networkinthenight | [ѧׄѵٜҒեҡٜהػһ] - WEEҎЯҝLY BUЀLωؗҹTIN

WEEKLY BULLETIN

[This week, the bulletin opens with a video. It's been shot from a webcam that seems to be perched atop a computer screen, and in front of the screen is Robin, biting her lip as she types frantically. If she meant to start recording herself, she doesn't show it. A timestamp in the corner reads 17 NOV 03:02.

The room behind her is cozy, resembling the control deck of a battleship as redecorated by a teenage girl. That's essentially what it is, after all. The red beam of the lighthouse flares occasionally at the top of the screen.

Robin's harried typing continues for a few moments, uninterrupted, until a shadow slinks up from the staircase behind her. One by one, strings of fairy lights flicker out, the room going dark save for the glow of the screen. Robin finally notices just before the last of the lights die, her hands freezing on the keyboard, but she doesn't dare turn around, not yet.

This video comes with sound, and everyone's device's volume will crank to max volume to really emphasize Robin's shaky breaths as she listens, head tilting to glance over her shoulder at the darkness. The image flickers, crackling with static and distortion, until—]

Kë̥̟̝͇ͦ̈́̋— ee͍͔̺͔̖̕p— er͖̥͓͔̼̤͍—

[Robin whips around, her chair toppling over as she stands, but the video crackles again, and she's flung back against the desk. The computer screen crashes to the floor, taking the camera with it, and the feed stays focused on the floor for a long, long time. Eventually, it fades into static.

When it clicks back on again, the camera has been cocked up just enough to pull the room into view again. The timestamp in the corner reads 28 NOV 14:26.

Robin is slumped against the wall, filthy with blood and sweat, eyes glassy as she stares up at the forest spirit looming over her. The spirit cranes their head toward the camera, their eyes flashing green, and they wave to the viewers in a clumsy, jerking motion. Then, they drop something heavy and metallic in front of Robin, and she jumps at the sudden noise. It's a lantern, long broken and in pieces.

The forest spirit tips forward at the waist, bending down to press their face against Robin's as she whimpers and tries to keep still. They negotiate their forehead against hers, their green eyes flashing until she musters the courage to look up, and then they trill.

There's a scream, and the feed again cuts to static.]

anno҂ؼҘϷments

I don't kԻӟϔυ׹ what happen؇d. I'ӻԛ sorry. I think tϒйԷy're gone nэӽّw.

I can't delete thώӾҊ video. I've tried, but they fucked up my computer aՓ׳սϗׅаҚ؞םӆѺs forcing me to post the video file with פӡӆe bulleֺЛԬn. A lot of stuкϗϊԥןټ֫ԓՙֳ٤Ёs broken. I'll nԬгd to fix it.

ThԨЌґ ЬՉave me a lanшбҿٻӇٷա. I don't know whose מ֙طАϫ is. I need time to fiףУӊחѶЇϑӐٰЉՁׁٓӪ out.

Use this bҪӸϲetin to regroup and share informatЫׇղԭ with each Ծ֔ther. ҬѮere's no point in keԖ֞я֐ secrets.

I'֑ҩё OK. Thөy ҁ֥Ϙٶ؜ЭגӿӧױϐѲӢϥ.

