I’m going through the anomaly, friends. I found where Thrice Seven went, and where they were stopped in their tracks. But that’s all I know. I know also that every scout sent back there since has vanished – save one. I saw a bit of what he said. It was frightening. I’m going to verify it, and see if I can get any more data to help us. So, as you read this, I’m nowhere to be found – and nowhere you want to be.
The anomaly loomed, ever closer. The trepidation.. and the flash.
6, no, 9, no 12 hostiles inbound. UNKNOWN Conflux! Go, go, go… flashing red… armor damage…. flashfire! What’s that? Another anomaly? Go, go.. go.. gooooooo! Flash. A rending, crashing boom. All was darkness.
Razor woke up with a start, his brow beaded in a cold sweat. He hated that particular dream. Hated it with a not-entirely-sane vehemence. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and rolled off his spare pallet in the transient’s quarters at Hyperial. It came, every night. Again, and again, and again, and again. Some fluxhunter he was. Nightmares about flux. It didn’t help that he’d fought every class of them since – especially the ones that shot him up so badly on his expedition. It didn’t help that he’d killed thousands – tens of thousands – since then. They never stopped coming. Not in his dreams – and not in space, either. He’d failed. Miserably. He’d failed New Dawn, he’d failed Amananth, he’d failed Holly, he’d failed… everyone.
I need answers.