding marble and begins to climb.
----
Together, MN-267-643 sits with the gradient haired Royal. Many cycles pass. One day, the Royal does something unexpected. It stops tapping its holograms and reaches towards MN-267-643;s face and to its tangled hair. Light glints off the moon-silver engraved clasps. Slowly, hesitantly, it removes MN-267-643's hair clasps, unbraids its hair, and slowly, re braid it. The silence is heavy between the two.
MN-267-643's hands are caught in the motion of stamping purity seals repetitively. When the gradient haired Royal finishes braiding MN-267-643's hair and clipping the moon-silver engraved clasps back in its hair MN-267-643 is still lost, still stamping. The gradient haired Royal reaches with an claw and pulls MN-267-643's hands down from its motion. MN-267-643 looks eyes, and then, with a claw, reaches to write in the dust.
It writes. A single small glyph on the floor in Low Glyphic. It traces the word. ++ALONE++. The Royal replies with  two glyphs of its own. The glyphs are malformed  and messy, but also in Low Glyphic.  ++ALWAYS ALONE.++. The two lock eyes for a moment before the Royal's hands go back to tapping holograms, and MN-267-643's hands back to stamping purity seals. Many cycles pass, before MN-267-643 reaches out again.
With one hand, skin tight over bones, it reaches out for the Royal. The Royal reaches back. Soon, they are holding hands, MN-267-643 noticing the many gold rings glinting in the light, each with a jewel. With its other hand, MN-267-643 traces a glyph in the dust ++NUMBER?++. The Royal shakes its head, and ten replies with ++NAME?++. There is a moment of tension before MN-267-643 writes back ++MN-267-643++
The reply, traced into the Gamemaker dust from the Royal is ++AETERNA++. The two stare for a moment at the dirt and its other's messages before Aeterna knocks the dust with a bare foot and writes another message ++YOU. NAME.++. MN-267-643's mouth hangs open a gasp before it writes back ++NAME?++. With a claw, Aeterna writes back ++NOT FORBIDDEN.++. MN-267-643 nods vigorously and asks ++NAME?++.
++YOU. NAME. RUBIA.++ is Aeterna's reply. Rubia looks around at the shadows, where the Clan-Kin lurk. "The red-hair tribe had been watching" it mused to itself. Huddles-By-The-Fire stands there a look of bemusement on its scarred face. Next to it crotches the scarlet haired Low Noble . Following, a rope around its neck, is the dull-orange haired Low Noble, being pulled along by the pastel-red haired Low Noble.
Rubia and Aeterna just watch the two, before Aeterna goes back to its hologram tapping and Rubia  back to its purity seal stamping, their gazes hollow and vacant. Huddles-By-The-Fire gestures towards the  pastel-red haired's compuon and signs (Your. Pet. Enjoying?). It pulls on the rope in reply, pulling the dull-orange haired Low Noble closer. Huddles-By-The-Fire signs (You. Pastel. Red. Holds-The-Rope-Of-Rock).
----
Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes has stopped its screaming, and huddles in a ball. Though its head echo the taunts "Useless. Lump. Useless Lump. Useless Lump.". It  reaches one hand in front of itself, opens it and stares at the palm. It reaches with its other hand to its missing eye, feeling the hollow socket with a blue claw, and runs its hand down its face and flank where claws have once gouged.
It looks at how the wounds have healed. It looks at the thick, ropy, silver scars that the wounds have become. For a second, its mind clears. New thoughts pulse thought its head "Up. Up. Up.". It gazes towards the tops of the pillars. It thinks to itself "Cold. Waits. Me.".. It looks around, fearfully scanning for dangerous things like Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars. It crawls towards the nearest pillar, where it sees a shimmer of ice blue far above.
Claws anchoring to stone, it slowly begins to climb. The first area climbed though has industrial rain and leaking hydraulic fluids pattering off Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes's skin. There, a tribe of red-purples clings to the pillar. Blocking the way, they ask (Where. Go?) in Clan-Kin sign, but Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes shakes its head and points upwards towards the tops of the pillars, slick with frozen moon-silver dust.
