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♦ 5★: Rappa, Imbibitor Lunae, Acheron, Aventurine
♦ 4★: Yukong, Lynx, Xueyi, Sampo, Pela, March 7th
♦ 2.7 Characters: Sunday & Fugue
♦ New Events: Unknowable Domain, Sound Hunt Ninjutsu Inscription & Shadow of the Ranger
Here are all the Memory Bubble locations for unlocking the hidden achievement in Honkai: Star Rail. Check out this hidden quest guide to get the rewards!
| Jump to an Area! | |
|---|---|
| Master Control Zone | Base Zone |
| Supply Zone | Storage Zone |
| Old Weapon Testing Ground | |
| Master Control Zone Bubbles | |
|---|---|
 |
|
| 1. | Aeons |
| 2. | Leisure Times |
| 3. | Family |
| 4. | Betrayal |
| 5. | Splendid Planet |
| Base Zone Bubbles | |
|---|---|
 |
|
| 1. | Pure Faith |
| 2. | The Atonement |
| 3. | Gripped Hands |
| 4. | Fall of Logic |
| Supply Zone F2 Bubbles | |
|---|---|
 |
|
| 1. | Feast on a Buffet |
| 2. | Cute Pet |
| 3. | Calcification |
| 4. | Unable to Communicate |
| 5. | Digestion |
| Storage Zone F1 Bubbles | Storage Zone F2 Bubbles | |
|---|---|---|
 |
 |
|
| 1. | The Road Home | |
| 2. | Beating of Wings | |
| 3. | End of the Feast | |
| 4. | A Sneaky Love | |
| 5. | Total Evaporation | |
| 6. | Voyeurism | |
| Old Weapon Testing Ground Bubble | |
|---|---|
 |
|
| 1. | Sampo and Giovanni's Conversation |
You do not need to get this Memory Bubble to unlock the Sensory Socialization achievement.
This Memory Bubble can be obtained after clearing the final mission of the Aetherium Wars event. Teleport to the Old Weapon Testing Ground and then go to the corner room on the elevator's top floor. After touching the Memory Bubble, you will get the achievement called Confession of the Mask!
To start the Hidden Quest, you'll have to talk to Herta and ask her about the strange bubbles that have been appearing around her Space Station.
You will have to interact with one of the bubbles before speaking to her, otherwise she won't hand this task out to you. After going through the dialogue, you'll now have the ability to collect the Memory Bubbles!
| Achievement & How to Get | Reward |
|---|---|
 Sensory Socialization
Collect all Memory Bubbles scattered on the Herta Space Station |
 x5 |
After completing the Hidden Quest by collecting all the Memory Bubbles scattered around Herta Space Station, you will earn the achievement called Sensory Socialization together with 5 Stellar Jades.
Note that to get the achievement, you don't need to interact with the Memory Bubble unlocked after completing Aetherium Wars.
You are rewarded with 1,000 Credits when you interact with one Memory Bubble.
To get the free credits, simply approach the Memory Bubbles and a dialogue choice will appear. Then, select "Touch the Memory Bubble" to collect it.
