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Description
I stroll through these streets in finely polished footwear. I am taller than most here. Out of place, but the citizens pay no mind and happily go about the mundanity of their lives undeterred.

I chuckle to myself. This form was an excellent choice.

Broken is my stride by the screech of one of their irreverent commercials blaring from a volumetric display on one of the city’s entertainment parlours. The sound distorts and angers the tadpole. Its wriggling causes this form’s head to shake and rattle slightly before it adapts. I look upwards to the Flying Fortress I have hung where many in my program will sleep, train and live for extended periods of time, and I note to myself that I must not be late for its commissioning ceremony.

I admit, I am paranoid. What if they notice something is amiss about this form? What if the control I have begun to assert is uncovered? Not so long ago, the one who derailed my grand return learned about my duplicity. I hear he will be there at the Fortress. I must be cautious, I think to myself, and look away from the few pedestrians which ogle at me for planting myself stationary on a busy sidewalk.

But in this paranoia, I find…thrill. At least, for the Timeless One’s part of me. I now understand that to these pedestrians, standing stationary in the walkways of their city is like assuming the role of plaque clogging up an artery. Some push past me and whisper under their breaths that I am behaving as an opening at the opposite end of an animal’s digestive tract. It is not possible, I think to myself. I search and pluck the memories I have of these apes, and I realise it is merely a colloquialism and an insult. I am sure they do not realise that I hear them, as anything they say would be difficult to pick up were it not for the heightened perceptions of this form. I am also sure that their shoulders are in much more pain than they would have imagined after attempting to barge past me. They have this form’s physical superiority to thank.

I look at the chronograph on this form’s wrist, not because I need to, but because this form needs to, and suddenly, as I stand, I feel this form trying to rebel against me- it searches the faces around it for some sort of friendliness, trust, and I understand that it is trying to tell someone about its predicament. The faces we search however are drowned in a miserly routine. I have seen at least seven people who, despite dressing more vibrantly to everyone else here, walk with the same lifelessness that the rest here do. The form I have adopted eventually realises this is a losing battle. Nobody is coming to its aid. It gives up, and the tadpole reasserts its control.

And yet, the awkwardness of it all has motivated a man, dressed in what I can only describe as this kind’s equivalent to those garments that the Hegemony’s treacherous clerics bore, to approach me and ask if I need some assistance. He must’ve mistaken my stationary movement for paralysis. He places his hand on my shoulder, and I turn back towards him in a lightning-fast reaction. A reflex on account of this form. What the man sees is stark naked and headstrong. A mistake on my part. This man will not be shaken easily. I let him take me aside from the street, near a relatively well-lit alleyway, but one that will allow me to be rid of him clandestinely all the same.

“Please, sit.” The man kindly…naively commands. I follow and sit as he places his two fingers on my forehead. He feels warmth he clearly did not expect. “You need a remedy, I will take you to my temple.” He says.

“No…no thank you.” I say, trying to be polite. He insists still, clearly not trusting the official health outlets of his governance.

A few moments pass- between my rejections and his adamance, we are evidently locked in a stalemate. That is when I consider my options. As such, I finally give in to the man, allowing him to take my hand…

I then hoist myself up, launching myself to his side to get close enough to his ear, and I whistle the song- the six note, six beat hymn at the perfect melody, a pristine frequency, and suddenly, he is made more…cooperative. I ask him a final time: not to trouble himself with my well-being.

The man, changed by the beauty of the song, finally agrees to let me be. He lets go of my hand, he nods in my direction, turns on his heels, and continues on his own path towards whatever location he was migrating.

If anyone is searching for a kind of camaraderie, it will be under my inspection and my influence. This form’s strong will is not something I should overestimate, but neither is it something I should allow to slip from my gaze. I know that if just one person break away from the needs of their daily toil to try and assist this form, then it may gain the upper hand over the tadpole, and my whole plot will be at risk.

Feeling it continue to try and escape my grasp, I wrest this form down to the floor, and bellow an oily, belching roar at it. A roar only it hears, for it is only communicated to its specific neural network. The sound of the roar accentuates the notes of the song and the beeping of the sirens, playing over and over in this form’s mind in a sickening cacophony.

It’s voice drowned out in this discordant mixture, the form obeys my commands again. The chorus is satisfied. It can sing in tune with the rest once more. The tadpole squirms, it recenters itself, and ensures that the voice remains in sync with the others.

I stand straight, I dust off my shoes, my elegant cuffs, the clavicles of my hand-woven jacket. I wear a light smile, I check my chronograph again, and I rejoin the pedestrians on the streets, blending back in to the arteries of this city.

The tadpole has found comfort.

(Interpret this as you wish folks- this new entry into what I like to call my Haloverse "lore books". Who is this mysterious individual we are getting the perspective of? What are they actually saying? Who is this "form" they speak of? All I will say is if you have read Subject: LULLABY and gone through the backstory of Tyrese Bluford , then you may notice a few references in this post to some things mentioned in that lore post and near the end of Tyrese's story. I'll leave it at that. Anyway, the actual lore aside, I think this actually makes for a pretty damn cool looking poster for some sort of futuristic noir type movie or something, and I quite like what I did to the original image (which I put together in Garry's Mod). I will probably post a more clear version of it, albeit still edited, just to show off the scenery I created in more detail, since I actually quite like what I've done here. So, if the little lore entry right here I've written makes no sense to you, then at the very least I hope you can appreciate this image of a Human city street in the the 26th Century.)

