Requesting to shelf Hex for the time being. New pair will be registered shortly to replace the slot.

There was no knowing what drove the white, or how it perceived the world beyond itself. Whatever sensory input it gleaned, it knew there was nothing left in the quarantine to chase. Branches rose up to catch against the tracer beams. What were they learning from the contact? It was impossible to say.

Perhaps it was something like tasting scents in the virtual atmosphere. Perhaps a little wooden doll, taken like a cutting from an old root, would have a signature unique to her that felt like fractals, heartwood, and known-before. Maybe the intelligence guiding the quarantine would learn something to that effect, or maybe they would be distracted by the faint vacuum pull the white exuded. Foundation, atmosphere, even light seeped into the liquid mass, caught in Hex's forest in a process not unlike trees absorbing carbon dioxide.

From beneath the waves, a high-pitched keening peaked and cut out. No barrier could keep Hex from its Administrator, for they were one being, one body. Metal skin shredded to nothing, Ego's halos vanished under the surface with one last spattering of red sparks. All was silent, save for a low groaning that could only be the Net itself.

Egomorph was a lump of Hex in stolen skin. Without a mouth, she could not scream. Without arms, she could not fight. Without a body, she was lost in Hex's undertow. Helpless, bodiless, denied the most basic of agency, it would be so easy to succumb to despair. Would, if not for the endless reminder that the undead world in her head would never rest. There would be no peace, no last rites for them or for her, until the white was destroyed.

All that passed for the white's thoughts were in her head. Realization began to take hold: it had not forgotten its brain, merely decided thought was unnecessary for the moment. The moment Egomorph became an uncooperative variable, the white understood the directives governing its behaviour needed rectifying. It had left the freedom of thought as Ego's last refuge. It would not make the same mistake twice.

White flooded the Conduit. Red light bleeding from the borehole depths, Egomorph the Administrator reactivated, and Ego the consciousness winked out. No longer mindless, the sprawling white paused its advance in favour of looping tentacles over themselves, building a structure of veins and intertwined bodies that brought to mind a network of roots (or, perhaps, neurons).

For a time, the processor simply pulsed. Though every byte of Hex's mass was identical in structure, a scan of the light, depending on what they were looking for, might have come out looking remarkably like the data patterns of a Navi's central cortex. Before long, from deep below came a static drone, [system threat neutralized > Administrator updated > [heartwood/fractal/familiar] not found > data profile saved

Somewhere in the Net's internal framework, a burrowed root began to retract. Oozing white swirled into a whirlpool as Hex drew in all of its newly-acquired mass: what internal goal had been met to merit halting its advance, nobody was left to say. Only Hex's crafted processor was left, still burning with noxious light even as it slid towards the borehole. From out its depths came one more batch of ominous words, [processing > ERROR: insufficient resources > processing > data recovery incomplete > scanning], and then it was gone, vanished into itself.

The Net fell silent, the dust of Hex's wreckage settling. The window was finally closed.

<{RETURN TO OPERATOR}>

There wasn't much time for Griffin and ScorchMan to ponder the implications of the rogues and the recall point. Perhaps there could have been, had the Navi not chosen to silently nod his understanding and skip to the action, making his way to the Myriad's point of entrance. As ScorchMan walked, a burst of yellow-white flame erupted from one boot and curled itself into a tight sheathe around his cuisses. Stamping the ground and pushing his weight down on his burning limb, a glowing red patch bloomed across the Net's checkerboard floor, radiant with heat. In seconds, a swimming pool's worth of molten metal bubbled and shimmered before ScorchMan and Prose. The hot air buffeted ScorchMan's armour and sent ribbons of fire fluttering from his vents, while over his boots lapped the consistent pull of a current, suggesting a shoreline to a nearby river.

The living furnace waded into the lava like a hot bath, with all the sighing and languidity that entailed. Though he couldn't see his feet, ScorchMan's head still tipped down as though considering them, then kicked off into a slow backstroke. He shrugged an arm out to wave to Prose before arching back and diving, surrendering to the pull of the current. "Yell if you need me," Griffin called out just as his viewscreen sank into a glowing red blur. ScorchMan was the barest hint of a silhouette, kicking to keep the current at his back, arms out for when he inevitably found a wall.

