His awareness was a bloom of reds.

Compared to the soothing yellow cradle of the PET, the Net was always a bit cold when ScorchMan first touched down, typically a blur of deep shadows and little else to his heat sense. He didn't know when he started noticing that, but touching down to ElecTown Net and already feeling warm and comfortable was a feeling he wasn't the slightest bit used to. All around him was a swirling crimson gradient, the energy that had seared into the ground still diffusing into the Net. The pride he took in his growing power - that, too, was something new.

He wasn't alone. Nearby was a point bright enough that facing it felt almost like standing before the Myriad's jaws. Was this his patron? "Hello? Is someone there?" ScorchMan called out, relieved when the presence spoke up. Walking over, he realized the voice was coming from somewhere near his waist: a child? A small smile came unbidden, even when Prose's introduction faltered. "Old injuries, nothing to worry about. It's good to meet you, Prose, thanks for coming," he waved off her concern; it was easy to guess what she'd noticed.

"Speaking of being prepared, I should get my Operator on board." As ScorchMan gestured, a window popped open roughly eye-level to Prose. The room beyond was dark, with a deeply suggestive view of a man's bare torso amidst tangled sheets. Griffin Reim enjoyed his gym time, and it showed on every inch of visible skin, from his shoulders to the deep V of his hips where his boxers had ridden low. A gentle snoring came from just off-screen - utterly oblivious to the view, ScorchMan keyed the PET's alarm, calling, "Griffin, time to get up!"

"Whuzzah?" A symphony of abs flexed as Griffin levered himself upright, holding the PET up to his face. His cheeks dimpled around a sleepy grin as he noticed ScorchMan's company, "Awww, who's your friend? Hey lil' bun, how's it going?" He seemed utterly unconcerned with his state of undress, making no move to correct it as he set the PET on his nightstand, stretching and sighing explosively.

"My seeing-eye human," ScorchMan deadpanned to Prose. Turning to the window, he summed up the last few minutes for Griffin's benefit, "This is Prose, I met her on the mission BBS last night. She's gonna help me track down that spider-beast we fought, so I'll probably be yelling for Battlechips in a little bit." While Griffin hummed his understanding (and stretched a little more), ScorchMan turned back to not-quite-face Prose. "On that note, how did you want to go about this? The Myriad virus melted its way underground, so I was thinking I'd open the floor up and see if its escape route is still there. That's, uh, assuming you're fireproof; otherwise, I'm open to suggestions." It was hard to tell from the impression he got of Prose what element she might be, but the way she shone he wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be a Fire-element like him. His furnace flared a little in anticipation, flames flickering across his chest.

The world seemed to darken before Jazz's eyes. The closer it got, the more of his vision was swallowed by an eclipse of gnashing teeth. He fled, but without the benefit of caves to hide in or a frozen slope,there was no outrunning the WORM. Closer, closer came the jaws - and then there was nothing but crunching, ripping darkness. Stephanie, a world away, had to watch her Navi vanish behind that unearthly mouth. Blue light lit its gums from within for a moment, and soon faded.

The BlueMoon's light illuminated the fleshy cavern Jazz found himself in, but the darkness of its throat was absolute. Rather than burn down its gullet, the beam was seemingly swallowed up outright, motes of afterburn disappearing into the gloom. Mercifully, the beast had stilled enough for Jazz to get his footing, but he could feel the throat rippling beneath his feet, contracting, pulling deeper into that uncertain dark.

In defiance, Jazz drew his gun and let his salvo fly. Some of the shots, perhaps about half, went the same way as his BlueMoon, disappearing into the dark without penetrating. His last four shots were luckier, punching into the fleshy walls. The WORM thrashed; from the void came a riot of bellowing; if Jazz could think through the cacophony and his own painful bites, he might have been able to hear it not as a beast's roar, but as a thousand human voices, raging and rioting.

Abruptly, Stephanie's PET came alive, screens flooding with garbled trash bytes. The WORM's designation finally resolved to show its write protection: whatever connection it had to the NET reeling tenuous and frail. Would one more good hit manage to slay the beast before it finished its meal?

-The Things that Lurk Beneath the Net-
B49NA4152Y.WORM: 1 HP [Mud] [Slow]

-P̵̸͠R̶͠E͞҉̷͝Y͢͏̵̴-
Jazz.EXE: 130 HP [Mud] [Hold] [In WORM's mouth]

-Terrain-
95% Mud [Nest Depths]
5% Missing [Back of WORM's throat]

-Special-
Nest Depths: There is no way out at present.

