dsadasda

:Darkness. Quiet. Sleep. Perhaps it's due to your nature, but you don't dream. Never have. When you close your eyes to rest, your mind does not cause you to vividly hallucinate as it compartmentalises the information you have gained during the day. Instead, you remember. Sometimes, you remember things that you have experienced. Sometimes, you remember things other parts of you have experienced. But you only witness experiences that have already happened before.
Yet...Recently, you have seen things that you have not experienced, that you don't believe anyone could have experienced. Glimpses and flashes that fade from your mind...Are those dreams? Is this? Your feet tap against the ground as you follow a man in white. No. A white man. White skin, white clothes, white hair. Like snow. Or static. The hallway before you stretches ahead, endless. He turns to look at you as you walk, giving you a small smile. He has a face, you are sure of it, but it slips out of your mind the moment he turns away. And so, too, does his voice: "You're not looking too good", he says, in an amused tone. "Maybe you should do something about that."
You can't answer. There are no words to be found, here. The man walks on, outpacing you. No, you're just slowing down. Like you're trying to move through water. He calls back to you, raising a hand up: "But now, you need to wake up." He slams the hand against the wall of the hallway, causing a reverberating noise, like someone striking the wall of your...
Your eyes open just in time to see a fist slam into the glass of your enclosure in front of your eyes. It pulls back, leaving tiny bloodmarks behind, only to strike again, causing the marks to streak a bit. Through the clear orange-tinged liquid you're floating in, you can see the angry, frustrated face of the man that could be called your creator. Wild eyes, set in a wizened face and framed by a wild, untamed mane of graying white hair, yet otherwise clean shaven. For a moment, you lock gazes before he turns and stomps away, towards two indistinct shapes you can see in the darkness of the room ahead, currently lit only by the soft glow of the liquid within the glass tube you are in.

???? Wales gives Wales a strange equally frenzied look, though this one seems more animal than human. Slowly he puts a hand to the glass as if trying to wipe the blood away from the other side. Well if he could be acceptable. Perhaps Wales wanted a son. Perhaps it was deemed optimal. Who knows.
???? Wales:They keep getting longer...

???? Wales zones back and forth with its eyes, the man heading away, the two indistinct shapes. The newer production models? Men in black come to confiscate the research materials? The eyes narrow more and more. As if on auto-pilot his body mimics the man from that strange moment suspended in time, slamming a hand against the side of the holding tank's wall.
Palmu (GM):Unsurprisingly, the bloodstains stick where they are, on the other side of the tube. As you return to the waking world, your sight sharpens and you start to see more - Usually during your treatments, it's just you and Doctor Wales, but today there are two others in the room. A young-looking woman with average looks, short light red hair and eyes as red as yours is standing on the side, looking calm as Wales rants to the third person in the room.
Or, rather, looking emotionless, as is her usual state of being. The third person is one you're less familiar with. A gaunt, sickly-looking old man dressed in a fine black suit and bowler hat, like people in really old pictures. With his wrinkled, blotched face and sunken eyes, he looks as old as those people would be if they were still alive. He calmly answers Wales' apparent accusations, but turns his eyes towards you as you bang your fist against the glass of the tube.
The noise isn't loud, but perhaps the motion turned his attention. He ignores Wales for the moment, and walks closer, looking at you with apparent curiosity, the doctor following after him with an annoyed expression. As they draw closer, you can make out their voices, muffled as they might be "-omised me, Glein! You promised me that this one would be successful! But look at it! The degradation keeps accelerating!" The ancient man ignores him for a moment still, before tipping his hat at you and finally turning to face the doctor. "Be calm, Hubert. This one is successful. Melinda, be a dear and release the boy. He looks lucid enough." You can see her nod, before turning away to activate something on a nearby machine. With a lurch, you can feel as the tube starts to slowly drain.

???? Wales starts to look at the different individuals, the female first. Identify its build, then the eyes lock for a moment as if to feel out hostility. Even in the face of the older men discussing him flagrantly. A few moments later he locks eyes with the decrepit old man with the friendly behavior. An attempt to imprint, no doubt. As the waters drain, he slowly starts to spit out an ungodly amount of the liquid as if he had swallowed his stomach full of it and somehow had enough conscious control of his body to expel it all. Before speaking through the container. "If I were lucid enough, wouldn't I be waking up into the next dream already?"
Palmu (GM):Finally, the glass pulls away, and the cold air of the room dispels the final vestiges of sleep from your mind. The ancient man chuckles, though there is little mirth in his voice. Smoky, throttled, like speaking is starting to give him difficulties. Yet, he doesn't look weak - His back is straight and his black eyes, sunken as they might be, are clear. "Oh? Do you dream then, Adam?"

