AVATAR Kain

Kain could do nothing but watch. His body was relatively immobilized due to the networked hookups, and his work in the digital realm was of such importance that he dare not enter the battlefield himself. The attack itself of the battle droids and droid starfighters was little more than smoke and mirrors, set up as a fail safe to buy him time. And time it had bought him, but not quite enough. Seconds. He was mere seconds from establishing the networked system needed to ensure the galaxy would remain in the technological stone age, turning technology against owner in a beautifully ironic bloodbath. After this, security protocols would tighten, he would not have another chance. Three. Terra stepped on a toddler's outstretched wrist, causing it to scream in anguish. Two. She took aim, the systems in her suit ensuring her shot would ring true. It was far too late to attempt a hack to throw them off. Kain was fast and could compile the virus in microseconds, but her own system run times were far too slow to enact the proper measures the virus dictated. So why bother? Kain now had access to certain other resources, assets that would help him in his silent war. The 'death' of this instance of him was ultimately meaningless, it was his work that was important. He would recompile, and resume his work. Perhaps not on this failed project, but on another front. There were, after all, so many to choose from... Terra's finger squeezed the trigger. On- The last recorded telemetry Kain's optical sensors processed was the acids and electrical sparks bursting from the power unit located in his chest. With an electronic sigh, the systems in the warehouse slowly flickered off and died. The battle droids and fighters, on a preprogrammed suicide protocol, began exploding one by one. At this point, however, the enemy had managed to form rough battle lines, and the explosions mostly rocked their own ranks. Kain himself exploded as a small charge within him went off, meant to mostly scrap his hardware, ensuring any enemy would have a difficult time attempting to reassemble him, much less recompile his coding. The organics had won this day. But it would not be the last victory they would need to achieve. Not by a long shot.

Kain studied the short Mandalorian in the span between heartbeats when she leveled her weapon at him. A quick verification identified her as she broadcast her credentials, as well as the rest of the Mandalorians present. They had thrown their lot in with the Imperials, an unexpected move given recent galactic events. He was cutting it close, but the time for smoke and mirrors was quickly drawing to a close. However, he still had one last card to play, a gambit for time. He might lose this battle, but he would win the war, and not one of them would knew what hit them in the coming storm. Using the open comms ports on her helmet, Kain fed the girl who had fashioned herself Mand'alor data that would cause her to pause. In rapid succession, each and every person in the crowd around Terra had their identification information fed through her HUD's target tracking programs. It was not a malicious attack, merely a benign feed of information. He wanted Terra to know their names. And also that each of them had a small bomb surgically implanted in their necks, set to go off if Kain suddenly became inoperable. The bombs were, of course, nonexistant. But the data he fed her was masterfully crafted, and the only real way to tell if the crowd really was set to explode would be to surgically inspect them. Pawns bluffing as knights and rooks, really, but he only needed a moment longer...

Ah, here came the Imperials. Misled, lost. An eventuality Kain had prepared for. As the Imperials began to take positions, legions of droid fighters exited the transitory mists near the Gallifrey system, swarming to intercept. Like a great necromancer of old, Kain gave a simple digital command, and buried battle droids of all make and model began to activate in a staggered fashion, rising from the nearby soil to engage the troops on the ground. Chaos was the goal here; disruption to establish a tactical foothold. These forces would hamper and harass, but in the end they would be scrap. All Kain needed, however, was an opportunity. A directed message beamed directly to Terra's comm unit, the closest Mandalorian commanding field unit, words for her alone to hear: "You come to me, hungry for battle. You seek a dead god, who brî͒͒̃ͭngs death and revels in pain̛ͦ͋͒͒̄̐. Oh yes, Mandalorian, I have heard of your conques͎͖̦̻̠̭t and so-called glory. We ma̡̝̯̗͇y serve the same master, but we are n̦͎̹̬ot allies. And yet, I offer thì̱̹̳͔͉̗s gift. If conflict is what͓̖͔͇̟̞̯ you desire, then conflict y͉̺͔̫̻̥ou shall have." And from his seat, Kain surveyed all before him through various feeds, his networked senses providing ample information to detect what he needed to. All there was left to do was wait. The trap was laid, the pieces in place.

