The Restoration Protocol

38 || plight of the puppet

Lotus doesn't try to dissuade them any further.

Mariko, Soleil, and Abe leave the Greenhouse Manor in peace. As much as they are able with a daunting task ahead of them. Each step heavier than the last, they make their way to the nearest PIPTIA station, uttering not so much as a word to one another until they set foot inside the building. And as has been the case lately, it is empty. Not a soul, not player nor NPC, can be found inside, yet the doors remain open. It's no longer surprising. Mariko has accepted by this point that Paracosia, the game, is being taken off the shelves as she speaks.

It doesn't feel like a game anymore. Sebastian's words circle back inside her head again and again. If only she could convince herself that what happens here doesn't matter. But she feels herself, her consciousness and mind and skin and the swelling of her hand injuries which have begun to flare up again. She tightens the bandages. She pulls up the zipper on her coat. Hollowmire is sure to have gotten colder, she thinks.

And she's right. It has. No more than a second after passing through the portal to Hollowmire's outer-city station, Mariko feels the cruel bite of the bitter air scrape her – and it does scrape. Nothing like the gentle caress of a breeze, or the strong gust of a storm. It's worse. Like an itch, the scratching of a monster's fingernails against her face and neck, trying to peel back the collar of her coat just to wrap around her dry throat. The wide-open doors of the PIPTIA station are no less unwelcoming than the last time she came here. There's a thin, crooked, and broken trail of blood stretching from the portal labeled Arumathia: Outer-City Station A all the way into the distant fog beyond.

Down one path, the deadened city of Hollowmire awaits them like an executioner: down another, the uncertain depths of the Atadon Crater. This is where Mariko's, Soleil's, and Abe's paths will make their uneven split.

"I'm going to wait at the entrance for you," Abe announces, gripping the strap of his bag as he faces the two girls. "We're still going to do this together. I have all the parts I need right here for repairing the elevator. I'll have it up and running by the time you get back for sure."

He leaves. With a small map of the region surrounding Hollowmire on a handheld device — a copy of which he gave to Mariko as well — Abe walks out of the station and soon disappears into the hazy outdoors. Mariko doesn't have her holomap anymore. But she remembers which way to go. The Carcass Ravine isn't far from here, and of course, the city lies just beyond it. Beyond parted gates, a people overlayed with a blanket of wreckage and misery.

Soleil leads the way, holding Mariko gently by the hand. She remembers the way, too. Through the misty forest of dead wood and choked stems, they trace their path with ease all the way to the edge of the ravine, to the stone bridge which stretches over it. That blood trail followed them. Even here. Mariko spots small and faint splotches mottling the grey slab. It could be anyone's, she tries to tell herself. Jugo's. Maybe Riis's, if puppets can bleed.

She spends longer than she realizes staring at it. Soleil gives her arm a careful tug.

"Are you alright?" she asks, already seeming to know the answer, but wanting to make sure Mariko could at least hear her. Mariko nods.

"I'm alright."

They cross the bridge. The towering crimson doors seem to be leaning towards them now, hinges worn from age and rust and the overall decay that permeates the air. Mariko holds her breath. She wasn't scared of this place last time. But now she feels her heartbeat in her throat, in her ears. Even her eyes throb and start to water, and she furiously rubs them with her free hand as she and Soleil slip through the crack in the open doors. Hollowmire welcomes them in the same manner it did back then, too. With silence and a cold shoulder, bearing its deepest wounds on an open display. Like a sick animal having long since accepted a slow and painful death.