((Same deal as the first, not a physical log, just an IC recollection.)) Time had passed since Tolkin had abandoned the restaurant. He left it in mostly capable hands. A good friend. Tool? Friend. Smooth. Dark. Insidious. Buglike. Traitor. Evil. Cubed. No, not that one. A new one. Unfortunate, accidental. Given a new chance. He could hardly remember her name now, if she even had one. He stood in the streets of Corrav. How long had he been here? He could feel the stares, people looking at the real monster behind the mask, a horrid mix of man and metal that should have never been brought out-- He took a deep breath, taking air he could not use, and pushed it through his body, in, and out. He knew what was coming. He read about this. He researched it years after becoming fully what he was now, but always thought he would be beyond it, that he had found a new way to cheat death, but no, just a new way to enter the casket. Synthetic corruption. He stumbled through the streets, the words echoing in his head as he collected his thoughts once more through the haze. Mental degradation brought on from...what? He pondered the thought, closing his eyes to think on his long, long life. Being too old. Yeah. He opened them to find himself in another part of town, one where the world around him was bright, and full of life. Couples walked along the streets, chatting their time away. Children played with not a care in the world. Confused races that he hadn't even seen before in his lifetime struggled to understand their new environment they found themselves in. A humble neighborhood park. How many times have I realized this? He asked himself. "How many times have I come to the brink, realized where I am, and just...forgot?" He sat down on the first vacant bench he could find, opening the nexus to find that he had apparently sent messages to the woman running Skyborn Sounds. A few of them, in fact. He had vague recollections of this...it was something important to him. Something involving mental...powers...on her broadcast. As he sat there, relistening to his own words that sounded foreign to even himself, things started to click again, for just a moment. "I can use messages to remind myself of...things. Yeah. I think I saw it in a movie once." As he stood from the bench, he accidentally bumped into a passerby, who quickly scuttled off after seeing him, mumbling something that sounded like "Zombie Robo-Hobo" as they laughed with their entourage. Ignoring the sting of the, honestly, not entirely wrong, insult, he took his hat off, letting the sun hit his face for a moment before donning it once more, pushing it down and moving on. Look, me. I'm a sinking ship, but I'm also the guy with the straw trying to drink the ocean. Or, uh, the guy with the bucket throwing water overboard. Fuck it, I'm both. And I know that I can keep this boat from sinking just a bit longer. I just need to find some way to do that, and maybe this shit that Skyborn is talking about is the key to that. It's just like a movie, and this is the rising action. Remember. Your name is Tolkin. You're dying. You need help. Take it from everywhere you can. Don't hurt anybody. Don't sit still too long, that's wasting time. Clock's ticking, old man, get moving. He recorded the short message, and a few others, and listened to them the entire walk to the nearest teleporter hub, as well as the newest Skyborn Sounds broadcast. May as well die to some cool music.