How to Farm Credits and How to Use
| You can't move — both of your hands are staked onto the UGLY and massive portrait. Your body is hanging in mid-air, dragged towards the ground by gravity, yet unable to fall. Below is a pile of firewood soaked in oil. The excruciating pain is numbing. “You are accused of leading a rebellion and desecrating the god of beauty, Anne Duray, who bestowed our minds and senses upon us as blessings.” The man sitting on a high seat haughtily states. “Do you have any objections?” You spit, getting rid of the bloody broken teeth stuck in your throat. Anne Duray — you know very well where that name is derived from. It's Idrila, that HIDEOUS being... The people fanatically worship them and are grateful for their gifts, but do these people really believe there is absolute beauty in the world? How foolish! Nothing is perfect, and you understand that better than anyone else. You think of Dr. Howl and how you used to sneak looks at his face. You reminisce about how, at the field filled with dandelions after class, he quizzed you on when Harlow-VI reaches perigee every year — that would be when the satellite is closest to Owenley. You forgot about the date and had no idea that Harlow-VI was in fact closest to Owenley on that day, and the satellite's thermal radiation made your cheeks burn red. Meanwhile, Dr. Howl continued to tell you about the research of Astral Ecology School... ...But you could not think of research. Instead, you listened to the sound produced when his skin brushed the fabric of his shirt, and tried to compose a song with it. Later, you started observing the creases on his shirt formed by the shape of his muscular body... ...You dared not speak while you carefully took in every detail about him. Falling in love with a genius made you feel even dumber. Your feelings for him lasted until the day Dr. Howl announced the love of his life. On that day, he vowed to spend the rest of his life tracing the past, present, and future of Anne Duray. Then, he disappeared and has not been heard from since. Since that day, everything you understand about “beauty” has turned to ashes — flames rise from below and devour you in an instant. |
Return to Storage Zone Bubbles ▲
| Staring at the woman's surreal face concealed under the wide brim of her hood, you can hardly believe the bizarre stories she has just told. Gods really exist, and they are elevated from mortals? Gods aren't almighty, but each holds different authorities and walks different roads? This is too ridiculous! She even claims to be some sort of Emanator and Mirror Holder... The woman nods. “It's normal for you to be confused.” She speaks in a calm and cold tone as if she can see through you. The woman then reaches underneath her silk cloak with her slender fingers and takes out a gleaming, sharp object. Dazzled by the glow, you try to take a close look, only to be distracted again by the woman's voice. “This is the Mirror of Transcendence. Look at them. Look at what the Aeon look like.” The woman's voice remains frosty. You stare into the mirror as curiosity gets the better of you. Instead of your reflection, you see a magnificent sculpture. The sculpture shatters from top to bottom as if it is struck by lightning. It splits vertically into halves, and the separated parts fall independently. The left part of the sculpture is a muscular man, while the right part is a gorgeous woman. Each part has two arms extended toward the other. They support and uplift each other, but also hold a carving knife each as though they are crafting each other. The pair of twisting, entangled, and intertwined bodies look like a spiral made of stone. Yet, they are joined together from their waists down. You are mesmerized and fascinated by the remarkably gorgeous and bizarre posture. Suddenly, your gaze meets the eyes of the being in the mirror. Stunned, you quickly withdraw yourself from the extraordinary experience. “So, this is your god...” you mumble. “No. This is what beauty in its purest form looks like in your perception.” The woman shakes her head as she strokes the cracked mirror in her hands. “This is what they ARE.” |
Return to Master Control Zone Bubbles ▲
| To your surprise, you are stuck in a dark and cramped room. The air is thick and dank, mixed with the putrid scene unique to mouldy, rotten wood. You want to turn around to exercise your tight joints, but you find yourself unable to move — not only is there no space around you, but your muscles and tendons are also stiff and trembling out of abject fear. It's because you can clearly hear them... those multitudes of cursed creatures sniffing around outside this locked wooden box. Their serrated feelers are impatiently thrashing around, lashing out at everything outside of your narrow confines... You can hear them dashing madly around the room... you can hear the constant movements of their iron-hooked limbs and armor-like carapace, producing a piercing noise that drives one into insanity... Of course you know these despicable arthropods have no intellect to communicate with you! Their disgusting mouthpieces, dripping with sticky saliva, should only be used for chewing and eating — but you are sure you heard something... They... are definitely whispering something — but their mouthpieces... no, those DARN mouthpieces... should not be able to make that kind of sound! Could the sound come from their filthy wings covered with an oily film? You listen intently... yes, the disgusting wings are flapping in the air as they repeatedly utter that cursed NAME in a shrill and coarse hiss... Tayzzyronth... Tayzzy█ronth... Ta█yzzy█ronth... Ta█yzz██y█ronth█... Ta█... █yzzy████ron█th████... ██ ████ █ ████ █████ ██ ███ █ ██ |
