Guns. It always had to be guns. Every person ever just had to have a love affair with firearms when Birkin had to go somewhere, didn't they? Just his usual rotten luck. He tried to convince Adachi to stick around after the hop, but noooo he barely got a "See ya, doc" from the ex-detective before he was standing alone in the rain in the middle of nowhere about to walk into a freaking fortress filled with demons who ate people.
No disease was worth this crap.
Birkin walked at the flag, figuring the person standing there was Gale. Or David. Or whoever the fuck he was. He stuck a hand out to introduce himself, slightly wondering if people shook hands in this strange, sterile place with no goats and a lot of rain.
Gale didn't take the hand right away, though he also didn't unsling the semi-automatic rifle on his shoulder. He nodded in greeting to Birkin, looking down at the hand for a moment before reaching out to grasp it uncertainly.
"Greetings," he said. "You never told me your name," he added, letting go of Birkin's hand and reaching up, touching two fingers to the bridge of his nose as if pushing up glasses that weren't there. "Welcome to the Embryon."
"It's Birkin. William Birkin." He raised an eyebrow at Gale. Wasn't that David guy from the video wearing glasses? "It's a nice place, all things considered. Shame about all the rain."
Birkin glanced around the compound. "Not a whole lot here, is there?"
"Birkin," Gale said with a nod. "It always rains here." Birkin's eyes weren't reacting to the rain, so he concluded that Birkin wasn't able to detect that the rain was composed of data. At least, according to Michael, it was.
"There is more below. Follow me." He turned away and headed inside the walled compound, towards a large elevator to their left.
The top floor was a squat, institutional-looking metal building. People moved around, some moving with purpose, and others standing around chatting. All wore a splash of orange paint somewhere on their grey and black outfit. Birkin stood out strangely in his lab coat amongst all of the Embryon, who looked at him curiously.
At the press of a button, the elevator doors opened.
"Must get depressing." Birkin smiled to himself. That would sorta explain why everyone looked so damn sad.
He ignored how out of place he must have looked because he dared to wear colors and instead let himself stare at the weird uniforms everyone was wearing. It was almost like this world itself was completely gray. Gray and orange. He stuck close behind Gale, not really sure what to expect from this place.
Birkin stepped into the elevator, trying to pretend it looked like anything other than a giant, rusty cage. "Why is everyone wearing all that stuff?" He gestured to Gale's outfit, just as drearily utilitarian as everyone else's.
Gale considered that. "Yes, I suppose it is," he said, as if he'd never thought the word before.
The elevator closed around them and began to descend into the ground. Gale glanced at him. "This is all there is to wear," he said, frowning faintly. "There are different outfits available in the Vendor, but they are variations on a single theme."
He reached up and slipped the hood off, revealing the green hair. "I understand that people have more variety in other worlds, but we are dependent upon the Vendors for all of our needs."
The doors opened and Gale led the way down a dimly-lit corridor lined with doors.
"Yeah, well, in other worlds, we have this thing called individuality," Birkin muttered under his breath. He followed Gale obediently, deciding to save on most of his questions for now unless they were important. "So uh. Where are you taking me exactly?"
Gale didn't quite catch what Birkin said, but he glanced back curiously.
"I am taking you to a place where we can converse without being overheard by one of my comrades," he said, pausing at a door that looked identical to all of the others. He pressed his palm to a plate next to it, and it lit up. The door slid aside to reveal a utilitarian living space, with a bed, a small desk and a single chair.
"These are my quarters," he explained, entering and taking a seat on the bed.
Oh, his quarters. Of course. "This is sorta getting into some third date stuff don't you think?" He laughed nervously. Man eating demon. Small, enclosed room. Impossible to find your way back to the surface. Birkin's paranoia was giving him all sorts of warning bells, and for once he was going to listen goddamn it.
He stood by the door just outside the room, shifting from one foot to the other. "I-I just mean... It's not like we'll be talking about anything that shouldn't be overheard, right? So. No big deal to find someplace else...?"
Gale looked up curiously, noticing the man's fear and uncertainty. The smell of his fear filled his nostrils, and they flared slightly, Vayu shifting and giving a soft growl of hunger in the back of his head.
"We can go elsewhere if you prefer, but it will change nothing. If you are afraid of being alone with me, you will be no safer with several others of my Tribe," he pointed out calmly. "I would prefer that my Tribe not overhear our discussion, as we are going to be discussing my amnesia, and I have as yet not informed them of the true nature of the Junkyard."
He averted his gaze slightly. "I think that such a revelation would disturb them greatly."
Birkin didn't move for several minutes, but eventually he took a few shaky steps into the room. He was scared beyond shitless, but Gale had a point; one was bad enough, if there were more of these things around... He shuddered.
"Alright, so," Birkin said, taking a seat on the chair, "what is the 'true nature' of this place then? We'll start there and work our way up to who you are." He swallowed thickly. This was one of the eerier things that's happened to him, that's for sure. "Okay?"
The door closed with a pneumatic hiss behind Birkin after he stepped into the room. Gale waited until Birkin sat down, having given him the chair as the best host he knew how to be.
"Michael believes that the Junkyard is artificial," he said. "A computer program or simulation." He shifted slightly in his chair. "He has a particular knowledge of such things, which is why I believe he is correct, regardless of your dislike of him. He says that the rain outside is composed of raw data."
"If it was artificial, how am I here?" Birkin believe it though; it certainly made some things make more sense, like the lack of diseases. "Assuming he's right, wouldn't that make all of you prisoners?"
