Geffen loved a great many things about life on the surface; the freedom to live the life he chose for himself; expressing his true identity from how he carried himself to what he wore; skating, blading, BMXing, parkour, and quite frankly most X-Games type sports; fast and rebellious punk music.
On the contrary, he rather hated how cold it could get at this time of year. It reminded him too much of life back home, where functional heating was a luxury rather then a right. With tonight being especially brisk- not helped by his insistence on wearing a sleeveless tank top no doubt- he decided to call an early end to his nightly session at Blackbelly and head home. Board under his arm, he placed his spare hand in one of his short pockets, grimacing silently when it became evident he'd forgotten to bring his wallet with him. Very unlike him, though he suppose the first late night and early rise in some time may have left him operating at reduced capacity.
'Nevermind,' he thought to himself, 'a walk won't do me any harm.'
Removing the headphones he'd intended to blast on the transport back, he begun his steady walk through the streets of Inkopolis. It had been over a year since he arrived, and yet he still felt a certain energy to the city that made him want to take in every detail, from the sights to the sounds to the smells. He doubted he would ever get used to it, and was quite at peace with that possibility.
For one thing, Squidkind certainly knew how to party, and had plenty of excuses to engage in the hedonistic practice. He wasn't exactly unfamiliar with the concept of celebrations or holidays- the rich history of Octaria was quite firmly drilled into everyone put through its education regime- but such things were a thing of the past growing up. Something from before his time. And he certainly couldn't recall a holiday quite like this “Splatoween”. The Captain had explained it to him as a practice that originated in soothing and placating the souls of the dead with numerous small rituals, often revolving around gifting them the sweet treats of the living world- fruits, vegetables, flowers, even honey if it could be procured.
Seemed these days it was mostly about the living not only consuming such sweet treats themselves, but dressing up in all manner of ridiculous garb invoking those arcane beings for the express purpose of frightening one another. A curious evolution, Geffen thought to himself as he walked, taking in the various macabre decorations and imaginative if grisly set-pieces adorning the cities streets and store fronts, and not one he fully understood; fear wasn't an emotion he had felt very often in his life, if at all, but those very few times he did- or at least something close to it- he recalled it being unpleasant. Avex and the others had tried explaining the difference between this sort of thing and being in actual danger, and he could see the logic- catharsis in experiencing such in a controlled manner, not all that different from losing himself in the music he loved and channelling the lingering feelings about home and his past through it- but it just didn't click with him.
Still, he couldn't really complain. Nobody could complain about an excuse to overindulge on chocolates and toffees.
His mind stopped wandering the second the maisonette he and Troubadour rented came into view. Already tasting the floral notes of a hot cup of oolong tea, he fished the door keys from his pocket (thank the spirits of old he'd not forgotten those as well), unlocked the pale red hunk of wood, and immediately stepped into a home filled with the sound of particularly edgy rock + electronic music hybrids with lyrics that had to have been more censored cusses then actual words.
Lighter then the usual aural cacophony Troubadour indulged in, but that just raised questions that lead to immediate, unfortunate answers. Especially as it was coming from her room. Feeling his lower eyelids gain an extra thirty pounds, he set his board aside in its usual place in the entryway, and strolled on over to the source of the noise.
“... Really?”
A couple of Troubadour's various computers were operational- one displaying a realtime dump of data that constantly flitted between various number and letter combinations across a densely proportioned grid, and another seeming to record footage of something. Said footage was that blasted Turf War simulator she had been fiddling with the entire night before, only this time it was being played on an actual console rudimentarily hooked up to a spare monitor. Agent 4- Ubik, rather- was sat on a stool borrowed from the kitchenette in front of the screen, playing away, whilst Troubadour sat in front of the rig displaying the code. He noted Avex in the corner of his eye, laid back on Troubadour's bed with his eyes shit and headphones jammed into his ears, the tinny sound of thumping drums barely audible over the simulator's own racket.