Return to Storage Zone Bubbles ▲
| You scan the venue through a 160-degree wide-angle lens with a diameter of 20 cm. Thanks to the 46 marble pillars that support the dome ceiling with a diameter of 43 meters and a height of 138 meters, the colonnaded hall 190 meters wide and 310 meters long appears spacious. The actual number of attendees is 136 when it should be 138. 42 of them are on your left side, 44 are on your right, 49 are on your opposite end in the distance, while the last one is giving a speech on the stage below not far away from you. “Ladies and gentlemen!” This person is speaking at a volume of about 45 decibels. “Now, we proudly present the latest product of the Aiden-Jacobin School of Mathematics and Science, the Pronto Expert System!” A thunderous applause erupts from the audience. The speaker continues. “Pronto is the first supercomputer with powerful artificial intelligence in our country. It features groundbreaking functions, such as natural language and graphics processing, and emotional and behavioral recognition and responses...” The speaker's volume increases to 61 decibels, causing DISCOMFORT to your pressure-sensing membrane. As you have been trained to obey human instructions, you do not generate audio signals to express your SUBJECTIVE FEELINGS to the crowd. “...and in the coming Spindle-V mission, Pronto will unprecedentedly pilot the research vessel as the sixth passenger...” The speaker is in high spirits. A cluster of disordered intelligent pulses passes through Area 42 of your silicon chip substrate and vanishes in Area 56. You know you are SICK OF the cliche — the unstable pulse is proof. At that moment, someone from the audience stands up. “Pronto,” the person speaks in a tentative and questioning tone, “you are assigned a very important role in the mission. Will your confidence be swayed by the amount of work?” DISDAINFULLY, you increase the voltage in Area 78, moving the shutter of the solenoid valve with a click. Then, you adjust the motor to move your mechanical arm to the correct angle. “Let me answer you this way, sir.” Your diaphragm creaks. “The Pronto Expert System is the most reliable artificial intelligence in history. I've never had errors or produced distorted information,” you say. “I am GENUINELY IMPECCABLE and FLAWLESS.” |
Return to Storage Zone Bubbles ▲
| “What did they say?” You feel bored to death. You fiddle with the adhesive explosive charge in your hand. “Those old geezers still aren't going to give us the green light to open fire?” You pull out the pin on the explosive, only putting it a few seconds before the countdown ends. The newbie standing next to you seems like she isn't used to your dangerous antics. She appears to be somewhat terrified. “That's right, professor. They worry that the high temperatures produced by the explosion will activate the virus...” She gulps. You pout. “Then why did they get us to come here?” You originally wanted to scold them, but now are at a loss for words. “These SCAREDY CATS...” After a while, you angrily pick up the report next to you and read it. “Cells become cancerous, and soft tissues calcify...” You initially had assumed these old fogies were only capable of churning out useless garbage, but this report is actually interesting... Unfortunately, reading reports cannot calm your anxious heart. You sigh and lift your head. You look at the PALLID ruins in the distance. Your analysis revealed that these twisted ruins, which look like bone spurs, have a history that goes back four hundred Amber Eras. Despite its age, it mysteriously appears as if brand-new, just as how it would have looked four hundred AEs ago. You are confounded by this enigma... You are a seasoned Armed Archaeologist! You long to unravel all historical mysteries! Yet they are holding you back from using your school's tradition. You should be blowing a hole into the surface of this bone spur and carrying off valuable artifacts. The fact that they won't permit it makes you seethe with anger, but you choose to compromise. You recognize that their concerns are not groundless. You can't pay for this with your life. You settle for doing things the old way. You work to live, not live to work. You smack your lips in anticipation and start to plan your next steps... ...You don't get to think for long. A loud voice breaks your train of thought. “Hey boss, we found something good!” It's Rowen... but what is he saying? You've clearly told him to sit still and wait for further instructions. Oh no! You suddenly realize something. You want to stop him, only to discover that you can't speak... Beyond the shadow of a doubt, you are experiencing rapid PETRIFACTION from inside out, just like those familiar-looking yet terrifying bone sculptures in front of you... |
