So Let's Go Continue With The Idea In The About Page For Mirage, That She's Just A Part Of A World Where

so let's go continue with the idea in the about page for mirage, that she's just a part of a world where after the war, humanity did recover to some extent, and machines—many having being found to have higher thought—were integrated into life somewhere. not true to all times i write her, sure but just humor me

{tw: mutilation}

mirage is definitely a v-model, but unlike v1 or v2, she lacks the wings—the things that helped make them so dangerous. sure, v1 can parry and v2 has the knuckleblaster, and those have nothing to do with the wings, but their mobility and arsenal depend on those wings.

to leave those wings on a v-model would be inviting danger—for her and for everyone around her. it'd be like leaving a parrot with unclipped wings in a house with a bunch of ceiling fans.

but they didn't just clip her wings. they tore them out completely, neutered her ability to do what she was originally meant to because the world doesn't need it.

it's to keep everyone safe. it's not like she needs them to function. besides—she was too "young" to remember even having them, so what's the harm?

but also, consider: they didn't get rid of all the code or protocols that referred to those wings—either by slipping under the radar or negligence, who knows. sometimes they come up, and something almost like instinct makes her try to use them—and nothing comes of it save a deep, hollow feeling of missing something but not knowing what.

there's always been two possibilities for arti: letting the rage consume all, or trying to find a way to let go of that and move on. the game actually locks you out of the latter if you've done the former—too fiercely bound to the natural urge to kill to move past it. it would take a special sort of shock to shake her off the warpath even before it's supposedly irreversible, honestly, at least while the grief is still red-hot.

but time tempers all. the rage simmers down, the hate feels hollow. she left nothing but destruction behind her and now she's left with with ashes. she killed and killed—and for what? her pups are still gone. she's done nothing. it's not exactly regret she holds, but fire in her belly is naught but an ember of its former self.

and so, as cycles pass, the shackles of wrath loosen. the other path opens up again; freedom becomes something almost attainable.

almost.

that's the thing; to achieve freedom—true freedom, from the pain and cycles and everything—it would mean letting go of all those natural urges. no more worldly attachments.

but just like the original second path, it's always just out of reach. for all her cruelty against the scavs, her wrath was not the only thing that bound her.

that wrath was born out of grief, and that grief out of love.

she loved her pups.

she still loves them.

and even when the world has else nothing left for her, that love remains.

and she never does truly move past that.

👊 {{ Gabriel, in a white knight "is this guy bothering you" kind of way-- am I hallucinating or is that Mirage I see on your roster- }}

Mirage can't say she's particularly friends with anyone at the school. That'd mean talking to people—and while she's not against starting up a conversation, when historically most of those ended up spiraling into something of an existential breakdown, people learned to keep chats with her short and sweet.

Wasn't a surprise that interactions tended to be a little sparse.

It does make being on her ass for the second time this week something of a startle, though. But the last time was an accident, and the guy who did it had some decency to them, at least; this equally unfamiliar fuckface—new freshman, maybe, thinking they're some sort of hotshot—is laughing and jeering something she can't quite hear over the sound of her internal systems kicking up and the fluttering of loose papers drifting down to the ground.

Her fingers scrape against the floor.

But before she can even get up and deck this idiot in the face, someone steps up to intervene. There's a dim sort of familiarity to him—might've passed him by in the halls or something. But either her assailant knows him or he has a reputation she's entirely unaware of, because the laughing just stops and they're gone by the time she turns her attention back toward them.

To be honest, though, she doesn't really care for the specifics. Mirage gives Gabriel a sidelong glance—or as much as her optic allows.

"If you decided to help out just because you have some sort of savior complex, thanks, but I can handle myself."

Bold words from someone still on the floor and has her homework scattered across the hall.

Is it overconfidence? Or maybe it's just self-assurance. Mirage doesn't really have the eye to gauge how much merit there is to his show, but for God's sake—does he just never give it a rest? He's like a peacock, tail spread all pretty like he's trying to prove to the world that he's perfect.

All that griping aside, he's not really wrong. It's honestly a similar message as the last whole conversation, deep down: to give companionship though hardship, that there is love to give even when all seems lost. It's hopeful, caring, and optimistic—and it makes her relax, just a bit, even though counterpoints stream into her mind.

"I guess it does. But look around you; no one was stepping up to help. The world might have some paragons of goodwill like you—"

It almost sounds mocking, out of her, but there's something wistful there too.

"—but in the end, if the expectation is to see people act on behalf of another, then it's just going to lead to disappointment. And if you never had the expectation in the first place? You just get pleasantly surprised if it does happen."

But! Gabriel. It's good that she can put a name to the face now, so to say. But the dim familiarity feels just a bit stronger—still nothing she can put her finger on, but like she's heard it before. Not even like in a overheard-in-gossip way, more like it's familiar from elsewhere.

It's just a biblical name, though. People use those all the time. For man, machine, whatever else this guy might be... it might just be a common ground of sorts.

Not really a thing to mull over this minute, though, she decides; she's just kind of vacantly glaring at him at this point, and it's the least she can do to keep some veneer of politeness after he's bothered to help her.

"It's Mirage. I don't think we've met in any meaningful capacity before, so no reason to know mine before."

✟ His every resting position, whether he was trying to or not, seemed to exude aplomb, a excessive boldness-- especially with the way he stands with both hands on his hips after they're sturdy on their own feet.

Everyone was a freshman once. Yes... There was a time when he was new at this. Naturally. Though it feels like forever ago, he really can't recall exactly how he behaved starting school here. But with certainty, it wasn't so tastelessly as that. There's just no honor in a sneak attack...

This fellow student of his, they were... a touch irritable, weren't they? But he supposed they had reason to be. " No, no... I mean not to discourage standing up for yourself, only to encourage standing up for others. So, you see, less fights are had alone. " He flourishes an onyx black hand as he speaks, not quite human, certainly not machine. " Even if the fight is easily won, one must find it nice to know others are driven to act by your injustice . Wouldn't you agree? " He brightly suggests, and though it can't be seen, his charming smile could practically be heard. Yes, it seems he does consistently speak this dramatically.

" My name is Gabriel, by the way. I am certain I've seen you around... but, I don't believe I've ever gotten your name. " He certainly knows more students than most as a student council member, but this student... hasn't been of note to any representatives. At least, not enough that he can recall off the top of his head. That was a good thing, in most cases.

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// gets added to sometimes

Peering Into the Tendrils of NGC 604 l Webb