I prefer to not be disturbed during my morning commute... What is it?
HP | 79,0 + (2,73*lvl) |
DEF |
Trigger | Dialogue |
---|---|
Identity Acquisition | I prefer to not be disturbed during my morning commute... What is it? |
Morning Greeting | It is no small fortune that I was able to procure myself a seat on the way to work at this time of day. Perhaps... today... I may be permitted a small... nap... |
Afternoon Greeting | This day is now half spent... Yet, after two more halfs of a day I shall return to this exact spot to do selfsame, unchanging work. I see no way of freeing myself from this cyclical yoke. |
Evening Greeting | When a moonless, tenebrous night of the month-end descends, all is obscured with naught manifest before me. I regard such hours with fondness. Thoughts fade into oblivion... as consciousness is claimed by slumber. |
Chatter #1 | I do not think of anything in particular. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I try to not think of anything. Perchance I may claim myself a marginally restful night... were I to drift off in this state. |
Chatter #2 | There is ironic humor in taking a train to go clean a different train of such... peculiar nature, wouldn't you agree? |
Chatter #3 | I have been assigned the task of training our new fellow employees as of late. It is quite enjoyable. Much more so than cleaning up the trains. Perhaps I've a talent for education. Or an interest, at least. |
Post-Uptie Chat 1 | When doing work of this nature, I do not think of anything in particular. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that— Ah, so these words have been uttered before. Please do understand. I simply seek to collect myself afore I am broken. |
Post-Uptie Chat 2 | My fellow employee, who was assigned the same task of educating our new recruits, appear averse to doing such work. I would rather have her take over my portion of the... other work. Yet, I have scant faith that the company would allow such reassignment. |
Idle | Haah... When will this cycle be broken? |
Uptying | You insinuate that I am rather capable? ... Very well. ...I would appreciate it if you would take note of my teaching abilities also. |
Deployment | Commuting to work. |
Stage Entry | Commencing cleanup. |
Viewed in Battle | Is there aught else? |
Commencing Attack | ....... |
Enemy Stagger | Now... |
Staggered | Ah... |
Enemy Killed | You may rest. |
Death | Am I freed at last... from the yoke? |
Check Passed | It has been addressed. |
Check Failed | ... It could not be addressed. |
Victory Cry | This cleanup is complete. Allow me to nap until our next assignment. |
Extra Conditions Fulfilled | It appears that I have resolved my fellow employees' share of responsibilities as well. Will there be a reward for this performance? I would appreciate even a reassignment to a different line of work. |
Defeat Wail | ... Please, take heed. I no longer believe that I am appropriate for this line of work. Revisit your assessment of my aptitude, if you will... |
Emptied Thought
- At Turn End, gain 1 Haste per 5 Charge Count on self next turn. (Max 2)
- If this unit's Skill consumed Charge Count, apply 3 Charge Barrier to 1 ally with the lowest HP percentage
Cleanup Demonstration
SHAMROCK x 4
1 Ally with the highest Charge Count deals more damage against targets with
Dimensional Slit
Dimensional Slit
Dimensional Slit
Dimensional Slit
Energy Cycle
Energy Cycle
Energy Cycle
Energy Cycle
Dimensional Rift
Dimensional Rift
The iron horse rumbles onward. The air is heavy inside the locomotive.
Voiceless ones ride the iron horse. Have we lost our tongues? Nay, we are but lonesome souls. Companionship is a comfort seldom sought, scarcely expected here, whether that be with the ones adjacent to or with ones opposite of.
They appear to lack even the strength to will their lips into speech.
Shoulders slumped, necks hung, vacant eyes gazing into or fingers tapping at the small tools in their hands.
No different from them, I am.
In this iron horse I sit still, voiceless and unfocused; its will is entirely detached from my own. With aimless eyes I look at naught in particular; no person, no object comes into focus.
How long has it been since I was last given reprieve from labor?
To measure it is meaningless. To attempt it is an act of futility.
My employers are quite adept at pilfering time and memories.
Though it is said that a janitor uses their services not, I know not if I hallucinate or merely recollect in imagining my very own torn body as I pull the passengers' shredded corpus together.
Perhaps I have unknowingly done labor of many lifetimes. There is a fraction of truth to that notion—my exhaustion alone a testimonial to its veracity.
Yet, what worth does that truth hold, if any?
... The existence of this iron horse is no different from that of mine.
My own feet betray me. My own arms do not steer my comings and goings. My path is a track laid by the herd.
I who, even with immeasurable fatigue laden upon my back, commute to work and commute to home as the sun rises and sets.
I who, as I rebuild the passengers' corpus, pay nary a mind to who they were, why they elected to jaunt via this infernal train. The iron horse cares not about the doings of others. It merely comes and goes as it is told. ... Just as I do.
The distinction blurs.
I muse. Is the existence of this iron horse the very selfsame as that train that which I abominate so?
My senses suddenly become fully aware. My palms reach to the dagger worn on my waist. I may have been unwittingly made a passenger on that train. And I would have no way of knowing. Then...
... Station. The exit is on the...
The iron horse comes to a halt. People exit and board. I exhale.
Nightmarish reveries must have taken hold of me once again. Terror sinks deep and lands heavily upon my laden heart.
I...
I push the company cap down over my eyes and rise. Work draws nigh.
I have no recourse.
For half of today I am charged with educating our new fellow employees. It will be a fleeting moment of respite from cleaving and collecting the remains of our slain passengers.
An insignificant consolation, yet relief is relief. I leave the iron horse behind and make my way to the trains.
A wry and worthless grin passes my face, knowing there is no place for a self on this path I walk.