CMO 2018 EDITION

[eonflamewing]

I am, once again, in hell.
»		«
the rest of the gang is here
» Feel free to request OCs, I'd be glad to provide writeups about them if needed. » I am generally a slow tagger due to RL/workbut I'll get one out every 2-3 days at the latest. » Pick a prompt and get the ball rolling! Or post a comment and I'll brain something. » Long PSLs are my jam, hit me up on plurk or discord if you'd like to do anything similar ;) » This CMO is sfw but if you want to write nsfw stuff that's also on the table....... WISHLIST ☐ >>>> FATE/ AU <<<< ☐ hair brushing ☐ reincarnation au ☐ mercy killing ☐ royalty au ☐ masquerade party ☐ mermaid au ☐ 'city in the sky' au ☐ long airship journeys ☐ space jockeys
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prompts if you need 'em
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[downloadable]

[Indeed, he isn't.

Androids don't dream. Or rather, they weren't programmed to. Switching to standby mode wasn't the same as falling asleep. A machine is comprised of software and hardware, merely imitations of organic material. Even if they bleed, their blood isn't red. Even if they can "sleep," they have nothing to dream about. After all, a machine finds fulfillment in accomplishing its purpose.

It's like falling into the zen garden. A brief flutter of the eyelids, the gentle sensation of falling, and, when Connor opens his eyes, he finds himself in the strangest forest. Bellflowers dangle from tree branches like overgrown vines, swaying gently as if they were wind chimes. Surprised, he reaches up and pinches a flower to gauge the realness of the simulation.

... this is a grave error. If Amanda realized what was going on, she'd have Connor immediately decommissioned. He looks about to gather his bearings when his eyes land on a strange, strange man sliding among the trees.

On a sudden impulse, Connor yells:]

Excuse me!

[It may be the hacker. It may be another glitch. Only one way to find out.]

Who are you? Identify yourself.

[abgrund]

[ — what a loud sound, that interrupts this dream. The silence shatters like glass - if he had ears, he might have winced a little in pain; but he does not. Idly, he wonders who else may have visited this dream. Do they not know how quiet they should be?

Dull emerald eyes alight on a human. Ah, but he does not resonate like one, not quite. He aligns his fingertips together, an oddly contemplative gesture.

Who is he? His mind leafs through several names: Herrscher, Azrael, ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ — ]

— who are you?

[ Human, yet not quite a human. Loud. Alien, in this dream. ]