You study the pendant in your hand for a few seconds more. There's something inside of it, and that certainly looks like a cap, but... in a minute. After wiping off the standing water, you tuck the strange necklace into your pocket and slosh through the ankle-deep water to the cockpit of the ruined spacecraft. Something was glowing inside the body of the pilot, and you intend to find out what.

Stepping up to the body, you hesitate slightly before touching it. What if this stuff was dangerous? Although- no, they wouldn't wear something dangerous on their skin. You gently push the body forward, stepping slightly into the cockpit to see if there was a zipper or another obvious release, but find nothing. No obvious seams or fasteners that would keep it closed. There was some kind of pack fastened to the back, but you can't see a way to get it off.

The helmet has an obvious connecting ring, though. Careful not to touch the shattered glass of the visor, you grab hold of it and give it an experimental twist. It slides to the side and catches on something, starting to resist you. As soon as you let go, it slides back into place on it's own. Turning it again, you reach the point where it catches and keep twisting, hearing a satisfying 'click' as the helmet suddenly pops off the ring.

In the same motion, the skull inside also falls out and splashes into the water, making you flinch as some of the droplets land on your skin. You look at the empty helmet in your hand and carefully place it to the side. Leaning the suit forward, you look down the neck and immediately gag as the stench of flesh washes up to you. A potent combination of rot, filth, asparagus and something indescribable. You can see the soggy, grey flesh in there. No way this thing is fully rotted down to the feet yet.

Covering your mouth with your sleeve, you lean back and peer into the corpse. It's above the line of rotting flesh, surrounded mostly by clean bone, but there's a... mechanical device of some kind in there, fastened to the back of the ribcage. It's shaped roughly like a cross, or maybe a winged staff, with a bulbous middle section and two side struts that flare out a short distance. Purple light faintly glows out of cracks in it's surface and weakly sputters out of the many tubes and ports that connect to it. Small wires- roots, really, sprout out of it and tangle through the ribcage and merge with the mass of other wires in the body. As you listen, a faint whirring sound comes to your ears.

>Try and open the rest of the suit and extract it.
>Leave it alone, there's no telling what kind of alien diseases it's contaminated with.
>[Write-In]

>>3765059
>Leave it alone, there's no telling what kind of alien diseases it's contaminated with.

>>3765059
>Leave it alone, there's no telling what kind of alien diseases it's contaminated with.

>>3765059
>Try and open the rest of the suit and extract it.

>>3765059
>Leave it alone, there's no telling what kind of alien diseases it's contaminated with

>>3765059
>Leave it alone, there's no telling what kind of alien diseases it's contaminated with.
Better safe than sorry, plus we can always come back another time to loot it more thoroughly once we are better prepaired

>Leave it alone, there's no telling what kind of alien diseases it's contaminated with.
No touching something contaminated with dead body juices. Writing.

Taking a few steps back, you give the suit a wide berth for good measure and make a mental note to wash your hands and take a shower when you get home. You remember watching a documentary at one point about space travel where they interviewed a scientist who was concerned about mixing two biospheres together. The possibility of there being alien virus in here that's now on you lurks at the back of your mind.

Surveying the rest of the cave, you realize that you've lost track of the small robot. Swiveling your head for a second, you spot it's signature in the gloom. It's perched on the back of the wreck, fiddling with pieces of the wreck. Many of it's tools have sprouted from it's central canister, but it seems to be having no luck. "Are you trying to fix this thing?"

The robot keeps at it's task, but it throws more and more parts away as apparently useless.

"Is it too much for you to fix on your own?" You ask.

Completely throwing aside the parts in it's arms, the robot's main body opens up, and it extends a small tank from inside it, only about the size of a pencil lead case. A dark yellow fluid sloshes around inside of it, a fluid you recognize as the material it put into the crack of your desk to fix it.

"You don't have enough repair, ah, gunk to fix it?"

The robot doesn't respond, instead hopping down from the wreck to probe the rest of the cave.

You consider your choices, looking around at the rest of the cave. There isn't much left in the cave to poke at. Maybe some hidden compartments in the ship? That's where they stuck the emergency kit and stuff, right?

>Look at that canister the body had in it's arms.
>Take a closer look at the pendant you found.
>Look over the wreck itself more closely.
>Get out of here while it's still light out.

>>3766972
>Get out of here while it's still light out.

>>3766972
>Look at that canister the body had in it's arms.

>>3766972
>Look at that canister the body had in it's arms.

>Look at that canister the body had in it's arms
Writing.

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Approaching the cockpit again, but making sure to keep your distance, you peer at the cylinder the figure is grasping. With it's head missing, it's a bit comical, but the whole thing is curled around the object like it's a security blanket, with even the legs locked around the base of the cylinder.

The cylinder itself was mostly featureless metal, marked with occasional indents and what might have been ports for cables. One end of it was shorn and ripped, cables hanging from the end. The other end was some kind of receptacle, in which a glass object was inserted. It was mostly clear, although of a greenish tint that obscured some of it's internal mechanisms. Taking a closer look, you can see markings in alien script along the rim, along with metal components and an electrical port in the back.

When you removed the helmet, it seems the cylinder had shifted slightly in the corpse's grasp, the object on the end tilting to the side to rest against the casing. A quiet poke causes it to shift slightly, and a second later you simply lift it up with no resistance. It's actual body is quite small and light, to the point that you can wrap your relatively small hand mostly around it's base.

Taking a look at it, you scratch your head, unsure of what it's supposed to be. It kind of looks like a weird headlight to you, or maybe a flashlight. Either way, it's not glowing, but it's small enough that you can just slip it into your bag without too much of a fuss.

>Quality gained: 'Valkan device'

Poking your head out of the cave for a second, you see that the sun is out of sight, probably lowering down for the evening. If you want to get back home before dark, you should probably head back now.

>Keep scrounging through for more stuff.
>Leave the cave.

>>3767696
>Leave the cave.

>>3767696
>Leave the cave.

>>3767854
We mustn't forget our robot bro

>>3767696
>Leave the cave

>Leave the cave
Writing.

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It's gonna be a long walk back, you better start now if you're going to leave. Turning to the wreck, you check over your pockets one final time to make sure you didn't leave anything, before remembering the robot that lead you here. You shine your flashlight over the wreckage a few times before spotting it attempting to fasten two pieces of plate back together.

"Hey." You call. "Come on, let's go."

The robot immediately abandoned it's duties, marching to the edge of the wreck before suddenly leaping towards you, eliciting a slight shriek from you as it catapulted itself into your hands. It's legs folded up into itself again, and it stopped moving, entering it's inactive state.

"Okay, jeez..." You mumble to yourself with a silly smile. "Way to be overeager..." Shaking it slightly to get the last of the water off of it, you slip it into your bag.

>Quality gained: 'Valkan repair drone'

Crawling up the other side of the slope is unexpectedly hard, with loose stones kicking and pulling off easy as you try to scale the side, but you manage to hoist yourself over and stumble down the other slope. Now that you aren't blindly chasing the drone, you realize that it lead you through a much rougher path than you realized. Carefully picking your way around, you keep a healthy distance from the sheer cliffs and loose gravel that line the path to the cave and climb bath to the normal dirt.

Without knowing the exact bearing you followed in, you simply follow the slope upwards as the ground turns to dirt and trees and foliage start to take over the path again. Going in a straight line for long enough sees you return to the concrete path in a random location. You have no idea which way will eventually take you home, but you reasonably gamble that walking in the direction of Miir's looming shape will.

As you walk, you idly slip a hand into your bag and confirm your treasures are still there. Robot, precious device of some kind, and a pendant. Your bag practically glows when you look at it. Taking out the pendant, you consider exactly what it's supposed to represent. It's got a... signature, so it's probably important, but you're not sure what it's supposed to do, if anything.

It's possible that the signatures might actually be meaningless, but so far they seem to have indicated the presence of machinery- the repair drone, the skeleton with it's exoskeleton, the wreck, whatever that weird device is. What's with the pendant, then? And what is the signature, really? How can you see it?

Cupping your hands around the pendant, you idly note that despite the glowing you perceive from it, your hand isn't illuminated. Less of a true glow and more an odd 'haze' that surrounds and moves around these objects. The chain is a bit beat up, but it's intact, and... well, what else are necklaces for?

>Put it on.
>Leave it alone.

>>3768619

>Put it on

>>3768619
>Put it on.
Smells like PLOT!

>>3768619
>Leave it alone

>Put it on
Writing.

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You put the chain over your head and pull your hair over it. The pendant ends up resting just below that weird depression between your clavicles, the kinks in the chain preventing it from resting a bit lower. Just like the wreck, it's vaguely warm to the touch, slowly spreading out from the point of contact. It's... soothing, in an odd way.

Tucking the pendant beneath your shirt, you walk back under the shadow cast by Miir and find a path up to the first floor. Your phone starts buzzing as soon as you come back into signal range and you find a stream of texts from your Dad, asking where you are and if you're doing okay. Tapping out a quick message to him, you say that you were just taking a lap of the second story and you were coming home now.

It takes you a bit to cross town to the seaside district you live in, but your home eventually comes into view with your feet feeling quite dead. The water that had soaked through them had dried by the time you start walking up your steps, but your feet are still damp and hot. You open the door and mumble about being home as you kick your shoes off, yawning slightly to yourself.

When you wander into the living room, you see Dad at the kitchen table again, looking at you with an intense look on his face. He had a bulky, intimidating look to him, but that hadn't worked on you since you were six. He just looked confused and worried. "What's wrong?"

"What's wr-" He sighs. "I should be asking you that."

Now it was your turn to look confused. "What do you mean?"

He looks you over for a while. "Are you okay, Tiiris?"

"...yeah?" You open the door to your room and toss your bag inside before closing it. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He works his jaw slightly. "...you were in a bombing yesterday. You nearly died, your friend's in the hospital and now you keep disappearing on me." Dad fixes you with a look.

"I was taking a walk!" You protest.

"A six hour walk?" He asks. "You didn't go anywhere else?"