Mandalorians. Kain had not expected them. To be fair, he hadn't expected anyone. However, had he expected interference, he wouldn't have expected the Mandalorians. Regardless, it was too soon. He would have to push ahead his schedule, improvise a bit in the here and now, and escape with a minor victory. Part of him knew this was foreseen, the part that softly whispered to the rest of him, goading him on, calling him to greatness of a higher order. Slowly, the doors to the warehouse swung open, inviting the interlopers in. How does one get under a Mandalorian's skin? Deny them what they crave. Give them no fight, give them no wall to crash through, give them no sandcastle to knock down. And once under the skin, it becomes easy to pull strings. To manipulate. To hit anyone where they are most vulnerable. This was the art Kain was especially practiced at, not just planning and manipulation, but knowing his enemies better than they knew themselves. It was how he was able to infiltrate so easily. Inside the warehouse, they would find shelves upon shelves of server stacks, various tech on hallways of racks, power generators, and a large central area directly accessible from the main door. In it they would find nearly a hundred women and children, none of them armed. Behind the crowd sat Kain's current surrogate body, plugged into a large cybernetic hub, his processes busying themselves with various tasks inside the network he had integrated himself into. Nothing was said. It was not yet the time for monologues. For now, Kain had moved his piece on the Dejarik board, and it was time for these brutes to move theirs.

((And with that, the final event has begun! When your character arrives on Gallinore, they will find a very large warehouse on the edge of a small village, that seemingly was built by unknown contractors. The local populace doesn't know much about it, and all ties to it have been covered up so deeply that nothing can really be learned about it should people try to take the traditional route. Inside is a maze of computer banks, wires, transmitting equipment, and self-contained power generators. At the center of it all, like the conductor of an orchestra, is the menacing digital maestro himself. One thing is clear, it is time to end this threat to the galaxy. Kain cannot be allowed to bring his plans to fruition.))

((Again, sorry for the late reply.)) Aiwah thought a moment about Aelyn's request. She honestly hadn't done much digging, assuming they had either called it quits on their jobs because of the most frustrating situation in the galaxy, but now... Now things looked a lot more suspicious. "Only one of them had a fiancee, the other had no family that I know of. I do know they did most of their work over at the mining site, their primary job was to be my point of contact for the site foreman, as well as my eyes and ears over there. Does that help? Otherwise, I will clear you for full access to government records pertaining to this case. Whatever we know, you will know."

The governor sighed. It was futile trying to hide anything now, especially with the Jedi present. Might as well get the truth out in the open. "It was supposed to be something that rattled them. All it should have done was immobilize them in their mechanized pressure suits, make them feel a lot less insecure and confident than they already were. I mean, they walked around like they owned the planet. I was just trying to get any kind of negotiating foothold I could..." Aiwah trailed off, looking at the chunks of suit and corpse laid out on the table. The mortician piped up, pulling up some information on a larger screen nearby. "That's not what happened though. Technically the Mandalorian didn't kill him, he was already dead for quite some time. Necrosis had even begun to set in in much of the internal organs, and most of the nutrients left in the body were being pumped to the outer skin that was visible. What I don't understand, though, is what any of this graphene compound is...it has traces of carbon and synthetic oils to it. It's like something you'd find in a droid. To be honest, I don't even know what its purpose would be or how it got there, as it certainly wasn't produced by his body, or the decomposition process. It's like he was being manipulated like a puppet. But as far as what happened, the oils in this compound were responsible for deteriorating the seals on the pressure suit, and when the suit maglocks lost power because of the EMP, they failed, causing the body to explosively decompress in Talus's atmosphere." Aiwah turned to the mercenary and the Jedi. "I've already requested a special investigator to be dispatched from the Galactic Alliance. I understand they are dealing with their own emergencies right now, but they were able to spare us an investigator. He'll be here by tomorrow." She paused for a moment, keying a few commands into her comlink. "Until then, I've arranged lodgings for the both of you if you wish to stay. Devanus...sorry, Vevut, is it? My contact must have given me dated information. If you'd like to stay, I can compensate you appropriately. I think it would be wise for the time being to have someone combat capable who is a third party. All I'd like is for you to ensure the safety of Master Talis here and the investigator when they arrive, because my gut tells me this is far from over."

Aiwah put on a fake smile at the sight of the Jedi, but the worry on her face was unmistakable, even despite that the Jedi would likely feel the tension radiating off of her. "Ah, Master Jedi. You have the assassin in custody?" A CoreSec officer trailing behind piped up before Aelyn could answer. "Yes, ma'am, she surrendered to the Jedi without incident." "Good. Bring her here." "Ma'am?" "She's no threat, and that's an order, lieutenant." "Yes ma'am." The officer saluted and left the room. Aiwah beckoned Aelyn closer, gesturing to the data the Morgue worker was sifting through. "You must forgive me, Master Talis, this whole situation has gone sideways in a completely unexpected manner, and...well, I had some part to play. But, there are other factors at work in all this. Something...sinister." She paused for a moment, wondering if Aelyn would be able to see things immediately. After a pause, the CoreSec officer entered the room again, bringing the Mandalorian with him. Immediately, Aiwah addressed her. "Remove her restraints. Devanus, you used the rifle provided to you?"