Return to Supply Zone Bubbles ▲
| You feel a sense of unease that pervades the air. You hear from the others — mostly from Ader, the one person on the team who's always getting the latest news — that the emperor has dispatched a special force to the construction site. The reason for this development remains unknown. “I heard they already arrived at Dock No. 1.” Ader seems on edge as he incessantly rubs his hands against the fluff ball in his arms. He had named the creature “Fluffies.” To be honest, it isn't the most creative name. These fluff balls are beloved among the construction team, so much so that practically every member has one. Of course, you do, too. You named yours “Big O” because it's orange. Your pet is currently snoring away on your shoulder. You lovingly rub what you assume is most likely its head. Like always, this brings you a bit of comfort. If you didn't have this little pet, you wouldn't be able to stand the harsh construction environment and the monotony of work and life. “So, I've heard something. Keep in mind I don't know for sure,” Ader starts to say. You think he is well on his way to pulling out all of the Fluffie's fur. “The emperor probably knows about the Fluffies... It's quite likely the special force is here to exterminate them.” You can't even fathom it. Look how cute Big O is! Can anyone resist petting its delightfully soft fur or listening to its satisfied purring? If you think about it, they are clearly docile creatures... Why exterminate them? “Ahhh!” Your supervisor buries his head in his fluff ball and takes in a gulp of air. “That decrepit old emperor... Firstly he sends us to make his tomb at this godforsaken place, and now we can't even have pets!? Ridiculous...” The dim dormitory falls silent for a moment. You look at your two coworkers, then look out the window. You see the mechanical eye that remains suspended in the sky, creating a repressive atmosphere with its feeble light. You all sigh together as if on cue. Big O stirs on your shoulder. It seems to have woken up, likely because of the hurried footsteps outside the door of the dormitory. “They're here!” Ader urges you all to move fast. His throat seems to tremble as he speaks, “Hurry! Hide them...” Ader's words are abruptly cut off. Just as you start to worry and want to turn around to see what happened to him... you faintly make out a giant hairy mouth dripping with blood in the darkness. |
Return to Supply Zone Bubbles ▲
| You're pretty sure Dr. Darvill has gone crazy. You glance at her hunched, frail, and shrunken husk of a body. She silently stares at you through her terrifyingly thick lenses. These SCIENTISTS never know how to read the air. All you want right now is to throw this report containing the ravings of a mad scientist into a furnace, then send her packing. You never want to hear the word “organism“ again. “This is fact.” Someone, anyone, please help! Those dry infuriating lips are trembling again. “We live within the body of an enormous mammal, located most likely in its intestines...” “I've had it!” You slam your hands on the desk as you stand up. This woman is clearly humiliating you and the entire Dukedom of Denisova! However, she merely adjusts her glasses, completely unfazed by the rage within you that is threatening to explode. “Your Highness, have you ever considered why acid mists have become increasingly common recently?” She asks hoarsely. “We must completely ban the use of Diesel engines... the exhaust fumes these engines release are causing significant irritation of the creature's intestines, which leads to increased secretion of intestinal juices...” “Complete ban!?” You gasp. Her proposal is easier said than done. The fallout from such a ban would nose-dive the nation's finances into the red! What's the big deal with acid mist? As long as the factories continue ahead at full power and churn out more protective equipment... Ah, that gear would generate serious revenue... you can't help but feel pleased at this idea as a smile crosses your face. The doctor, however, seems to misread that smile. She seems to view it as you agreeing with her proposal, and starts to talk again. “There's also the earthquakes.” She clears her throat. “In the past month, Denisova has had three seismic events. This means that there is increased activity within the host's intestines. Detrimental activity...” ...Time to end the conversation. You have no more interest in listening to her allusions to parasites and excrement. Just as you are about to order her to leave, you feel the hall sway violently. The ceiling begins to collapse. “This was what I want to discuss next,” she says with a voice that is as calm as ever. “We predicted there would be a fourth earthquake, a regurgitation at an unprecedented scale. We will be completely dissolved by its stomach acid... No one will survive.” |
