[Each step that he takes brings him closer, and there's the thrum of something unknowable and unspeakable that rushes through his neural pathways. It's a calling, the siren pull of needing to know, but not to know what. Something primal. Something sapient.
The specters come less frequently now(a woman with cornsilk hair, her skin darkened with ink), but each falls as the one before it. He will not be deterred. Cannot be. There's no stopping, to fail would rend him open and dissolve away the shell of his mechanical form. To fail would remove his entire purpose and existence.
Closer now, the howling winds attempt to obscure his vision but he doesn't even notice the stinging frost. Not now. Not here. The storm is simply what is, nothing more and nothing less. A backdrop to his journey that's easily forgotten.
A bark of noise, however, breaks the fervor that's ensorcelled him. Voice. Alive. Some ghost of the past that he knows must be eliminated.
why
The thought is brushed away without a care, replaced by the urge, the need, to locate whatever whomever stands in his way. He stops, optics scanning the blank horizon for any sort of movement, a predator seeking its prey.]
no subject
[Each step that he takes brings him closer, and there's the thrum of something unknowable and unspeakable that rushes through his neural pathways. It's a calling, the siren pull of needing to know, but not to know what. Something primal. Something sapient.
The specters come less frequently now(a woman with cornsilk hair, her skin darkened with ink), but each falls as the one before it. He will not be deterred. Cannot be. There's no stopping, to fail would rend him open and dissolve away the shell of his mechanical form. To fail would remove his entire purpose and existence.
Closer now, the howling winds attempt to obscure his vision but he doesn't even notice the stinging frost. Not now. Not here. The storm is simply what is, nothing more and nothing less. A backdrop to his journey that's easily forgotten.
A bark of noise, however, breaks the fervor that's ensorcelled him. Voice. Alive. Some ghost of the past that he knows must be eliminated.
why
The thought is brushed away without a care, replaced by the urge, the need, to locate whatever whomever stands in his way. He stops, optics scanning the blank horizon for any sort of movement, a predator seeking its prey.]
͘-we ąr҉e ͠at͠ t͏hȩ ̕cu͞sp̡ ̧of́ ͘a̶ m̡a͏jor ͏brea̧kt͞hr̶oug̵h ̧in͜ m̡ak̸in̢g ͞th̷ís͢ ͜a ҉rea͏litỳ-