???? Wales shakes his head looking up at one of the corners in the ceiling, trailing to the other corners as he speaks matter of fact yet with a dream like tint. "Yes and no. I observe at times when this body goes dormant. And you could say I'm dreaming right now." Slowly he looks back down to those black sunken eyes. "Do you?"
Palmu (GM):"All human beings dream, Adam. It is a part of being human. Now, how do you feel? Do you remember coming here?" In truth, you don't. The last clear memory you have is...A spike of pain runs through your body as you remember the Entry Plug. Multiple Entry Plugs. There had been another test, you could remember sitting down, the Plug being lowered down to its place, and then...You were here.

Adam Wales raises up one of his long arms. Almost disproportionate in wingspan. Meant to mimic the Evangelion to optimize synchronization. Slowly he pinches his wrist. Giving the man a faint smile and nodding. "It stands to reason that Adam Wales has been reconstructed. The protocol dictates you want me to say no. But the dreamer in you wants me to say yes."

Adam Wales shakes his head very slowly and deliberately.
Palmu (GM):The man lowers his eyes and sighs. Whatever he's about to say is drowned by Doctor Wales pushing his way into the discussion, much like he pushes his way into everything in his life. "Drop the nonsense, boy! A simple 'yes' or 'no' suffices!" This, too, is familiar. Wales has a distaste for anything he considers pointless, which would seem to be everything not related to his work. "Do you truly not remember anything? At all?" He seems almost desperate, hands tightening into fists before you, as if he'd been ready to grasp you by the lapels, only to realize that you're naked.
"Unit 044 has finally accepted your Synch signature! We didn't have to revive another body! Yet, you're still...Still!" He lowers his head to his hands in frustration, the gnashing of his teeth loud enough to hear. The ancient man, Glein, answers in his stead: "What Hubert is trying to say, is that your Ego shows no signs of stabilizing, despite the connection to an Evangelion being successful." However - Congratulations. The Evangelion Unit 044 is now yours. And it only took, five bodies?" Six, actually.

Adam Wales gets a wry little smile on his face as he narrows his eyes at Glein. "Four." An obvious lie intended to draw out a reaction, he pauses to await one. "I remember... the entry plug and then--" Suddenly he flinches, legs buckle and he collapses backwards, arms going out to stabilize as he lands in a seated position on the ground. A very, very delayed reaction to the pain. "I suppose that answers the question-- what will happen to my Ego?"
Palmu (GM):Neither Wales or Glein make an effort to stop you, with the doctor too busy mumbling to himself in anger, and Glein only staring at you with a frown of mild annoyance. "The doctor doesn't know. But it is clear, that you are coming apart. You're well aware of that, are you not?" You are, how could you not be? As of late, the times when you find yourself unable to act, as the facets of your consciousness fail to come to an accord. It used to happen rarely, now it happens almost every week
. More often, when you don't undergo "treatment" in time. Your eyes wander to the rest of the hall behind you. Such a kind word for having your consciousness stuffed into a new body. Behind you, rows upon rows of glass tubes await, each holding another 'you'. "If I had to hazard a guess? In time, you will unravel completely, and cease to exist. Perhaps you will only become catatonic. Perhaps your soul will unravel next. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. What matters is that you will cease to be of use."

Adam Wales starts to look out over the myriad of bodies with a newfound fascination, making no attempt to get off his feet as he seems almost mesmerized. "Oh, I'm aware of far too many things. More than any one person could ever need to know." He pauses, still looking at the bodies as if trying to sort through the tiny miniature details that might make them different. "It hardly matters, does it? This little experiment was never meant to last. Once this mind ceases to be functional..." Finally he looks up at the two men, shrugging. "If I were you, I would be excited. Such an unknown variable planted into this little story we're telling?"
Palmu (GM):"I am not interested in the unknown, Adam." The man shakes his head in apparent disappointment. "No. We will prolong your existence for as long as it takes, you are more useful as you are now. And useful you will be." There is a weight to those words, one that cannot be denied. Accursed conditioning. "The Evangelion has finally accepted you. Two other candidates have been found. We finally have what we need, and you will bring our plan to fruition. Do you understand me, Adam?"

