[ The pulse rolls through the city and leaves chaos behind. Broken glass, the scream of wheels and impact, distant car alarms whining. Lune is trapped indoors, and on kneejerk instinct, she reaches for her telephone — these magical, eternally useful devices — and instantly tries to check on her loved ones.
There's not that many people outside the Expedition who she feels close enough to reach out to, but Kimiko is the first. ]
Did you hear that? Are you alright?
[ The network has usually been stable within the stronghold. Reliable. But this time, there's a different cryptic icon sitting in the corner of her screen, and she stares at it through a long frustrating pause, a furious impatience, waiting for a reply. Until the telephone makes another noise and she seizes it to read Kimiko's response— ]
MESSAGE UNDELIVERABLE
[ Her heart falls in her chest. Palms starting to go slippery with nerves. She tries again, stubbornly hammering out an identical message and jabbing SEND. It has to work. She's taken it for granted that this technology works.
(It doesn't work.)
Once she gets out of the building and out onto the streets again, with a clearer access to open air and hopefully better reception outside tangled metal and concrete, she tries once more. ]
I'm around the Pavilion; uninjured. Report in, please.
MESSAGE UNDELIVERABLE
[ This might have been what Expedition 64 felt like: their radio frequencies being used against them, the relays being sabotaged and going down, their voices going silent. In the end, Lune has to give up, shoving the useless lump of plastic back into her coat and keeping on the move, her heartbeat pounding a thump-thump of anxiety in her throat. ]
texts, undeliverable.
There's not that many people outside the Expedition who she feels close enough to reach out to, but Kimiko is the first. ]
Did you hear that? Are you alright?
[ The network has usually been stable within the stronghold. Reliable. But this time, there's a different cryptic icon sitting in the corner of her screen, and she stares at it through a long frustrating pause, a furious impatience, waiting for a reply. Until the telephone makes another noise and she seizes it to read Kimiko's response— ]
[ Her heart falls in her chest. Palms starting to go slippery with nerves. She tries again, stubbornly hammering out an identical message and jabbing SEND. It has to work. She's taken it for granted that this technology works.
(It doesn't work.)
Once she gets out of the building and out onto the streets again, with a clearer access to open air and hopefully better reception outside tangled metal and concrete, she tries once more. ]
I'm around the Pavilion; uninjured. Report in, please.
[ This might have been what Expedition 64 felt like: their radio frequencies being used against them, the relays being sabotaged and going down, their voices going silent. In the end, Lune has to give up, shoving the useless lump of plastic back into her coat and keeping on the move, her heartbeat pounding a thump-thump of anxiety in her throat. ]