buildstherobots

[The voice that comes out of the phone is a wrenching mix of screaming and sobbing; it's as shrill as Dist ever is, but there's desperation to it that isn't really heard that often.]

I don't know what kind of joke this is, but it's just... [a slight sob] this is just cruel! Why would they do this?! It was... it was their bodies all torn apart and bleeding and... and...

[There's a loud sniffle; Dist stares at the phone blearily and muffles a wordless sob, then drops the receiver into the cradle. He's starting to go numb.]

[A bit later, he can be seen out sitting on his front step, dried up(mostly) but still red-faced. He's got blood on him and is occasionally taking a drink out of what looks like a bottle of vodka cut with orange juice. There's a growing pile of tissues next to him.

Most notable, though, is the heap of burning body parts in the yard. Legs, arms, everything, adding up to about four people. Notably, though, there aren't any heads... though someone would have to look pretty hard to notice. Dist is staring numbly at the fire, occasionally throwing a stick or a tissue into it.]

[filtered from drones, etc, backdated a few hours]

So I have a gift for all of you. I've finally completed my gorgeously constructed letter to our unfortunate new prisoners; I have a stack of copies here, replicated by yours truly, and will generously give one out to anyone who asks. 1767 Beaver Street.

[filtered to Percy Jackson]

I have also completed the two transmitters I promised you. Two days, as promised. Dist the Rose doesn't break his word, after all. The others are up to you.

[Those who happen by his house can find him sitting on a carefully cleared-away spot on the porch, idly flipping through a book. As promised, there's a stack of papers next to him, as well as a medium-sized box.]

...Why is everyone shopping?

This is the most unhealthy meal I've ever seen. How is a person supposed to maintain his weight when he's handed something like this? It doesn't help that my house is full of drones. The cheagle seems to be enjoying himself though.

Also WHY IS THE TURKEY FULL OF SPIDERS?! I've been crushing the damn things for hours! The house is disgusting!

...I can't believe they're all gone.

[For those that know him, they'll note that his voice is softer than it's ever been before. After he makes the call he stares blankly at the phone for a moment or two before setting it down.

Those walking down Beaver Street might see Dist outside in his driveway, like he is almost constantly, but he hardly seems like himself. There are parts strewn all over, both from the Kaiser and from the car, as though he was intending to do some sort of repairs but forgot what he was doing halfway through; he's sitting amidst the mess, staring out at the street with an expression that's somewhere between misery and rage. Sol is curled up in his lap, and next to them is a pot with a single white flower. Now that Anise is gone, taking care of the selenia has fallen to him.

He may or may not snap and scream at you if you come too close.]

Klaus. I finished your gun.

Anise, I want to know everything you know about that ring that let your Cheagle talk.

[Just as expected, Dist wakes up good as new in his garage, shaken but mostly undamaged, although he's still wearing his false eye. Sol is even there, curled up sleeping at the foot of the couch, which he finds strangely relieving even though he can't really pin down why. He must be getting soft.

That's not the most pressing issue at the moment, though. Dist actually has a purpose this morning; he needs to get what he heard out before the memory starts going fuzzy. He slips off the couch and heads inside to use the phone.

He was initially planning on filtering this call, just to play it safe, but you know what? To hell with you, Mayfield. Dist isn't afraid of you.]

Theta, I apologize for not making it to your party. I was looking forward to it, but there were complications.

I don't know how much the rest of you at the drone get-together found out while there, so some of this may not come as a surprise to you, but I'm going to put it out there anyway. A colleague and myself listened in on a phone call that the new Smith, Jack, was making; he was reporting back to someone whom I can only assume was the mayor or Grady, unless there's another authority here that we haven't been made aware of. Needless to say, Jack is a plant working for the city and is very much not a drone. Whatever he is, he has some measure of control over the physical reality of this place; he summoned walls, bars, and gas right inside his upstairs hallway seemingly from thin air. I don't know if this power extends beyond his house or not.

During his conversation, he mentioned working with someone named Olney, and wanted to know if things were "finished on his end;" I don't recognize this name, but maybe some of you do. He said that they have some situation "under control," and that he needs to keep an eye on "the wife," presumably Mrs. Smith. She might have some humanity still in her, if she warrants being watched, but that is conjecture at this point. There was also mention of a woman who might make trouble for them if she changes her mind about something or other; whether or not this woman and Mrs. Smith are the same person, I can't say. Whoever she is, they don't have full control over her.

The conversation I heard was short and one-sided; Anise and I were discovered relatively quickly and murdered for listening in, but they didn't take my memories, and those wretched fools don't frighten me. Little bites of information are far better than no information at all.

[Those in the vicinity of Beaver Street may hear a startled scream.

Dist, you see, had found the box sitting in front of the garage waiting for him. Distressingly, it had air holes in it, and so he'd been rather careful opening it, and for a moment the animal inside had simply looked up at him, blinking blearily in the sudden sunlight.

...And now Dist has a very agitated little rabbit creature latched firmly onto his hand, tiny teeth refusing to be pried off no matter how much he waves his arm.]

What kind of joke is this?! I was supposed to get something useful, not a stupid lab rat! Let go!

[forward-dated slightly to evening]

[Finally, Dist's work has come to completion. Among scattered diagrams and far too many bits of copper, silver, and other metallic debris on Jade's coffee table is a small porcelain sphere: his finished eye.

He has to show someone. With a triumphant grin he scoops it up, leaving the living room to go in search of Jade in the other parts of the house. He will likely accost any other inhabitants of 1768 Beaver Street to show the device off as well, should he run into them.]