Adam Wales looks a little confused for a few moments, as if something very strange just happened. Scanning the room again, as if reorienting everything. Before nodding up at the two men. "I understand. Very clearly. Whatever plans you have for me, I will bring them to fruition. And then you will dispose of me. This is the natural way of things."
Palmu (GM):"Good. Wales - Gather yourself. We will discuss the situation in your office." The tone of voice taken on by the ancient man brooks no argument, and for a moment the doctor freezes, before raising his face. Was he crying? His eyes, bloodshot and red, turn back to you and suddenly he is standing up again, clearing his throat. "Ah - Yes." He clearly hadn't been listening. "Of course, director." His eyes flicker between you and Glein, before focusing on you. "And remember - You carry my name. My legacy! A Wales never fails!" For some reason, he has always been proud of his name. You've never understood why.

Adam Wales starts to stand up very slowly, only to freeze mid motion and look directly at Wales. "Daddy... do you love me?" The voice he takes is almost childish, before suddenly reverting to normal. Looking at the director as he raises back up. "Where should I go? Do you want me to remain where I am?"
Palmu (GM):Wales barely twitches at the sudden change, a testament to having gotten used to such oddities through repeated exposure. Though, he still can't conceal the nervous dilation of his eyes. Glein gives him a tired look before shaking his head. "Melinda will take you to your new quarters. You will be staying in the Motherbase until further orders. Now - Until next time, Adam." The man turns on his heels and begins to walk away, his walking cane clicking on the floor as he goes. After a final glance towards you, Wales follows after him. And the girl, having quietly waited behind them, looks up at you. "Amalgam", she greets you as the old men leave.

Adam Wales freezes and stares at Melinda for a few moments. "I like that name. Very offensive." He very slowly and deliberately reaches out, as if to offer a handshake. "You are Melinda, aren't you? We haven't met before, but you know who I am. That can mean any number of things, very interesting."
Palmu (GM):She makes no attempt to answer your offer of a handshake, only glancing at your hand. "We have. Simply not when you have been awake. You are my replacement." Her tone is even, measured. Still emotionless. A clear early-generation Manufactured.

Adam Wales slowly opens and closes the hand, feinting a movement upwards before the hand drops slack back into the previous position. A lack of a strong identity, aversion to physical contact between the two. "Then you should kill me right now, shouldn't you? The humans have left, you could in all likelihood cause a great deal of damage to my ego. If you were fast, you could destroy a number of replacements..."
Palmu (GM):"Why? I do not hate you." As you stand face-to-face, you realize that she's a bit too old to be called a girl. A young woman, perhaps. And there is something familiar with her. "And it would be pointless, anyway." Her eyes wander over the rows upon rows of replacements. "There is too much of you."

Adam Wales blinks one or two times and looks over to the bodies. "So much biomass, wasted on such a small, fragile little thing. What a strange idea these people had, trying to fit the central control mechanism of a weapon into an autonomous, self aware and living being..." He pauses for a moment, letting out a brief laugh. "Where are we going?"
Palmu (GM):"They make do with what little they have. And I am to take you to your new quarters." She motions towards the door, before starting to walk away. "Though we must first find something for you to wear. In his excitement, doctor Wales forgot to bring some."

Adam Wales looks down at his body, shriveled and emaciated, yet optimized. Like a skeleton with perfectly adequate muscle mass. Then back at this strange woman. "It's alright, I'm told to assume that most humans would find it hard to complain about my lack of clothes."
Palmu (GM):"You are aesthetically pleasing, but there are codes of decency that must be obeyed." At the edge of the room, there is a lone wardrobe. She brings out a towel and a pair of flexible pants from within, before tossing both your way. "Dry yourself first."

Adam Wales catches the towel, starting to very slowly and deliberately work off the strange orange liquid. It always takes far too long to get out of the hair. "Personal curiosity. Do they import aesthetic opinions into your personality. Or does your logic engine compare appearances with the recent cultural zeitgeist of aesthetics?" A few more moments later and he starts to pull the pants on, again very slowly as if re-learning the motion all over again.
Palmu (GM):"Neither. Such intricacies of creation did not exist in my time. I simply am." She stares at you for the duration of the entire process, unflinching. "In that, I am more successful a creation." After you have clothed yourself sufficiently, she begins to walk away once more, leaving the room. Though, once you follow her, she has stopped by the window dominating the hallway outside the room. The space beyond is dark, but you know well enough what lies there.
The ocean of flesh. Misshapen arms, protruding bones, heads and eyes and organs in massive scale, mixed haphazardly together, moving and twitching feebly, in a pit below you. And in the middle of it all, a massive blue-green, headless humanoid torso, floating above the fleshy refuse. This, too, you know. Your progenitor. You don't need to see the pit, it has been ingrained into your mind. Melinda stares into the darkness.