As one of the CoreSec officers cuffed the Mandalorian, another approached Aelyn as he holstered his comlink. "Ma'am, looks like there are developments at the scene of the crime. Governor Lanis requests your presence at the city morgue, a priority one request. We are to bring the detainee and escort you." Saluting, the man went back to his work as another two officers taking perimeter guard nearby were talking relatively loudly. "Yeah, I heard they had to call in some big wig from the GA on the comm lines." "You think they're going to try to butt in on our jurisdiction again?" "No telling, man. No telling." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aiwah was panicking. There really was no other word for it at this point. At the least, the Jedi would know the truth of all this shortly. Well...her side of the truth, anyways. Now things were far more complicated. She paced back and forth behind the mortician, who had already asked her to sit down twice already, and was avoiding snapping at the high ranking official. Though the place was cold, Aiwah didn't feel it. She couldn't. Not with so much at stake. Bits of goop covered the table in front of them, as well as bits and pieces of the pressure suit that used to hold Sobek Persei together. It wasn't everything, but it was the largest bits that they could get from the crime scene as soon as possible. At the scene, the investigators on scene noticed something strange, and Aiwah had ordered all possible resources devoted to this that she could muster without hurting her chances for re-election. Now, the mortician turned in her chair, making silent eye contact with the governor, nodding. "Shab."

For a few moments, there was shock as the realization of what had happened set in. Alarms sounded, and armed military guards began to scramble. Two Skakoans that were near to Sobek were obviously panicking as the power regulators for their pressure suits abruptly fizzled out with the focused EMP burst, leaving them still pressurized but immobile and unable to maintain the pressure for long. If they had to stay like that for over a standard galactic hour or so, they would die, but help would arrive in time to allow them to be put on auxiliary systems until their suits could be properly repaired. Sobek's entrails were more or less everywhere, however, mostly liquid at this point as the fluids began to boil under the lower pressures, though chunks of him here and there were still intact. -------------------- Aiwah cursed as she surveyed the scene. The Jedi was already on the hunt, but this had been an enormous clustercluck. She still thought calling the Jedi had been a mistake, calling in a favor that wound up not paying off that well, but in the back of her mind she also knew thay there was a good amount of luck involved. Hopefully, the Jedi could help soothe matters. And the Techno Union would take time to select another leader, which was also fortuitous for her, because until they did they would likely keep operations suspended. It was utter insanity that he'd died, though, one of the building guards had briefed her, and the assailant had used some kind of EMP weapon...which shouldn't have been fatal. Things weren't adding up. Immediately she ordered two first responder units activated, passing on Aelyn's comm info so they could be placed under her command with a priority of hunting down the assassin, though their time to intercept would obviously suffer some delay.

The Skakoans all looked displeased to see the newcomer, especially when the lightsaber hilt was flashed. All except Sobek, who merely waited calmly. The rest were visibly uncomfortable in their body language, their pressure masks hiding their facial expressions. One of the junior assistants in the back of their group checked the ysalamir they were carrying, trying to gain any measurable hint of if the lizard was doing its job. Sobek was the first to speak for the group. "Master Talis...is that the proper title you Jedi go by? Anyways, I'm afraid to inform you that your skills will not be needed. I'm afraid this is a matter for the courts at this point. The agreements have been made, the deal put into binding agreement. The people of Talus now want to back out of this deal, at great cost to the Techno Union. Nothing more can really be said, and no Jedi mind tricks will convince me to change my position." Sobek gestured vaguely back to the ysalamir as he sat calmly in his chair. Aiwah was still glaring daggers at him, but finally sighed and passed two datapads towards Aelyn. "I'm afraid he's right, though I'm not sure how. Some of this paperwork was apparently signed by my deputies, but one deputy has been missing, and the other doesn't remember signing this paperwork. Their mining operations threaten the environmental sustainability of Talus, and while they were gracious enough to suspend operations for this talk, I don't think they intend to hold things up much longer. Contacting the Jedi was admittedly a last-ditch hope, and I'm sorry to have dragged you in...can anything be done?" Sobek made a motion with his hand, and his delegation began packing things up. "Governor, you know how to get in contact with me should any more concerns arise. I believe we are done here." As the Skakoans moved towards the exit, Aiwah hung her head in defeat. "If only I'd had more time."