-EXTERMINATOR - PURGE THE INFECTION-
-TURN #4: CONTINUE?-

See you there.

-ScorchMan.EXE

To whom this may concern,

During a recent virus bust in a remote sector of Electown Net, I was attacked by a predator of unusual size and lethality. My Operator and I were able to drive it into hiding, but a lesser-prepared Navi would have faced considerable danger had they encountered it instead. Thus, I am preparing an expedition to track and eliminate the beast before it recovers and causes further damage. Any assistance would be greatly appreciated.

My Operator's PET listed its designation as 'Myriad.F.Seek'. Anyone with information on this being or others like it, be it known whereabouts or clues to its identity, can send their findings here or to my email. The beast is capable of subterranean travel through magma, and I intend to follow its path from the point it fled. Anyone who should wish to join the cause should ideally have protection from hot terrain, whether by element or an OilBody program. I have attached its last-known coordinates, and a screenshot that should display our quarry (I am the Navi in the foreground, for scale).

As this will be my own undertaking, I have no expectations of payment. That being said, I would accept a donation of Fire-element battlechips for future battles.

Regards,
ScorchMan.EXE

ATTACHED: PET Screenshot.img, coordinates.dat,

<(From Navi Net Shop)>

By the time ScorchMan returned, the station was quiet. The distant rumble of traffic had dwindled to almost nothing; night must have fallen. There was a familiar light snoring nearby, but ScorchMan couldn't hear anyone else. Not the bunkroom, then. Had Griffin moved at all since he'd jacked in?

The urge was strong to call out, and start filling in the blanks in his awareness. And yet, Griffin's steady breathing lent the atmosphere a calm softness. They weren't going anywhere, and their agenda was clear until morning. Off-call nights were opportunities for ScorchMan to take time for himself, and he had plenty of thinking with which to occupy himself.

Most of the Navi's headspace was dominated by his recent excursion, and the giant lava-spider he'd fought. The shard of carapace he'd taken as a trophy was passed from hand to hand, belying his agitation. Just recalling the adrenaline was enough to make his furnace crackle in anticipation of a fight. He'd heard of Cybeasts and the destructive force they codified - this hadn't seemed lethal enough to qualify, but it had been far too large for a Netborne virus. Could it have been a fledgling of some sort? A mutant? There were too many gaps in his knowledge to say.

Did it matter what it was? Some strange inkling was trying to tell ScorchMan it did. Only, how did he start filling in the blanks? Griffin was unlikely to be much help, at least without him actually finding where it laired. Other Navis, then - track the monster Net-side, enlist help. The PET should have kept track of where he'd fought the spider-beast. Would he have to dive into the lava where it'd escaped, assuming it hadn't been cleaned up already? Other Navis that could handle submersion in lava, then.

A plan began to take shape, but first..."Griffin, did you fall asleep on the couch again?" A thump and a muffled curse. "You sure did, huh?" ScorchMan allowed himself a chuckle at his Operator's expense (moderation was key, or else he'd be stuck laughing at his Operator all day). "At least hit the bunks if you're gonna sleepover at the station, dude," he chided, touch-typing open a BBS with practised motions.

"Aight, yell if you need me..." Voice low with sleep, Griffin shuffled out of the room, PET in hand. ScorchMan gave a hum of assent and listened for the clatter of being set back on a nightstand. A quick command muted the simulated clack of his keyboard while keeping the haptic feedback, and then he was typing into the night, alone once more with his thoughts and his Operator's snorfling.

The basement was a white throat. The thing the Net called Hexadecimal had become a long, yawning tunnel, walls contracting down, down, down through the foundations. All the world was reduced to the hunger in its gullet, and the things that reached to snare its prey. There was nothing of thought in the horror, for it had no brain.

It had no brain, and yet from out its depths came not a wholesale grotesquerie of bodies, but mouths. Only mouths, sewn to mouths sewn to mouths. Their tongues crawled up from the feeding pit, a storm of teeth crashing around at the faraway bottom. Nothing instructed this creation, there was no intelligence to process the concept of taste and sift through the sea of husks for the appropriate pieces, but it was rising all the same, retching, reaching, reaching-

-crack- and the world flashed red.