Adam Wales immediately presses his face against the glass upon stopping there, hands resting against the window. "You are. I completely agree." It's like he's trying to press his head through the glass. "Pretty..."
Adam Wales:"If anything, I think Wales is correct. This experiment is still incomplete. They have just put their trust in a prototype."
Palmu (GM):"Isn't it? And yes, I agree. But there is simply no time to improve upon the design. They are out of time. We, are out of time."

Adam Wales has pretty much pressed his entire body against the glass, like a magnet against metal. "We ran out of time years ago. This is just an attempt to see how much longer we can keep playing."
Palmu (GM):The girl is silent for a moment. Then, slowly, she raises a hand to the glass. "Earlier, I lied."

Adam Wales is silent for a few more moments. "You told me we haven't met before." He pauses for a second. "That would be the most logical lie that would be significant enough to require an admission."
Palmu (GM):"Yes. That was the first lie. The second lie, was that I claimed to not hate you. I do." She turns her face, and slowly her mouth creeps up to a small smile. And as she smiles, you're struck by recognition. Memories long gone flicker past, and you know this girl. A friend. A rival. An enemy. A crush. A mentor. Horrifying. Beautiful. Annoying. Unknowable. Frustrating -
The experiences wash over you, as they always do, but one sticks to mind. The sight of the same young girl, crouched over a corpse of herself, teeth digging into her own throat. Melinda, the Spawn of Death, smiles sweetly at you. "I will ensure your success. And I will watch it destroy you."

Adam Wales finally turns his head from the mirror, staring blankly back at Melinda as a myriad of images flash, each eliciting their own elaborate reaction. Before the two finally lock eyes. Slowly an equally disturbing, yet innocent smile creeps up on his face. "Be careful what you wish for, regret might just be the first real thing you feel."


Today feels like it's not going to be a great day. No, you're absolutely sure it's not going to be a great day. Not that it's all that great to begin with, you muse as you smile to an ancient-looking Manufactured while handing him a bowl of soup. Not that Mr. Gallows is old at all, he's just...Unfortunate. Something in his biology is causing him to age rapidly, at the technical age of thirty six, he appears to be in his seventies. It is unlikely he'll live for more than a year or two, the poor man. He smiles in return, revealing a mouth missing most of its teeth and moves on, the next in line shoving their bowl towards you.
Just another day in the Slums, really...You are currently in the very center of the makeshift district, the Bazaar, an area declared neutral by the powers that be. Mainly by The Royals, really, but it isn't like anyone dares to openly go against the gang these days. Not even Grimm's Troupe are that crazy, and they're the textbook definition of the word! Here, both civilians and gangers make business among the tents and ramshackle shacks set up in the large open area that must once have been intended as a place for public gatherings. Well, it still is, so at least the original intent of the builders has been upheld.
Blue ragtag banners line the marketplace, showing the symbols of the Royals - The dragon's head, the broken crown and the jagged blade. The tags of the three top dogs of the gang - Drake, Feller and Crackjaw.
And in the middle of the Bazaar...A single tent, larger than almost all others. Of sturdier make, too. Vandalized or otherwise covered leaf symbols mark it as once having belonged to NERV, but now belonging to the slums - One of a few such tents set up in different parts of the Slums, the only real contact NERV has with the area, in the form of sending meager amounts of supplies to be doled out to those in need.
This tent is special, though. It is the only one that is not under the control of a gang, the only one where those who actually need help will be helped, instead of just those favored by the ganger bosses. And it's the one where you prefer to work at. Well, volunteer at. There's no money in it, after all. Just a bit of food for yourself, and a feeling of actually doing something useful. Here, those who are sick will be given medication (while it lasts), those who are hungry given food (while it lasts), and those who have nowhere else to go are given shelter (while space lasts). And there is always far more people than there is any of those, so It's a lot of work, but...You feel that it's worth it.
Palmu (GM):Still, when someone taps on your shoulder, notifying you that it's time to take a break, you can't help but feel relieved. The line of people expecting help is even longer than it normally is today, and you've been working for hours already. Almost bonelessly, you collapse on a bench close to the soup pots, watching as your replacement starts to argue with someone in the line almost immediately, before someone pushes a cup of water at your face, distracting you once again. "Drink?" The voice offers. Raspy and hoarse, horrifically so, making the owner of the voice sound not entirely human. Demonic...But then, that is her name. Donna the Demon smiles at you, blue eyes crinkling behind her long blonde bangs as she sits down next to you. "Rough day?"