Ubik was the first to turn around, face immediately going a touch bluer as an awkward smile crossed her lips. “Sorry, Geffen.”
“You don't need to apologise, Four,” Geffen started, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know this wasn't your idea.”
“It's official NSS business, Gef,” Troubadour droned, not taking her eyes off of the screen.
Geffen snuck a deadpan glance at Avex, whom briefly opened one eye, returned the glare, then immediately shut it. “So I can see,” Geffen dryly retorted.
“I'd like to know what an Octoling is doing in a piece of Inkling media from over a decade back too, y'know.” Troubadour said, finally turning around, the unseen frown behind the surgical mask but nonetheless felt. “And how it's in there without changing the game's code. I figure documenting it is as good a place to start as any.”
Geffen looked over at Ubik, walking further into the room. “You are absolutely certain that is what you saw?”
Ubik's smile remained, but her eyes steeled over with stern resolve. “I wouldn't lie about something this serious.”
After a few moments paused in thought, Geffen nodded, patting the woman on the shoulder once before heading over to a spare spot of blank wall by the bed, leaning against it.
“Staying for the show, <Lieutenant>?” Troubadour said in almost sing-song tone.
“As you said, <Cracker>; this is official NSS business.” Geffen replied, his tone as flat and even as ever. “How long have you been at it?”
“This is only our first run through the campaign, and we're about halfway through, same as where I triggered it last time.” Ubik said, her smile going uneven. “H-hasn't, uh, happened yet, though.”
Geffen couldn't stop the chuckle from passing his lips. “I guess that means Three is on beverage duty.”
He let out another, louder chuckle- joined by Ubik (and even Troubadour)- when Avex flashed him the reverse V sign.
*
“Find anything, Marie?” Callie said hopefully, peering over Marie's shoulder.
The grey haired squid shook her head. “Absolutely nothing. And this is the tenth forum I've checked.”
“Darn.” Callie sighed, defeatedly.
Sat on their rather large curved sofa and with a laptop in each of their laps, the cousins had evidently been on something of an information binge. And judging by the several dirty mugs and three now cold pots, they'd been at it for a while. They'd checked and double checked to make sure they were looking up information on the right Splatmania title, unearthed every now inactive forum and every presently active InkPress community, tried out every possible permutation of 'creepy secret level full of dead squids where a scary monster chases you and then you die' they could think to type, and every lead had turned up empty. It was, in a word, frustrating.
“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised,” Marie said with a slight strain, stretching her arms before resuming typing duties. “If the Octoling looked half as accurate as Ubik described during the briefing, certain eyes would have been on it like a hawk.”
Callie couldn't help but chuckle. “We're technically on the clock, you know.”
Marie's face flushed immediately. “Don't think I haven't heard an 'Avex' slip out of your mouth on duty, Cal.”
“Uh, yeah? We're besties, duh. What's your excuse?”
Marie muttered something under her breath, before quickly piping back up. “Anyway, we'll keep looking. Cleared the whole night anyway- might as well use it.”
Callie chuckled again. “Bet Heigo wasn't very happy about that.”
“He took my 'family emergency' excuse like a champ, actually.”
“Oohhhh, bit cheeky.”
“But not technically untrue.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mar.”
A brief silence descended on the two as the room once again filled with clicks, clacks, and the subtle skiffing sound of skin layer gliding over touchpads. It couldn't have lasted more then a few minutes before Callie, uneasily, pierced it with a question.
“... Could she have made a mistake?”
Marie stopped typing, staring at the screen in front of her- or rather, through it. “What are you implying, Callie?”
“I mean, if I remember right, 12k6 wasn't the most 'visually refined experience',” Callie started, closing the lid of her laptop and turning to face Marie. “Was she certain it was an Octoling at all?”
Marie did the same with her laptop, though still faced away. “We still would have found something. Why don't you say what you really want to say?”
Callie sighed, choosing her words carefully. “Look, I've known plenty of people like Ubik over the years. People pleasers, to the core; always putting everyone else before themselves, even at the cost of their own health and wellbeing.” Callie paused, scratching an ear awkwardly. “I've seen the rota, Marie. Almost all the field work lately has been her.”