A muffled 'oof' - and there was a wall. 'Brrf' - and there was another. Swimming blind was one thing, and as ScorchMan quickly discovered, swimming blind down a twisting chute added a whole new dimension of awful. There was nothing for it but to stay braced for impact, keep kicking, and occasionally scrabble along the walls when the magma pushed him into a corner. As first impressions went, it was hardly the most flattering display Prose had likely seen, if she was indeed following close enough to catch ScorchMan's fumbling.

One more curve made its presence known to ScorchMan's senses, namely the tactile subset. Gauntlets and helmet met wall with a muffled clong of metal on metal, and then he was shooting upward: strange, but now was not the time to be asking questions. Now he was - falling falling oh jiminy what the f- - splashing down into a lava pool, and finally ScorchMan felt level ground. "Well," he grunted, chest-deep and slowly wading out, "that went well. Still there, Griffin?"

"You know it," came Griffin's voice between grunts of exertion. The window floated obediently behind ScorchMan as he pulled himself free, now displaying a full quarter of the Charity Calender. If Prose had made any close study of its contents, she might have recognized the fridge-like proportions of Mr. August, leaned up against the squat rack and shooting the breeze with Mr. April, who was nothing resembling small but still appeared dwarfed by the giant man. Hair and beard both shaved to the skin, the giant man's outfit matched his calendar getup, namely a pair of tiny scrum shorts, a sweatband on his forehead, and absolutely nothing else but a thick coating of wiry brown body hair. Mr. April, built like a runner, was in somewhat more conservative jogging getup, but clearly thought nothing of playfully swooning into his coworker's naked chest as he cheered Griffin on.

Griffin was the middle ground of the three men, both in proportions and dress. He was also the only one actually working out so far, pumping himself on the pullup bar like he weighed nothing. "Light up a little, ScorchMan? It's pretty dark wherever you landed," he paused midway to peer at the PET-projected screen. His Navi obliged by venting fire until he'd made himself into a walking torch. Flickering light bounced across the metal cavern, Griffin's brow furrowing as he took in what he could from ScorchMan's position. "Well, big ugly didn't make this space by itself, that's for sure. Probably found this space and set up camp? Check that back corner, can you tell where it got all melted? Yeah, that way, maybe that's its way in and out."

"Copy that." Feeling his way in, ScorchMan felt for the lava's heat, bouncing his own fire off it to feel where the walls were resistant, where they'd weakened. "Say, Griffin?" ScorchMan called out, while it was still just the two of them. His Operator grunted in reply; a little hesitant, ScorchMan asked, "Did Prose seem alright to you, while she was explaining the Rogue Networks? She sounded a little, uh, off." He stopped at the end of the room, illuminating as much as he could for when the other Navi rejoined them. He got the feeling fumbling around blind wouldn't end well, not when they were presumably right in the predator's den.

"No clue, bud. Maybe she was thinking about something else?" Butter wouldn't melt in Griffin's mouth. He finished his pullups, clapping Mr. April on the shoulder while the slighter man made to take his place. If the camera feed still pointed at the cage, and if Griffin sidled right into frame to start throwing a weighted medicine ball back and forth with Mr. August, that was clearly just coincidence.

A carpet of white ate into the ground. Steel and glass were dragged into Hex's borehole, broken under boughs that chewed as they pulled, every pulse of digestion pushing up more, more, more. A forest of writhing tendrils overgrew the quarantined space, radiating from the leftovers of the white's feeding frenzy. Leavings of metallic slurry spread across the surface like liquid armour, blossoming with faces.

Arrhythmic contractions grew the pit wider, deeper. More mass, more Hex, more for the white horizon beyond its depths. Ego could feel it suck down the fresh matter; it might as well have been her own throat. The bolus of fresh growth was large enough to scrape a sliver off for Vasilia without being noticed, small enough to look like a drop as it reached the ocean.

It would never stop, if nothing was done.