Amber looks over, nodding with a smile as she accepts the cup. With just a small sip, some of the pent-up tension seems to lessen... for now. At least it helps with the parched throat. "Yeah." She nods, gazing over at the seemingly endless line. "More every day, it seems."
Palmu (GM):"Yes", the woman answers. Donna was originally meant to be a singer, you recall. But with her voice...It's no surprise that she ended up here. Like you, she's helping out here, but you're well aware that she's no civilian - Despite her looks, designed to make her look like some Earth model, she's a ganger. One of the Royals, even. But she's nice enough...The Royals aren't bad people in general, most of the civilians think.
After all, they are the ones who ended the Gang War and brought order back to the Slums. That alone makes them heroes in the eyes of everyone who suffered during the constant conflict in the past. "Bad day. Feel it, in the air."

Amber lets out a quiet hum, looking out at the tents and poorly-maintained buildings beyond the tent. "You think so too?" She asks, taking a quick sip of water. "Not even the usual bad."
Palmu (GM):She nods, looking through the door of the tent and into the crowd milling outside. "No. Different...Boss is wary. Orders, everyone wary. Dunno why." Her voice grows even deeper as she leans a bit closer to you, whispering as if imparting a secret to you. "Think NERV. Want something."

Amber glances to Donna, eyes slightly wide. "Really?" She seems rather uncomfortable at the suggestion - but then, most people who grew up in the slums would. NERV is never good news. "What could they even want here? It's not going to be another..." she doesn't finish, now looking more than slightly concerned. It wasn't so long ago that she'd forget one of the few times their overlords decided to pay direct attention to the slums.
Palmu (GM):Donna seems to hold no such compunctions: "Purge? Hope not." Still, now she seems a bit worried too. It has been nearly three years since the night NERV's forces marched into the Slums with the purpose of eradicating the Nephilim. A lot of people died that night, and the chaos had only grown worse after they had left. Once news of the perpetrator had reached the ears of the slummers, the Forge Commander had become the most hated figure within the district by a large margin. The failed singer eyes the doorway for a moment longer before pursing her lips in annoyance. "Need a smoke now. You want?" She pulls a crumpled, home-made package from the pocket of her patched-up working clothes and offers a shoddily made cancer stick to you,

Amber nods. She tries not to smoke... but there aren't exactly healthy stress outlets in the slums. "Thanks." Waiting for the cig to be lit up, she drinks more of the water and rubs her forehead. "Well, hopefully they're here for something else. No idea what, but..." She shrugs. Never know with those people.
Palmu (GM):The woman hands you the cigarette and scratches up match, reaching out to light it, but a sudden roar halts her movement, and she reacts like most gangers do when faced with sudden noises. The match falls to the ground as she twists around towards the noise, hand flying to her hip where a small knife is holstered. You blink and look as well, only to see the Manufactured filling in for you at the line being pushed back by a colossal man covered in tattoos.
Judging from the bowl lying in the ground between the two and the splotches of soup on his chest, an accident has happened. The tattooed man is roaring at the volunteer, pushing him back again and following after, fist already rising in the air, an expression of pure wrath on his face. You know this man too, but you know most people who regularly show up here - Granton, one of the many builders residing in the Slums, though one known for his temper and general snappiness, which constantly forces him to move between gangs and worker groups and often ends up with him coming here, bruised and battered from getting into yet another fight with a few too many people at the same time.
And now, he's found another outlet for the anger simmering in him. "You fuck!", he roars. "Who the fuck d'you think you are?! Wasting my fucking food!" The poor, much smaller Manufactured, can only stammer and shield himself as he backs away.