Nirvana, Birkin figured, must be the outside world. A break in the cycle, a break in the program. It made a lot of sense the more he thought about it. He hoped they all got there. These poor guys deserved it.
"I do not know," Gale admitted. "That is why Michael and I were discussing ways of determining if I am able to world-hop out of here, and whether I will still be composed of data if I do."
He looked down. "But you may be correct about us being prisoners. Or perhaps test subjects. This is why I have not shared my conclusions with my comrades."
"Have you ever tried?" He briefly wondered how Michael was able to know all this in the first place, but decided it probably wasn't pertinent enough. And Birkin was here because he had a job to do, damn it.
Birkin glanced at the floor, shifting nervously in his seat. "Test subjects, huh? I know the feeling..." he mumbled. "Anyway, maybe you could answer something for me. How is it that you knew what a virologist was even if you don't have diseases here? Seems like a strange thing for you to have a memory of."
"I have left the Junkyard on three occasions," Gale said, leaning back a little on his hands. "Once I was taken for a party by 'Death'. The second time it was a virus in which I lost my memories and went to school. The third time I was taken by Naoto Shirogane into the Karma Terminal and fought shadows. None of these is a proper experiment, and Michael did not examine me on any of these occasions to determine if I was real or not."
His dead grey eyes shifted to Birkin, but he let the comment slide. "I do not know. There are certain things that we all remember what they are - cats, and children. But we do not know why. I know what a virologist is, but I do not know how I know this."
No disease was worth this crap.
Birkin walked at the flag, figuring the person standing there was Gale. Or David. Or whoever the fuck he was. He stuck a hand out to introduce himself, slightly wondering if people shook hands in this strange, sterile place with no goats and a lot of rain.
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"Greetings," he said. "You never told me your name," he added, letting go of Birkin's hand and reaching up, touching two fingers to the bridge of his nose as if pushing up glasses that weren't there. "Welcome to the Embryon."
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Birkin glanced around the compound. "Not a whole lot here, is there?"
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"There is more below. Follow me." He turned away and headed inside the walled compound, towards a large elevator to their left.
The top floor was a squat, institutional-looking metal building. People moved around, some moving with purpose, and others standing around chatting. All wore a splash of orange paint somewhere on their grey and black outfit. Birkin stood out strangely in his lab coat amongst all of the Embryon, who looked at him curiously.
At the press of a button, the elevator doors opened.
Reply
He ignored how out of place he must have looked because he dared to wear colors and instead let himself stare at the weird uniforms everyone was wearing. It was almost like this world itself was completely gray. Gray and orange. He stuck close behind Gale, not really sure what to expect from this place.
Birkin stepped into the elevator, trying to pretend it looked like anything other than a giant, rusty cage. "Why is everyone wearing all that stuff?" He gestured to Gale's outfit, just as drearily utilitarian as everyone else's.
Reply
The elevator closed around them and began to descend into the ground. Gale glanced at him. "This is all there is to wear," he said, frowning faintly. "There are different outfits available in the Vendor, but they are variations on a single theme."
He reached up and slipped the hood off, revealing the green hair. "I understand that people have more variety in other worlds, but we are dependent upon the Vendors for all of our needs."
The doors opened and Gale led the way down a dimly-lit corridor lined with doors.
Reply
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"I am taking you to a place where we can converse without being overheard by one of my comrades," he said, pausing at a door that looked identical to all of the others. He pressed his palm to a plate next to it, and it lit up. The door slid aside to reveal a utilitarian living space, with a bed, a small desk and a single chair.
"These are my quarters," he explained, entering and taking a seat on the bed.
Reply
He stood by the door just outside the room, shifting from one foot to the other. "I-I just mean... It's not like we'll be talking about anything that shouldn't be overheard, right? So. No big deal to find someplace else...?"
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"We can go elsewhere if you prefer, but it will change nothing. If you are afraid of being alone with me, you will be no safer with several others of my Tribe," he pointed out calmly. "I would prefer that my Tribe not overhear our discussion, as we are going to be discussing my amnesia, and I have as yet not informed them of the true nature of the Junkyard."
He averted his gaze slightly. "I think that such a revelation would disturb them greatly."
Reply
"Alright, so," Birkin said, taking a seat on the chair, "what is the 'true nature' of this place then? We'll start there and work our way up to who you are." He swallowed thickly. This was one of the eerier things that's happened to him, that's for sure. "Okay?"
Reply
"Michael believes that the Junkyard is artificial," he said. "A computer program or simulation." He shifted slightly in his chair. "He has a particular knowledge of such things, which is why I believe he is correct, regardless of your dislike of him. He says that the rain outside is composed of raw data."
Reply
Nirvana, Birkin figured, must be the outside world. A break in the cycle, a break in the program. It made a lot of sense the more he thought about it. He hoped they all got there. These poor guys deserved it.
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He looked down. "But you may be correct about us being prisoners. Or perhaps test subjects. This is why I have not shared my conclusions with my comrades."
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Birkin glanced at the floor, shifting nervously in his seat. "Test subjects, huh? I know the feeling..." he mumbled. "Anyway, maybe you could answer something for me. How is it that you knew what a virologist was even if you don't have diseases here? Seems like a strange thing for you to have a memory of."
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His dead grey eyes shifted to Birkin, but he let the comment slide. "I do not know. There are certain things that we all remember what they are - cats, and children. But we do not know why. I know what a virologist is, but I do not know how I know this."
Reply
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