The limb would have been unremarkable, if not for the dim red haze and the rings embedded in its tip. Tearing open like so much old scabbing, Egomorph the Administrator was one more thin, waving tendril crawling from the basement's gullet. The column of her body lit up from within momentarily, bloody red light diffusing down the tentacle. The pool swirled, consumed the light, and continued climbing up the walls.

She came up off the walls and stretched herself tall. No sight, nothing to process but a swirling tide of voices all around: a wordless riot of pain and loss and not again, please - and from somewhere beyond, Ego heard it echoing back.

She could taste them: heartwood, old and broken and strong, still full of rage and might. Still fighting. Fading, and battling for every last inch left to lose.

A thought struggled itself to life. Falling Rising into the hole Hex had gnawed, across the space-that-wasn't between a hand and the mind that moved it, Egomorph held the thought before herself, bore it like a talisman for want of a voice.

The walls were hungry. Feelers rose from the depths in scrawling, scrabbling eddies and swirls, over the bits of framework left from the white's gorging. Reaching with slicing tips for the connection it savoured -

<but you get there first>

A pulse of white welled up in Vasilia's chest. Without Hex's malevolence, the rootplasm was still and benign, interacting with Vasilia's constitution with enough fluidity to feel downright gentle. It did nothing but exist as a microbial soup of identical, universally processable particles. Energy, created from processing the exotic matter of Hex's pool - and it was welling up in her, settling behind her wounds and splinters and encouraging just a little more growth, enough at least to survive what came next. One pulse at first, then a second stronger one.

The tentacles lunged, too twisted and branched and many to make sense of, save one. Ego's Conduit marked her, no matter how she was twisted - and she was stretching tall above the rest. The strange stilled white was flowing up her tendril too. The tip grew the suggestions of arms and an undefined head, halos burning a bright, steady red. Far below, the sea of teeth parted around a woman's husk as it climbed Ego's length. Clad in a sleeveless metal tunic, hair long and dark and wild, her broad silver-skinned body was nearly unmarred from the waist up: only her legs were missing. The undefined tip of the tendril crawled into the hollow of her waist. The Conduit pulsed.

She blinked, took a breath - and put her back to Vasilia, reaching down to bundle a dozen feelers in her brawny arms. Even as they bound her arms and wound round her neck, from the hollow woman's mouth came Ego's high voice, clear and strong, "You can't have her."

The white had no brain, no way to quantify this. It could do nothing but pull and swell and grow. An unseen feeler made to flood the liminal space where Ego's mind rested. It reached out to devour Vasilia's connection to the human's machine - reached, and was repelled with a command of <you cannot> from a millions-strong voice. The call to consume went wild and directionless: there was nothing but the taste of framework; of firmament; of self; of administration; of taste itself.

"Run, Vasilia. Don't look back, just run," Ego said, still turned to face the coming horror. Another cudgel was forming in the white's throat; even as the sea of teeth dragged her closer, she fought to stay between it and Vasilia. "You have to survive - I probably won't be able to - help like this, again."

A sickening lurch; the connection was collapsing. Good. "Run. Find the twins, make it - make it st-" her voice was swallowed . Gnawing in her head, voices screaming and panicking anew. Into Vasilia's chest Ego stretched and tucked in her thoughts once more, before the white engulfed her.



-THE HUNT, REPULSED-
FastArmour [40 HP Casing, Hex]
Crimson Cascade [10 Null {A}, Hex]
E1. ASSUMING CONTROL
Warding Touch [15 Healing, Vasilia]
1. Buster Shot: Vasilia [10 Null {A}]
E2. Command: Replicate [30 Healing: Ego, Vasilia]
2. Grapple: drag Vasilia down
E3. Defend Vasilia
3. Buster Charge
E4. Beg Vasilia to run
Glitch Eater [Unable to consume Vasilia's Routine Override, otherwise indiscriminate]
4. Half Charge Shot: Vasilia [60 Null {A}]

That, ScorchMan thought, had been remarkably painless. Even the shopkeeper's advice hadn't felt at all obsequious, for all that he usually couldn't stand unsolicited comments on his condition. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you," he said quietly, surprised that he meant it. "Could I...well, anyway, I should talk to my Operator. Have a good day."