"...it was around the whole city, takes a while." You mumble halfheartedly.

"Look, honey, just... what's going on?" Dad presses. "Somethings obviously changed, and I don't know what to do about it if you can't tell me. Are you doing something you're not supposed to? Are you okay?"

You stand there, one foot in the kitchen, the other still in the hallway, frozen. Honestly, it hadn't really occurred to you what Dad would think about this. You tried to tell him before that you felt okay, but he hadn't bought it. Honestly, how do you phrase 'I am completely unaffected by the massacre I witnessed' in a way that doesn't make you sound like a complete psycho? He'd just cornered you out of nowhere with this, though. What should you tell him?

>>3769225
>Tell him the gist of it. That you'd gotten really interested in Valkans and were looking into them.
>Fess up the whole truth. The soldier, the visions, the crash site. Show him the repair drone if you have to.
>Make something up. You have a hobby, you're just trying to distract yourself, etcetera... [Write-In an excuse]
>Clam up and don't say anything.
>[Write-In]

>>3769230
>Tell him the gist of it. That you'd gotten really interested in Valkans and were looking into them.

>>3769230
>Tell him the gist of it. That you'd gotten really interested in Valkans and were looking into them.
Try to poke him a little about our ancestry

>>3769230
>Tell him the gist of it. That you'd gotten really interested in Valkans and were looking into them.

>Tell him the gist of it. That you'd gotten really interested in Valkans and were looking into them.
Writing.

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"Um... well, I've been kind of looking into Valk...ans." You mumbled the last part.

"Valkans?" Dad repeats.

"Yeah..." You make a light shrug, pull back a chair from the kitchen table and sit down. "Got interested, because the death cultists, you know? So..." You grasp lightly for a fib. "I started with searches, then the library, and today I went and hit up the war museum and took a look at some stuff."

"You went to the war museum?"

"Not like there's anywhere else." You shrug, studying his reaction anxiously to see if he buys it.

Dad's face remains confused, and then eventually softens. "Well, alright." He grumbles. "It's... look, I went and found a few leaflets, there are support groups for the survivors and-"

"I don't want to go to group therapy." You say in a pained, genuine voice.

"I know you don't." Dad cracks a slight grin at you. "But if you ever do, that saves you the trouble of having to ask." He pushes away from the table at gets up to put his glass in the sink.

You rest your head on your arms, pondering exactly what you did to get in this situation. Although, now that you have this lie going... "Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are you from, again?"

"Me?" Dad grumbles in surprise. "Miir, same as Grandpa and Grandma."

"...and what about Mom?"

"Oh, up a ways north." He answered vaguely.

"Yeah, but where?" You ask again.

"I think on the other end of the continent, in Sothim?" He shrugged. "Dunno, never really bothered asking her. She never liked talking about her home that much. Think her family wasn't great or something."

"...aw, that's cute. You were her knight in shining armor."

"A man can have dreams." He said airily, sitting back down. "Why the sudden question, though?"

"Eh, just thinking. There was an exhibit at the museum about places they bombed and stuff." You pause. "How'd you meet again?"

"We stayed in the same shelter after the war." He shrugged lightly. "I'd lost my job, she'd been messed up in a bombing. We were lucky she healed so well. Ended up moving in together to save some money on rent and... well, that's how we got you."

"You never met her family?"

"Never." Dad shakes his head.

"What, even at the wedding?"

"We couldn't afford a wedding!" Dad laughs. "Our big splurge on our wedding night was going out for fancy dinner. Never set foot in a chapel."

"Huh..." You reach out to take an apple from the bowl, before remembering the alien diseases your body was probably swimming in by now. Pushing back from your chair, you bid Dad goodbye for the moment and step into the shower. Letting the water run over you and also the things you picked up. Probably electronics, so maybe this was a bad idea, but you like the idea of getting space cancer even less.

>>3769891
After putting your dirty clothes along with the rest of your hamper into the wash, you change into a pair of pajamas and collapse on your bed. The ache that comes from walking several miles in a mad dash is crashing into your feet, now. Everything slightly aches, and you realize that means you'll be going to school tired tomorrow. If you even go, that is.

>Close your eyes and go to sleep.
>>[Sub-Option] Don't set your alarm. Sleep in and skip school.
>Stay awake and do more fiddling.

>>3769892
>>>Close your eyes and go to sleep.

>>3769892
>>Close your eyes and go to sleep.

>>3769892
>Close your eyes and go to sleep.

>>3765021
>>3769892
Excuse the intrusion, you just made it to the quest timeline. Do you have a preference among your op's pictures or wish to make a title to mark your quest on it?

File: COADE OP.png (116 KB, 1000x1000)

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>Close your eyes and go to sleep
School calls like a siren's song.

>>3770705
I did? Um, shit, I honestly have no clue. Threw this together in illustrator as my best approximation of an OP image.

>>3770962
Don't worry, if you want it change later just drop by the /qtg/ and tell me or mention on your next thread I will be sure to be reading it.

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Yawning, you pull the covers of your bed over yourself and allow yourself to drift off to sleep. The aches of your body slowly fade with your consciousness, and a passing thought that you're going to feel like shit tomorrow.

---

Y'avel Shipbreaking Yards,
Special Industrial Zone 2
19th of 4th, 1173. 6:00PM.

"You know, when ordinary people screw up, it doesn't cause an explosion." A man in a suit said, looking out the window.

"Look, I told you once, I told you again." The other man - much older than the one in the suit - said, holding up a finger. "We are decommissioning one of the most advanced warships ever made. There's going to be setbacks and accidents unless you give us the time to do this properly."

"The military doesn't see it that way. Site 2 is behind schedule as is, they've already managed to get into the pressure hull at Site XIII."

"And they destroyed everything of value at their entry point, and are still suing our asses for the wrongful death of the workers." The older man stop up, brushing his hands off on the work coveralls he wore and pacing around the cramped office. "We speed up again and I guarantee you that you'll see a repeat of today's performance- another explosion, another lost chunk of tech."

"There's no less than sixteen other hulls being picked apart. We aren't worried about missing out on some gadget, Al." The man in the suit raised his arms at his side.

"What about safety, then?" Al put his hands on his desk and leaned over the man in his guest chair. "Five men in the hospital. You can talk all you want about the needs of the military, but as soon as we start bleeding men, they're going to stop working."

"This is an important project, if your workers strike, we can find others to fill their jobs." The man answered evenly.

"Oh, yeah? You don't think workers talk?" Al rubbed his nose and turned around. "I know that you're an intelligence officer, which means that you think you're the Maker's gift to us mortals, so I'm going to give you a bit of friendly advice. People gossip, they pass messages, they will learn about this. We need to slow the pace or you'll never get anything at all."

The man huffed in his chair. "That doesn't sound very patriotic, Al."

"...you're a junior lieutenant, son." Al had a disbelieving look on his face. "This isn't a spy movie. Your superiors sent you to check out the site in person, not puff up your chest and threaten me. And if you do think you can threaten me, I invite you- fire me. See what your superiors have to say about it." He shot a well-practiced death glare across the desk.

The other man - Sequoia - tried to stare back at his disapproving glare, fidgeted and looked out the window, at the imposing wreck the office sat only a few hundred feet away from. Workers moved around the spire that projected from the dunes that had formed around it. From a distance, it looked like sand, but Sequoia knew better. "What caused the explosion?"

>>3771501
Al paused a moment to recover his train of thought, then sat down. "We made to shear away a much greater section of the hull in one go in an attempt to breach the inner cavities ahead of schedule. Something we were drilling into blew- a munitions system, I understand. The entire magazine went up and blew the weakened section of the hull clear, along with several pieces of the ship's internals."

"Internals?"

"We believe portable hardware of some kind. Vehicles, EVA gear, things that you'd want to keep close to the outer hull. We're still recovering pieces from the ash bog."

"Do you know where it all is?" Sequoia's voice turned worried.

"We don't exactly keep a radar pointed at the crash site. For now, there's no real way of telling." Al studied him. "If your concern is autonomous hardware, I'd talk to the boys who man the wall, instead of us."

"Of course." Sequoia mumbled, before standing. "Foreman."

"Please, just Al."

He shook the man's hand, before turning and leaving.

---

The repeated electronic beeping of your morning interrupts your relaxed dreaming. Your eyes blink open, and you twist and yawn before struggling to a sitting position. What the hell were you dreaming about? You remember something about a bird and river deltas, but... you shake your head.

Stumbling out into the kitchen, you wave to Dad as he eats breakfast, making yours by the usual rote, slipping on your glasses so you can look into the living room and watch the morning TV run. When the clock hits seven thirty, you stand up and slip into your room. Wrinkling your noise slightly at the odd bookshop must emanating from your first uniform, you grab the spare and a clean pair of pantyhose.

Once you're dressed and presentable, you check your bag quickly. There spoils from your previous day's hunt are still in there, all lined up next to each other. You can fit your school stuff and work shirt in there, easy, but should you really take a bunch of Valkan junk to school?

>Remove them.
>Leave them in, you don't go to a school with metal detectors or anything.

>>3771502
>Remove them
I'm sure no PLOT will happen over the course of the day. But leave the pendant on.

>>3771521
This

>>3771502
>Leave them in, you don't go to a school with metal detectors or anything.
because why not.

But definitely leave the pendant on

>>3771502
>Leave them in, you don't go to a school with metal detectors or anything

>>3771502
>Leave them in, you don't go to a school with metal detectors or anything

>Leave them in, you don't go to a school with metal detectors or anything.
>Keep the pendant on
Wrriting.

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You just toss your work shirt in on top of them. Nobody searches bags at your school anyway. Shouldering it, you open the door and wave to Dad on your way out. "I'm going."

Dad looks up from his paper in surprise. "Going?"

"To school, Dad." You stumble in place slightly as you tug your shoes on.

"You sure you want to go back so soon?" He asks.

"Staying here is driving me stir-crazy." You shrug. "I think it's better to get back into a routine."