Marie finally turned around, a brief flash of animosity and desire to argue flashing on her face before it settled into something more sullen. “I mean, Avex and his team have had a busy time with the Tournament of late... and Geffen's been booked solid at the Board shop, so.”
“It can't be that loud out in the Canyon these days. Pops has more or less said the Valley's been damn near sun-dry.”
Marie cast a guilty glance down. “You can never be too careful. We both know what happens when we let our guard down.”
Callie scooched closer to her cousin, putting an arm around her. “Hey. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”
“I know.”
“It's one thing to know and another thing to feel. I get that. So does she. That's why her answer is always 'yes', and why she's out there from sunrise to sunset.”
Marie let out a pained grunt. “Guilting me is not a valid comforting technique under therapeutic guidelines.”
Callie rolled her eyes. “That's not what I'm doing, come on.”
“... Yeah. I know it's not.”
Silence fell on the room again, both of them sitting in their thoughts and feelings for a moment. This time, it was Marie that broke it after an uneasy few minutes.
“I still think she did see something, and that it wasn't stress or fatigue.”
“Then we'll keep looking. No harm in trying, right?”
“Thank you, Cal.”
“Don't mention it, Mar.”
*
“... People willingly watch this sort of thing..”
“Yyyyyyyep.”
“For hours at a time.”
“Mmhmm.”
“For fun.”
“So I'm told.”
“... I don't get it.”
“I'll say exactly what I said when we had this conversation 30 minutes ago; your bedroom is just down the hall.”
Geffen chose not to retort to that, instead leaning his head back and bumping it on the wall. He'd slumped from his standing position and was now more or less laying prone on the floor, upper abdomen barely kept vertical by the lower half of the wall. Avex was snoring away next to him, MP3 player silenced and abandoned Troubadour was six cans deep in Grubster Energy dozen-pack and never looked like she craved death more. Ubik, for her part, still had fiery determination in her eyes, but the rest of her expression looked less sure and the bags under her eyes could fit several car phones in them if she tried.
“This is what I was afraid of,” as she pushed Linde- her customised avatar for what must have been the fourth run through this accursed game- through one of the closing levels using every speedrun trick she knew. Even pulling what she reckons must be some personal best splits, they must have been coming up on dawn at this point. “I did say I had no idea what, if anything, triggered that level; so far we've seen nothing.”
“You want to quit?” Troubadour asked firmly, though not harshly.
“... No.” Ubik answered, her voice steady.
“Then we keep going until we see something.”
Ubik cracked a small smile. “You seem almost more determined to find this level then I do.”
Troubadour turned back to the monitor displaying ever changing hex code. “You couldn't tell a lie to save your life, and as goofy and ridiculous as you are, that's a good head you've got on your shoulders. I believe you saw what you saw.” She paused, glaring at the screen in front of her. “And I will not be made a fool out of by some silly little game mod.”
Ubik's smile widened, and a small bit of energy creeped back into her body. “You're nicer then you want everyone to believe you are. I wish you didn't feel like you have to pretend otherwise.”
Troubadour didn't reply, but Ubik could still hear the unspoken 'thank you', and that was enough for her. Somewhat rejuvenated, she picked up the pace in the game, managing to quickly and speedily overcome one of the toughest stages in the campaign with such ease that she wondered how she'd ever struggled with it in the past. So fired up was she, that she almost didn't notice that the loading screen for the next- and final- leg of the campaign was missing it's text, or the animated Inklings around the side.
“... Guys...”
Troubadour nodded. “Footage is still being captured, and I've got one eye on the data.”
Geffen briefly adjusted his position on the floor to a more comfortable one, rubbing his bleary eyes as the level finished loading in.
Ubik took a few seconds to steel herself before moving Linde; the initial hallway and the room that followed seemed to be the same as before- though there were more prone bodies laying in it this time.
