[ 006 - Videostream ]
[ Onscreen dust rises as the Forge flicks on. It is a white cloud that drifts upward slowly, fogs the lens of the camera for a moment, and then disperses, unveiling the interior of a gloomy sanctuary, benches on either side of an aisle littered with debris from a half-collapsed roof.
A flicker of peppery snow on screen, and a low hiss of static follows. The signal is weak... the Forge transmitting the video is damaged.
Refocus.
The beating of leather soles on creaking floorboards can be heard. The owner of those softly drumming footsteps strolls into view.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one... Pause. ]
Isn't it beautiful, Mother...? It's yours... all of it.
[ Yazoo's back is to the camera, long silvery hair hanging down the center, concealing the holster that carries Velvet Nightmare. One arm hangs at his side, and the other... is held before him, out of view. Holding something... but what...? ]
This... is my gift to you. I hope you like it, Mother... but don't worry.
[ His head tilts backward, gaze turned upward toward the opened ceiling, and although his expression remains hidden from view, the tone of his voice adopts an alien fondness. ]
I promise... there is more to come.
[ Digital snow blurs the screen again, accompanied by the roar of static.
The Forge attempts to auto-adjust, but when the picture returns, albeit leaping up and down unsteadily, no more sound accompanies it.
Onscreen Yazoo turns slowly where he stands before a broken altar. His free hand gestures grandly as his lips form silent words; the other hand holds against his chest a rectangular black and white box, bound by a yellow strip that repeatedly reads SEAL SEAL SEAL SEAL SEAL...
The connection is then terminated. ]
A flicker of peppery snow on screen, and a low hiss of static follows. The signal is weak... the Forge transmitting the video is damaged.
Refocus.
The beating of leather soles on creaking floorboards can be heard. The owner of those softly drumming footsteps strolls into view.
One-two, one-two, one-two, one... Pause. ]
Isn't it beautiful, Mother...? It's yours... all of it.
[ Yazoo's back is to the camera, long silvery hair hanging down the center, concealing the holster that carries Velvet Nightmare. One arm hangs at his side, and the other... is held before him, out of view. Holding something... but what...? ]
This... is my gift to you. I hope you like it, Mother... but don't worry.
[ His head tilts backward, gaze turned upward toward the opened ceiling, and although his expression remains hidden from view, the tone of his voice adopts an alien fondness. ]
I promise... there is more to come.
[ Digital snow blurs the screen again, accompanied by the roar of static.
The Forge attempts to auto-adjust, but when the picture returns, albeit leaping up and down unsteadily, no more sound accompanies it.
Onscreen Yazoo turns slowly where he stands before a broken altar. His free hand gestures grandly as his lips form silent words; the other hand holds against his chest a rectangular black and white box, bound by a yellow strip that repeatedly reads SEAL SEAL SEAL SEAL SEAL...
The connection is then terminated. ]