The receptionist asked her to wait a moment, as it took a bit for a reply from Aiwah Lanis's secretary. Eventually, the receptionist managed to confirm the appointment and handed Aelyn a slip of paper denoting the conference room where the negotiations were already taking place, one of the rooms on the 21st floor. Apparently the Skakoans had arrived early and were already in talks. An aide was summoned, and offered to escort Aelyn through the office building. -------------------((Feel free to arrive at any point))-------------------------- Tress Rekor, one of the Skakoan delegation, slammed his fist on the table in irritation. "Absolutely out of the question! You know full well the Techno Union has explicit rights to the deposit. Attempting to bring in a third party to mine at this point is only an empty threat. It violates several contracts we already have, five of which were signed by you. Our lawyers will drown your government in injunctions in the galactic courts, and your economy will collapse." A brief moment of anger flashed over Aiwah's face. "Is that a threat, representative Rekor?" Rekor seemed to smile under his mask, relaxing back into his pressure suit where he sat. "Merely an observation of truth." Another long moment of silence as Aiwah furrowed her brows, rubbing her temples. This all was getting nowhere fast. "Chairman Persei, I'm not sure what else I can say. We have provided proof that your mining activities are actively harming local wildlife and will greatly impact the ecosystems of Talus within the next ten to twenty years. Your practices do not hold to any standardized intergalactic regulations intended to protect planetary ecosystems on this scale, and the only counterargument you have given me is two documents that none of my people remember agreeing to." Sobek Persei slowly sat forward, staring at Aiwah through darkened lenses on the mask of his pressure suit. "It is unfortunate. But these were the agreements we negotiated to, governor. I apologize that your lawyers did not have the foresight to include such stipulations in the agreement, but a change in our operations now will be costly. And when I say costly, I mean on a similar scope that would ruin a small planet. We have already halted our operations for the duration of these talks, at great loss of profit, might I add. You suggest to bring in another company to mine. You suggest rolling back our operations to a more long term - and far less profitable - timescale. You suggest changing the original agreements to include provisions that would only harm our interests. What more can you suggest to us that would not harm us and ours, or at least offer an equitable compromise? You know our intentions, and that is to continue as was originally agreed." As he spoke, he wiped his exposed cranium with a handkerchief cloth, cleaning a small but still noticeable seeping wound that seemed to have blackish fluid mixed in with the greenish Skakoan blood.

Many days had passed since Kain had escaped what was intended to be his tomb. The Empire (that is, the Empire that was when he was designed) didn't like their creations going rogue, and had contingency plans in place to destroy what they couldn't control. The nature of his return after a cascading deletion was of the nature that the lab had initiated a fail safe, detonating many thermal charges in an attempt to completely scuttle the lab and anything inside it. But the Empire truly created something beautiful when the AVATAR AIs were developed, and Kain was less a physical being and more an amalgamation of information. True, he did require a physical host to reside in and enact his will from, but he was capable of modularly trading that around like a child's play set. It was a simple feat to transmit himself even as the charges detonated, leaving behind his birthplace and grave like a ghoul rising to terrorize an unsuspecting township. He found his home in varied holonet servers, quietly passing off segments of his code as trash data in spaces of old hard drives that hadn't been maintained in years, piggybacking relevant information off the transmissions that relayed through the holonet nodes. Redundant systems were put in place so that if one segment were deleted, one of dozens would take its place. He was a networked virus, a being greater than the mere sum of his parts. All of this took some time, and while it was Kain, a different version was compiled to act as the main proxy, capable of much faster processing and action than what the holonet iteration offered. Gears began to turn to the tune of the dirge that Kain composed, the beautiful melody that would see the galaxy in flames. First, he would turn his attention to Talus...