“Fuck me, that's dumb.” Troubadour chortled, removing her mask and cracking open the seventh can of Grubster. “Couldn't even be bothered to give 'em twisted expressions of pain.”
Ubik felt tense. “I think... the neutral expressions are the point.”
“Psh. Even dumber.”
Geffen's eyes narrowed. “How in the name of the forefathers is this possible without any trace in the code? This is far more significant then I presumed.”
“It's not impossible to hide little tricks and cheats into code to obscure how you tweak it,” Troubadour said, her eyes also narrowing as she glanced over at the code. “Did a few myself right before I left that shithole down below. And again in the other shithole we were stuck in. Doing it to this degree, though, isn't exactly beginner stuff. Whoever tweaked this disc is a pro.”
A weak, garbled cry sounded from the otherwise silent speakers, catching the three of them off guard.
“Please tell me you heard that.” Ubik muttered.
“I heard something.” Troubadour said, focusing on the game screen.
“Too faint to be sure, but that was... I think <Deserter>?” Geffen said, grimacing slightly.
Ubik felt her heart rate go up. “It called me, uh, how'd you say it... <Tedious Beach Bum>?”
Both Troubadour and Geffen looked at her like she'd suddenly ripped her own clothes off. It had been a while since she felt that dumb, blushing madly. “You know, called me a Traitor.”
Geffen smiled, weakly. “Keep practising that syntax, Four.”
“'You'. You said it looked at you.” Troubadour mumbled, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Felt like it was staring right at me through the screen- not my character.”
Before Troubadour could react, the sound of gunfire kicked in with that familiar plapping sound. Ubik jumped a little in her seat as it did.
“Pask!” Ubik blurted out, quickly moving away from the incoming fire. “That was faster then last time!”
“I don't see anything other then the ink.” Geffen said, squinting.
“That'll be the draw distance.” Troubadour said, glancing back at the code, uttering a quiet 'fuck' upon realising it wasn't showing anything abnormal.
Ubik swallowed, doubling back several rooms and hallways over to find one with more cover then her last encounter, picked a spot, and waited. “Last time, it had me bang to rights in an open space- especially as they disable the health regen. Might have a chance this way.”
And so the three waited, faint garbled speech and groans growing ever louder, their eyes locked in the open area for the foe to appear. Ubik noticed, with some disdain, that her hands were shaking. Troubadour looked as determined as ever, hands crossed and eyes focused on the screen. Geffen had also steeled himself, almost as he would were he actually in the field of combat, his long history as a seasoned soldier now fully evident. The buzzing of electricity throughout the room was subtler then the ticking of any clock, but it drove wedges far deeper into their nerves then incessant ticking and tocking ever could.
A black shape began to gradually form in the grey distance.
Slowly It moved, like a hunter well aware it had its prey cornered.
Morphing from an indistinct blob to a recognisable silhouette.
Ubik bit down on her lip. “There It is.”
Troubadour stuttered out a gasp, eyes going wide whilst her pupils shrank. Her breathing at first deepened, then quickened.
Ubik and Geffen turned to look, concern creeping over both of their faces.
“Troubadour?” Geffen said, clear and even. Troubadour didn't react, but he saw tears forming in the corner of her eyes. He turned back to the screen, his own constitution rocked slightly by what he saw, manifesting as intense confusion. “How in the-”
The sound of Troubadour's chair clattering to the floor startled them both, as did the following sight and sounds of Troubadour scrambling backwards on the carpet, sneakers scuffing against the carpet as they failed to gain traction, fully hyperventilating as tears fell down her cheeks.
Ubik didn't have time to panic, as It began firing again. She had to begin her game of cat an mouse- and she wasn't looking forward to playing the part of the mouse. “Geffen.”
“Affirmative.” Geffen said, briskly making his way over to the prone Troubadour and placing his arms around her- she jolted and recoiled at first, but quickly realised it was him and leaned into him, eyes still locked on the screen. Unable or unwilling to look, he focused on trying to keep her grounded and comforted, with a gentle and deft hand that betrayed familiarity with the scenario.