Somehow, even full of the feeling of chewing, her mind was still hers. Perhaps she'd finally numbed to it. Perhaps amidst its gorging, Ego thought, the white had forgotten she existed at all. It wouldn't surprise her; no matter how many voices cried out in her head, Ego could still reach down and feel Hex's shores underfoot, and understand how very, very small she was. Still, if she could just slow it down a few seconds more...

A murmur, a mantra, "I am you, I am you, I am you-" Glaring through the silvery eyes of a metal woman (̷̢̛D̵̨́r͢͢͝҉e͠͏͠ì̷̛s̶̕͢͟ş̸k̡͝ŕ͘͘͜,͏́͘ ̸̸̢́͘m̕͟͠y͠͏͟ ̸̡̧͟ņ̵̀͜͟a̷̷̢m̧̢͘͢͡ę̧ ̛͞i͡s̨͏̶͟͞ ̸́͜҉͠D̡͠r̵̛e͜͢͢͞҉i҉͟҉́͡s͝͡͏ķ͜k̶̷r̢͝)̶̸̧, Ego stood at the white's edge, brawny arms stretched wide and thinking desperately of oneness. Bloody red light crackled and made a beacon of her silhouette, some sparking against the encroaching sprawl, the rest circulating back into the Conduit's engine. Once a doorway Vasilia had fled through, the space on which she stood was only distinguished by the white's path forward, and the ruins left behind. However futile the gesture, the meaning was universal: you shall not pass.

Alas, all meaning in the universe was lost on Hex, for it had no brain. All the white registered was resistance, and thus a direction to advance its grotesque waves. Horror after horror rose before the Administrator: teeth, hands, tentacles, knit with oozing black veins into a formless melange. The curl of its crash downward might have resembled waves in an ocean, lent a predatory gravity.

The white wall pounced.

Oh, to be the one piece of Hex cognizant of pain! To be the one thing standing between the Net and a slavering maw that knew nothing of hurt or fear - all the Support Program could do was scream. The cacophony had died down to a groaning scrape. Finally audible and unheeded by any need for breath, all Ego's rage and despair split the air in an unceasing wail.

She felt its grip fill her, for Egomorph was nothing but white wearing a dead woman's skin. Ego's body was the white's body: moving her was moving itself, consuming her was consuming itself.

Hex eats everything. Consumption of self was intrinsic to the white. The wall of gnashing buried Egomorph -

- only to collapse, flailing, as the woman scythed through its tendrils with sweeps of her silver arms. Fuelling her, reaching from the Manifest Conduit through her was a world devoured, its remnants maddened beyond words. In undead perdition they had screamed, in undying defiance they now roared.

Hex's jaws closed over its own Support Program, pulling her in. Egomorph refused.

Hex ripped and tore at the column holding up her body. Egomorph refused.

Mouths all over her. Mouths inside her body, a mouth that was her body. Gibbering, feasting on itself, consuming more, more, always more.

Egomorph let it, even encouraged it, arms stretched wide to embrace the storm of teeth. A little more, just a little more, and it would chew right through her to its own connection. The window would break, the severed sprawl of white would rot into static, the little fractal-born witch with the pretty name would be safe. It would be enough. It had to be enough.

FastArmour [40 HP Casing, Hex]
E1. Distracted by visions
Warding Touch [15 Healing, Vasilia]
1. Pull the walls in
One For All [Link Hex & Ego's HP]
Crimson Cascade: Hex [10 Null x 2 hits {A}]
E2. Block Hex's path
E3. Command: Activate [Random effect, allies = Ego, Vasilia; 1TCD]
2. Entry: Vasilia [80 Null {A}, Break, Glitch]
3. Return Egomorph
E4. Resist
4. Movement: pursue Vasilia
Glitch Eater [50% chance to target Vasilia or Egomorph. If Vasilia, targets Routine Override; if Egomorph, targets Fissured Growth]

Requesting permission to unshelf Phase, to use as my third active pair.