Amber startles, at first, but quickly composes herself - mostly - when the cause of the argument becomes clearer. She sets the paper cup and unlit cigarette just... anywhere, really, and quickly walks closer to the duo. Just in case, keeping out of the range of an errant swing should Granton lose his cool entirely. "Hey." She doesn't shout, exactly, but... just about. "What's going on?" She knows already. But that's not the point.
Palmu (GM):By the time you raise your voice, the colossus of a man has the smaller man in his grasp, holding him up by the lapels while his other hand is still up, ready to come down and just waiting for him to finish up with his angry rant. You notice a few people already crouched down around the remnants of the soup, picking out what they can salvage, as you walk past the mess. Granton stops his tirade to glare at you, frown so deep that his bushy eyebrows hide most of his eyes from view.
"This fuck spilled my soup!" He shakes the man, emphasizing his point. Finally, you pay a bit closer attention to his victim and realize who he is - Trips. Of course. Not a man, but a boy, and an utterly forgettable one at that. He means well, but as his name implies, is as clumsy as can be, and not really one who should even be volunteering here. But you can't really turn anyone down, having extra hands is more important than the quality of the hands after all, but still...
"I-it was an accident! I didn't mean to!", he cries out, both hands grasping the arm holding him up but barely managing to reach around the massive wrist. Granton just shakes him again, shutting him up, before growling at you: "You got a problem, natty?" His eyes seem clouded. Has he been drinking? Doesn't seem like he even recognizes you through the red haze of a combined state of anger and drunkenness.

Amber tenses up for a moment, the threat suddenly directed at her - but after a split second of wrestling with the ever-hyperactive fight or flight, she stands her ground. "Grant. Come on." Her voice is steady, mostly, and far gentler than the previous shouting. "He's just a kid. He fucked up, yes. You already scared him shitless and he won't do that again. Right, Trips?" She doesn't wait for a confirmation. "No need to go all out on him. You're better than this."
Palmu (GM):The man keeps glaring, but the fist he's holding up doesn't seem quite so tense as he listens. After a moment, during which you can almost hear the gears in his head slowly grinding, he seems to finally realize who you actually are, his glare softening just a bit. He glances towards Trips, who is vigorously nodding his head. "Ye-Yeah! I'm sorry! I really didn't mean to, I swear!" After a moment, Granton lets out of a growling huff and drops the boy, who immediately falls on his ass, and turns to face you fully, towering over your slight form. "...Fine. But I want another bowl." He stares down at you for a second longer, before looking away. "...N' sorry. Didn't realize 'twas you. Didn't mean'ta insult."

Amber shakes her head slightly. "It's fine. It happens." She did get somewhat worried for a moment back there, as was evident to anyone observing... but no need to rub that in. "Though... isn't it early to be drinking?" It's not a mocking question, and it's asked quietly enough not to be overheard. He's not usually sloshed this hard this early, so it might be a problem.
Palmu (GM):He shuffles his feet, refusing to meet your gaze. "...Th' Brickworkers kicked me out." He says it like it explains things, and in a way it does. Just last week, he had been bragging about joining them, after all. That explains why he's here again, at least.

Amber sighs heavily. "Want to talk about it?" She tosses an open offer, trusting Trips to bring the second bowl and be particularly careful while moving it this time. Or ask someone else. That works too. She need to make sure the problem doesn't repeat, and if Granton is hammered every day for the next few weeks it absolutely will.
Palmu (GM):The boy is indeed already scurrying towards the soup pots, handling a new bowl even more carefully than before. Donna gives him a wry smile before shaking her head and digging up a new cigarette, moving to the doorway to smoke outside. Granton frowns, apparently thinking, before his shoulders slump and he opens his mouth to likely give voice to his frustration, but before he can say anything, you suddenly feel it. Quiet. The noise outside dims.
The bazaar is always loud, the shouts of hundreds of people selling their wares and services, as well as the sounds of entertainers and customers blending into an indescricable cacophony, and the only reason that the people outside would quiet down would be if something dangerous was happening. You feel a chill as the people outside quiet down completely, the sounds of commerce disappearing in a slow wave, leaving behind an almost frozen silence as everyone in the tent turns towards the doorway, feeling the same thing you do.