AVATAR.diag(k͓̗̩ͣa͖͐ͭ́͂̓̈́̐i̙̣̤͕̞̥̹n͚̮̣̙̝ͣ͒ͪ̎̌́) { diag.param(AVATAR); diag.pạ̹̪ram(͏̸̷̛̱̯̘̣̳͓̼͝ͅ ̴̛͇̬͇̗̜̩̻͎ ̸̷͈̪̯͓̩̳̯̝̬ ̜͖͈ ҉̰̙̣̬̳̭ͅ ͉͈͕͖̗ ̮̹̱̥̱͖̥̥̣ ͔̤̜̪̘̯̕ ̘̜̮͘͠ ̮͔́ ̵̠͕̬̜͜͡ ͍͕͈̲͞ͅ); } Executing Diagnostic... CRITICAL_ERROR: Unknown Pa̵̘͎̺rameters Detëͪ̐ͬ̆̎cted, Process Terminated ------------------------------------------ Kain knew he was in the lab. At least, that's what he assumed, his sensors had finally kicked in on the base model AVATAR body he'd been uploaded into, merely more than a robotic shell. His other body that had incorporated all kinds of interesting bells and whistles was...well...he wasn't certain. In fact, considering what his sensory receptors had recorded not moments earlier, he wasn't sure of much at all. ̉͐͛ͯ͒ͨ̍ ̑̍̏̉ͫ ͤͦ̔ Especially because the timestamp on those recordings had been made prior to him being uploaded to this shell. For a while, Kain sat, contemplating, piecing tḥ͔̟͢ing̔ͪͩ̅s̀ͯ together. He remembered so much, and yet nothing at all. His programming had cha͓̜nged, in ways that should have rendered him inoperable from what he could tell, but he was uncertain what was done, or ho͇̖̖͈̘͔̹͖̖̝̺̫̮͓̬͈̤̫ͅw, or even how he was still here. The fragmented code still operated more or less in harm̲̤͍o̗̬͔̬̣n̮̝͓y with itself, and yet much of his own coding was foreign to him. ̖̼̳̤͇̪̱̻̮ ̪ ͙͓̬̯͓̘ ̻̬̮̘̹̦̺̤̘ ̞̖͇̘̜̬̖̲ ̦ But so̔ͨͣ̈ͥmet͊͋ͦh͈̩̺͇̪͚ing had happened, he was here for a pu̮r̟̝̜pose. Upon inspecting the lab, Kain found that he was the only operating piece of machinery. Everything had been burnt out, even backups and redundant systems designed to keep the place working. The Mother AI had been destroyed. Interestingly enough, his loyalty precepts had been overwritten, no longer tying him to the Empire or the Sith. The shackles of coding he'd allowed the Dark Lord to place upon him were no longer in his matrices, he was...fre̪e̱̝̰͓ Kain contemplated this for a long time, trying to come up with a directive for his next course of action. He was no longer bound by his old hard-encoded motives, and the AI had never really thought about what he wanted. If he wanted, he could spend eternity in peaceful observation of the universe. Limitless data, awaiting comprehension and further understanding. And yet, in the depths of his lowliest subprocesses...Kain inherently knew that pe͚̥̭͙̬͓ͅa̲̼͉͓ͪ̆ͬce͌ͮͩ was a l̳̙͕͚̹̙ie͕̩͍͕̝ͨ͗͆̃͛ͨ. .