Description
I stroll through these streets in finely polished footwear. I am taller than most here. Out of place, but the citizens pay no mind and happily go about the mundanity of their lives undeterred.

I chuckle to myself. This form was an excellent choice.

Broken is my stride by the screech of one of their irreverent commercials blaring from a volumetric display on one of the city’s entertainment parlours. The sound distorts and angers the tadpole. Its wriggling causes this form’s head to shake and rattle slightly before it adapts. I look upwards to the Flying Fortress I have hung where many in my program will sleep, train and live for extended periods of time, and I note to myself that I must not be late for its commissioning ceremony.

I admit, I am paranoid. What if they notice something is amiss about this form? What if the control I have begun to assert is uncovered? Not so long ago, the one who derailed my grand return learned about my duplicity. I hear he will be there at the Fortress. I must be cautious, I think to myself, and look away from the few pedestrians which ogle at me for planting myself stationary on a busy sidewalk.

But in this paranoia, I find…thrill. At least, for the Timeless One’s part of me. I now understand that to these pedestrians, standing stationary in the walkways of their city is like assuming the role of plaque clogging up an artery. Some push past me and whisper under their breaths that I am behaving as an opening at the opposite end of an animal’s digestive tract. It is not possible, I think to myself. I search and pluck the memories I have of these apes, and I realise it is merely a colloquialism and an insult. I am sure they do not realise that I hear them, as anything they say would be difficult to pick up were it not for the heightened perceptions of this form. I am also sure that their shoulders are in much more pain than they would have imagined after attempting to barge past me. They have this form’s physical superiority to thank.

I look at the chronograph on this form’s wrist, not because I need to, but because this form needs to, and suddenly, as I stand, I feel this form trying to rebel against me- it searches the faces around it for some sort of friendliness, trust, and I understand that it is trying to tell someone about its predicament. The faces we search however are drowned in a miserly routine. I have seen at least seven people who, despite dressing more vibrantly to everyone else here, walk with the same lifelessness that the rest here do. The form I have adopted eventually realises this is a losing battle. Nobody is coming to its aid. It gives up, and the tadpole reasserts its control.

And yet, the awkwardness of it all has motivated a man, dressed in what I can only describe as this kind’s equivalent to those garments that the Hegemony’s treacherous clerics bore, to approach me and ask if I need some assistance. He must’ve mistaken my stationary movement for paralysis. He places his hand on my shoulder, and I turn back towards him in a lightning-fast reaction. A reflex on account of this form. What the man sees is stark naked and headstrong. A mistake on my part. This man will not be shaken easily. I let him take me aside from the street, near a relatively well-lit alleyway, but one that will allow me to be rid of him clandestinely all the same.

“Please, sit.” The man kindly…naively commands. I follow and sit as he places his two fingers on my forehead. He feels warmth he clearly did not expect. “You need a remedy, I will take you to my temple.” He says.

“No…no thank you.” I say, trying to be polite. He insists still, clearly not trusting the official health outlets of his governance.

A few moments pass- between my rejections and his adamance, we are evidently locked in a stalemate. That is when I consider my options. As such, I finally give in to the man, allowing him to take my hand…

I then hoist myself up, launching myself to his side to get close enough to his ear, and I whistle the song- the six note, six beat hymn at the perfect melody, a pristine frequency, and suddenly, he is made more…cooperative. I ask him a final time: not to trouble himself with my well-being.

The man, changed by the beauty of the song, finally agrees to let me be. He lets go of my hand, he nods in my direction, turns on his heels, and continues on his own path towards whatever location he was migrating.

If anyone is searching for a kind of camaraderie, it will be under my inspection and my influence. This form’s strong will is not something I should overestimate, but neither is it something I should allow to slip from my gaze. I know that if just one person break away from the needs of their daily toil to try and assist this form, then it may gain the upper hand over the tadpole, and my whole plot will be at risk.

Feeling it continue to try and escape my grasp, I wrest this form down to the floor, and bellow an oily, belching roar at it. A roar only it hears, for it is only communicated to its specific neural network. The sound of the roar accentuates the notes of the song and the beeping of the sirens, playing over and over in this form’s mind in a sickening cacophony.

It’s voice drowned out in this discordant mixture, the form obeys my commands again. The chorus is satisfied. It can sing in tune with the rest once more. The tadpole squirms, it recenters itself, and ensures that the voice remains in sync with the others.

I stand straight, I dust off my shoes, my elegant cuffs, the clavicles of my hand-woven jacket. I wear a light smile, I check my chronograph again, and I rejoin the pedestrians on the streets, blending back in to the arteries of this city.

The tadpole has found comfort.

(Interpret this as you wish folks- this new entry into what I like to call my Haloverse "lore books". Who is this mysterious individual we are getting the perspective of? What are they actually saying? Who is this "form" they speak of? All I will say is if you have read Subject: LULLABY and gone through the backstory of Tyrese Bluford , then you may notice a few references in this post to some things mentioned in that lore post and near the end of Tyrese's story. I'll leave it at that. Anyway, the actual lore aside, I think this actually makes for a pretty damn cool looking poster for some sort of futuristic noir type movie or something, and I quite like what I did to the original image (which I put together in Garry's Mod). I will probably post a more clear version of it, albeit still edited, just to show off the scenery I created in more detail, since I actually quite like what I've done here. So, if the little lore entry right here I've written makes no sense to you, then at the very least I hope you can appreciate this image of a Human city street in the the 26th Century.)