Amber tenses up - as everyone else. She takes a slight step to the side, looking past the bulk of the manufactured toward the source of the commotion... and fighting the sinking feeling in her stomach.
Palmu (GM):Soon enough, you can see what is happening, as the crowd outside parts before a group of people clad in black combat suits. NERV black. Five men, or perhaps women, their faces hidden behind helmets with dark green lenses, and bodies obscured by their bulky armor, walk past the crowd with a confidence that marks them as the elite of the organization, their large rifles held casually before them, pointed down but ready to be brought up in a split second. "S2..." Granton whispers, even the giant sounding terrified. The operatives stroll in through the doorway, past Donna, who is frozen in shock, hand clasped tightly around her knife but pointedly keeping it in its sheath. The S2 don't even give her a second glance as they pass, until all are inside the tent, looking around.

Amber freezes, for a moment, a thousand scenarios rushing unbidden through her mind - each worse than the last. Instinctively she takes half a step back, toward the illusory safety of the counter, before her mind catches up and stops her. She squares her shoulders, just about managing to look more confident than she feels... and speaks the question on everyone's mind. "Why are you here?"
Palmu (GM):The operative in the lead is quiet, but stares you down, their head nodding slightly as they seem to look you over. Then: "You are Amber, last name unrecorded." A woman, you note from her clear, clipped but clearly feminine voice. Her words are spoken like a statement, not a question.

Amber is clearly on edge, now. "...yeah?"
Palmu (GM):"You are to come with us."

Amber blinks, clearly confused. "What?" The word is barely audible, even in the utter silence around. "What do you mean? Why?"
Palmu (GM):"You are to come with us", she repeats, sounding just the slightest bit tired. "That is all."

Amber mouths the words, as if they were spoken in some alien language she was desperately attempting to decipher. Then, the surprise and concern on her face are slowly displaced with something else. Frustration, perhaps, though rapidly morphing into more. "What, just like that? Why would I do that?"
Palmu (GM):The woman is silent for a moment, but the slightest reflexive tilt of her head tells you that she's likely listening to something. After a pause, she speaks up: "You are suspected of having Synch Aptitude. Commander Rogers of the Motherbase summons you to be tested at the proper facilities."
These words send a wave through the crowd of people in the tent, whispers filling the previous silence of the room. Synch Aptitude. The ability to control an Evangelion. And for the slummers, a golden ticket out of their life of squalor, one that only four people have been given during the seventeen years of the Slum's existence on the moon.

Amber falls entirely silent, for a moment, the conflict clear in her expression. But it's the distrust that wins in the end. "Summons?" Anger flashes in her eyes. "And what if I refused?"
Palmu (GM):"Refused?" The woman sounds mildly confused, as if such a possibility wasn't even in the books. "We would-" She cuts off mid-sentence, again tilting her head just the slightest bit. After a moment, she tries again, carefully pronouncing the words as if reading from a script. Very likely reading from a script. "I would like to ask you - Why?" You get the feeling that you're not actually talking to the operative now.

Amber scoffs. "Is that so hard to get?" She motions all around, at the tired and worn (and currently no doubt slightly confused) faces all around; at the dirt and squalor. "Look around. This was supposed to be you people doing something useful here. Helping. But it's just us running it as usual, and we get barely enough to feed half the people who come here. Even less medicine." She takes a step forward, momentarily forgetting the guns held by the agents. "You can dress it up all you want, pretend it's a big gift to be 'chosen', but what I see is you wanting someone to fight and die for people who did jack shit for us."
Palmu (GM):Whoever is answering you, it takes a moment for the operative to relay their words back to you, and in the meantime the whispers in the room grow louder. Now, angrier. The four other S2 operatives start showing signs of nervousness, gripping their weapons just a bit tighter, turning their formation just a little bit more so that they can can see all angles. "Our cause is not for only NERV, but all of humanity. What remains of it. If you wish to discuss this further, could we speak in private?"

Amber scoffs. "Private." She shakes her head. "We're fine here. If I go with your people, it's as good as agreeing - sorry if I don't buy it that you'd just let me go if I didn't want to pilot in the end." She pauses. "And that's a pretty nice sentiment, but everyone here knows you care about some parts of humanity more than others. Not sure why us 'lessers'" She makes sure to emphasize the word in the most mocking way possible. "Should be the ones to fight your wars."
Palmu (GM):Now, the whispers grow to outright jeers, public opinion changes so quickly sometimes. The NERV operatives tighten their circle, now outright raising their weapons, warning the crowd to keep back without saying a word. Even the lead operative is showing signs of nervousness, perhaps in no little part due to the fact that Granton is still standing right behind you, and judging from the little huffs he's making, is growing angrier by the second. You swear you can hear the sound of his knuckles popping as he tightens his hands into fists. The woman sounds a bit parched as she speaks again: "Do you wish to negotiate?"