Speaking in relative terms, ScorchMan was young and untested for a Navi. As with many of his kind, he was built for specialized job support, with his daily life a regimented, routine closed circuit that neatly separated everything he knew from everything he didn't. Only rarely did ScorchMan's world expand to fit a new depth in his understanding, each instance a milestone - and this conversation seemed like it was going to be another one. Several times, Prose's explanation used terms the Navi had no context for, and his face made no secret of the fact from 'rogues' onward, but he could piece enough dots together to make a game attempt at nodding along. "I think I get it," he said cautiously, once Prose finished her outline, "at any rate, seems like I'll be doing the Net a favour by getting rid of it."

"Too right," Griffin nodded his agreement. Finishing off his stretches, he segued into squats without missing a beat, first on bodyweight, then with a loaded barbell across his shoulders. Even with the weight, he didn't sound the least bit breathless when he spoke up, "So assuming big ugly didn't get chased up here by something bigger and uglier, there must be something screwed up underground, right? Something that drew it up to the...normals, right?" A slight adjustment of stance put Griffin in profile; the smooth glide of quads and hamstrings resumed. "It couldn't have been that far away, if it noticed ScorchMan's bathtub and came to see what's up. Dive down there, and you'll probably find both your bogie and whatever's distracting it from heading home," the firefighter continued, casually putting lie to the notion that more brawn equalled less brains.

The slighter half of the Beefcake Duo had gone quiet, mulling over Prose's words. A small shard of shiny black carapace blinked into ScorchMan's glove, who didn't seem to notice he was fidgeting with it until he pricked his thumb by accident. "I think you're right," he started, facing a point between Griffin and Prose's voices and addressing both at once. To Prose he nodded, gesturing down to the fragment, "It's not exactly closure I'm after. Yeah, I could've just pointed the authorities at the problem and washed my hands, but if it's something I can do something about..." the words fled him.

Hesitant, ScorchMan tried again, "I guess I don't like the thought of giving the Myriad a chance to find someone unprepared for it. That's just, no. Not happening, not on...heh! Not on my watch." The Navi's jaw curled into a rueful smirk, and let the fragment blip away. From beside him came a very Griffin-y 'eyyyyyy', but ScorchMan paid it no mind, choosing instead to reach down for those deep parts in his core that governed fire and heat, and pull. "Yeah," the burning man said, his body awash with curling flames, "I'm ready. If you've got a plan, then just tell me what you need and I'll do what I can. Oh, and uh, maybe stand back."

You wake up.

You are awake.

You fall asleep.

You wake up.

You are awake?

You are asleep.

You wake up?

Your body is a leaden weight, inactive, sedentary.

Disgusting. Pointless.

Stumble to the bathroom. The mirror is gone. When did that happen?

Your hands are bandaged.

Why are you even here?

There's nowhere else.

A beep. Mail from nobody. Net damaged, repairs needed urgently. Will you help? You don't want to, but you need money. You pick a quadrant and make yourself type, each keystroke a brick you will never see, never touch.

Never feel.

That's fine. This is what you wanted, right?

To be alone?

Untouched?

You don't want to-

-finish the thought, coward.

awake. asleeṕ̧̛.̛̀ ͞a͘w̛͘a͏͜͠k̡e̴̵̛.̨ as̵̕͠l̴e̷̢è̴p͘͠.͘

"Uh, that's Mr. December to you, thanks much," Griffin waggled a finger to the camera as he walked off-screen. The soft sound of rustling clothes ensued - from just outside the frame, he called coquettishly, "Kotobuki Firefighters' charity calendar, three years running? No big deal or anything." The rush of a faucet, then the quiet shake of a toothbrush going to work.

"There, that's fine," Cutting his Operator off, ScorchMan made a stopping gesture with a hand once Prose's reconstructions started putting out heat. Walking slowly forward into the wireframes, the walking furnace lit himself up, fire pouring from his body until he stood at the centre of a rippling bubble. With a simulated deep breath, ScorchMan pushed his awareness out and felt for where his heat brushed against the reconstruction. Memory supplied the rest, "That's right...I was flying around, and it tried to shark me just as I landed right...there." He nodded his understanding, barely registering Prose's teasing.