Dad looks slightly conflicted, but thankfully doesn't press it. "Well, have fun, honey."

"Love you, Dad." You smile and open the door.

It's funny, it feels like your whole world has changed in just a few days, but the morning traffic is still shit. You find yourself clogged into a crowd of workers, commuters and students slowly making their way towards the elevators in the morning slog. Crowds so thick the sidewalks periodically get jammed as it stops for traffic, with only the lucky few at the front able to dart out through the gaps in traffic.

Once you get to the elevator, it clears somewhat as most of the workers take the downwards carts, while you get with the students and retail workers onto the upward bound cart. At the second floor, most of the retail workers get off, leaving you with just the students and a few people who work at the big tech companies and luxury stores on the third floor. You wave to a few people you know in the crowd, promptly claiming one of the now empty seats as the cart slowly rises above the second floor.

Not that you really need it. You feel remarkably energetic considering all the exercise you got yesterday. There's some lingering exhaustion in your ankles, but even that seems to be quickly fading. It was accompanied by a soothing feeling, a slight warm twinge in your feet.

There are more Valkan signatures out there. You can see... three, maybe five more spread across the city. One is flying directly over it. How many were there, really? The number seemed to come and go, some vanishing while new ones appeared. It was probably a trick of your eyes, but you could swear there were slight pinpricks popping up all the time, only to immediately vanish.

More parents were personally dropping their kids off at school today. A big clog of cars ran through the school's parking lot, blocking the normal deluge of foot traffic. Concerned parents, probably. You don't see the point, personally. It just makes it more of a pain for everyone else walking.

Opening your locker, you peer and focus on the list taped to the inside of the door and groan. Monday, right. That meant a full schedule. Stupid rotating schedule. You pull the pair of gym clothes you keep in your locker out and swap them for the work shirt in your bag before closing it. Sitting through homeroom, you turn to your left and look at your seat mate. "Hey..."

>>3772905
>Kara. Huh, she looks like she's kind of on edge for some reason...
>Taylor, who looks over and offers a wave and a smile.
>Lynn, struggling to stay awake as usual.
>You don't actually sit with any of your friends in homeroom.

>>3772907
>Lynn, struggling to stay awake as usual.
If there's anyone who will be able to take Valkan intrigue in her stride, it'll probably be her. And least likely to panic if and when the robot ends up scuttling around.

>>3772907
>Kara. Huh, she looks like she's kind of on edge for some reason...

>>3772907
>Kara. Huh, she looks like she's kind of on edge for some reason...

>>3772907
>>Kara. Huh, she looks like she's kind of on edge for some reason...

>>3772907
>Taylor, who looks over and offers a wave and a smile.

>Kara. Huh, she looks like she's kind of on edge for some reason...
Writing.

>>3774953
Sorry about the delay, had something sprung on me.

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"...Kara?" You study her up and down. Kara's hands were flat on the desk, and her shoulders were squared as she stared into space directly ahead of her with an intense determination, even with her blonde bangs dangling down in front of her face. "You okay?" No response, so you reach out and poke her elbow. "Kara-"

"Ah!" She visibly jumped in her seat and looked at you. "The f- oh, hey, Tiiris..."

"...hey, yeah." Your lips part slightly as you look at her in confusion. "You doing okay there?"

"Yeah, I- um, yeah, just got a headache I guess..." She fidgeted and mumbled. "How are you?"

You nearly open your mouth and say 'I got bombed this weekend', but think better of it given her frazzled state. Not sure you actually want anyone to hear about that yet, either. Or ever. "I had a pretty boring weekend. Went on a walk yesterday."

"...that does sound pretty boring." Kara mused. "Hey, have you-" She was interrupted by the sound of the bell ringing.

Almost immediately, your homeroom teacher calls class to order and takes roll. She skips over your name at first, until you raise your hand. "Tiiris?" She looks surprised, then looks down at the roll display. "I thought you were..."

"Nah, I'm here today." You say, lowering her hand.

In the end, she never called Elan for roll. Guess they knew about him already, too. In fact, the very first thing out of her mouth next was about the bombing. "You probably heard about the bombings at Skyview this weekend. Obviously, we're still in school, so it's not like we're shutting down, although we will be having some temporary guards for the next little while. Just in case. So keep that in mind if you try any funny business." She fixed someone up front with a look before going back to the normal homeroom duties.

The first fifteen minutes of your school day was always the time you got grades back and handed in big projects. It was also always in the classroom next to your lockers, for easy access before school. After announcements and morning roll, you have to sit through your teacher listing club news and handing back some projects to your other classmates without being able to chat with your neighbor until the bell rings and you get up.

It's odd how quickly you return to a routine, going through the motions and answering your teachers automatically as you sit through social studies. Hard to imagine that you were doing anything fantastical just a few days ago. Despite the occasional reminders that yes, the bombings really did happen and weren't just some dream, reality seems... just fine. Not idyllic, but fine.

That is, until you make it to third period and you remember that no, reality is terrible and horrible things happen all the time. This is your worst subject. Not only because you suck at it, but you swear the teacher has something against you as well. It's...

>>3776052
>Math. Fucking math. You've never been great with numbers in the abstract sense. Your day to day? Fine, but you cannot do a word problem to save your life.
>PE. While you're not exactly a weakling - your impromptu run yesterday proved that - that doesn't exactly mean you're in shape or an athlete.
>Art. It's a requirement to graduate, but you are just not artistically talented and the teacher prancing about like he's going to start the next big art movement doesn't make you want to get better.
>Technology. You know plenty about the basics of computers- who doesn't? But you aren't some programming genius or a system admin.
>Military Studies. It hurts more than anything, because the teacher used to have high hopes for you- then your eyes started getting worse and you slowly fell more and more behind. Now she just looks disappointed when she looks at you.

>>3776054
>>Technology. You know plenty about the basics of computers- who doesn't? But you aren't some programming genius or a system admin.

>>3776054
>>Math. Fucking math. You've never been great with numbers in the abstract sense. Your day to day? Fine, but you cannot do a word problem to save your life.

>>3776054
>Art. It's a requirement to graduate, but you are just not artistically talented and the teacher prancing about like he's going to start the next big art movement doesn't make you want to get better.

>>3776054
>Art. It's a requirement to graduate, but you are just not artistically talented and the teacher prancing about like he's going to start the next big art movement doesn't make you want to get better.

>>3776054
>Technology. You know plenty about the basics of computers- who doesn't? But you aren't some programming genius or a system admin.
Dumpstatting art when we have a Valkan artbook literally within arm's reach feels pretty bad.
Kinda dig the tech-inept theme we've got going, though.

>>3776054
>Technology. You know plenty about the basics of computers- who doesn't? But you aren't some programming genius or a system admin.

>>3776403
This anon has the right of it

>>3776403
We didn't draw the art book, and we don't need to be an artist to understand it. But sure, I'll change to "fuck IT".

>Technology. You know plenty about the basics of computers- who doesn't? But you aren't some programming genius or a system admin.
Writing.

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"Is everyone logged in? Good." Mrs. Clinsky, the computer science teacher, immediately began the lesson and the bell rang.

You swear quietly to yourself and hurriedly log into the class system. Everyone had their own terminals these days, but for the lesson they used these special networked ones the teacher could remote into. You don't think you've ever seen Clinsky use it to help someone, though, just to spy on what they were doing.

The lesson today was about basic scripting. After sixth grade, they had moved on from assembling the blocks of logic together to make your scripts to learning to code in a real language. That was where you started to falter. Logically, you knew what you wanted to create, and the logic it needed to follow, but the point to point of how to create that in scripting continued to evade you...

"Now, you need to keep your scripts clean, any misplaced characters will break the script- or worse, be misinterpreted. For example-" The projected screen changed to a view of someone's desktop and a tangle of code that you recognize with a sinking feeling. "Tiiris, you've accidentally inserted an extra space here and... here, if we try to run the script..." Clinsky smiled as the program lit up the first line of your script in red as the source of an error. "See?"

"Yes..." You mumble.

>Quality gained: 'Light User'

Kara shoots a look at your from the corner of the room where her desk was. She was kind of handy with electronics, you know- at least the ones that was in her Dad's shop, and you can't stop the brief flush of jealousy. Something about the fact that you were terrible with machines made you deeply angry on occasion. Maybe it was the repeated failures, or your previous dreams of military service, but it just filled you with a burning shame to know you weren't good with this stuff.

It's far easier to just keep your head down and nod when your mistakes are inevitably pointed out in front of the whole class. As much as a snob she is about it, Mrs. Clinsky at least only points out legitimate errors. You just make an easy target, is all.

Kara gives you a sympathetic pat on the back as you pack up after class, looking like she wants to say something before grimacing and walking away clutching her head. Guess that migraine of hers is pretty bad. Humanities passes by in a blur, with you mindlessly making edit marks in one of your classmate's essays, getting back about as useful feedback as you expected.

Then it's time for lunch. You never had a specific lunch group you belonged to- more often than not you just sat somewhere quiet and read, or ended up sitting wherever one of your friends was sitting. Elan was absent today, and you didn't see Kara while you were getting your lunch. You should...

>Eat lunch alone, maybe on the roof?
>Try and track down Kara.
>Go sit with anyone else you can find. Lynn, Taylor...

>>3778058
>Eat lunch alone, maybe on the roof?

>>3778058
>Try and track down Kara

>>3778058
>Go sit with anyone else you can find. Lynn, Taylor...

>>3778058
>Try and track down Kara.
She definitely wants to talk about something, but can't quite get it out.

>Try and track down Kara
Writing, but it may be a long while before an update happens. Came down with a cold and I'm doped up on nyquil so I'm writing very slow.

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You take a short lap around the school with your lunch in hand. Kara didn't trickle down to the cafeteria like she normally did, so you check the library first, poking your head into the movie club's room into the back to ask of her whereabouts. They hadn't seen her, so you went down the side halls looking for her.