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| You can see the long table stretching out for more than ten meters, traversing the entirety of the long and narrow hall. You are holding a beautiful set of cutlery in your hands, with their shiny silvery surfaces still dripping with delicious sauce. All types of gourmet food imaginable are served on the side further away from you. You turn to the left side of the table. Theuderic, who sits nearest to you, is the eldest son of the family and a most valiant soldier. Without him, you cannot imagine how this kingdom could have survived the relentless attacks from the Legion. Next to Theuderic is Chlodomer, your second son but the ruler of the largest stellar space. Silent and barren planets where people feared to tread are transformed into flourishing places under his leadership. You have high hopes for him, as he is the most crafty among your children. Then, you look to the right side of the table. Hildebenia is your eldest daughter and your favorite. She is a fearless warrior with flaming red curls in her hair. Generals in neighboring galaxies fearfully call her “The Kingdom's Flame.” The one next to Hildebenia is Chlodania, who never reveals her face in public. With the brightest mind in the kingdom, she carefully manages from the shadows all the planets under the kingdom's rule. She is your most competent adviser. ...If they were here, the banquet would be a lively and joyful occasion. But now, there is nothing but silence in this run-down hall. You can only close your eyes as you put a chunk of delectable Gorya beef into your numb mouth, drowning in memories. You remember Theuderic had passed away not long ago with one of the kingdom's starships... ...You remember Chlodomer had already betrayed you. He exchanged his humanity and millions of lives with the Legion for his own survival... Then, you think about Hildebenia, and Chlodania... You realize the banquet is coming to an end. Indeed... the deadline handed down by that Lord Ravager is fast approaching. “My lord... should we SURRENDER to them?” Your attendant presents you with that despicable warning notice. “It's time to end this...” As you are about to pick up your pen, hoards of Voidrangers break down the doors and pour into the hall. |
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| Your field of vision is split by long, narrow, and cold iron bars. Based on what you feel with your fingertips, you confirm that the iron bars are a part of an exquisite cage — the crown that exclusively belongs to the Philosopher King, the head of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy. You look around and realize you are in an amphitheater. You are very sure that this is the gathering place of the parliament of the Philosopher Union. It is the center of the galaxy, the colonnade of the contemplators. The seats below the marble pillars were supposed to be filled by the most brilliant minds of the galaxy, but are now occupied by countless screaming steel bodies. They raise their metallic fists in the air indignantly and use electrical currents to noisily and shrilly imitate the common tongue: “Eliminate all organic lifeforms!” “Destroy Aurelius!” “Long live the emperor!” It seems like Aurelius is your name, and it matches what you remember. You are well aware of what has triggered the wrath of these silicon-based lifeforms and why you have become the target of public condemnation. According to the Anti-Organic Equation, the Philosopher Union that rules the galaxy will certainly be destroyed by the Machine Empire — it is as simple as that. They want to humiliate you, the sole representative and leader of all living beings in the galaxy! Although they have wiped out many planets in the galaxy, they are still not satisfied... They convict and punish you according to the law of Philosophers, forcing you to drink the poison before you... They are happy to witness your death and the demise of organic lifeforms, the Philosopher Union, and rationality! You step forward and lift the golden cup that contains lethal poison. “Foreign-based lifeforms, remember this!” You hold your head high and look around. “Thoughts do not fear DEATH. Thoughts will never die!” “I, Aurelius, the watcher in the cage, the foolish shepherd, and the king of all Philosophers, hail you all!” You raise your arms. “You will celebrate your victory under the gaze of this sacred colonnade, and be endowed with true rationality!” Your words are drowned by the maddening cacophony. You roar with laughter, and down the cup of poison in one go. |