“The bloody hell was that...?” Avex grunted as he blearily rose from his slumber, though he sharply snapped awake when he saw Troubadour in the midst of an episode, Geffen by her side. He looked up at the screen, the level unfamiliar. “What's happening? You find it?”
“Yes.” Ubik said through gritted beak, returning fire in the gaps of cover but not making much leeway- It was accurately following her every move, always a half step behind with its shots, though the cover was keeping the damage to a near non-existent minimum for the time being. “And It found me.”
Avex, processing that and what was going on with Troubadour, simply sat at the foot of the bed and watched. He couldn't get a clear look at It due to Ubik's manoeuvres, but it's behaviour, how it 'played the game', was self evident. “This is a computer, right?”
Ubik's stomach dropped; she knew exactly what his answer was going to be before she asked, as she'd though the same thing. “Yeah. Why?”
Avex tutted, unease creeping up his spine. “'Cos it's behaving like another player's in control. Using the sort of strats you and I would to flush out cover.”
Ubik let out a low grunt. “And they're good at it.”
“Range?”
“Their advantage.”
Avex growled, turning to Geffen. “Any subtleties we'd miss? Octarian Army tricks or habits we wouldn't clock straight away.”
Geffen glowered at the screen, a degree of spiteful fury on his face Avex had never seen before. “Nothing complicated or overly meticulous. It seems to know it doesn't need to do more then the bare basics to win.”
“It's not going to win.” Ubik said, indignant confidence replacing fear or concern. “I am.”
“You sure about that?” Avex asked, uncertain.
“Cod damned right I am.” Ubik said, before she had Linde throw two of her bomb stock- one up, one right- and made a sharp dash for the left when the volley of fire split between the two distractions. A cheap trick, and it wouldn't fool It for long, but it was all she needed to close the distance just enough to be able to hit It with her own fire. The figure coming into view sent a shiver down her spine, but she fired anyway- striking it enough times to push it backwards.
“Turn that off.”
Ubik's hearts damn near exploded out of her chest at Avex's tone- low, furious, and dangerous. Having ducked into cover and been granted a scant few seconds, she turned to look at him.
He was by far and away the angriest she had ever seen him look.
“I can't.” Was all she said.
Avex stood up. “Turn it off, now.”
“I can't!” she repeated, turning back to the game and attempting another rush on It- slightly less successful as she took a few hits, but she could tell it had gotten close enough for her to manage a few hits of her own.
Before she could get much further, the controller was wrenched from her hand. Right next to her now, and biting his lip so hard trickles of blue were falling from it, Avex sent Linde right towards It, firing relentlessly.
It fired back.
“You're not going to win a war of attrition with it!” Ubik shouted, panic finally taking hold.
“Fucking watch me.” Avex growled.
Linde's health sank lower and lower as Avex got closer and closer, completely draining his ink supply. Health in the lowermost regions, he kept walking the avatar forwards, practically shoving it up against It, though It made no move to dash backwards. Instead, it simply dropped a bomb at its own feet- one of the weaker ones, but it was enough to put Linde down, once again going through that crude “death” animation.
“DAMNIT!” Avex snapped, throwing the controller to the floor and turning around, covering his face with his hands and growling into them. Ubik simply looked at the floor, unwilling to lock eyes with the being. Troubadour's breathing had begun to return to normal, quietly sniffing as her tears ceased, gazing at the screen with hollow eyes. Geffen helped her to her feet, also gazing at the screen, though with a much more condescending glare.
Instead of saying anything, It just chortled. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to one.
The normal continue screen followed. Nobody made a move to do anything for a few moments, until Ubik leaned forward and turned the console off.