Ԇ٣؏،ӂssifieds

ѤךٓвҚխԴ؃־Ӕщ׺ЅաҺѐϺӴϣҗԲՃԴѡ؀׋ҜӚԎ؋ӫӿоВ׵Ϝ؎ՇӂىҺЄЪؽՁԫԵӏ٢ӼϘլ֏ҟӼЁׇٰ֫ՄτӅ֪ؑФҭҶؚزӹ؝Сֳ֜ԦؐӫգٶϚѾбϏצغْװ֩ئіϬ؇ϽϚυկؤӥіؓГՁؿأأԽԼ؀ҡٷաϤֽӋԟԂїӦѰבӬѦӰիҷϑ֟ӗכֽС֐нѻّׄҳخرՓԨ؄ٖҤϚϰн֙؃Щҍ՝Ծ֔ٶԫױձҭкؓљӟώӍҭ׻صװٳزؙӱٮՎҊҬջйѫ֊ײؒυظԦְէٯ׾Ӫմ؝ҬѮ٤֔նѫټՆρ֮كס٧ςГӷֆҪץԁԊպՉϑϣז؁ѻӭ֎БӒٰт؏Ԋ٩ҪӸϲֈҾԁӂѤЂԳך֧ϮէӵءЫׇղԭљֶбҏ٬Ұ֝ՍשזԒӈبد؂Ѝ׃Ϩ׸ІҖЄשѺϺϭы҆ҠԇϘӢѱхԶϻԳضҩДֹԳէ֝ђҮӱӬќѬϿқғ׽ϱХϟѥԍظмӕֿӃѥչټփֹҎЯҝץѭѢ׈ϤϩԖ֞я֐خ׳Іيӆ֞ԀՁֿόӚ٦ԎӔ׭үՒ֕ӭل҈ёت֩қҒׯձмӉϘцӕϓ؃׋׸،ٶϯם֠Ϟϡў׋ϡѺժϽ׬сϢӡսѶ֪њҺӝٰԃϨ׫ٗإϢ֥ҍ؟ԲҧϜٲҎЖ؟ӒҗԹЊӫԗӰֹكϾ֎յِרϦϞׂԢЁ؟ӴРיسմһϡϺӘӃҎЀҎӑЪϲϨը֞צЊ՝խՅ՗҅тغќԆתςءҶّֈ׍ϣԃ֑ٗВҗԺٯ״ؤԭюҧؗـׇ٘ռ؁րתսؿҌӜ֋נՌӟӔز֬Ը٠ЍИ֑Ѡ١ІآԒتҪ԰٫ҩمѾѳ؇ٖ׳ӑϴҾرҭА֪ӗ՘ү֩ԮЍҁҎыҁԛٶдԁѥՎмҷ؆ӖٸҲϦԣَϗԯѤآԤϕ׮֊ؿг؆ϬҢڀ׊ԽϬў׮ύϭӣч؈ՒԖצԨבЂ٦՘׺הԿҊтջϥחїپԪֱѱ׋յҽҮٞӀяЮёֳ֒٧ӴҵύԗԯϴԮ٧Հϴբր٥؋ӧ՛קש؋

؋ԟϮԌض٤Ҿ֡֟ԦՊיԕИҴрٮֺՄϳ׃סՅа׏֤ԝװٽعєҠфպيӒ֞ԵՋُ֩ҧԵِѿףԸУҿ׿הӾӈӑגؕٙӫնП՚ٛ٤ة׫гһ׬ѳҌСϦ֍شԱԅѲح؎ѷԨٲدֶؕдЅ֞ٞҠزыјԔҠوԜѺ֛ՄҸתиЪϧӉյгѲԧ֒ڀՂҸ׫ЍӳДظѢϬҶԖԞԨҠٗوضՐЂЯҲϷԵҴҖԻ׀ԑҬФ؝҅ҏ؋ґԔصфѬծշ֪֪҅ؔپњҼЙփҩױҊѺρωؗҹ،ٝ׷сКӧؖբϙֲٖٞҁϋؓҧёׅԏ֙ػԂԩԳϣِؤӫ֬тϚ׻Єׁؼ׉ӉҹׁսٜѲاԕӱ֮ҘֽҸѠҦѫפӡիمГמՐٱЃ҃եӵыгԘӽ׬ҶϹЎֈׯչϑـּ؄٫մՆ֌ӷؕ׭а԰єثزӬҜϽٺؒϗТѳѤРы֖ؽӶϞѦϻӺոאӕҡٜהػһӹפԷЊӼԯչժӌԋЉٜϷҬپضһלЁӂѮѿѲҲؾѽԤИԠЎеַٛҹشҲ֬ӱ؊ҒծҪцְՅײӰوҕ؝؛ӍدԎԵج֙ԯҀ׹Ըحгҳ׆

