CHIRAL: SIDE Y

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Coolzack
>Ahhh. Can see much better now.
>Not for long though. Two plan.
>Option A: You and Hunk stick your hands in the eye, command eye to smash through roof and carry you both back here. Escape.
>Option B: Command eye to ram monster and detonate, binding it's limbs together with masses of string and molten wax, grinding down it's mobility to a halt. Buy time.
>Whichever pick, Eye will do its best.

ChatlogShow

CoolZack: Ahhh. Can see much better now.
CoolZack: Not for long though. Two plan.
tiptopGipgop: Wait, did any of that help? Are you still in danger, Cripes?
cripesalmighty: Yeah.
CoolZack: Option A: You and Hunk stick your hands in the eye, command eye to smash through roof and carry you both back here. Escape.
cripesalmighty: okay that sounds like it could be fun and fucking dangerous as can be
Hunk Chudfest: NGNHHNHHNGNHNHNHH HEIIGTHSS ::(((
CoolZack: Option B: Command eye to ram monster and detonate, binding it's limbs together with masses of string and molten wax, grinding down it's mobility to a halt. Buy time.
Crast Pactian: i am not certain i was fully briefed on this matter of eyes and commands.
CoolZack: Whichever pick, Eye will do its best.
cripesalmighty: Is it just Eye??
cripesalmighty: We made a living fucking being is it just Eye is that just its name?!
cripesalmighty: I guess I’m gonna give it a go.
1234567890: 393
1234567890: 7h475 4 14m3 n4m3 1f 175 480u7 70 83c0m3 4 m3m83r 0f 0ur wh013 6r0up
EXA: zzz
EXA: just wait duds
EXA: give miii some
EXA: time forr escu
YUPPERS: that SYMMETRY was NOT ENTIRELY SATISFACTORY.
: I have a better plan.
: I'll just push them into me.
: THE HAVOC
: ASSIMILATED TERMINAL
: ASSIMILATED CARAPACIANS
: Liar, as unwitting observers, I'm sure you're excited, too. Just let it happen. All good stories need conflict.
: And a god never loses, regardless.

You reach forward a still-shuddery arm, and press your hand onto the wax. But instead of slipping in, assimilating, becoming part-- you simply feel its smooth surface, cold as can be.



"Please," you say, "do something. Please do something, just... j-just attack that thing with your wax and string and shit or fly us out of here or something!"

It remains unmoving. The pupil glares at you, as if expectant.



The room is beginning to be pushed off the edge.

Exa
>Aim for the cracks. Wall weaker in those spots.

You spend a moment readying your shot. Precision is key.



A formidable whack-- without even a millimeter's deviation from where you aimed. Not too soft, not too hard, and at first it seems as if a worthless endeavor...



...but in time...



...your intent becomes obvious.

God fucking damn you are such a smooth wizard.

Oats and Mulligan are just as awestruck behind the hole as Queue and Yuptam near you-- and with only a small bit of hesitation, they climb through the hole, looking weathered and worried, but intensely ecstatic by the fact of their survival.



"Mulligan," Queue mouths quietly, "I was not certain I would believe it even if I saw it, but... you are once again with us."

The large Carapacian smiles modestly-- a smile that lights the room. Oats grins, too, his anxiety and worry starting to slip from his face if only by necessity. "With us best as can be," says Mulligan, "and I'm happy to have th-the freedom to do so."

Oats chuckles weakly. "Thanks, Eva. You're a-always the best." You give him a customary thumbs-up. It's your main method of communicating, these days.

Yuptam glares.

Queue says, "Well, we'd best be getting you an earpiece of some kind, Mully. There is so much to explain, and many can explain it better than me. We have some visitors from places unknown, as well, who can seemingly only communicate using the chat room."

"Suppose I should... be... made up to speed. Though suppose, too, Oats has given me some large amount of info, still processing." Shanks swallows. "Hard to believe it all."

"S-Same for us," says Oats. "I-It all came today, I guess. Since th-this morning, before I woke u-up."

There's a short pause. Yuptam, once again in line to speak, starts to examine his exit plans. Clearly he's not in the best of moods. In the space of quiet, both of the new arrivals eye each other-- and in an act of silent fanfare, they clasp each other's hands.



"I'm happy to see you all again," Mulligan says. "Think that we're all going to make it out of this just fine. Who else is around?"

"There are nine of us remaining in total," explains Queue. His expression doesn't damper, though. "We were beginning to suspect it was just eight, that there would be no helping you, but-- oh, it's so nice to see the exact contrary."

Oats squeezes his hand. "...yeah."

Queue is ecstatic. Oats is at ease. Mulligan is sane. Yuptam is screwing off.

But you really could use that ride down, or something of the sort. Is now really the time for celebration?