Lunch is halfway over and you're about to give up when you notice her sitting outside the math room looking glum and slowly munching on a sandwich. She suddenly tenses up and looks over at you as you get closer. "Kara!" You wave as you walk down the hall.

"Oh, hey." Kara forces a smile as you sit down opposite her. "What's up?"

"Wondering what's up with you." You raise an eyebrow, unwrapping your cafeteria burger. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just... migraines." She mumbles.

"I didn't know you got migraines." You squirt a bit of sauce onto the inside of the bun and squish it back onto the patty. "I have some ibuprofen for my period, do you..."

"No thanks, I'm good." Kara glances down the hall, sitting up slightly as if she's about to leave. She turns her head to you and sheepishly asks. "Look, can we just talk about something random?"

"Sure." You take a bite out of your sandwich, grimacing slightly at the burn. Why they insisted on making them spicy was beyond you. It wasn't even the right kind of meat for a burger, this was poultry! Searching for conversation topics, you babble for a second. "Ah, so I managed to... fix this watch that belonged to my Mom this weekend."

"Really? Isn't that kind of complicated?"

"It was..." You flounder in your fib slightly. "Turns out a piece had just fallen out the back. Put it back it and it started ticking away again."

"How long have you been trying to fix it?" Kara asked idly, picking the slices of some fruit out of her sandwich.

"I tried for a few years there, then I..." You trail off as you realize your error. "I... guess I was just kind of dumb to not notice that bit before. Feel kind of silly, now. Yeah."

"Can't beat yourself up too much over that." Kara soothes, taking a bite out of her sandwich. "At least you fixed it, right?"

"Yeah..." You trail off, unsure of where to go next. "What'd you do this weekend?"

"Too much." Kara sighed. "Dad freaked out because of that thing at the mall, then there were no customers so I just had to mind the store by myself all day... really, what I should have done was just take a nap or something. Get some peace and quiet."

You feel your face flush at the words. "Oh, should I...?"

"What? O-oh, no! I mean, like... metaphorical peace and quiet, not just like... talking."

>>3780117
The bell rings without much more delay, with you not even done with your main sandwich before you're sent to your feet and packing to your next class. Stuffing the last of the sandwich in your mouth, though, you smile slightly to yourself. This was your absolute favorite class. The teacher was tolerable, you enjoyed it and it was right after lunch- that was like, the double whammy for good classes.

It's...

>Math and Physics. You're great with numbers, even if you can't code to save your life. The ideal world of physics is bullshit, but it's bullshit you're good at, especially after spending so much time near ships as a kid and bugging the navigator while Dad was working.
>Biology. Before you moved to your current apartment, you used to catch these little bugs in a park near your home and keep them in little terrariums you made out of glass jars and dirt. Now, you can tell the difference between every species of sandhopper in Miir and label each of their organs.
>PE. Even if you're medically unable to compete in most sports, you've always been in weirdly good shape. You've got good coordination and bounce back quickly from inevitable injuries at the gym. Although being in good shape may be why you don't have many curves...
>Art. The teacher for this class is always kind of a smug prick, but at least the praise he gives you is genuine. You've been practicing since you found out Mom wanted to be an artist when you were a kid, and you've gotten pretty good over the years.
>Military Studies. So you can't serve. Doesn't mean you don't try anymore. You know the details of every class of ship and vehicle in service and can name every role on a ship. Some of the granular stuff escapes you, but you have a good grasp on how a fight works, too.

>>3780121
>>Military Studies. So you can't serve. Doesn't mean you don't try anymore. You know the details of every class of ship and vehicle in service and can name every role on a ship. Some of the granular stuff escapes you, but you have a good grasp on how a fight works, too.

>>3780121
>>Military Studies. So you can't serve. Doesn't mean you don't try anymore. You know the details of every class of ship and vehicle in service and can name every role on a ship. Some of the granular stuff escapes you, but you have a good grasp on how a fight works, too.

>>3780121
>PE. Even if you're medically unable to compete in most sports, you've always been in weirdly good shape. You've got good coordination and bounce back quickly from inevitable injuries at the gym. Although being in good shape may be why you don't have many curves...
Clark Kent mode: glasses wearin' book nerd, secretly super-robust alium.
These all sound like fun choices though.

>>3780121
>PE. Even if you're medically unable to compete in most sports, you've always been in weirdly good shape. You've got good coordination and bounce back quickly from inevitable injuries at the gym. Although being in good shape may be why you don't have many curves...
I see no negatives from being able to RUN AWAY! and take and deal damage in melee. Learning how to fight properly later would be very nice if we can do it.

>>3780121
>Biology. Before you moved to your current apartment, you used to catch these little bugs in a park near your home and keep them in little terrariums you made out of glass jars and dirt. Now, you can tell the difference between every species of sandhopper in Miir and label each of their organs.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Alright, we're rolling for the tiebreaker. 1 for Military Studies, 2 for PE. Writing.

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Stopping by your locker briefly to drop off your bag and grab the small plastic bag with your gym clothes inside, you hurry down to the gym locker room. You strip quickly out of your regular uniform, hanging up the black blazer in one of the temporary lockers and folding up your uniform shirt and tie.

Like most schools these days, yours got a good chunk of it's funding from the military- the nice computers, the free digital textbooks, all of those you got through the military outreach programs. Especially your uniforms, which were made out of the same high-quality cloth they got in the military. You know that for a good chunk of your classmates, your uniform was the nicest set of clothing you owned. It was for you, at any rate.

Finally putting your skirt and pantyhose in the locker and shutting it, you pull up the fatigues of your gym clothes. They weren't as thick as the service uniform they were based on, but they were supremely comfortable and breathes well.

More people were starting to stream in and crowd the locker room as you finally get zipped up and head outside. You're greeted by the bright, overcast sky and other early students milling around the field, mostly keeping to the shade of the trees around the perimeter of the field.

Class begins with some simple warm-ups before the teacher sends you all on a jog around the campus, with the teacher telling you off in groups of twenty to avoid jams. They form anyway, but it's better than you all flowing out as a mob.

You pull ahead of the pack quickly, moving to the front just behind the sports teams. Eight laps around the campus equals the three miles expected of you by the gym teacher. Physical training like this had been mandatory for as long as you can remember, although your Dad says it used to be a lot less stringent back in the day. More demands of the military, it seems.

Not everyone took to it, though, as evidenced by the multitude of out-of-shape students that you lap as you come around the edge of the school again. You spot Kara in the middle of the pack, looking a lot happier than she seemed at lunch. She waves at you as you pass with an exaggerated puff.

When you were younger, you used to really work at your physical conditioning like it would actually improve your chances of getting into a good job. That fell away as your eyes got worse, but you never quite lost all your habits.

>Quality gained: 'Good Condition'

When you're on your third lap, you glance towards the city proper and notice that there was a orb- er, Valkan signature weirdly close to the school. It was pretty big, and tucked between some buildings in what was probably an alleyway or parking garage. You're so far ahead of the rest of the pack, it's not like the run is about to end, you could just pop over and no one will even notice...

>Check it out.
>No, that would be too suspicious, keep running.

>>3781519
>No, that would be too suspicious, keep running.

>>3781519
>No, that would be too suspicious, keep running.
Go get it later.

>>3781519
>>No, that would be too suspicious, keep running.

>>3781519
>No, that would be too suspicious, keep running.
Better to come back after school with a bag for stashing the doodad in.

>Get that shit later
Writing.

You shake your head and keep on running. No way would that go without someone noticing. Picking up a bit of speed, you push forward into the pack of track guys, and keep pace with them for the rest of the run to keep your mind off it. You wave to Kara as you pass her on your fifth lap, but fail to see her on your eight lap when you pass the pack of students she was with. Did she pull ahead?

Shrugging to yourself slightly, you move onto the other exercises the teacher had laid out- agility courses, coordination, long jumps and so on. Shame that the gym was still closed for renovation, the obstacle course in there was a ton of fun- at least, you thought they were.

You almost forget it's a short day, as the bell rings just as you're starting to get into an easy rhythm. With a slight sigh, you trundle back into the locker room and strip out of your sweaty jumpsuit. After a moment's consideration, you quickly hop into one of the showers to wash the sweat off your body before putting your uniform back on. It make s you feel slightly damp once you have your pantyhose and blazer back on, but it's preferable to being sweaty.

Still no sign of Kara, though... maybe her headache came back and she needed to go to the nurse's office? Giving it a pass, you go back to your locker and grab your bag before sitting through your final classes of the day. The slight ache of your body from the run seems to fade even quicker than usual, your whole body relaxing in a way that makes you sigh with relief.

With PE out of the way, though, the rest of the day seems to drag by, science classes and your dumbass art class sliding by until the final bell rouses you out of your stupor. Finally free, you walk outside and- ah, shit that's right you should be working today.

...should you go? It's not like Sana will blame you for skipping, but you're not actually hurt and you could use the money. On the other hand, this is free time you could be hunting for more Valkan things...

>Go to work.
>Skip work and look for that thing you saw while running.
>Skip work and do something else.
>[Write-In]

>>3783007
>Skip work and look for that thing you saw while running.
>Send Sana a message asking to take a personal day off.
For politeness. She seems like the kind of person who would always say yes if asked nicely, anyway.

>>3783063
>Support

>Skip work and send Sana a message about it
Writing. Although fukken hell these connection issues are gonna be the death of me.

Pulling out your phone, you tap a quick message to Sana.

>T: Hey, Sana. I'm doing okay, but would it be alright if I took a day off work today?
>S: Of course it would be. Your Dad told me what happened, so rest up and take it easy.
>T: Thanks boss

You smile to yourself and put the phone away. Now, let's see where that Valkan device got to...

Retracing your steps takes you back to the side of the school, where the school property was cut off by the road, which then became office buildings and convenience stores and fast food beyond it. The signature had come from somewhere in the block of buildings immediately opposite to this. Crossing the street, you duck into the alley between the buildings and wander towards it.