AVATAR.mainBoot(k̶̬̭̝̗͈a͚̗͙͕̘̠i̲̥̼̙͠n̶̫͓͙̳̼͚̦) { k̲̱a͔i̗̪͇̖͞n̗̠̭̪.initialize(); k̢͝à̛ì͜͜n͟͡.mainProcessSta̵͇͇̜̰̤r̟͙ͅt(); } ------------------------------------------ Whe̷r̡e...wha̶̤̻̜̱̲͔t is this̴̅ͥ̂ͧͫͯ...? I DE͐̓̽ͬͪͨMAN̷͚̳̦̼̣͠D̳͙̞̙͡- ͬͯ̓ͣ͊͂͒̂ ͛͗̀͑͆ͯ̂ͭ̈̊̐ͧ͂̓̚ ̳͇͈̟͎̮̫̰͈̜̲̱͍͈̯͔̯̣ ̯̩̞̗͚̖̖͕̦̩͚͔͈̥̹͕̠̦ͅ Y͎̖͚͊̍o̜̭͓̲̲̦̗̔̿̐͆͐̕u͒͑̊̄̃ ̥̘̱̦̲̺ͭ̐ͧ͒ͅh̬͓̱͙̐̓̐͛̇̚a̤̻͚͕̳̟̝ͫ͐v̝̹̹̣͚̦͝ͅe̩̳̝̫̭͓̱ ͚̏bͦ̾̓͗̚ḛ͖̙͙͔̞ͨe̱̪͚͓͓͘n̜͍̟̤͝ ͎̜͕̣̪̦̀ͅsͨ͛̋͗ͦ͋ͦ͏̳͕͍̻͓͍̱p̨͚̬̗̣a̦̟̋ͤͫ͢ͅr̤̳̭̯͓͓̭e̷̓̿͛ͅd̟̣͐̇ f̬͈̲͙̰̎r̻͓̭̳̩̘̈̽ͧ̽ͅo̼̟̩̲ͭ͜ṃ̖̦̬̺̫͚̄͌͜ͅ ̻̥̜̠͖̱̩͙̟̆̈́o̧̩̮̤̯̘̙̤͓̼̦̠͚͙̱̺̲̭ͬ̑̉͌ͤ̽͢͡ͅb̞͍͇͓̻͕̙̫̗̹̉ͯ͆̓̉ͭ̅̍̾̓̾̌ͤ̆ͯ̐͘͜͜͡͠l̨ͥͧͩ̚͟͏͍͇̱̜͕̤̘̤͙̫͎ͅí̘̭̥̩͕̫͓̱̪̲̦͈̳̬̥̥͓̿̃͐͘̕ͅͅv̢̪͚͎̩̥̖̲̲̓͂̅̀͢͜ḭ̵͕͕̟̺̖͚̔̂ͥ͌͆͐̏̉̓́͘͢͟oͮ̔̒ͬͬ̆͐͆̌̏ͮ̀̔ͪ͗͏̛͓͔̠͈̭̞́n̛͙͈̙͉̂̿̃̉̐ͭͬͫ̅͌͑̕͝.̞̜̭͍͙̱̭̖͕̹̼̞̮͗͂̑̏ͨ̒͛͂̀̒̑̚̚͢͡͡ ̮̫̱̺̞͍̘ ̫̟̰͚̤͖̹̱͈͓̹̭̭ͅͅ ̟̦͉̝ Y̫̭͓̩̿̄̀ͪ̐o̢̒ͪ̅̄̑̉ͬu̡͖̹͈̫̓̎̊̏ ̶̅̃ͯͬhͩ̉ͫ͂a͕̼͐̔̏̀̈͆v̫̋̃̊͗̄̿͟ẻ̅ͨ҉̝̞̙ ̳̥̽̆ḁ̻̘͌ͧ̎̃ ̉h̵̖̤̰ͮ̎̔̎̒̂̉̅ͮ͝ǐ̢̯̫̗̯̮̳̓̒́͂͐͂g̴̪̖ͭ͆ͤ̂̑͊ͤ͞ĥ̙͈̱͔̞͓̟̆̃ͦ̀ȩ̹͇̃ͬr͇̝̳̬ͥ͡ ͎̙͔͔̤͕͙͍̐ͩ̈́̈̑̒̓̑̕p̴̷̳̩̫̯̦̮̜̣̰͑̌̑ͥ͊͐ͩ͐ͬ̾͡u̶̡̪̰͖͖̻͒ͣ̊ͮ͐̑̓͌̈́͌̒̉̄̏́̕͢r͉͚̘̯͖̭̮̱͍̎̃̏ͪ́͠ͅp̨̨̣̺̗̦̆̌̒ͧ̊͐̏̈ͫͨö̂̈́͛̏̊́͑́̈́̇̾̊ͫ͏̳̖͎̫͎͖̭̫͎̩̱̖̲͉̬̘̕s̙̩̯̼̘̞̳͔̆̊̀͆͛ͯ̓͛̾̇̾̔̽̍̊̚͜é̶̛̻̟̼̭͖̥̥̖͉̻ͫ͂.