They part to let it pass, one, hair braided with bone charms, even pressing a small charm into Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes's hands. When it looks, the light glints off a single golden SolVex coin. It hides it in a bag crafted from flax-yellow Gamemaker hair worn around its waist, given to it by a yellow-hair. It remmebers how the hunter who brought it looks around wary before handing it over before vanishing into the shadows.
The next area climbed though leads Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes' skin to prickle, the air growing colder. Here, one hundred meter fans turn languidly. Rust coats the ancient metal,  each turning  emitting a grinding noise feeling like claws on metal to Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes' sensitive ears. Passing though the territory of an  tribe of pink hairs, Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes stops pastel pink hairs tending to mushrooms calmly.
One mushroom-tender, with baby-pink hair spots  Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes and summons the rest of the tribe. They soon summon their leader though flurries of signs and a dark pink haired messenger. The leader, an Gamemaker with blush-pink hair wearing an metal orchid in its hair demands to know what it is doing. Again, Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes points upwards, the Dust-slicks looming above. Again, they part to let it pass.
When it finally reaches the Dust-Slicks, it basks in the freezing air. It climbs onto a shelf mushroom ledge, silk with moon-silver just. There, it sits and waits. When the tribe's leader arrives, the Cracked-Hair known as Clings-with-Claws-On-High-Pillars is waiting. Perched on a small mushroom, it gestures to Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes  with a sign of greeting, that is returned. It looks around at its new tribe, gathered around it, and smiles showing a hint of fang.
----
The two are sitting together, stamping and tapping before Aeterna one day stops. It reaches out with a tumbling hand and writes in the dust a single glyph: ++ALONE++ . It nudges Rubia  with a claw, making it snap out of its stamping. It looks for a moment and then smudges it out and writes ++TOGETHER++. The two stare at each other for a while before going back to their respective pointless tasks.
When Aeterna next responds, it asks as two glyphs ++YOUR JOB?++, while Rubia just mines back the stamping of purity seals and signing of manifests. Rubia traces the same glyphs back. The reply ++WEATHER++. The sit together for a time, while in the shadows, two ferals  gesture. The two lemon-yellow ones look at each and then one signs (Gradient h. With. Red. Why?) and the other signs back (Forbidden.)
Another day, Rubia sees how Aeterna's hair is tangled with bones, knots and rags, and reaches for it. Aeterna's hands raise as if to stop it, but then, hesitate.  Rubia writes in the dust ++UNTANGLE. PLEASE.++. Aeterna nods a reply, and so, Rubia's hands find Aeterna's  hair, and slowly, carefully starts to untangle it. First, it works on the teal tips, then, it works its way to the ice-blue middle, and then to the white hair near the scalp.
With each pass, Rubia finds small bones tangled in the hair, along with areas where the smart-strands had tangled into knots. After many cycles, the job is done, and Aeterna's hair flowed with much of its former glory. It return, Aeterna smooth's Rubia's hair, still braided into an High Nobility style. The two stay together for a time, before again, the stamping and tapping resume again, and they are both lost.
More time passes. One day, Aeterna nudges Rubia and then writes in the dust ++SHOW YOU++. Its reply is ++WHAT?++. There is a sudden change in the air. The world changes around Rubia. The dark, bone filled Gothic reality of the Hall fades away, and before Rubia stretches a vast Arcadia. Long bright-green grass waves in the wind, while the wind moves the branches of cherry blossom trees. Sunlight shines  off a shimming ocean.
It hears birds chirping and feels the wind that blows blossoms on its face. As quickly as it appeared, the sight fades and Rubia is left in the Hall of the Forgotten again. It reaches towards Aeterna who stares hollowly at the air, hands tapping. It looks around at the piles of bones, at the pillars, at the ferals and then it Aeterna. It reaches and  with a claw, strokes Aeterna's gradient hair.