It strikes you briefly how different the third floor is from where you live. These alleys were clean, not simply clear of trash, but regularly swept. The cracks where the pavement met the edge of the buildings were free of plants growing in the cracks and gunk in the cracks from regular power washing. It didn't feel that sketchy to be back here, and buildings had regular side doors that let out into the alley.

Going several buildings in, you find the little parking garage, built into a small gap between two buildings. The signature was at the top, the fifth floor, and it was pretty big, too. It had to be the size of a dresser or something to be that big, maybe in the back of someone's ca-

It suddenly shifted slightly to the side and then starts moving quickly down the lot in spirals. You blink slightly, then glance at the exit ramp on the street. Trotting up quickly, you get there just in time to see an old sports car, glowing bright with a signature - not just something in the back seat, but the entire car - roll out of the exit ramp and turn up the street before rolling away.

Well, shit.

>Follow after it. You can see it through walls, it's not like you need to keep pace with it.
>Run after it! You still can lose it in the distance.
>Damn, well, you tried. Switch to a different target or go home.

This vote will remain open much longer than usual, at the very least until connection problems clear.

Here's hoping 4chan stops shitting bricks soon

>>3784648
>Follow after it. You can see it through walls, it's not like you need to keep pace with it.
A car-sized signature will be near-impossible to lose if we make even a modicum of effort to follow it on foot or on the magrail or whatever.

>>3784648
>>Follow after it. You can see it through walls, it's not like you need to keep pace with it.

>>3784648
Hm. Odds are this car won't fit in our bag. Darn.

>Run after it! You still can lose it in the distance.
Beat some feet, champ! Feel the burn! Give her all ya got! Hunnerd-an-ten-percent!

>>3784990
Actually fuck it, I say we leg it. We're not such a good runner for nothing.

>>3785002
>clichéd old coachisms make everything better
Give it til you got it! Work harder, not smarter! In it to win it! Hustle, hustle, hustle!

>>3784648
>Run after it! You still can lose it in the distance.

>RUN RUN RUN RUN
Writing.

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Blinking a few times, you start to rapidly walk after it, cutting across the street and quickly moving up the road before you notice it getting on the on-ramp for the city highway. Damn, there's no way you can catch that, except...

You glance to the left and see the light rail arriving at a station several blocks down. Glancing quickly around, you find the station it's arriving at and scamper up the stairs in a rush, stepping into the train car just as your target merges into traffic. Looking anxiously out the window, you find it difficult to track the car itself as your vision swims slightly with the sudden stress, but closing your eyes makes it easy to pick out the signature.

The light rail moves faster than traffic when it's going, but stopping every couple hundred feet is starting to faintly piss you off. It's moving faster than usual, too, with only student traffic crowding it, but it's still quite a bit slower than highway traffic, the car pulling ahead of you in short fits and bursts with each stop.

Something about this car is bugging you, too- beyond your irritation at how slow it is. There's something familiar in here, maybe someone you know, riding home for the day? No, you don't know anyone who lives out this way. Looking around, though, your eyes have already given up the ghost on you. The people of the car are just a wash of humanoid figures and mismatched colors. You think you might see a uniform or two, but it's no good.

Keeping your eyes closed to preserve them, you watch the car slowly pull ahead of you, before suddenly turning. It was getting off the highway. Opening your eyes, you get up and pull the stop chord, waiting by the door as the train pulls into the station.

As soon as the door opens, you're immediately on the move again, pushing through the exit turnstile and onto the street. It was a residential area, with your view dominated by well-built houses which gave way to townhouses and apartments as they grew closer to the city strut at the center of the block. The signature of the car is just a few blocks over, and you break into a run, dodging around the slower suburb traffic, pressing a hand against your bag to keep it from slapping against your thigh.

Just a few blocks over, and... there it is. The car - a somewhat beat up, green sports car with a white line across the hood, pulling into a driveway. You don't recognize the model very well, but it's clearly vintage. New sports cars had this military, grilled look to them, all bulky engine blocks and rugged tires. This one was older, with a squashed look that make it look like a single, continuous curve back that would cut into the wind. The door opens and an older man steps out, fumbling with his keys and a briefcase as he approaches the door.

>Run up and talk to him directly.
>Wait until he's gone and snoop out the car yourself.
>Keep your distance and just observe.

>>3786207
>Run up and talk to him directly.
What the hell would we say? "I know you have Valkan tech"?
>Keep your distance and just observe.
This is a better choice

>>3786207
>Keep your distance and just observe

>>3786311
>What the hell would we say? "I know you have Valkan tech"?
Unless someone specified something specific to say instead, you would just ask him about the car. "Woah, what kind of car is this?" And so on.

>>3786207
>Wait until he's gone and snoop out the car yourself

>>3786207
>Keep your distance and just observe.

>>3786443
I see

>>3786207
>Run up and talk to him directly.
I don't think I've ever run into an old guy in a classic car who won't immediately launch into a sermon on the entire history of the thing if he detects even the merest fraction of a hint of interest.

>>3786887
Changing to this

>>3786887
There's also a chance we might get raped and murdered tho

>>3787081
...in his driveway?

Remember the PSA: If someone invites you into their secret basement rapemurder dungeon, Just Say No.

Tie between keeping our distance or going up to him, I'll leave it fifteen minutes then roll off.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>3788445
Fifteen minutes I said, it's not like there'll be an emergency in fifteen minutes...

1 for jabbering with him, 2 for keeping your distance.

Your feet move forward automatically, and soon enough you're being carried across the street and faintly calling. "Uh, hey, excuse me!"

The man turns and smiles at you with a bemused expression as you come running up. "Hello?" His grey hair was cropped short, with a receding hairline and many wrinkles and laugh lines on his face.

You stop in front of him and flap your lips for a second. What the hell were you going to say? 'Is your car Valkan'? Taking a moment to compose yourself and catch your breath, you eventually glance at the car- trying to ignore the faint glow of it's signature and ask. "What kind of car is this?"

"This? Why, this is a '27 Avel Skip." The man pats the hood of the car affectionately, his hand trembling slightly as he does so. Everything about him is trembly, in all honesty. "When I was your age, this was the kind of car you got if you wanted to be seen as a tough guy. Nowadays it'd be a..." He pauses and looks thoughtful. "Paarti Troop, I guess. They don't really make muscle cars like this anymore."

"...Avel makes cars?" You ask with a bemused expression. The only thing that came to mind when you thought of Avel was aircraft and spaceships.

"They don't!" The man laughs. "Not anymore, at least. They sold their brands a long time ago. More profit in working for the military, I suspect."

"And it's... 1127? That would make it..."

"I did say it was the cool thing to own when I was a kid. And I'm pretty damn old."

"I was going to say pre-war." You huff slightly.

"Sure you were." He smiles in amusement at you. "You're right, though. It's a pre-war vintage. You see how the trim around the wheel well is hatched? That's a straight polymer part, you just don't see those these days. Now they use a special treated metal to prevent corrosion down there, instead of just lining the underside with polymer."

You nod slowly, not really following. "So... what, you've driven the same car for fifty years?"

"What?" The man seems surprised. "Oh, no. This car belonged to a lady friend of mine."

"Your wife?"

"No, a close friend. She was an pre-war aficionado with a sizeable collection, cars among them. When she passed, she left this old Skip to me. I've only been maintaining it for- oh, fifteen, twenty years now."

"Oh." You glance at the car again, a thought occurring to you. "Has it been expensive to maintain?"

The man considers your question. "It's actually probably the vintage that's run me the least. I change the tires and scuff the corrosion off the terminals fairly often, but the batteries in these are the crystal ones we used back in the day. A normal car, see, you need to service those batteries and make sure the rods and water immersion are working right, but these crystal batteries will go for years without losing their charge."

"...why don't we use them still?" You ask with confusion.

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>>3789099
"They're heavier than lead and cost a fortune." The man laughs. "Trust me, your wallet is thanking you that we switched over."

The man's enthusiasm is slightly infectious, you must admit. You're about to ask about the interior before you remember why you actually came here. Okay, an older car, in great shape despite it's age, and... "So, who was this woman who owned it before?"

"Her name was... Tuir. Tuir Austkar, I think. She lived, oh, just up the road there." He points down the street. "I haven't kept up with her husband, but I don't think he moved out. Nice man, although he keeps to himself mostly."

"Thanks for telling me." You smile at him, then turn slightly and motion that you're going to go. "I need to head off, but uh, thanks for telling me about your car."

"It was my pleasure. You stay safe, now." The man waves slightly as you move off and grabs his briefcase again, shutting the door and moving up the steps to his home.

You immediately duck around the corner of another house as soon as you reach the end of the street, before considering your options. Original owner was dead, but her husband might still be around. But... looking around, you don't see any signatures other than the car in the neighborhood, so even if he still is here, there's nothing else...

On the other hand, definite Valkan car which is right there, although it'll be hard to get a private moment alone with it to snoop around. Maybe you can sneak in, or come back after dark? Hell, you could come back after dark to snoop around the other man's house, too.

>Wait for the man to go inside and then poke around his car.
>Go check out the other house.
>Come back after dark and do some snooping.
>[Write-In]

>>3789101
>Wait for the man to go inside and then poke around his car.

>>3789101
>Wait for the man to go inside and then poke around his car.

>>3789101
>Go check out the other house.
Dang it... Feels kind of wrong to to be all sneaky after the guy was so nice. Not skipping out on PE to find this thing just keeps leading to more complications! Don't stay in school, kids, it's really inconvenient!

At least the car isn't likely to change ownership. He's owned it since the last owner died around the Valkan war. Whatever Valkan tech is in there is pretty much undetectable, and the car itself predates the Valkan arrival.

My guess would be the car batteries are salvage, and aren't precisely 100% Avel Made. Either that or the previous owner just happened to chance upon a bunch of Valkan automotive spray paint that randomly fell out of the sky.

>>3789101
>Go check out the other house
It's a car, not a robot. We don't have a clue what to do with it, and I'd rather not prod it without knowing anything.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Okay, writing after we roll for the tiebreaker. 1 for the car, 2 for the other house.

