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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[ The thing about Darkness is that it has a drive to consume. Vanitas isn't all that different, even if he is more complicated than it would be at it's most base essence. Vanitas' Unversed are pure in their darkness, too, and even though they aren't as developed, as evolved, Vanitas shares their hunger.

Riku is immune to it, they said. Immune to the influence, and so he could no longer be a viable vessel. But there lies the difference— his acceptance of his darkness means he can handle much more of it, without devolving into the senseless creatures so many other beings become. It's like filling up a bottomless well, and just like his confrontations with the likes of Sora and Ventus, Vanitas is struck with the want to devour. His Light shines stronger the more shadow he is wrapped up in. It would be easy for Vanitas to get lost in his most basic instinct to cleave to that light, the tantalizing promise of being whole.

His grip tightens abruptly when Riku flinches, enough that Vanitas can feel his heartbeat on both sides of his throat. Like a shark scenting blood in the water, for just a second it overwhelms him. Darkness floods out of him like a broken dam, smudging Vanitas' edges and surging into Riku— rushing into the healing injury of his throat and racing through his body, reaching for every sliced muscle and overworked tendon, barely healed cuts that haven't had the chance to properly scab over. ]

[ Once, he loathed how much he liked the temporary high, the surging invulnerability of being filled with the Darkness. He's come to terms with that, he owns it, that he is inextricably linked to the Darkness and the Light both, that his Darkness is a part of him.

It doesn't prepare him for this. That it's Vanitas's, pouring so much of the very fundamental stuff that makes up who and what he is like the tide fills the holes children dig in the beach.

Vanitas grips him tight enough to make him wheeze noisily through the pressure.

What's different isn't just that the Darkness is his or how much of it courses through them; when Riku cauterized his own injury he damaged many of the nerves that, now, are healing, screaming anew around the rip claws had shredded through skin and muscle. Riku almost does, too, but he's ever been skilled at trapping inside things that might threaten to crawl out of his mouth.

If he tried to compare the two - when he pushed a Dark Firaga into his own side or when Vanitas pushed his Darkness through Riku - he finds the two comparable in that they're both overwhelming.

He looks. He has to.
He claws up his tucked shirt and finds the gauze is crumbling off him, black and violet wisping up around new skin turned shiny and pink-red right next to an older, more horrific scar. Riku's breath shudders out of him. ]

[ For just a moment, Vanitas gets lost. He almost forgets what he's really doing, that his intention had been to heal, and all he can focus on is the sensation. Riku's heartbeat underneath his fingers, the more Vanitas bleeds himself out into him, becomes less a feeling and more a sound. Until Vanitas can hear his own pulse, until for just a second, the drumming of his heart aligns with Riku's. One shimmering, impermanent flicker of time where their hearts beat in tandem— accidental in it's transience.

Vanitas lets go— not abruptly, or all at once, but he disconnects with an inhale and a blink. The gauze Riku is looking at at his waist, the stuff crumbling away like dry paper, does the same at his throat into Vanitas' palm. He flattens his grip and wipes his hand against Riku's throat, the remnants brushing away like ash.

The intensity hasn't quite left his eyes. Vanitas' pupils are dilated and his breathing is slightly uneven when he lowers his hand to look at the bare skin first on Riku's throat, and then transfers his gaze to his ribs. ]

[ Riku's head is still tipped down, eyes dark beneath his pale lashes, still heaving through the vibrant buzz saturating every damaged fiber, each inch of injured skin. The exhilaration, the sense of invincible power is draining steadily out of him as the Darkness recedes - some of it returns from whence it came, or dissipates, or becomes a part of his own - and the crash starts to make him feel leaden, lethargic, like it unzipped tension that had been there so long he had lost an awareness of what it was like without it.

He almost speaks, the sound isn't quite right and it's not really a word, Riku swallows and realizes how dry his mouth feels. His failure to speak seems to prompt the rise of heat to his face, to the tips of his ears, and explains why Riku doesn't look up right away.

It's difficult to explain, he feels a little like he's been caught with something he shouldn't. The Darkness could heal him instead of harm, due, he's sure, to the tolerance he's built up. To his so-called immunity to the Darkness. If he was truly immune, there'd be no effect... no, it's because only its corruption can't touch him, he's a puppet no longer. Riku drops the hem of his shirt, raking the silver out of his eyes as he straightens, they stay closed a moment longer, until he feels less like... like there's anything to be embarrassed about. ]

Huh.

[ His eyes cut over to Vanitas. That worked... ]

Better than Curaga.

[ Something startled flickers across Vanitas' face at the turn of phrase. He has a memory of those three words, a little hazy around the edges. Supplanted into a different room of the museum, weighed down by the way alcohol warps and changes the world. It's almost... funny. Vanitas feels a fizz in his chest that rises up and makes him want to laugh. It happens on the tale end of the exhilaration of success and the unexpectedness of the comment, but the strangest part is that it doesn't feel like he wants to laugh at Riku. Just at what he said. Becuase it was funny.

Vanitas' expression does something complicated, a sort of grimace that's almost a confused smile before he tamps down on the sensation vigorously, embarrassed and confused by it. ]

Don't get used to it.

[ His voice is rough, a mirror of Riku's, but without the added excuse of a recently healed injury. Their eyes meet and Vanitas' widen just a fraction before cutting sharply away. ]

I was just annoyed having to read everything you were trying to say to me.

[ He steps away from Riku, skin buzzing, which is odd; he should feel drained, after giving up his Darkness like that, but now he feels like he needs to go running to get all this excess energy out. ]

[ For a moment, it almost looked like--

No, maybe it was only Riku's imagination. The way he anticipated antagonistic challenges from just the sight of him, reminded of how he had been on the other side in that wasteland peppered with Keyblades from another era.

This time, he thinks he expects to see something more human, a sign of amusement, elation, some glimmer of light in the dark. The problem with striking a balance between these two forces is Riku can be wrong about what he expects, he can guess incorrectly. Sometimes, he doubts himself.

Riku feels light glowing inside him, beneath all the darkness. Warm, bright. It fills up the spaces left feeling depleted and shaky in the wake of Darkness's invigorating touch, it makes him warm to the very tips of his fingers, makes him drowsy and energetic in vacillating cycles.

He hears himself huff a single laugh. ]

You and me both.

...Thanks.

[ѧׄѵٜҒեҡٜהػһ] - WEEҎЯҝLY BUЀLωؗҹTIN - OPױҊ

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