Huddles-By-The-Fire and the pastel-red and dull-orange pair are sitting by an mushroom  watching this. The pastel-red and dull-orange pair are signing to each other. The dull orange one signs (Two. Tribes. Together.) and the reply from the pastel-red one is (Tribe-Law. Us. Unequal.), the reply is (Them. Together. How). Pastel-red just hangs its head in shame, and looks with wary eyes at Huddles-By-The-Fire, distracted watching a goop of pastels tend mushrooms.
----
The gold-haired Gamemaker is clawing at the ground, marking its tallies again as normal.  "Ten thousand and one. Ten thousand and two. Ten thousand and three.". it thinks to itself. Around in nest and war the ferals as normal. Looking up for a a moment, its eyes gaze up a pillar where it sees a shock of tiger-orange hair and a glimpse of a scarred face. In the darkness, the eyes glow orange.
With a claw, the honey-orange haired Gamemaker known as Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillar waves tauntingly at it. Around it are its tribe, the golden-haired tally carver recognizing the carrot-orange and tiger-orange pair. Then, is claws return to its tally. Next to it, the sunflower-yellow three are signing to each other, yellow eyes locked onto each other's faces.  Now, sometimes they break from their signing to groom each other's hair.
The signing becomes slowly less frequent, and the grooming more common. They look around with care. One day, out of the shadows emerges the yellow-hair tribe, with its camouflage-yellow leader and lemon-yellow second in command, The leader gestures to the sunflower-yellow trio, who huddle together and cling to each other in fear. Looking around, the second in command checks for any signs of the orange tribe, and then signs to its leader (Clear.)
When a buttercup-yellow warrior grabs one by the arm, they cling together tighter, sinking hand-feet claws into the marble. The other two sign to each other, (Scared. Scared. Scared.) in a loop. The warrior yanks at them to try part them, but the first one just sinks its claws tighter and opens its mouth as if to cry out. There is a tense silent moment where the warrior has the sunflower-yellow Gamemaker in its claws, when a flax-yellow base-keeper wanders in.
With its arms full of mushrooms, it looks confusedly at the warriors, and then the sunflower-yellow trio.  One of two sunflower-yellow Gamemakers not in a grip reaches for the base-keeper, and then the other of the two follows.  The third breaks free from the warrior's grip, and together, they begin to groom the base-keeper's hair. With care, they untangle it and remove the bones. One runs a claw over the base-keeper's Clan-Kin facial tattoos.
The second in command signs to the leader (Those. Three. Base-Keepers. Then?). The leader just sighs and its head in its hands. The reply is (It. Could. Work.). The leader stares at the lemon-yellow Gamemaker and signs (Fine. They. Tend. Mushrooms.). For the golden haired Gamemaker, the main change is the day two golden haired Gamemakers arrive from the darkness. One is tall, with dark gold hair and  a jagged scar on its neck.
The other, is short, with pale gold hair and with an Gamemaker bone false-arm for a left arm. The short one them greets the tally-carver with a bow. Sitting up from its tallies, the golden-haired Gamemaker stares. In reply, the pale gold Gamemaker signs (You. Grows-Mushrooms-In-The-Dark Now. The dark-haired one signs (Time. To. Go. Grows-Mushrooms-In-The-Dark). And so, the  Grows-Mushrooms-In-The-Dark entered its new life in a tribe, along kin. 
---
Together, Aeterna and Rubia are setting together when Rubia  claws a message to Aeterna in the dirt. ++PARADISE. COME. AGAIN?++, the reply, from a claw  ++LEARN.++ in the dust. Rubia's reply is ++LEARN WHAT?++. Aeterna carefully writes ++TO SEE++.. And so, the first lesson begins. In its HUD, Aeterna projects the Arcadia. Out of the corner its eyes, there are glimpses of trees, flashes of a blue sky and a sea of green.