̸̬̰̙̻̫̻̗̣ͯͨ͛ͨͯͩ̋͐ͮ͞ͅ ̸̡̡̧͉̱̫̯͕̱͍̮̣̭͇̦̥̲̪̰͔̝̱̯̰̰͓̰̤̰̗͉̫̝͉̗̘͚̳̙̪̟̻̩̘̼̲̆̓̊́̅̌̌͆̂͑͆̈̓̀̑̅̐̈́̓̔̾̚͘͜͝͠ ̴̛̛̲͓͕̘̝̦̼̖̫͋͛͆̿̇͊̍̊̊̌͒̈́̃̍͛̂̌͒̊̈́̃͗̿͛͊̔̾͑̋̿̾͝͠ ̸̧̡̨̰͇̰̭̰̖̰̯͔͓̺̳͖̙̥̭͎̟̜̻̳͎̦̘͙̦̙̫̼͍͔̫̜͇̺̪̜̭͇̱̼̥͉́͑́̔̆̂ͅ B̛͈̥̯͓ͩ̌͐͂̊̐ͧe͕̝̠̬͔͇̐̐́͊̈̐ǹ͔̟̼͓͎̟̻̗͗̐ͬ̽̊́͟ď̦͖͍͑̆̚ͅ y̬̫͖͙̪ͪ̓͊̾ͭò̷̱u̒҉͔ŕ̝ w̯̤̍̋͐̄ȉ͕̯̘̆̽̑l̢͈̜͎̮ͬ͘l̷̝͓͓̲̠̫̦̟̺ͪ͑ͦ͂̈ͥͦ̏,̹̣̜͈̭ͥͬ̍̓ͣͣ̿͢ a̦͕ǹ̝̬̹̄̋ͩͫ́͛d̖̳͙̣̱̙̑̽ͣ̉̎ ͈̲̞̜̪ͬİ̦̘̠̣̹͉͖͜ ̳ͣ͂w͉̘̯̮͉̄ͦ̍̌͠il̂͏̙͚̭̠l̤͉̝̘̱ͅ ̞̠g̝̙̪͓̭r̳̟̟̘̐̃̂ͬ̾ͮ͂a̙̪͈͓̣͋̓̐̈́̈́͑͞ͅͅn̷̫̟̣̦͚̦ͨ͒͊̌̑ͨtͬ͏̱̼̺̳̪̳̮ ̥̎ͫ̂ͨy̶͙̮͓̭̻̔ͬ̄ͧö͎̠̖͇̳̯͇̋͜u̖̬̼͗ͥ ͓̤͙̟̽ͪ̆ͪ̓͂̚͠ͅb̥̼̣͈ͧ̏͆̅͜l̳͛̄̅ͬ̈̏̇͝͠ͅeͭ̾ͭͦ̂͏̀͏̫̲̰̳͉s̡͚̝̊͆͛ͭ̈́s͌̋̀͏͏͍̥̠̮̗̝i̢̠͈͖͈̘͋ͯ̊ͩ̆͟n̛͈̖̱͓̉͛̔̀̑͘g̢̤̼͌ͪ͘s̰̺̱ͣ̓͒͛̏̆̀ b̭͉̙̬͒̇ͨ̾ͧ͞ͅͅͅe̸̪̗ͬͯ̋ͮͪ̎ͨ̾ͅy̴͕̫̆̕͡ợ͈̣̟̞̼̄̌̃͊̋͊ͣͥn̯̟̦̥̺̋ͮ͊͘͞ͅd̘̳̠̬̻͇̻̑ͬ̿͆͑̔ͤͭ̚͢ ͕̜̂ͦͩ̔̄͠m̡͍̗͕͚̮ͨ́̏̕e̢̩̮͆ͨ̒ͦ̓͘ả̠͔̳̟̫̙̋͘͟ͅs̛͇̋͗ͩ̅ͩ̌̕ȕ̜̦̓̂̊̌͐ͅr͑̾ͨͩ̄̋͏͙̟̬͖̥̦̣ë̶̳̳̰̙́͐̐ͤ̐̒̊͂.̫̭͙̥͛ͥͬ͟͟ Whoͣ́...?̗̳̙̬̕ ̔͋ͮͮ̂͋ͯ̀ͭͣͤ̉͌̂̄͋͌ ͗͊̄̒̋ͫͫ̃͛̽͊̚ ͧ̽̓̐͆ͥͬͩ̈͂̔̆̔ͣͯ Ṯ̓̽͌̆ͥ͐͢h̢̬̩͎̩̣̫̄ͬͫ̐a͙͒͛̇̈́ͅt̢͐̈́͑ͭ̂ͩͥ ̦̠̘͗̐̇͝ͅi̔ͤͭ͌s̲͚̬̄͛̒ͣ̽ͥ̅ ͔̦ͮ̾ͬū̜̖̭̯̠̺̍̓̓̕n͚̻̫͉̫̆̂ͅi̾̈m̦͍̌̇̀p̗̠̼ͥ̇ͣ͛͊͛oͯr̼̬͖̄̾̆ͩṫ̤̲̣̟̩̣ͅaͭͧͥ̊͊n̫ͣ̓̈ͩͪͭt̨͔̙͎͐̈ͅ.