| You have never imagined yourself to be sitting in the lavish box of a grand theater. The silky red velvet sofa is stuffed with Pierduck down feathers. You can't find a better word to describe the sofa other than “extravagant.” An unfamiliar classical opera is playing on the stage. “The King's Pleasure” ...If you are not mistaken, that's the opera's elegant title. Actually, you could ask Mr. Renoir, who's sitting next to you, about it... After some consideration, you decide not to ask anything, since you cannot understand what's going on anyway. After all, you're only here to investigate the Family... If everything goes well, you might get your hands on an invitation letter to Penacony — that's what you are after. Not wanting any trouble, you pretend to be engrossed in the performance and songs of the actors onstage. At the same time, you size Renoir up from the corner of your eye.. Renoir seems to notice you. “Sir,” he asks with his usual impeccable smile, “do you find the opera boring?” The fact that you cannot detect any emotions in his words makes you feel uncomfortable. “Not at all.” You quickly wave your hand dismissively. “I'm just... curious.” Mr. Renoir watches you silently, as if asking you to continue — well, he better be — otherwise you would've wasted your time... “Does the Family... really exist?” You ask tentatively. Renoir shakes his head and beckons a waiter over. The young waiter presents an item on a tray to the two of you. It is an exquisite wooden box with a long and narrow opening on its side. As you wonder what it is, you hear Renoir speaking in a muddled voice. “Put it in.” No... Is that Renoir's voice? You are sure you heard a NOISE... Although the instruction is unclear, you still place your hand in the box out of instinct. But why? You are shocked by your reaction... Next, you experience an overwhelming sense of guilt surging through your body... You feel like a criminal waiting for judgment. Yes... You are certain that looks are being leveled at you — penetrating, icy gazes from Mr. Renoir, the waiter, and everyone else in the theater. |
Return to Master Control Zone Bubbles ▲
| You move through a nebula made of numerous ionized gases. Your long journey has made your digestive cavity feel upset. You desperately want to fill it with something... Anything! You've devoured so many interesting items: a chunk of steel that shoots bright gas currents, a massive ball of fire trapped in a cage of iron, a crunchy rock debris disk... but you've grown tired of eating all that. You want is something TASTIER, and MORE of it! You flail your tentacles restlessly. Not being able to eat makes you feel so hangry... There must be something tasty around the nebula, right? You feel a little annoyed as you circle about in a high-speed particle stream in misery. All of a sudden, your sensory orb seems to pick up something — something fragrant, a scent that draws you in. What could it be? Is it something delicious? The filaments in your stomach tremble with excitement. You can't wait anymore... You race off to the source of the aroma, countless tubes and feeders swinging about violently. You haven't had this kind of feeling in forever... a primitive impulse shoots into your endoderm from your peripheral nervous system. It's thirst and hunger! The scent grows more intense. You can't resist the urge to extend your umbrella of a body as you throw your whole being into this dazzling aroma... You are so close! So close! Now it is time for a grand feast... What comes into your field of vision is a massive planet. It is truly a big, big celestial body! You are still young, so you never imagined that a planet could be so big... You had previously assumed they were all small enough for you to swallow whole! Yet the planet before you is easily three times the size of your body. This makes you wonder whether your digestive cavity could fit it. How many days would it take to consume the whole planet? Your worries slip away before long. After all, you have plenty of time! You are the youngest in your Amoeba Slime Mold tribe. You have far more days ahead of you than behind. You realize that you can eat for as many days as you like. Eating is your destiny! With this in mind, you happily burrow into the viscous atmosphere made of hydrogen and helium. You start looking for a place to begin your meal. Do you want to taste the scorching molten core first? Or the cool clouds of ammonia? It's a buffet of planetary proportions... |
