Segmented

The Brothers have proved to be more elusive than they were made out to be. Whether or not they have some collective database is yet to be determined; and what that data would be is even more speculative. I need addresses, dates...not favorite colors.

There's been no more contact from Controller Gustav, and I have to look at my card more and more frequently: Pedaf Truman. Everett. VChicago. Another thing I have to keep reminding myself is why I'm holding a Samurai sword. It seems I may have confused what Time Fragment I'm in, at least, that makes the most sense; all I remember is needing a weapon.

As I'm vomiting right now, it's increasingly difficult to focus. I think I'm in the sub levels of Thornebelle, and if the growing intensity of these distortion waves are to be any indication, I'm very close to Entroop and whatever he's been up to.

I'd been making my way here using utility access-ways for the last two days, and the waves of vertigo began late yesterday. If there's anything being in quarantine so long has taught me, it's being able to tell when vertigo is artificial. This must be some protective measure Entroop had ensured for himself. That explains these nauseous episodes I'm having, why with every step I'm losing more and more of the super ego.

My knuckles are white on the hilt of the sword and I wonder if I should unsheathe it. Another blast from a Class 460 Rifle echoes down the halls and I know I've brought a knife to a gun fight. But at least I still recognize the report of a 460, and I recognize what that means: The Director has sent the military in. Are we working in concert, or is this the Ace up their sleeve? Why bring in an Everett at all if they were just going to send in the military? Or maybe I'm in the wrong Time Fragment, after all. Nothing to do but press forward.

I think the gunfire may be some attempt to confuse pursuers; there's no return fire, nor issuing of commands, and then it's just a hunch.

But I know I'm close now, despite the distortion.

Bodies.

There are bodies everywhere. I didn't think I could vomit anymore, but I have to choke something back. All military, young, too. These kids look like they just went to sleep. I check the safety on a 460 and sling it around my shoulder, the dead fingers pried loosely from the weapon and I realize I just missed the party. I somehow just missed whatever happened here.
I press my head against the cold wall and wait for the next distortion wave. When it doesn't come I know I may have already missed Entroop. It seems strange that a shifter could miss anything. I'm tempted to go back a little, see if I can figure out what happened, but I remember what Gustav said and I don't want to press my luck. I want to make it home after all this, and shifting may sever my link.

I push on.