>>3790992
You're going to qualify for some kind of award for the sheer number of coin flips needed to resolve votes, if this keeps up.

I can't tell if we're actively trolling at this point or just that blockheaded.

>>3791106
I've tried to call tied votes by asking people who voted for the option with the least votes to change their votes, but I've only been taken up on that one once. I guess people are just too far apart in time zones to get in the, like, two or three hour window that I can leave.

All I really need is five regular votes, I suppose. Then it's less likely to tie.

You wait around the corner for a few minutes, fidgeting in place slightly and looking up and down the road. Should you really do this? What if someone sees you and asks questions? It's broad daylight, but- no, that's actually perfect. Nobody is going to wonder if you're supposed to be doing something if you just run up in broad daylight and do it. Plus, people crowd around cool cars all the time in public, right? It's on his driveway, so it should totally count.

Peeking out first to check that the coast is clear, you look up at the man's house, watching for lights turning on and off or really any sign that he's about to come out again. He doesn't come out even after you wait for a few minutes. He's old and tired, so he probably went to lay down like your grandmother frequently does.

Trotting up to the car, you peer at it closer. Why does the whole thing glow? Rubbing your eyes quickly, you look again and sure enough, the whole thing glows with a faint Valkan signature. He mentioned the batteries had lasted a long time, but he'd made it sound like they were supposed to... and it wasn't glowing any more in the back where the machinery seemed to be.

Maybe the paint? Actually, yeah, if the paint was Valkan, that'd explain why the whole car seemed to glow. The tires themselves didn't seem to glow except for the hubcaps, although that may be the glare of the sun. Reaching out, you gently touch the paint- then have to cut back a start as the car suddenly unlocks with a mechanical click. Immediately taking several steps back, you look up at the windows of the house, expecting to see the old man with the keys in hand, but... no, all the blinds are pulled back and there's nobody there.

That was odd. You didn't have the keys and you didn't touch the handle, so it shouldn't be opening for you. But, that does mean that you could get inside the car now- wait, that means you could open the engine block if you wanted to, take a look at the batteries. If he came out and saw you sitting in his car, though...

>Get in.
>Let's not invoke a potential grand theft auto charge. Skedaddle.
>>[Sub-Option] Go look at the house he pointed out before.
>Abandon this foolish venture and go home.
>[Write-In]

>>3791290
>Let's not invoke a potential grand theft auto charge. Skedaddle.
>>>[Sub-Option] Go look at the house he pointed out before.

>>3791290
See if the car will lock if you move away.

>>3791395
That's actually a detail I should have provided you before and is very short so here

You take a few steps back, eyeing the car suspiciously to see if it'll do anything else. It doesn't lock, though, and after a brief pause, you move to turn away. A muffled 'click' sounds, and you turn around to see the passenger side door opening on it's own. Motorized doors is... not a common feature, as far as you're aware.

>Previous vote still open.

>>3791444
>Previous vote still open.
>close the car door and leave
If we get in I get the feeling the car is going to kidnap us

>>3791290
Just gonna step back for a few hours and contemplate this one, 'cause as much as I liked the old guy, the temptation to get kidnapped by the alien supercar is REALLY STRONG and I can't stop laughing.

>>3791290
>Get in.
Mental image of being slouched waaay down in the passenger seat trying to escape notice while desperately negotiating with a haunted car is just too good to pass up.
And 10:1 odds the ghost car starts stalking us around the city if we leave now.

>>3791290
>Let's not invoke a potential grand theft auto charge. Skedaddle.
>>[Sub-Option] Go look at the house he pointed out before.

>Let's not invoke a potential grand theft auto charge. Skedaddle.
>>[Sub-Option] Go look at the house he pointed out before.
NO GHOST CAR NO KIDNAPPINGS TODAY

Pointedly, you reach out, shut the car door and back away. Watching the hunk of metal for a few moments, it stays perfectly still, as empty cars tend to do before locking itself. Turning, you march up the street, trying not to look behind you too much for fear that the car might get the wrong idea, but it stays in it's driveway. Good car.

Continuing up the road, you realize that the man never gave you a specific address for this guy's house. You knew his wife's name, but it's not like people put their names on their mailbox anymore. Glancing left and right as you pass more houses, you don't see anything that would suggest that it's...

About six blocks up, you come across a house with a fairly significant lawn. Many tire tracks mar the grass, leading from the road back into the multiple garages and storage sheds lining the edges of the property. In total, you count two buildings- one with a single extra wide door and another with three regular garage doors. Parked in front of the driveway were two expensive looking cars- both of a brand you were familiar with, bearing the aggressive, blocky modeling of military-styled sports cars.

The house itself is much like the others in the neighborhood. Large, well-appointed with many potted plants and trees providing shade and painted a crisp white. You can't help but feel a little self-conscious about yourself looking at it. All of the expensive-looking houses in this neighborhood and the sports cars makes you feel vaguely like you aren't supposed to be here.

Shaking yourself out of your self-pity, you rove your eyes over it, finding no Valkan signatures shining from inside the house or the garage.

>Ring the doorbell. (Write-In what you would ask or say)
>Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission- start poking around the lawn.
>[Write-In]

>>3792207
>Ring the doorbell.
Say you are selling chocolate for the victims of the mall attack.

>>3792207
>Ring the doorbell.
"Hi, I saw that guy over there driving this neat car and I asked him about it, and he said you were the one to talk to if I wanted to know more"

>>3792207
>Ring the doorbell.
Pretty much this >>3792410
Also good topics if he's chatty:
>Does he do a lot of customizing cars?
>He must use a lot of old or improvised parts if Avel doesn't make cars anymore.
>Is it self-driving? Are any of the others?
Tiiris would never be able to drive manually or get a driver's license with her visual/neurological disorder, so that would be interesting to her.

>>3792207
Can we, like, go check the phone directory or something?

>Ring the doorbell and ask him about the car
Writing.

>>3792689
You could try if you wanted to, but in their current era it's fairly easy for someone to get off the white pages if they know what they're doing. At most I suppose you could ask if her husband still lives here, but if he answers the door it only takes a few seconds.

It takes a little bit for you to get up your courage. Trying to search the name Tuir Austkar gets you nothing but people with similar names. Even trying for an obituary, you don't find one online. Taking a deep breath, you walk up to the door and ring the bell. An old fashioned, mechanical bell sounds, echoing into the house.

You wait on the step, anxiety building as you wonder if you were doing the right thing. A minute later, you hear footsteps, and a middle aged man opens the front door. He was maybe a few years older than your Dad, with a receding hairline of wiry hair that had yet to go grey. "Hello?"

"Uh, hey." You stammer. "Um... this guy down the road was driving this neat car down the road and he said it used to belong to you..."

"What?" The man turns his head and looks down the road, thinking. "Oh, you mean Old Jack. The Skip, right?"

"Yeah. I, um, was wondering if you could answer some questions about it. Er, Jack didn't seem to know everything."

The man scratched the back of his head and shrugged slightly. "I'm not sure how much I could help, miss. It was my wife's and she passed over two decades ago."

"Do you not like cars?" You ask in surprise.

"Owning nice cars, sure, but she was always the gearhead of us. She had all these collections of prewar stuff and I- well, I knew what was good for me, so I just nodded and said yes when she got in a tinkering mood."

You feel yourself smile, slightly. "Was it expensive?"

"It was all vintage stuff, so it cost a pretty penny. Always some fiddly part or another that she needed to fix this or that. Made the house look nice, though, so I didn't complain." He glances around the inside of his house, and you look beyond to note his decor with surprise. The furniture in his house was all simple constructions and smooth lines, the kind of modern style that had been popular thirty years ago. "Uh... can I ask why you're interested?"

"Oh, um... it just seemed cool, I guess." A thought occurs to you. "I actually have a condition that means I can't drive myself places. Does it self-drive?"

"It does, but in the old sense. It'll do the highway for you, but you have to be ready to take over in case it screws up. No full autonomous mode like the fancier cars today. If you're interested, I might have some of the old manuals around in the scraps from my wife's collection..."

"Do you not have it anymore?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't know what to do with any of it once she passed, so I eventually donated it all to a museum. I think a bunch of it is on display in... I want to say Kana? The Kana Memorial Museum?"

"Oh." You feel yourself deflate slightly. "Well, sure, if you're willing to give it to me..."

"Sure, just a moment..." He closes the door to his house, leaving you on the step for a few minutes. Eventually, he opens the door with a folder in his hand. "This was all I had in the cabinet."

>>3793040
>Quality gained: 'Collection of car documents'

"Thank you." You take the folder with surprise. "Is it really okay if I keep this?"

"I wouldn't know what to do with it, anyway." He waves you off. "You tell Jack I said hello."

"I will." You nod and slip it into your bag, before stepping backward. "Uh, bye? Thank you!"

He gives you a slight smile and he moves back to shut the door. "Bye, bye now." The door closes shut.

...you can't help but feel like he was trying to get rid of you that whole conversation. Guess that's what the old man - Jack, rather - was talking about when he said the guy was a recluse. He practically threw that folder at you.

Retreating to a bit of shade, you open up the folder and read a few of the documents. Handwritten notes on mechanical jargon- the specifics of which go well above your head, but have something to do with watts and charging speed. A ratty old manual for an '1127 Avel Skip Model B'. Finally a form for vehicle registration at the local DMV, and a deed of sale from a scrapyard. The rest was... miscellaneous receipts and scraps of paper.

Maybe if you were a bit more technically inclined, this would be useful. But the specifics of what Tuir was doing with this car escapes you. Maybe if you found someone who knew cars, they could tell you what it meant. But, you don't really know anyone who does. At least, nobody you can contact right this second.

>Head back to the car, debate jumping in the mysterious thing again.
>Head home for the day.
>[Write-In]

>>3793044
>Head home for the day.
We have a technically inclined friend!

>>3793044
>Head home for the day.

>>3793044
>Head home for the day.

>>3793044
>Head home for the day.