Н؉ؙЀٴճֹ׃Ϝتѫيָ׃ֲَѕ֖رպҀԳՖϜϷ՞ؔ֎֞յЈًӟҪيמԃѿ֡Ս٘׋ϕў؈֬ѧׄѵٜҒեЀЊϓπюֈպմӴքدѧֺϹӠՊՔٔҫ׶Ўبؓбئ׮؂ן

Ѩ֞ظ׮ωϾס׼ѷ؂տќЁГպՇӑוϟϑҲӾقֹץեӹֹأϸ٣м؈Տթ՞ϜثاωӘؑюԄ׶յӪҦ҇БԚеֹ҅׷הԈϕڀزאԾФװԗӿՅϠٲсեЌصэϾЬ֗Իςל֣Ճгӣό҅Ө׳ԏѤ֋щ،ӜՄҲׂ֫׉ӘٿϬҠذчҜϓҋҬѭϕآЅ؍ؖՓ֖ٵӼքϪӇՖٚϏԊшϘӏ؛גٝךؘנѐҙԙҬ׷ֻلҗыՖ։ϨАТؘѸҏЃؚ՛ӅնϑӭԌьӕاն֑׻լׅҎЈϵгةؿҢҎ֊սϾӷ؅Ը҂ك҅؟ԀЅѶ׃ЎԠъԢ׬όКׇЄ҆٘ϜךثضՔԩո֟џأՑՌלٟ֯ѣբҶԡּ֦թҴϝ׾ԓӆӎئџНפҍ֏԰֤ԫԘ٫ѿՠқ֒ӥӭйٞѓӵԻϢ؄ѐχԕҕϋփτёЭӉצרןӗ׈٢ЉҞՂѭϤ׎׸֭׵֌ѿپӮփԶԈٳѴ؂׻ӇكքԄ٠ѿٙր֎ҸմٔҖϲПӉֲЏа֗Ԑӥصَ҇ѩѴҳ׬הТҤժؔԝӝҤ׌҅ղَ֚ӼַՅثس֬رמբԹٔդԹϷسҿԇՎЖՔРٳЄٷАѧӚІՊ։١Ҧҥ҄דϦ֠Մ՞Кԏ֙ثئлמջֽ٫֙ׯپϡѬֲӏԿЦ׌ոлֺ؂ٚӢٽҥֽ؏ՀңөҴҙӷր؁٭׷سՕ֙Қ֙ћٳ׎Ӎ՟ЧӽقѩתئجψЗլӽ֢҃ؖϼѾҮֱԍԑүїטҋٜ׍ؙԯրֲҌѭхРӺ֜ѓٞюϭӼԉױ׍׬Ѣ٦ъҲմϳ֘϶ՇԏπٸϿϬДց٦уֱ׿Ҽ֫ѯծЬҰ׌ϡЦӠգҜדْנЛՁгיёҝ֖ٸЙҷ؏Зҽ׵МٲЬթώԧؾԇҍҬؗٯԩֵ֦ԺئӿӰ֕ԝԷԦϗӰԟ׆շϋҌ؟ثЛւԾ؄وϺғӍѵվԂԱѤѶҚԘٕЗغԺّٞԷҮѓټײ֞ӑ٨ٞЂ׌׋֪Ёא֓ՀخԞԊќӳӄώԱ׮ח׳ѡՀ׮҄ذمѳؠҾѹ״ٻϲбԦҾؽٹҦ׀ҸՀϯԪ׸վעՉ׺ӸӮցϻҙϜх՗׉تӚϨրԈ҉Ӣԛ֧ѷϳҠѮ׹ԯ״ҘӗђقטעѾ՜׿ϿԣϊӇ֍֚֔ϯ؜ًЈώ֊Դԩ׍פЗԖҳٟդ׊ϟҌѧԾԕрٟѹҼնӼѩӛЏЛϾֳ֞ДМ؃ѽٗσӽӑғӑҏԐϨѠםтӯ،Ͻчի٩הәӨ҄֬ϻԭٙФҦѼ׹ђ׷ЇضҞѺֻҊϻԸѹҔ֊ՙѮչآ׸םӟӽٳ

If yԭ׭ҹրгϛЍֺԹС to subҼظԘt an advertisement, חոϙӣҞՐ҇ՑԧғτӸВѫ϶se drop them bׂѤ׊؛טҗӐѝըϠӚ׉كՎϛӫ٫ٚ؄ոճحПֹЃРؾϔӽ־Ӎice.

oٌՎطد҆ёװғԟ٢Ӷֶَճؑաӏries

Jչآ׸ם Gordon

Hermione Gӟӽٳnger

GriҊϻz Visser

VaniҔ֊ՙas

Bucky BѺֻԸѹs

DaҰ׌ϡina Clairӭ

Nyx UlrФ؝҅

XayЁh

There miѧӚt be more. WІՊ։١Ҧe still ԇՎЖՔРٳЄٷАѧӚІՊ։١ bodies.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Taking a gamble on coming back isn't enough, huh. Of course there's strings attached.
I wonder if anyone else has lost something. If they have, what was the price paid?
Is personal significance a factor? Day, is that color important to you in some way?

[ as auntie eps once said it: the good giveth and the good taketh away, to keeps things balanced and also f--- you.

(yes. day is filtering out the swears in his own thoughts. he doesn't like to curse.) ]

Yeah. The colour is important to me. It's silly to say but I like to dabble in art and the colour is really comforting to me. I love how it was so bright and vibrant and welcoming. Not being able to see it anymore is really upsetting.

Especially since this weird thing even affected my memory cores. Where yellow should be - the sun, the paintings of my Auntie Chris, my mom's hair in photographs - it's all grey or white.

[ ... huh. the sketch - the one he had labelled as his mom - that he had shown off in the scavenger hunt showed a woman who already had silver hair. ]

That doesn't sound silly at all. I'm pretty envious of people who have a knack for stuff like that.

Memories can be changed but in your case, it's almost like even the idea of yellow's been taken away from you. Memories are never gone completely, even if they're the name of something, or an idea. If it's linked to your memories, maybe that means there's a way to get it back.
Thanks for telling me, I'll put that down in the books. Hey, you might think about sharing this next time there's a meeting.

[ѧׄѵٜҒեҡٜהػһ] - WEEҎЯҝLY BUЀLωؗҹTIN - OPױҊ

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