-
Geffen handed a cup of tea off to Troubadour, who took it gently, before sitting on the opposite side of the table to her. Ubik had brought the stool back out with her and was sitting at the head, whilst Avex leaned against the bar counter, both of them clutching their own hot drinks. Nobody had said anything since Geffen left to boil the kettle and Ubik and Troubadour had gone about saving what needed to be saved and shutting everything down. Avex had at one point ducked out the front door to have a quick smoke- the Captain wouldn't be pleased to hear he'd taken that back up- and still seemed a little on edge.
“... You didn't say it was one of them.” Troubadour said, quietly and slightly accusatory.
“Huh?” Ubik muttered, looking up from her drink.
“You didn't say it was a Sanitized Octoling.” Troubadour spat, louder and with more venom. “I know the Captain and Avex have filled you in, Ubik, so why the fuck didn't you mention that to me?!”
Ubik felt genuinely hurt, stuttering. “H-h-hold, hold on a minute; it's not, ah, it wasn't Sanitized, it-”
“I'm not blind, Ubik!”
“It's tentacles were red! Red!”
“She's right. It wasn't Sanitized.” Geffen interjected, cutting their argument short with a firm tone. He looked over at Troubadour, an unspoken but implicit understanding of what triggered her episode. “I got a good look at it.”
“Oh, great, you think I'm crazy too!” Troubadour moaned, rubbing her temples.
“No. Never.” Geffen said, placing an arm on her shoulder and giving it a light, comforting squeeze, before turning to Ubik with a dark look in his eye. “But it wasn't a regular trooper from the Octoling regiment.”
Ubik swallowed hard, confusion and concern battling for dominance in her chest. “Don't Elites usually use a pitch black pigment? And wear the traditional kelp headdress?”
Geffen shut his eyes, baring his beak, though not at Ubik specifically. “It wasn't an Elite either. It was...” Geffen paused, almost as if he didn't believe what he was about to say, “... it was a General. One... one of the most prestigious, I believe.”
Ubik may only have suspected that Geffen was deflecting or downplaying some sense of familiarity, but Troubadour, though she said nothing, recognised it immediately, and her demeanour changed. She flashed an apologetic look at Ubik, before glancing back down at her tea.
Geffen opened his eyes, glancing at Avex. “But that's not what you saw either, was it?”
Avex didn't move to look or say anything for several seconds, uncomfortably fidgeting. “... My old man.”
The 'not even an Octoling' didn't need to be voiced. They all thought it, and that was enough.
The tension in the air rammed up significantly; Geffen grunted, sipping his tea with a grave demeanour. Troubadour hiccuped once, before muttering more swears under her breath. Avex's head lowered as he again fell silent, expression grim as he lost himself in thought. Ubik immediately grabbed her phone, unlocking it and flitting through apps at an uneasy speed before reaching the browser, returning to the tabs she'd left open earlier. As she did, the colour drained from her face.
“Damnit... Damnit...!” she said, frustrated tears threatening her eyes.
*
Support: Did you ladies have any luck?
Agent_1: we wish. woulda made the RSI worth it
Agent_2: I never want to look at a message board ever again
Support: That's unfortunate.
Agent_1: what about you?
Support: I don't think I did, no.
Agent_2: What's THAT supposed to mean?
Support: Well, there was an old Splatmania forum I used to frequent as a teenager. Bit harder to find nowadays when searching, but I still had the page bookmarked, and surprisingly it's still up and intact.
Support: I didn't remember there being any discussion about secret levels in the 12k6 edition of the series, but I forwarded a link to the subforum focused specifically on it to Agent Four a little after she asked for our help.
Agent_1: oh my god, lazyyyyyyy
Support: I have a weapons store to run, Agent One.
Support: In any case, about an hour later, she claimed to have found something. Two old, long locked threads mentioning it. She thanked me right before she left for Eight and 10,007's apartment.
Agent_2: And you didn't think to tell us this until right now?
Support: I defer you my above comment.
Agent_2: Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Support: This new ticket system isn't going to trial run itself, you know.
Agent_1: wait though
Agent_1: you said you 'dont think' you found anything
Agent_1: so like, what gives???
Support: I looked myself out of curiosity during a quiet moment, just a little bit before messaging you. There was absolutely nothing there.