Amber blinks once, slightly caught off-guard by the question... or the phrasing of it. Some wind is knocked out of her sails, but not nearly enough to stop. "If you actually intend to follow through on anything. Don't think anyone here will ever forget if you try to cheat us."
Palmu (GM):The woman relaxes just a bit, again taking a pause before responding: "NERV always keeps its promises. Do you wish to discuss terms here and now, or after we have finished with the testing?"

Amber glances around, meeting a few random gazes. Collecting herself. "Here's fine for the basics." She looks back to the agent. "I'm sure you'll need to dig through the tons of paperwork you people love to do anything. But I want a promise everyone can hear, that you'll send actual supplies here if I end up piloting, for starters. We're done with scraps, and having people die to shortages every day. We got enough problems without that."
Palmu (GM):"Done." The answer comes quickly, to cheers and whoops from the crowd, the people taking joy at your upper hand over the NERV forces, and perhaps over your choice of simply...Not taking your chance to get out. "If you prove to have the ability. The particulars can be hashed out later."

Amber nods, relaxing slightly. There's the hint of a smile, even. "That's just the start, you realize." She pauses. "But it'll do for that. Now... can it at least wait until I'm done here? Still got wounded and sick to check up on. Unless... you can send help instead." Now she's just pushing it. But why not?
Palmu (GM):The woman is silent for a moment longer. From the slight movements she makes, you can make the guess that she's not quite happy with whatever the person providing her the script is telling her to say. And, when she speaks it shows from her tone: "...Operatives Morgan and Dresden are trained in first aid and have medical kits on their persons. They will stay and provide care in your stead. Further assistance will be sent while you are being tested."
The operatives in question do not seem happy about this either, judging from the way their heads snap towards their leader as she mentions them. But neither argues, at least vocally.

Amber smiles. There's only a hint of smugness. "Great!" She nods to a few of the gathered people as she steps toward the agents. "If you don't hear from me again, you know what to do." Her tone is joking, but the sentiment is not. It'd be a joke to say the slummers care about each other all that deeply, most of the time... but only they're allowed to mess with their own.
Palmu (GM):You're answered with laughter, cheers and whistles as the tension in the room dissipates. Suddenly, the mood in the room is much more jovial, to the point that the two NERV operatives slouching forward, already unstrapping their kits, don't even get as many dirty looks as they usually would get, and you get the feeling that nobody will even try to knife them. News of what happened here will travel fast, you can already see it happening, and slummers are nothing but opportunistic - Few will want to ruin what you've gained here.
. As you fall in with the remaining three operatives, all you see are smiles and excitement. A large difference from normal...Maybe you were wrong, about the day not turning out great. At the doorway, Donna claps a hand on your shoulder, looking conflicted. It looks like she's about to say something, but then seems to have second thoughts and only squeezes your shoulder. A simple way of wishing you luck. And then, you're past her and in the Bazaar proper, facing a massive crowd of people all staring at you, some in confusion and some, spreading the news already, in excitement. The operatives form a protective triangle around you, and their leader motions for the crowd to part. Yet, this time they seem unwilling.

Amber frowns slightly. Nothing's easy in the slums. Still, she reserves her judgment until it's clear what exactly is going on right now.
Palmu (GM):Maybe the crowd outside is unwilling to let NERV just do whatever the hell they want. Maybe they're worried for you, unlikely as that might be, but whatever the case they are blocking the operatives. But the news are spreading faster than the lead operative can gain new orders, and slowly a cacophony starts to build once more: "Give them hell!" Slum Pilot! Amber! Free shit! Stick it to 'em! Thank you!" The shouting grows, and slowly even the more reticient parts of the crowd start to realize that for once, something positive is happening here at the Slums.
. Finally, the operatives start to push forward, but now they are willingly given space. And as you walk through the crowd, you are blanketed with cheers and praise from all sides, by now you can't even make anything individual out of the noise. Yet, you can still hear the operative as she turns her head towards you, and speaks once more, annoyance clear in her voice. "Well played, girl."

Amber smiles at the crowd, waving to some - she seems overwhelmed by the attention, but nevertheless sharing in the happiness all around. The agent's remark earns a moment of confusion... though followed by a slight smirk immediately after. It's all the reply needed.
Palmu (GM):------------------