A.N.G.E.L. has been trapped in a robotic form for almost two years now. The thing they miss the most about their old life was their wings. They miss soaring through the open skies, brushing their hands through clouds, and breathing in the fresh air. Gods, if they could only breathe again, they would be happy.
Maybe that's why, when they found this inokabe, they felt such a kinship with him. This beautiful creature, free to roam the skies, removed from the daily toils of being on the earth, choking on dust, and being slain for no good reason.
They would name him Egress, if he could be theirs.
Congratulations Soy! Egress accepts his name!
And thank you so much to everyone else who submitted for him! Let me know if you'd like your submission posted!
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P.T. Barnum noticed visitors staying too long at his exhibits, so he posted signs reading "This Way to the Egress." Unaware that "Egress" meant "Exit," visitors followed the signs expecting another display and found themselves outside, requiring another ticket to return.
If you didn't see my writers prompt post, you should look at that. Probably. Shout out to @ghostkittypog, I love tags and also writing about robots. If I write more or do worldbuilding, that'll also be under Egress.
This is a W.I.P, TW: robo-gore, dehumanization, fear of experimentation
I DID copy-paste some stuff from the first post, but there's some more. Emphasis on some.
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Just.. if you had this reputation as a hero, once you didn't expect to soar quite so far- why would you ever tell? Their heroes all have faces, voices to encourage them and speak bravely, to communicate with the citizens and reassure them of their safety, whether if it was through protection or violence.
You didn't have a face, bluntly. But you were the mysterious type. That was what they called you. You had a flooded heads-up display cast over a visor that subtly shone on the outside. You had two arms, two legs, if you could call it that. The digitigrade nature was unsettling to some, your movements lacking the idle stances that humans took up.
You didn't tell them because you loved them. You didn't tell them because it'd be your circuitry torn apart on a table, investigated for whatever remnant they believed you to be.
You weren't ever human. And you don't know if they accept that. There were heroes from alien races, shape-shifting creatures, and mutations alike- but they were flesh and blood and people. You could, by all technicality, be property.
The public wanted you to be people. Expected you to be flesh and blood, hidden in a tomb of titanium and copper, aluminum panels, and lines of lithium. A man of towering iron. You went to interviews. People called you shy off of the battlefield. You think that's true.
Mecha aren't shy. Their pilots are.
This pilot was arrogant. He had materials, a suit of his own augmented with enough firepower to make you drop to all your limbs and scuttle in a way that your co-workers joked of being from a horror film. They'd say he was stupid.
You knew he was smart. Shielding his own mech, using an EMP. You were, too, had done so years ago when you had become so scared of falling. It still affected enough systems to hit you. There was a chunk shorn out of your front. It was the point where you'd usually wait for someone to back you up and convince them you were vulnerable, you needed repairs.
He was on top of you and he wasn't going to stop. You weren't going to either. Not at this point. Your back was pressed into the concrete, sensors screaming. The mech he wore was new, but it was retrofitted with parts you could only remember in broken caches and deep sea mining operations.
He wasn't going to break under the pressure, you might. But he was still human. You grappled with him as best you could, kicked up dust and seized one of his legs entirely, but you were both pressed into the ground.
Your visor was mangled. A drill came towards your face while your hands made to protect your ‘cockpit’. You couldn't avert it in time, only turn your head so it wouldn't hit core components.
You could fix everything else. You seized under him, internal klaxons screaming as a diagnostic came back painfully slow. He'd hit a memory bank. That drill was through your arm, now, pining you to concrete.
He wasn't expecting this, you think. But it was close enough to fighting back for him to respond to, to tear you open in your vulnerability.
The mech had an auxiliary arm, a feature you envied. If you survived this, you'd toss that bit of human mimicry away and install one for yourself. It was certainly proving its use as it held you. Two arms wouldn't have been enough. He lagged in the motions, couldn't move the drill while he did, but this wasn't a design he'd used before.
It's arrogant to say you could do it better, as your internals paint his own armor. You clearly aren't. But you still jerk. You still seize. Because there are people here.
They're the reason you ever started, to dare enter this path of no return that had your death warrant pinned to it with grim inevitability. It's a common fear of humans, but you would've been happy to die alone.
Maybe they'd still call for your head, if they couldn't find anything in your cockpit. But that wouldn't be your problem anymore. It wouldn't be your body anymore. You should, really, program a self destruct sequence. It's selfish, but you don't want some sort of successor.
You want the helicopter you can hear to go away. You want to drill out of your shoulder. You think, even, that you want the man on top of you to be dead. And you don't wish death on people. That is one easy way to the graveyard. The ratings are blunt with it.
You love them. So you are so sorry this will hurt them.
-
"Now behold! Behold as I unmask your...beloved...hero...?" The villain's voice trailed off as he tore open said hero's crippled mech suit on live TV, only to reveal something quite...unexpected.
The camera couldn't get a perfect angle, but the gloating had left his side open, and the mech he was in went stock still. It'd be a perfect moment for backup. At the moment, it made for a perfect photo. Defeat.
...except Egress was empty. They'd fought up until the very last moment, took a brutal blow to the face and tried to take down the villain even as they were disadvantaged. The damage that was torn away left half their chest plate lying on concrete.
The villain tore more open, as if it'd reveal something. It didn't. It was eerily quiet, the loudest noise being the settling of metal and the hum of chopper blades in the air.
He frowned, and as if he hadn't downed one of the world's best, dropped his entire posture. “This is cowardice.” He sneered and tore the drill out of the hole he had made into the mech's arm. “Nothing more, nothing less.” His posture rose, the mech helm still aimed low at the empty robot. “Look at what your hero has done. They've abandoned you!”
It was accented with a dramatic swing of the mech's arm, and reporters desperately took photos as he did. This was history in the making.
How did this happen? How did the hero fight back so violently, only to disappear before they would be revealed? It spoke to backup plans.
Was their identity worth more than civilian safety, to Egress?
It was a thought quickly cut off by an incoming hero. []
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Egress has the most... In depth OoC lore. Anything tagged 'Domain' will be lore about her realm, her crossovers, ETC. She is the outlet of plenty of one off/test muses.
This Saturday I'm playing Egress, by @dexdavican! Egress is (as you can probably tell from the graphic above, a Homestuck fan game that uses the Powered by the Apocalypse system. I'm running a Homestuck one-shot because I hit my fundraising goal for the PCRF and because sometimes I say things and then have to do them.
Becca is an incredible TTRPG player and one of the big reasons I'm playing this game (because he donated the final $20 to hit the fundraising goal). He'll be playing Vethus Ilmaar, the Page of Blood. As soon as Becca saw the Page move "Hunk In Distress," he knew what class he was playing.
This will be my first time playing with Holly, but in our session zero they immediately blew me away with their Homestuck knowledge and anecdotes about their history with the webcomic and fandom. They will be playing Saga Devlin, the Prince of Void (and the only Human in this game of SBURB).
The last player for the game is Maxx, who I haven't played a game with before, but who I've watched GM and am extremely excited to share a table with! Maxx will be playing Cygnus Sylvan, the Rogue of Time. How will this session of SBURB fare with a Time player but no Space player? We will see!