Aeterna sees what Rubia sees and in a dirt it writes with a claw ++CLOSE. EYES.++ With its eyes closed, it sees. It is in a small white room, the walls smooth and the light suffused. The room is bare, but for a blurry purple shape. There is a blue shape in front of its face. It fades in and out of focus. When it opens its eyes, there is a glyph in the dirt ++GOOD.++. A pain shoots though  Rubia's head like hot needles.
Its hands grasp its face. Aeterna reaches over with a hand to comfort it, the soft smart-silk pooling in tatters on Rubia's shoulders. Rubia's eyes turn to Aeterna and the two watch each other for a while. The next time Aeterna teaches, the room is less blurry. Rubia recognizes the shape of a Gamemaker in the Royal Family robes. It sqints its eyes for a moment and then it notices the hair. Teal. Ice blue. White.
It recognizes the hair. "The shape is Aeterna" it thinks. It lifts its hands in greeting, and then it all goes black. When it wakes again, it is staring upwards at the gills of a large red mushroom on a pillar. With revulsion, it sees how the "gills" are made of Gamemaker fangs, each pointing down like a small needle. With one hand it reaches towards the mushroom. Aeterna is soon by its side.
It carefully brings Rubia's hands down and then, carefully, it intertwines fingers. They hold like that for a while before they are each lost again. The next time, they dive in again, the vision is almost clear, but blurred around the edges. Aeterna is there in the room. It is diffant here. The robes flow splendidly in the wind. The hair is clean, untangled, perfect. The face lacks the dirt of the Hall.
This time, it does not write in the dirt. These glyphs appear as shimmering, blue holographic light.  ++THINK IT. WILL. BE.++ . Rubia focuses its attention, but nothing happens. Aeterna replies ++SEE. HEAR. TOUCH.++ .  Rubia  focuses upon the sight of the tree. It focuses on the way the wind moves the blossoms. The way the branches move in the wind. The color of the bark. The dirt. And from the air, manifests the tree.
When Rubia awakes with a pounding headache again,  Aeterna writes ++DID. WELL.++. In the dust. Rubia's reply ++MAKE. WORLD?++.  Aeterna just nods and gestures again. They draw closer to each other, choosing to bask in each other's presence. When Rubia and Aeterna return to the mind-world, Aeterna  projects an hologram of the 1000th Hunger Games arena. Rubia projects with will, its first hologram. ++PARADISE.++
----
Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones sits clutching a silvery bone in its hand and thinks "Must. Be. Perfect."  to itself as it stares at its half finished arena of bones. A thought shoots though its mind "Pointless. Pointless". With a foot, it nudges a nearby skull, machine eye remains looking hollowly up at  Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones. It returns to building its arena, adding yet another bone to the build.
One cycle, it looks up from its bone arena, the air feeling suffocatingly hot on its its skin. It casts its eyes around it. Its  eye travel up towards the top of the pillars, to the Gothic vaulting holding the ceiling up. "Air. Cold. Cold. Good." it thinks. It looks at its arena, at start of the force-field dome made from interlocking rib bones, at the trees made from finger bones, at the cornucopia, made from a skull.
The rocks are vertebrae and the rivers are marked by teeth. Thoughts come in  "Pointless. Pointless". But, soon again, its hands are reaching for the bones to build again. It lifts a rib and begins to interweave it. When it snaps out again, it gazes up at the vaulting and thinks to itself "Belong. There.". Nearby, Leads-Hunts-Though-The-Pillars is pointing at Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones, with it, are its tribe.
When the arena falls apart for the final time,  Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones just stares blankly. It climbs onto all fours and finds the pillar climbed by Gathers-The-Life-From-Pipes. The claw marks are still there, gorges leading up wards. It begins to climb. Soon, it leaves behind the heat of the Fusion-Roots to mark its way to the Arch-Peaks. It lifts its eyes towards the top, and its mind creates a single word. "Kin."