>>3793044
>Head home for the day.
So a museum that might have neat stuff donated to it and a scrapyard that's likely where the Valkan parts came from. Not bad for fact finding. The car was parked in the parkade for a while anyway, so we may be able to find it in public later without invading Old Jack's driveway.

>Head home for the day.
Writing.

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You think of a few people you could ask about this. Kara knew electronics more than cars, but they were kinda the same thing, weren't they? Elan would probably know, too, although he was kind of out of commission for the next little bit... maybe you could make a visit of out of it. Either way, there wasn't much left for you here, today.

Turning and heading back towards the train station, you glance into Old Jack's driveway again and- wait, where was the car? You glance up at his windows. Lights were on, did he go out for the evening? Odd. Then again, he never said whether his wife was dead or not, maybe it was her.

Getting on the train back, it strikes you how tired you are when you sit down again. It's been a while since you did this much, and it's taken a bit out of you. Although just resting here, you start to feel a bit better, some of the strain you'd expect to feel for several hours after exercise quickly fading.

Closing your eyes for a bit of rest, it strikes you just how many signatures you can see outlined against the darkness of your eyelids. Had you just been missing them the entire time, dismissing the dots as just artifacts of your vision, or had they become more widespread lately? A thought strikes you, while considering that. The very first signature you saw had given you the book, and it was brighter than anything you'd seen before, but the book isn't glowing like other Valkan tech. So where was the thing that gave you the book? What was it?

The possibility that something - or someone - out there was actively seeking you out is slightly sobering. Are you just following someone else's breadcrumbs or is everything you've accomplished so far on your own merits?

Dad's just finishing with dinner when you open the door to your home. "Hey, how was work?"

"Felt kind of tired, so I didn't go today." You shuffle your shoes off. "Sana said it'd be okay."

"What'd you do instead?"

"Wandered around, took a look at cars." It was close enough to the truth to count, anyway.

"Cars?" Your Dad sounds amused. "You interested in driving?"

"Self-driving, really." You gesture vaguely to your head. "You know, eyes and all."

"Oh, yeah, that's a thought, innit..." Dad strokes his beard in thought as he sets a plate of mac and cheese down in front of you. "They're getting cheaper and cheaper these days, aren't they?"

"Apparently, yeah." You nod. "Thanks." You pick up a fork.

"Not sure how I feel about letting cars do all the driving... but I guess times are changing." He shrugs and dishes himself. "Do you still need a license to use a self-driving one?"

"I... don't know, actually." You frown. "Maybe there's an different permit for people who can't drive normally, but can use a self-driving one."

"You should research it." Dad pops a forkful into his mouth. "Be good to know if I should be saving up for a graduation present of some kind."

"Dad." You admonish him slightly.

"I'm just saying!"

>>3794519
Now that you're home, what are you planning on doing?

>Call up a friend, ask them about the car papers you got.
>>[Sub-Option] Kara.
>>[Sub-Option] Elan.
>>[Sub-Option] Someone else.
>Poke around with some of the stuff you found some more.
>Screw all this Valkan crap for tonight, just relax.
>[Write-In]

>>3794522
>Poke around with some of the stuff you found some more.
>Look up info on the museum.

>>3794522
>Screw all this Valkan crap for tonight, just relax.
>realize the pendant is speeding our recovery

>Turning and heading back towards the train station, you glance into Old Jack's driveway again and- wait, where was the car? You glance up at his windows. Lights were on, did he go out for the evening?
Coincidence! Nothing more!

>>3794522
>Screw all this Valkan crap for tonight, just relax.
Spend some time with Dad, even just watching TV or something. He's probably still anxious about... nnnnearly losing his only child in a terrorist bombing. Ooof.

>Screw all this Valkan crap for tonight, just relax
Writing.

Instead of vanishing to your room, you instead join Dad on the couch, leaning against an armrest while the TV bounces between different streams automatically. Dad reclines against the couch, carefully flipping through the pages of his digital textbook while the livecasters drone in the background.

"How is class going anyway?" You ask idly.

"Isn't that something I should be asking you?" He replies, not taking his eyes off the terminal.

"School's been alright." You pick up a few chips and munch quietly. "Doing as well as I can."

"Does that one teacher still have it out for you?"

"Clinsky? Eh, yeah, I guess so." You shrug. "I suck at her class, so I guess she's worried about her pay or something."

"Performance-based pay." Dad snarks. "That one was a good idea."

"Don't nurses get paid based on performance?"

"Sure, but the salary is only adjusted once a year. Damn sight better than what I make as a butcher, too."

"True..." You trail off, resting against the mismatched couch pillows. The casters were growing more excited as the two armies met, the digital representations of tanks firing upon each other from across open fields. Part of you wishes you'd paid attention to Elan more, he'd have been all over the current season's balance patch. As it stands, none of what you're seeing makes much sense to your out-of-date knowledge.

You shift slightly on the couch, and feel the pendant around your neck clink against the edge of your bra. With a faint frown, you touch it under your shirt and feel the warmth it emanates. You've been feeling more rested and full of energy all day, and it hasn't escaped you that it coincided with you putting the pendant on. So that leaves the question- is this some kind of technology, or actually... well, magic? Jury's still out on whether the soldier was an actual skeleton or just some kind of possessed armor.

"Everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah, just thinking about something..." You let go of the pendant and lean back against the pillow again.

It occurs to you that this is the first time you've been somewhere casually with Dad lately. If you wanted, you could ask him about Mom...

>Ask him. (Write-In questions)
>Don't ruin the moment, man.

>>3796127
>Don't ruin the moment, man.

>>3796127
>Don't ruin the moment, man.

>>3796127
So Dad's a butcher, taking a course learning to be a nurse? Cool. That should get a laugh out of some patients in the future.
>Ask him if we can look at Mom's old art stuff.
I would assume it's sitting in the back of a closet somewhere.

>Don't ruin the moment, man.
Writing.

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Keeping your mouth shut, you rest on the couch and enjoy the quiet as the TV scrolls on and the sunlight slowly fades from the windows. It's when your eyelids begin to droop on their own that you decide to call it a night. Getting up from the bed, you say your goodnight to Dad and stumble into the bathroom to brush your teeth. Afterwards, it's a quick stumble into your room and out of your uniform before you faceplant into bed.

---

Beyond the city limits of Taidin
21th of 4th, 1173. 2:14AM.

It was difficult to see the lights of the city this far out. Despite the ever higher the construction brought the skyscrapers and their shining pools of light that poured out over the landscape, it was still swallowed up by distance, becoming a dim smudge on the horizon. Water trickled by a dilapidated barn, the age of the building disguising the valuable farming equipment that lay within. A lack of theft had given the owner and excuse to forestall any upgrades to the structure itself, and instead focus on more pressing matters of constantly improving technology.

The farm house itself was in great shape, though, it's various rotting and failings patched up with the help of generous donations by interested parties. When the owner's father had told her the farm would be the most valuable thing she inherited, he probably never expected it would be because of the dusty old things buried underneath it.

A gunshot broke through the night, echoing from inside the barn and startling the Tagaran birds in their coop just outside of it. Several lights went on in the farm house.

Just beyond the buildings lay a small creek. A few decades ago, it had been part of a mighty river that had turned these low plains into a bog that separated Taidin from most land approaches. Irrigation had long dried the ground and made it suitable for farming and grazing, but still prospectors looked for valuable things that had been swallowed up by it over the years.

Far from the riverbank, where the top layer of soil had dried and covered up the moist silt underneath, the ground bulged. A skeletal hand burst forth from the ground, gripping it tightly as a corpse forced itself upwards. It's decayed flesh, long soaked through and nested in by insects, but unable to rot away beneath the ground pulled away in strips, the magnetic force holding it together only anchoring the bones. A red light glows in it's sockets as it forces it's other hand to the surface along with it's rifle.

With effort, it pulled it's body from the ground, getting to it's feet just outside of it's impromptu grave. It pulled back the manual bolt on it's rifle, moved it back and forth. With a practiced motion, it pushed the stack of ammunition inside down, closed the bolt without ammunition and dry-fried it. Satisfied with the sharp clicking sound it made, the skeleton nodded to itself, before turning to face the farmhouse.

"A CHILD OF VALKA IS IN DANGER. I HAVE RETURNED TO SERVE."

---

>>3796864
Now that it's been a few days since your world suddenly spun around, your morning routine is starting to accrue that sense of boredom again. Shower, since you forgot to take one last night, dressing in your spare uniform again because you forgot to wash it, quick breakfast and gone.

You probably shouldn't skip work again today. Sana would probably let you take a whole week off if you felt like it, but then you wouldn't make any money from work, and it's not like the bills didn't exist... she'd also probably insist on paying you regardless of whether you worked, but you know full well that Sana wasn't exactly made of money either.

Sighing slightly, you start to go through the motions of your day. Other than Monday, every other day of your week was taken up by half of your schedule. The classes you took before lunch on Monday were all of your classes on Tuesday, and the opposite for Wednesday. What that meant for you was that your first half of the day was homeroom and then... tech. Of course.

That doesn't mean you don't have something productive to do, though. Do you want to flag down Kara and ask her about these car papers you have? That, or maybe make a day out of it, invite her out after school somewhe- ah, shit, wait you have work.

>Ask Kara about it during lunch.
>Invite Kara to hang out at your job afterward and talk about it there.
>Don't ask her about it at all.
>[Write-In]

>>3796865
>Invite Kara to hang out at your job afterward and talk about it there.

>>3796865
>Invite Kara to hang out at your job afterward and talk about it there.
Just don't be "that" friend, the one who invites people to casually hang out and then springs complex stuff on them by surprise once they arrive.

>>3796865
>Invite Kara to hang out at your job afterward and talk about it there.

>>Invite Kara to hang out at your job afterward and talk about it there.
Wrrriting.

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When you sit down in homeroom, you reach over and gently tap Kara on the arm. "Hey."

She glances your way. "Hey, what's up?" Thankfully, she seems to be less wigged out today than she was yesterday, although she definitely looks tired, especially from the dark circles under her eyes.