Before ScorchMan could begin, he was interrupted by the sound of a door swinging shut. A hand reached to grab the PET, giving the camera a thighs-up view of Griffin walking down the hall in rugby shorts and a loose tank top. "I can answer that, bro. This lazy mook was chilling in his lava bathtub that he made torching a bunch of viruses, and he stayed in there so long his feet got stuck! Next thing you know, big ugly's rolling up on him like 'yo, snacktime!'' Hey ScorchMan, it cool if I get my gains on while you do your thing?"

"Knock yourself out - and my feet did not get stuck," ScorchMan griped, looking put out in a very literal sense. Flames dying down to a red smoulder, his rippling sphere of influence faded in short order. Without turning to face the other Navi, he started, "I dunno anything about this thing, all I know is Griffin yelled 'big damn lava spider' and the next second it was running me down. Got me a couple times, but I kept ahead of it." At that he huffed a bit, expression twisting as he recalled the mad scramble, and summed up the rest, "Then, it was just a matter of Griffin having exactly the right chips for me to get clear, and blast it before it finished the job."

"Not to mention pointing you in the right direction," Griffin chimed in, hooking his PET to the handlebars of an exercise bike and walking a slow lap around the fire hall's gym. Stretching and unsubtly flexing for the camera, the mottled red of old burn scars were plainly evident along one arm and shoulder. At that point another fireman in athletic wear appeared in the doorway and wolf-whistled, prompting Griffin to bring his arms up, bracket his head with his biceps, and affect a pin-up pose for maximum peacocking. His voice filled the small room, "Yeah, can't say we've been doing this long, but ScorchMan over here? Pretty badass in a fight."

"Yeah, well, I had help." With an emphatic lean towards Griffin's voice, the flames licking from ScorchMan's armour flared back up to a strong yellow burn. Despite the imposing stance, his words were almost hesitant, "So, as long as I'm working with you, can I ask...what was that thing, anyway?"

The WORM's belly convulsed to the point Jazz's footing disappeared from under him entirely. The WORM tipped its long, dark throat up, becoming a tunnel that pointed straight down. Tumbling, splattered with fluids best not thought about, Jazz struggled to bring his gun to bear before the depths claimed him. Once, twice the darkness swallowed his attacks; the third, pointed straight back the way he'd come, lanced something vital in the jaws' construction. The maw stretched wider, wider -

- and finally cracked. Momentum petering out, the jaws split on their hinge and began to fall away from each other. The worm unzipped down its middle even as Jazz continued to fall down its throat, two rips travelling with him until he hit the ground. though the darkness in its belly was an oncoming rush of howling winds and screaming voices. There was nothing to see, but Jazz still felt it passing straight through him. It was like liquid in the air, almost, but the Navi could feel it passing through the same space his body occupied like he wasn't even there. Somehow, he was unharmed beyond the initial bite marks, but his limbs were racked with bone-deep chills that felt like words scrawled on his deepest frameworks.

Coils of flesh laid in heaps across the nest. The WORM was already beginning to decompose into static. There was nothing in its carcass that was any use to Jazz, but there seemed to be extra data uploading to the PET. It's as if the data was sent right through Jazz, communicated across some plane he couldn't quite see.

-The Things that Lurk Beneath the Net-
BINARY.WORM: [EXPUNGED]

-Those Who Fight Back-
Jazz.EXE: 130 HP [Mud] [Hold] [In WORM's mouth]

-Terrain-
90% Mud [Nest Depths]
10% Hole [Center]

-Special-
Nest Depths: The nest is collapsing. Remaining seems unwise.
Hole: Is descending worth the risk?

-EXTERMINATOR - PURGE THE INFECTION-
-BATTLE #5: VICTORY!!-
Rewards: 1600z, Synapse1Damage: 80 + Piercing + Chain 2
Accuracy: B
Description: Produces a powerful ray through sheer force of thought, which arcs towards nearby enemies when it hits a target.
Duration: Once
Element: Elec
Special: Chain 2: This attack, upon striking a target, may change directions towards a new target. This may be done up to 2 times in one attack.
Trader Rank: D

The walls of the cavern are beginning to fracture, revealing deep crevasses in the glacier. It was unlikely that the WORM was the only thing living in the glacier, if there were still networks of caves it had yet to chew into.

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.