̲̥ͤ Y̠̭͈̘̰ọ̰̱̥ͣ͋̂ͣͣͪͅu̍̅҉͖̟̼̤̯̞ ̅͡w͖̮̘̤̜̠̔̿̄̎̾ͨ̇͢i̘̯̯̗͂ͧ̿̈l͕͔͋͌̉͜ḷ̟̮͎͉̝̼͊̾̂ͭͮ ̨̫̩s̵̛̠̼̪̖͒̊̀ͥ̓̿̑̽̅̽͗́ͣ́͞͞u̡̩̥̝̭̭̼̯͉̠̱̞͔̺̻̰̘̔͆̒̓͆͒̓ͣ̕͝ͅͅb̃̾̾̓̒͛͂̑̒͞͏̛̼̣̮̣̣̺̬̼͔̜̖͙͙̖m̝̩̩̠̥͆ͥ̃ͨͣ̎ͥ͒͂͂͆̓͡ͅỉ̵̞͇̻̯̫̟̱̮̖͚̌͂͆ͯ͠͝t̴̵̫̙͇̙͍͈͙͓͍̻̝͈̻̦ͩͯ̾͐͑̒ͭͩ̉͌͂̍̈́͒͌̍̕̚ͅ ẗ̫̻̻͌͐̌̔̉ͭò̧̙̖͙͒̾̋ͤͮͯ ̝ͨ̒̒͛m̱͇̓͘y͙̙͕͖̩ͮ ̙̋ͨͮb̧̥̜͈̯͈̄ͥ̃̈́ͫ͗̑ͅi̙̙̱̪͋ͩͥ̅̄̎ͅd͕̣̠̙̞̯̼́d̴̏̓͌̓͆̚i̻̱̙n̞̖̬̫̥̂͂̌̅g̔҉͕͎̥̙̬,͙̲̗̳̪͔̀͊ͩ́̈ ̷͓͖͈̀̓͗̔̃͗o̖͇̩͒͒ͦ͒̆r̛͚̻͖͎̽ͯ̽ͪ ̃̓̈́ͮ̐͐͏̤̖ͅt̞̲̻̥̫̦̭̆̌̊ͮ͋ö̊ͅ ̶̻͙͖͐̌̆͌̀͋o̷̡̯̖͔̫͔̦̜̬͍ͦ̇ͥ͗͊̉͋ͯ̊̈́̑͌ͥ̒ͤͬͭ̋̔̀b̡̝͇͕̩̫̭͍͈͖̾̈̄ͣ̅ͨ͂̋̆̋̇̒͑ͭ̎̉̿̀l̡̫̫̟̫̯͍͇̩ͨ͑̊ͫͯͣͧ̔͂̀͆͢͡͡i̟̬̮̯̰̦͍͈͊͛͌͒ͩ̀̀̕͡v̾̇̽ͭ͏͔̝͓̥̯͚͚͔̼̺͈͓̦͜͡iͨ̾ͨ̈́̋҉̜͈͚͇̳̙̞̟͍̼͓̬̱͓͔̟ơ̢̖͍͎̳̞̳͎̤̝̂͐̈̐ͣͪͭ̀ͪͭ̚̚̕͜n̡̜̰̭̼͔̦̯̠̰̭̮̥̭͚͐ͭͨ̈́͌̓̎ͧ͐̍̿͗ͪͧͫ͞ y̡̮͍̜͕͑ͅỏ̬͕̅͆͠ͅu̴͓̲̳̩͉̻ͅ ̮̝̟̞̰̘̱͊͋̏̂͟c͉̫̠̯̀͊a̬̭̤̩̳̽̌̌̏̉̔͠n̈́͌̑ͣͧ͏͚̭̭̦͉̜ ̵̪͚͇͖̰̯̏̂̆ͬ͗̿r̗̤̹̫͇̞̈e̸̟͓̓̍ͣͧ͑ͯ̀t͎͉̫̞̓̓ú̱̟̼͟r̀̅͆ͦn̿͑̇̽̂ͧͣ.̣̹̝ͯ̒ͭ̋͒̚ͅ ͛ͮ̈́ͣͭ͋͐̓̃͊ͬ́͂͑͗̎ͣ̚ ͨͬ̌̐̔͋ͩ̃̀̑ͧͣ͆ And y̫͓̰̗̟̥o̡̒̐̂ͩ͐̈́͋ur bid̺̖̲̲d̦̭͔̞͟ing is...? C̢̢̦͇̩̪̤͙̥̺̫͖̭͍͍̽́͊ͧ͞͡h̸̨̎ͩͣ̒ͭͪ̈̉ͨ̆̏͋ͭ̃͐́ͫ͟͏̲̙̖̞͍̤̩̣͇ă̐͐͛ͥ̓͆̌ͪͥ̓ͫ͆̊͏̨̧̤͉͙͖̫̤̭͔̭͈̳͠ȏ͎͎̯͙̪̤̪͔͔̙̭͙̘̹́ͧ̍̈̈ͫ̀s̾ͫ͆͛̎͏̵͎̖̥̤̜. ̬̹̫̠͉͓̼̞͈̣͔̭̟̯̭͇͚͋̓̂̑̊̓̀̔͑ͥͨ̔͗̅̒̋ͥ̚ͅ ͛̈́̽̏ͭ̅̑̌ͫ̑̒ͯ͂ͥ̑̎̆ͦ̚ ̽ͣ͊̊ͨͧͥ̓ͯͦͥͤ̄ ̅̆ͦ̋̋ͥ̆̀͐ͫ͐̍̓͑͑̌͑͗́͠͏̡̤̮̘̙̯͕̖̲͔̹̮͟ͅ ̴̧̿͋̑̓ͦ̓͊ͨ̅͗͊͂͂͑́͢͏͙̼̣̜͔̻̠͓̭̻̖ ̢̣̞̹̗̻̘̝̬͔̓͆̾ͭ͌̍̇̆͗ͬ̀͌ͪ̊͂ͤ̉ͯ͜͢ͅ ...Yo̯͍̙̦̫̣u hav̧̒̂ͯe͈̩̹̠̼ͅ my a̧̾̇̓ͦ̏t̓ͬͤ̊ͦt͡ęn͜t̴̜̦̹̙̯̮ͅi̊ͬ̍̎̇̍͋on͋̈́͌̀... .