"I actually wanted to ask you for help with something." You lean towards her. "I've got this papers about a car-"

"A car?"

"Yeah. I, uh, wound up with them and I can't make heads or tails out of it, do you think you could figure them out?"

"With a bit of searching, maybe?" Kara shrugs. "Why do you care about a car manual anyway?"

"Can you help? Please?" You barrel past the question.

"Uh, sure, it's not like I need to mind the store right after school anyway." Kara seems slightly surprised by your insistence.

"Can you come with me to work after school, then?"

"What, you mean the bookstore?" Kara tilted her head slightly, in interest. You didn't really invite friends to your job, other than maybe Taylor when she had a book on her mind. "Sure, I guess I've got time."

"Thanks." You smile at her and lean back into your chair.

The rest of the day passes in a blur - other than the brief agony of computer class, but that's a familiar irritation, rather than a wound in your daily life. Glancing sidelong in it's general direction... yep, there's the fat signature just a few buildings over. Old Jack must drive that car into work every day.

You meet Kara at her locker later, and lead the way as you head towards work. "So... how's the headache been?"

"Headache?"

"That migraine you were complaining about yesterday, it's clearly still bugging you." You smile reassuringly. "My offer of painkillers still stands."

"Oh, it wouldn't help this kind of, uh, migraine." Kara jabbers slightly. "It's... uh, it really only kicks in loud places, so I should be fine if it's quiet..."

Something about her behavior is a bit... odd, but you shut your mouth and keep leading the way.

You lead her down the side alley and open the side door into the store. "Sana?" You call out as you enter.

"Yes?" Her voice wafts down to you from the backroom.

"I brought someone today!" You put your bag into one of the cubby holes and pull out your dark work shirt. Turning to Kara, you say in a normal voice. "You can leave your bag here, if you want."

Quickly stripping off your uniform top and pulling on your shirt, you come out behind the counter with Kara in tow. Sana is leaning over the banister on the upper floor. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Kara, you've never met-"

"Oh, and how is Julius doing?" Sana tilts her head and smiles.

"Doing same as always- just cruising along." Kara shrugs.

You glance between the two of them. "...how do you two...?"

Kara glances your way. "Small business association. Dad used to drag me with him to the meetings."

>>3798254
"If you ask me, he just liked showing off his cute kid." Sana smiles at her, then turns to you. "Only one new box today, but Yannis will be coming in for his order today."

"...the encyclopedia guy?" You ask.

"Yep. Make sure we have the whole collection together, if you please?"

You nod and turn to the register. "I have to work a little, but go ahead and make yourself comfortable."

Kara finds herself one of the leather chairs strewn around the store. "So, where's this car manual of yours...?"

"...oh." Blushing slightly, you dig through your bag before handing her the folder. "It's all the guy could give me..."

"Remind me what the story is with this?" She raises an eyebrow at you as you haul a box of books onto the counter and fire up the computer.

"Ah, well..."

>Make up a story- you saw the car and thought it was cool.
>Dodge the question again.
>Spill the beans. Confess everything that's happened.
>[Write-In]

>>3798256
>Make up a story- you saw the car and thought it was cool.

>>3798256
>Make up a story- you saw the car and thought it was cool.
Dodging the question would make it impossible to give her any idea of what we're looking for. The truth... is insane. So white lies it is!

I kind of want to throw in that the car "Might be haunted though, it's one of those smart cars. It's super old, like its owner." Because you know, old computers. They can develop personalities if you aren't careful with them, right? You have to reformat their personality settings? Sometimes? Doesn't even need to have anything to do with aliens.

>Make up a story- you saw the car and though it was cool.
Writing and then archiving when we hit page 10.

>>3799555
>Kara cannot stop laughing
>"People complain about haunted computers all the time! It's not that weird!"
>Kara absolutely cannot stop laughing
>"I don't mean actually haunted! Buggy! Cyber-haunted! I'm not THAT bad with computers! Kara!"
>Kara will never stop laughing forever

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"I- ah, well. This old guy just started jabbering as soon as I asked him about his car, and he went into the history and next thing I knew a guy was shoving a bunch of papers in my face..."

"And...?" Kara presses with a curious look. "What has you so interested?"

"I just thought it was kind of cool!" You shrug, and try to look like you'd rather not answer any more.

"Oh, bullshit. You've never been interested in driving, much less cars."

"It just... ah..." You search for something plausible. "I don't know. Seemed kind of spooky, and then I couldn't make heads or tails of the papers..."

"Spooky?"

"Yeah." You latch onto it. "Like it was haunted." You pause. "...not that I think-"

"Haunted?" Kara snorts, then covers her mouth as she giggles. "Haunted?"

"Well not like ghosts or anything, just that-" It might be controlled by possessed Valkan batteries? "Ah- abuh, ah... kind of old. Personality and stuff? Over... time, right?" You trail off, sheepishly looking at Kara.

She stares back at you with a grin. "...yeah, you totally think it's haunted."

"I do not!" Your own protest sounds shrill, mostly because that's exactly what you think. "I just-"

"Weeeell..." Kara looks down at the papers in her hands. "I can safely say there's nothing in here about them installing any ghosts. Or even changing out it's onboard computers, in case of them electric ghosts."

"What is there, then?" You grumble.

"Let's see... rolled off the production line in 1126 for the 1127 model year... some minor maintenance over the years... a lot of receipts for... what I think are engine parts? If not that, they bought electric motors for something else when they got new tires. Bearings, too. I've got some DIY pages here and they say most refurbished cars have a motor replacement, but it looks like whoever owned this put a lot of effort into preserving the original wheel motors."

"They did all the repairs themselves?"

"Nah, there's an insurance form here... apparently in '60 this thing was in a major crash. Says it's not totaled but the insurance paid out a lot. Apparently everything but the core block was trashed. Got a receipt from some body shop that restored it and everything."

"Body shop?" You lean over the counter and gently pull the receipt out of her hands. "'Paati's Classic Auto Shop', huh..."

"Maybe it's haunted by the previous owner!"

"...shut up." You roll your eyes and lean back. "Thanks, Kara."

"No prob." She clicked her tongue loudly and slapped the folder down on the counter. "Now, does this place have a bathroom?"

"What, oh, uh, down this hall-" You point. "Second door on your left."

>>3800402
As she walks off, you consider what she told you. A bodyshop, huh? Maybe the owner used some sketchy parts when they fixed it? You never looked inside the car, but maybe that shine was only skin deep? Glancing at the address on the invoice, you plug it into your phone. Huh, only one sector over, on the second floor. You could swing over there after work if you really wanted to. Be a bit after dark, though...

>Go right after work.
>Save it for another day.
>Nah, the shop isn't as relevant as the car itself, focus on that.
>[Write-In]

>>3800409
>Go right after work.

>>3800409
>Go right after work

>>3800409
Ha! Kara's a good friend.
>Go right after work.

>Go right after work
Writing.

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Instead of working past close today, you lock up immediately at 7:30 and say your goodbyes to Sana for the evening. Kara leaves a good while before you do, ironically to go to work herself and take over for her father for the evening. Instead of taking the elevator down to your house, you get on the riseway and make your way another block over, following the directions on your phone.

Crossing above several blocks on the riseway, you pass through the small connecting gate that separates the riseway of your block with the riseway of another. Descending back to street level, you follow your phone down a few, brief turns that take you towards the edge of the plate. In the distance, beyond the thick retaining wall that prevents car accidents from careening off the edge of the city and into the sea, you can see rolling waves disappearing into the overcast distance.

"Paati's Classics" was a pale blue store in the commercial district of the sector. While the paint was faded, and parts of the paper in the sign were cracked with age, it had clearly been taken care of, being clear of rust and plants nestled into the cracks around the base of the building. The front was what you'd expect- multiple rolling shutters side by side along a long, narrow building.

Unfortunately, the front was dark and the sign's light was off. Peering in, you couldn't even see a light on in the back, with the security metal grate shut for the day. The sign on the front door says they close at 6:00PM, damn. But- you had gotten a funny feeling as you approached the store, but now that you were up close, you've discovered something far more interesting than the store itself.

What was more interesting was what Paati's had built itself next to. Instead of placing itself on the 'commercial row' that often ringed sectors, Paati's was nestled behind the normal stores, positioning itself close to the lifts and ramps that connected to the industrial sector below. Stores back here were a lot of... well, trash stores, you suppose. Thrift shops, drug stores, industrial outlet stores- things that weren't popular enough or too niche to be able to get the busy locations. Things like junkyards.

Paati's had built itself directly in front of a junkyard - 'Miir City Mechanical Reclamation Center', to be precise. Surrounded by a chain link fence, you could see heaping piles of scrap metal. Cars had been stacked side by side, along with random pieces of construction machinery, racks of bins covered by temporary plastic tents and what you think are just pieces of pipe.

You'd seen it on your approach, but you were sure, now. There was another Valkan signature in the junkyard, of significant size. Even if you couldn't get into the store, you might be able to...

>>3802855
Glancing up, you notice that mounted to the lights that would shine on the junkyard at night were small, blocky protrusions. Your eyes won't let you see them exactly, but you're fairly certain they are cameras. It would be pretty easy to jump the fence, but then you'd be on video. Not to mention all the 'NO TRESPASSING' and 'SECURED BY PERIMETER TECH' signs on the fence.

>No Valkan thing is worth getting a trespassing charge. Bail.
>Maybe that's the other half of whatever is in the Skip! Try and get in there
>>[Sub-Option] Maybe you can do something to get rid of the camera, or an excuse to be here?
>[Write-In]

>>3802855
>Maybe that's the other half of whatever is in the Skip! Try and get in there

>>3802860
>No Valkan thing is worth getting a trespassing charge. Bail.

>>3802860
>See if Spiderbot can disable the cameras temporarily.
It's still in our bag, if memory serves. And it can fix them after we leave.

Otherwise, better to just leave. A signature of "significant size" is probably not very portable, nor very functional if it's in a junkyard.