dramatispersonae | breeze's heart

[...huh.]

[going to investigate the drinks]

[ They seem to be various sodas, though there's a whiff of alcohol, too... ]

[...grabbing one to drink and taking a closer look at the graffiti]

[ When you try the drink, it tastes like cola and vodka mixed together. You witness another memory: This time you're dancing in the club, dancing faster than any normal human could. Kids are cheering for you, until another voice breaks through the crowd: "Quit showing off, stupid mutant." You feel a rush of anger and the knowledge that you could kill this kid... You could use your powers to do that. He's practically asking for it. But you won't, because you're better than that. You're better than him. ]

[ The graffiti seems to be done by rival factions. Half is stuff like "Mutants Suck" and "Death to all freaks," while the other half is stuff like "Human Crew = Crap Crew" and "Powers over Posers." ... It seems like the graffiti was written by kids. ]

[considers a moment, then sets the drink down and picks up a can of spray paint]

[ It feels good to be holding the spray paint. It feels like you should paint something... ]

[not really sure what to do with the mutants vs. non-mutants issue, so just starts spray painting a simplistic picture of this guy]

[ Well, it looks badass, anyway. ]

[I'M HELPING maybe]

[is it possible to check behind the counter?]

[ It is, but it doesn't look like there's anything back there. Not even food. ]

[not even a backdoor?]

[ There is a backdoor, but it leads you back to the town plaza where you started. ]

[...huh.]

[lets go see the town hall]

[ As you mount the gleaming steps to the town hall, the smell of blood hits you. It’s weak, at first, but the closer you get to the building’s front entrance, the stronger it becomes. It doesn’t seem like anything great is waiting for you inside. ]

[...cautiously opening the door anyway.]

[ Weren’t you walking up the steps to get into the building just a second ago? Now you’re clearly in a basement room—a makeshift hospital, by the looks of it. There are several cots lined up against the walls, their sheets turned down as if waiting for someone to occupy them. It’s obvious that someone had been trying to keep the place clean until recently, but now… Now there are medical supplies scattered everywhere, and worst of all, there are dead kids lying on the floor, lined up in rows, like tiny fallen soldiers. Their eyes stare sightlessly at the ceiling. A sick sense of acknowledgment hits you—these kids died because of something you did. At the same time, you don’t necessarily feel guilty. It’s just the truth. ]

[...]

[stepping further into the room, but he can't take his eyes off the kids on the ground]

[ Most of the kids look like they've been partially eaten, chunks of flesh torn away. Others seem to have died from some kind of illness. None of them look older than fourteen, and some are as young as preschoolers. ]

[...are there enough cots that each kid could be placed onto one?]

[ Yes, there seem to be. ]

[going to start carefully putting kids on cots and covering them with sheets...]

[ With every kid you cover up, you feel a greater sense of relief. You're glad you don't have to look at them anymore... to acknowledge them. ]

[...cautiously peels back the cover from one of the youngest kids.]

[ It feels like a good thing to leave some of the kids visible. ]

[we'll stick with leaving the younger kids visible then]

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