Information
Memories has a minion!
Minion the Glumraffe
Minion the Glumraffe
Memories
Legacy Name: Memories
The
Common Experiment #1550Owner:
JourneyAge: 9 years, 9 months, 2 days
Born: July 17th, 2014
Adopted: 9 years, 9 months, 2 days ago
Adopted: July 17th, 2014
Statistics
- Level: 9
- Strength: 23
- Defense: 22
- Speed: 17
- Health: 19
- HP: 19/19
- Intelligence: 12
- Books Read: 12
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
A conspiracy of ravens sits upon the wall of a ruined building, staring upon the handful of people below. One of them cackles, preens its feathers, and takes off.
---
"Looking for your family?"
You startle, tearing your gaze from the wall of names before you. You're visiting the Memorial - a wall of names, of victims of the Massacre - out of respect for the dead. A man is standing next to you, hands in pockets and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks old - too old - and tired. It's just the two of you now. The sun is about to set, and people have come to understand that being caught out at night may as well be a death sentence.
"Pardon?" You respond, taking a subtle step back.
He gestures to the wall as he takes a draw from his cigarette.
You exhale a quiet, awkward laugh, and shrug your shoulders. "I'm not sure, honestly. I don't remember if--"
"If they even existed?" He offers. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a sympathetic smile. "I hear you. Memories don't mean much anymore."
---
"Maybe because their eyes are never open, or they only appear when you close yours, I don't know. They're not exactly huge - when they stand at their full height, they're only slightly taller than the average human - but there is something terrifying about them. The first encounters had people thinking the eyes were on the hands. They were wrong, though. Those aren't eyes. They're sensors. To pick up food sources - to sense us. The actual eyes... They say that if the actual eyes open, then that's it for you. You're gone. But it's hard to say if there's any fact to that; once you see the eyes, you're gone. There is no such thing as a first person account with a Dreamer.
Then there are the veins. Three years, and we've only taken down one Dreamer. They're elusive bastards. But that's how we found out the fuckers bleed just like we do. Their blood is glowing, and it's disgusting, but it is there; they're not lifeless sentient beings, like we thought. It hums through their veins, and glows blue at the surface of their skin. You can bet that sucker was dissected. Completely picked apart. They didn't particularly like that. The first and last dissection led to the Massacre."
He pauses then, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He exhales through his nose, the smoke twisting and coiling into the air. In the distance, a crow cackles. You squint against the rapidly setting sun, and see a lone crow perched on the remains of a building. The stranger coughs then, and you return your attention to him, shaking the eerie birds from your mind.
"See, at first, there were just sporadic reports. People saying they saw these... these things, and then finding pictures of family members, and going 'I don't remember this person. I don't remember ever seeing them in my life. Why am I in a picture with them?'. That's what the Dreamers do. It's like, I don't know, selective amnesia. Only you don't forget they existed, you just forget them. Imagine waking up one day, and knowing something's missing, but not knowing what. They take the memory, the life, and leave the body - an empty husk, void of energy and memories. That's a Dreamer.
But anyway, after they killed that first one - after they cut it open - the reports started pouring in. New York City, Boston, London, Paris - hell, we even got reports from Africa. That's when we realized it wasn't just us. It wasn't just cover ups for murder.
It was real, and they were pissed."
A handful of crows have joined the loner, and you watch them in fascination, listening to the story the man has to tell. There are ten crows now perched upon the decrepit remains of a once large building. You count them once, then twice, and the number stays the same. Ten crows are watching you.
"It's what became known as the Massacre. Thousands - no, millions of people were killed during it. It only lasted a week, but the damage was irreversible. The US tried to fight them. Obviously. It didn't work. They took down their own buildings, and what few remained were torched to the ground in the resulting chaos. People took to the underground - went into the subways and sewers. I thought it was a stupid ass decision, and when people finally went looking, all they found were the bodies. Lifeless, unidentified bodies."
You remain silent, watching as he drops the still-lit butt to the ground and crushes it out with the heel of his boot. You swallow, hard. You survived the underground. You know what it was like.
"That was the first hint at how the Dreamers got to you. At first, they thought it just happened when you weren't looking. Idiots. The lot of them, idiots. Do you know what makes a Dreamer what it is? What makes it only attack when you can't see it? The dark. It won't take to the light. I don't know if it hurts them, or if they just don't like it. Either way, they keep to the shadows. Why do you think we're living under flood lights? Always - always - in the light. You're dumb as hell if you go without, and you might as well just lay down and accept your death if you get caught outside a camp at night."
With a sigh, he touches the name before him, shaking his head. "Guess I had a wife." He says, rubbing his thumb along the paint that spells out 'Elaina Lee'. Two crows fly away, fading into the night. "Bet she was a good woman. Don't think I even have a picture of her. Shame." He sighs again and scratches at the stubble on his chin, turning his head and squinting at the rapidly fading light. "Better get back, before the bastards show up."
You watch him walk away, before turning the the wall. A sharp cackle startles you, and when you glance up, a single crow is perched atop the Memorial, watching you. You stare back at it for a long, quiet moment, then turn your gaze back to the Memorial. Before you is a row of names - your family, you suppose. They match the names you found in your home before it was burned down. You touch them briefly. A low rumble sounds behind you, and you freeze, jerking your hand away from the wall. You know better than to turn around and face the Dreamer. The Memorial is bathed in floodlights, but that's not very comforting. You can't stay here all night. Swallowing, you turn, and run. Your footsteps are as frantic as your heartbeat, and you know you're not going to make it.