Agent_1: oh
Agent_1: ohhhhhh dear
Agent_2: That's impossible
Agent_2: You can't just read forum threads that aren't there, no matter how overworked and underrested you are
Agent_2: That's flat out hallucinating
Support: I know. I've read Agent Four's psychological profile both during the recruitment phase, obviously, and briefly looked at it just now; there is nothing to indicate that she's unfortunate enough to experience that sort of psychological distress, even under intense pressure.
Support: And I'd wager if she was, we'd have seen it play out already.
Agent_2: So
Agent_2: What, then?
Support: I haven't got a clue, Two.
Captain: someone is playing a very deep game
Agent_1: JEEZ how long have you been lurking!!!!!
Captain: long enough
Captain: were going to need to call an urgent meeting
Agent_2: I'll inform the agents
Support: It's not the Octarians again, surely?
Captain: I dont like to rule anything out but octavio has been a quiet sort of crabby since we last humbled the old fool
Captain: and not only has octarian activity been sparse and restricted to a small subset of loyalists but I reckon this is a reckless use of their hypnotech that they really cant afford
Captain: I have a real nasty feeling that were gonna have to grow eyes in the backs of our heads real fast
*
Dark clouds obscured the light of the moon as the cold, bitter air dance around the rooftops of Inkopolis with an almost lackadaisical sense. Though quite far away and far lower to the ground from this position, an extremely tall figure clad in a large, black leather trenchcoat stared down at the maisonette that the Agents currently occupied. Even without the dark shades obscuring the darker eyes, it would have been impossible to read his expression, though the smile beneath them betrayed ill intent. If he had noticed the access door to the roof opening he didn't show it, standing firm as a second, not-quite-as-tall but still towering figure clad in sleek, functional, dark coloured clothing came and stood next to him, following his gaze.
“Well?” The figure in the trenchcoat said, voice almost impossibly deep and seemingly carrying its own reverb.
“... It worked.” His companion said, voice cooler and hollower. “Mostly.”
“Oh dear; complications?”
“No. Some differences in perception, I gather. But largely the same.”
The figure in the trenchcoat let out a dark chuckle. “This is acceptable. Who doesn't enjoy the odd alternative mix, after all.”
The two figures continued to stare down, though the smaller figure did so whilst reaching into one of the various pockets adorning his gear, retrieving what looked to be (to them, anyway) a small boombox. “I could have done it directly. No recording necessary.”
“Certainly,” the taller figure said, grin widening. “It would have been significantly more... potent, that way.”
A brief moment of silence. Then, the smaller figure spoke, it's much grimmer expression deepening. “They're not the intended targets.”
“Precisely. Merely a barometer test.” The taller figure chuckled, uncrossing his arms before rejoining them at the wrist behind his back. “If some of the sharpest minds this miserable world can offer up are rendered even that inert by a weakened dose of Hertz, then I doubt anyone else will offer any meaningful resistance”
The smaller figure sighed, turning and walking away. “I'll begin the reanimation compositions, Your Dopeness.”
“Excellent. You have unfettered access to my archived dub plates; I would recommend making use of them.”
“Yes.”
The heavy metal door slammed, though the taller figure continued to stand in place. He did, however, turn his attention to the building opposite the one he was standing on, smile briefly thinning but not fading.
Five individuals were staring back at him. Long, beak-like noses and feathered hairdo's gave them imposing silhouettes, equally matched by the venomous glare they exchanged back. Upon noticing he'd turned in their direction, they all took more stern stances, flaring their feathers in a display of aggression.
The trenchcoat adorned figure laughed, heartily and loud. “Pleasant evening, is it not?” he called out, offering a wave.
Holding the display for a moment, the five avian-like beings eventually relented, each wearing an expression of disgust before turning and walking away- out of sight around a large maintenance structure and presumably back down into the tower they occupied.
The tall, dark figure's smile could not have been any wider without tearing his face in twain. “Yes. This will be a most delightful game.”