He'd kept track of the directions the shop Navi (TempoMan?) had guided him through. When he made for the door, collecting his GuideProg on the way out, he only missed the door by a little bit, catching the frame in his hand and patting his way out. A crimson datastream announced his exit a few seconds later, along with a, "JACKING OUT, BARK BARK!"

<(To Kotobuki Fire Station)>

Pool: 280 pts
Caps: 100 / 150

Conflagration (80 pts)
ScorchMan's signature move. Wrapping himself head to toe in a veil of flames, his Scorch Busters are levelled against a foe for a withering blast. The colour of the flame is dependent on ScorchMan's vitality: at full capacity, the fire will burn bright yellow and smokeless, dimming redder and sootier as his inner furnace takes damage.
Effects: 50 Fire {A}, 30 HP Barrier; 2TCD

Smokejumper (80 pts)
A reconfiguration of his furnace allows ScorchMan to create a fuel-air projectile, to be fed either through his busters, or the various vents across his boots and armour. While the fuel burns too quick to create any sort of flame, the resulting shockwave is powerful enough to send foes flying, or propel ScorchMan far enough to deliver a staggering blow himself.
Effects: Microburst, Disarm; 2TCD

Scorched Earth (60 pts)
ScorchMan has made a study of using the heat of his environment as a sensory aid. By immolating his surroundings, the radiant heat floods back into ScorchMan's furnace and warms all it washes over, steadying his arm.
Effects: Medium Coal Terrain, Imbue Fire, Take Aim x2; 2TCD

Stoke (60 pts, 30 npts [20 used])
By sacrificing the use of one buster, ScorchMan can, at need, focus and divert power to his chest-furnace, cooking off accumulated impurities and raising his temperature back towards an optimal burn. Provided he has enough fuel, excess heat will welter from his chest-vents in a cross-shaped flare, absorbing any foreign flames outright and otherwise detonating to repel an incoming blow.
Effects: 30 Healing, 1-Hit Planar Shield, Charge Burner; 1TCD

-CURRENT PAIRS-



Hexadecimal: Level 13
ScorchMan.EXE: Level 5
Phase.EXE: Level 2
SandMan.EXE: Level 1

TOTAL LEVELS: 21

As follows, I'm applying for my third simultaneous pair. SandMan and Phase will remain shelved for now; stay tuned for a new pair to round off my elemental set, coming soon to New Users/Rebirths.

A Mr. Prog bobbed into the Net-Shop. In a departure from the typical design, this one was gunmetal-grey, with vaguely-canine features that mostly boiled down to two triangular points sticking from the top of its head, and a ':3' face in place of the usual wide grin. More notable was the Navi, clad in a red skinsuit and armour the same shade as the Prog, holding onto its shoulder and following it inside with unsure steps. "NOW ENTERING: TEMPOMAN'S NAVI NET SHOP, BARK BARK!" the GuideProg announced cheerfully, complete with fully voiced onomatopoeia.

"Thanks," ScorchMan replied, tinder-dry. The noise of the shop's bustle was impressive, though confusing; he kept hearing the same voice jump wildly around the store, sometimes speaking in two places at once. The store was warm with activity, rife with impressions of a tide of body heat coming and going. He suddenly realized he had no way of knowing where the front desk was, short of stumbling around feeling for something.

The thought made ScorchMan want to cringe. He edged over to the wall and listened hard, casting for anything that would give away the shopkeep's position. Maybe the register would make a noise? Could he just listen for other Navis listing their orders? There were so many voices...

To Hades with it. The blind Navi waited until he heard someone thank someone else and walked over; surely even a shelf-stocker would be able to help if he told them what he wanted, right? That part, at least, he'd done his research on. Stepping as surely as he dared, ScorchMan summoned a zenny chip and a typed list and gave his best smile, nevermind that he probably wasn't looking the right way and his helmet covered most of his face anyhow. "Hello there, I've been told this is the right place for amateur NetBattlers to purchase upgrades? I'm in need of some basics, I did the math and this should cover it." He held his hand out palm-up, gesturing for whoever he'd found to take both the list and the datachip, and perhaps kindly direct him to the actual counter.

[Purchasing:
- HP Memory x1 (1000z)
- PowerUP x1 (1000z)
- Element Shot (500z
- Process Upgrades v1-5 (1500z
- Total: 4000z]