At 800 meters up, the leaking hydraulic fluids of the Mirage-Rain patter off Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones' skin, and coat its smart-strand hair. The first member of the purple-red tribe, it runs into, is a hunter with dark wine-color hair. It gestures at the hunter to let it pass. The hunter just clings to the pillar above it, blocking its way. It signs to Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones (Who. Are? You?). Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones just stares gromlessly.
When  Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones  tries to push past, the hunter slashes at, a claw cutting though the abstract chest markings. The reply is a silent snarl and a push. The hunter grabs onto  Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones, and tries to force it off the pillar. "Hunter. Stronger." Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones  thinks. "Must. Be. Smart.". It gazes at the hunter for a moment, and then, with one flick of a claw, slashes its eyes.
The hunter screams in rage, suddenly blinded. While it is distracted, Builds-The-Nest-Of-Bones  climbs past it, kicking it in the head in the process. The climb up the pillar was uneventful past that, with the grinding fans of the Mid-Zones and the moon-silver dust of the Dust-Slicks being paid little mind. When it reaches the Arch-Peaks, Clings-with-Claws-On-High-Pillars greets it. (Welcome), it signs. 
----
At the base of the pillar, sits Aeterna and Rubia, inside their own minds. In the Wonderland, Aeterna  projects an hologram to Rubia. ++CREATE.++. Rubia visualizes  another tree, thinking of the wind though its branches, the  light though cherry blossoms, the way the light scatters off the bark. And then, from nowhere, it appears. Rubia  reaches towards the tree, its hand passing though like it is an hologram.
Aeterna projects again ++FEEL. IT.++. Rubia reaches again with its hand, in its mind, it forms a texture map of the bark. The hand passes though the tree again. Aeterna floats over in the  mindscape, as if held by an current of wind. It reaches towards Rubia, and gently takes its hand. Its fingers are guided towards the tree, fingers brush bark. Again, its hands pass though. For a second though, it feels the roughness.
When it wakes again with its pounding headache, the hall is before it again. The sunflower-yellow trio watch from the shadows, one with an arm full of mushrooms, and the other two tending a small mushroom patch, glowing a soft yellow in the dark. The mushroom-carrying one  gazes at Rubia for a minute, and then it signs with what hand is not full of mushroom (Us. No. Fight. One of the others signs (Yes. Us. Mushrooms.).
The third gestures towards Rubia.  With slow hands, it signs (Red-hair. Not-feral. How?). The three turn to watch Rubia. A lemon-yellow warrior lazily leans on a pillar, while another squats to the side of the tenders. Rubia's eyes find the warrior. It stares at its face, at the scar on its cheek where a skull once hit.  Aeterna crawls towards it and nudges it. In the dirt, Aeterna writes: ++MIND.++
In the wonderland, Rubia reaches for the tree again with a strong picture in its mind. It thinks to itself "Bark. Rough. Bark. Hard.). When its fingers brush the bark, it feels the hard roughness. It feels the way it flakes off in small, curved shards. The fingers still pass though like a ghost. Aeterna floats towards it again, and projects a hologram: ++WELL. DONE.++. Rubia just reaches towards Aeterna's hair.
In its mind, it pictures the smooth, glassy feel of smart-strands, like fiber optic cables. When its hands reach Aeterna's hair, it feels under its fingers, the hair.  It strokes its hair, from base to tip,feeling the colorful smart-strands beneath its fingers. Aeterna turns towards Rubia, and its fingers find Ribia's hair. They stand together, in the Wonderland, grooming each others' hair for ages.
Rubia projects to  Aeterna ++MAKE?++ and so, they begin making their paradise. They create long, bright green grass waving in the wind. They create forests of cherry blossom trees, the blossoms forever in bloom and carried by the wind endlessly. They create a beach, the  white sand, soft under their hand-feet. Rubia projects an hologram to Aeterna: ++TOGETHER++, and it projects back ++TOGETHER. ALWAYS++


[[category:Stevie's Stuff]]
[[category:Stevie's Stuff]]

Revision as of 13:08, 18 June 2026

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