Nyrita rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm, looking at the notes she’s spread out over the table. Tables. And onto the floor. And pinned up to the wall. There was just so god damn much information. Once Nyrita managed to decode signals and translate static, she was drowning in data, data, data. Recurring threads of numbers, snatches of songs, poems, lists and stories and reports and on, and on, and on. Repeated over and over, and now she has them all spread out here. It took a long time cataloguing everything, wringing the Land of Static and Secrets of everything it has to say. But now she has it. Now. What next. Nyrita picks up a list of numbers. Was it all useless? That’s what the quest was, wasn’t it? Find the information in data. Analyze it all. But she’s got a sinking suspicion that she wasted her time gathering all this, and she doesn’t have time to waste. She reads the number again. Up and down. Up and down. Up and… there’s a number missing. The pattern rises and falls, but it skips one. A hole in the information. She snatches up a poem. Tum te tum te tum, rhythm and meter and prose and metaphor and /there/. A caesura. Another emptiness where there should be something! Galvanized by the clues, Nyrita tears into all the other information. There, gaps where there should be data. Nothing where there should be something. She grabs a notebook and starts scribbling furiously until she’s categorized every missing piece in the data. She speaks the words, and puts will into it, and everything goes dark. The sky turns off, the towers go silent, the world turns off. Nyrita takes a step outside, and starts to walk. As she walks, she gazes up at the dark sky. Without the light blinding her, she can almost read the signals that were once shooting through the air. Lines tracing lives of dead games, failed sessions, successful ones that no one cared about. Lives that slipped into darkness, like all of them do. Like hers will. The water laps at her shoes. Then her knees. Then her chest. And then the dark ocean closes over her head, swallowing her without a sound. Inhale. Exhale. It’s fine. This is more than just water, now, and besides, she’s still a god. Drowning is beneath her. What does she see, now that she can’t see anything? The lair of Oneteotl. And in it? A life that has slipped into darkness, as all have, and will have done. She reaches down to the curled up form. She raises her head, and looks into her eyes. Into the eyes of everything, woven into it. And then everything goes white.
She did it.. - yay.. >
Another success. Time will tell if she can keep it up.