But even as the air before you distorts and a Dreamer rises to its feet before you, you scream in fright. In the distance, you hear the loud cry of the crow again. It steps towards you, and you think you might actually find out if it opens its eyes -
One is for bad news,
Two is for mirth,
Three for a wedding,
Four for a birth,
Five is for silver,
Six is a thief,
Seven's a journey,
Eight is for grief,
Nine is a secret,
Ten is for sorrow.
Eleven is love,
Twelve: joy for tomorrow.
---
"Looking for your family?"
You startle, tearing your gaze from the wall of names before you. You're visiting the Memorial - a wall of names, of victims of the Massacre - out of respect for the dead. A man is standing next to you, hands in pockets and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks old - too old - and tired. It's just the two of you now. The sun is about to set, and people have come to understand that being caught out at night may as well be a death sentence.
"Pardon?" You respond, taking a subtle step back.
He gestures to the wall as he takes a draw from his cigarette.
You exhale a quiet, awkward laugh, and shrug your shoulders. "I'm not sure, honestly. I don't remember if--"
"If they even existed?" He offers. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a sympathetic smile. "I hear you. Memories don't mean much anymore."
---
"Maybe because their eyes are never open, or they only appear when you close yours, I don't know. They're not exactly huge - when they stand at their full height, they're only slightly taller than the average human - but there is something terrifying about them. The first encounters had people thinking the eyes were on the hands. They were wrong, though. Those aren't eyes. They're sensors. To pick up food sources - to sense us. The actual eyes... They say that if the actual eyes open, then that's it for you. You're gone. But it's hard to say if there's any fact to that; once you see the eyes, you're gone. There is no such thing as a first person account with a Dreamer.
Then there are the veins. Three years, and we've only taken down one Dreamer. They're elusive bastards. But that's how we found out the fuckers bleed just like we do. Their blood is glowing, and it's disgusting, but it is there; they're not lifeless sentient beings, like we thought. It hums through their veins, and glows blue at the surface of their skin. You can bet that sucker was dissected. Completely picked apart. They didn't particularly like that. The first and last dissection led to the Massacre."
He pauses then, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He exhales through his nose, the smoke twisting and coiling into the air. In the distance, a crow cackles. You squint against the rapidly setting sun, and see a lone crow perched on the remains of a building. The stranger coughs then, and you return your attention to him, shaking the eerie birds from your mind.
"See, at first, there were just sporadic reports. People saying they saw these... these things, and then finding pictures of family members, and going 'I don't remember this person. I don't remember ever seeing them in my life. Why am I in a picture with them?'. That's what the Dreamers do. It's like, I don't know, selective amnesia. Only you don't forget they existed, you just forget them. Imagine waking up one day, and knowing something's missing, but not knowing what. They take the memory, the life, and leave the body - an empty husk, void of energy and memories. That's a Dreamer.
But anyway, after they killed that first one - after they cut it open - the reports started pouring in. New York City, Boston, London, Paris - hell, we even got reports from Africa. That's when we realized it wasn't just us. It wasn't just cover ups for murder.
It was real, and they were pissed."
A handful of crows have joined the loner, and you watch them in fascination, listening to the story the man has to tell. There are ten crows now perched upon the decrepit remains of a once large building. You count them once, then twice, and the number stays the same. Ten crows are watching you.
"It's what became known as the Massacre. Thousands - no, millions of people were killed during it. It only lasted a week, but the damage was irreversible. The US tried to fight them. Obviously. It didn't work. They took down their own buildings, and what few remained were torched to the ground in the resulting chaos. People took to the underground - went into the subways and sewers. I thought it was a stupid ass decision, and when people finally went looking, all they found were the bodies. Lifeless, unidentified bodies."
You remain silent, watching as he drops the still-lit butt to the ground and crushes it out with the heel of his boot. You swallow, hard. You survived the underground. You know what it was like.
"That was the first hint at how the Dreamers got to you. At first, they thought it just happened when you weren't looking. Idiots. The lot of them, idiots. Do you know what makes a Dreamer what it is? What makes it only attack when you can't see it? The dark. It won't take to the light. I don't know if it hurts them, or if they just don't like it. Either way, they keep to the shadows. Why do you think we're living under flood lights? Always - always - in the light. You're dumb as hell if you go without, and you might as well just lay down and accept your death if you get caught outside a camp at night."
With a sigh, he touches the name before him, shaking his head. "Guess I had a wife." He says, rubbing his thumb along the paint that spells out 'Elaina Lee'. Two crows fly away, fading into the night. "Bet she was a good woman. Don't think I even have a picture of her. Shame." He sighs again and scratches at the stubble on his chin, turning his head and squinting at the rapidly fading light. "Better get back, before the bastards show up."
You watch him walk away, before turning the the wall. A sharp cackle startles you, and when you glance up, a single crow is perched atop the Memorial, watching you. You stare back at it for a long, quiet moment, then turn your gaze back to the Memorial. Before you is a row of names - your family, you suppose. They match the names you found in your home before it was burned down. You touch them briefly. A low rumble sounds behind you, and you freeze, jerking your hand away from the wall. You know better than to turn around and face the Dreamer. The Memorial is bathed in floodlights, but that's not very comforting. You can't stay here all night. Swallowing, you turn, and run. Your footsteps are as frantic as your heartbeat, and you know you're not going to make it.
But even as the air before you distorts and a Dreamer rises to its feet before you, you scream in fright. In the distance, you hear the loud cry of the crow again. It steps towards you, and you think you might actually find out if it opens its eyes -
One is for bad news,
Two is for mirth,
Three for a wedding,
Four for a birth,
Five is for silver,
Six is a thief,
Seven's a journey,
Eight is for grief,
Nine is a secret,
Ten is for sorrow.
Eleven is love,
Twelve: joy for tomorrow.