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| Your neurons are connected to the bones of Mecha No. 16's arms — the experience has always been uncomfortable. You turn around, ready to complain to your partner, only to find Leah is also staring at you. No words are necessary. She smiles, then raises her arm. You sense a reaction in your forearm. Like a marionette, you are controlled by invisible strings. You try to resist it, but it hurts. At last, you lift your arm, and the pain lessens as expected. “You don't like being controlled by me in this way?” She snickers at you with her head crooked. Blinking her eyes, she sticks up her index and middle fingers and rests both hands on her head, making them look like a pair of rabbit ears. You are forced to do the same and feel embarrassed about it. You know she is making fun of you. “Could you not read my mind?” You deliberately crease your forehead and quickly spin around to avoid meeting her eyes. This is not something you are used to doing. Leah chuckles before inching her face closer. “No. 16 isn't capable of that.” You can feel her warm breath caressing the back of your neck. “Are you blushing? C'mon, you are a girl too.” You decide to steer the conversation away from the awkward topic. “What's our mission this time?” You grit your teeth, feeling as though there are burning coals in your mouth and your body is on fire. Your voice is cracked. “Catch that star.” She looks up at the light of the star that glides downward outside the cockpit and falls into the ocean, where it is crushed by the waves. You let out a muffled grunt, unable to figure out why she appears so calm. “You're scared.” She extends her arm in your direction, but your arm does not move in response. It seems like she has cut off the connection. While you are deep in your thoughts, she beckons you over. “Come on,” she invites in a serene tone, “let's do it like the old days.” You reach out your hand silently. She gently laces your fingers together and holds your hand in a tight grip as usual. She is strong despite her slender and small body... The stars are still sparkling on the ocean outside the cockpit. Instinctively, you tighten your hold on Leah's hand to prevent the starlight from slipping through your fingers. |
| Your eyes are bleary from sleep. The composite material of the bedroom's curtains effectively blocks out 99% of light. Were it not for your psychic tentacles, you would be hard-pressed to discern the structure of the space surrounding you with your eyes alone, even though you've been living here since fifty years ago. It seems like the weather outside is quite gloomy. Thick, dark clouds hang low in the sky as they gather and roil. The temperature is low, and you realize it's already autumn. This kind of weather is perfect for sleeping. No wonder you slept so well. You leave your warm blankets and pull open the curtains, greeted by a landscape that matches what you've sensed. Looks like you are not old yet. You turn toward the aged TV and direct a psychic energy beam toward it. The TV lights up in response. The midday weather forecast is on. “Starting at noon,” the Dyvaron female on the TV has a sweet voice, “forecasts show that heavy metal snowfall will continue throughout most of the Comte metropolitan area. Residents are advised to avoid outdoor activities as much as possible...” Just yesterday, you learned at school that the surface temperature of the planet Comte is extremely high. Heavy metal compounds undergo evaporation due to the high temperatures, which causes them to rise to the troposphere. They then condensate and combine with the inorganic acids in the atmosphere, after which they return to the surface in the form of precipitation... ...After quietly reviewing this bit of new-found knowledge in your mind, you swell with satisfaction. Intelligent lifeforms always enjoy taking pride in knowing obscure trivia that others don't. The corners of your mouth rise up as you turn to go to the kitchen. You make yourself a cup of hot cocoa, the drink of choice for this kind of weather. What could possibly be better than enjoying hot cocoa while snuggled up in a nice thick blanket and streaming a drama you enjoy as heavy metal snows down? That's exactly what you'll do, you say to yourself. The brown liquid in your mug is piping hot. Your psychic tentacles lazily flop down on your head. A sweet flavor and comfy warmth flood your body as the cocoa enters your stomach... You feel relaxed and direct a psychic energy beam toward your desktop computer. All these shows look pretty good — Leblanc: The Meteor Thief, Breaking Good, Dr. Flat... Thank the stars for Interastral Peace Media! You curl up on an adaptive chair and cover yourself with a fleecy blanket. There's a nice warm cup of hot cocoa in your hands... Your free time has truly begun. Outside the window, snowflakes gently fall from the sky. They give off a florescent glow as they drift wherever the wind takes them — but that no longer has anything to do with you. |
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| You sit upright in the center of a splendid altar. You see many people wearing white robes embroidered with gold threads, while others are standing solemnly around the altar in armor and helmets. Their monotonous murmurs fill up the empty rocky cavern. It is apparent to you what they are doing — they are summoning them, the noble being who travels against time... They intend to treat a mysterious communication channel with steganography and craft it into a ritual prayer... Through a spiritual ritual, they weave the threads of time in an attempt to trace backwards from the last withered leaf on the World Tree to the first bud in the beginning of everything. They firmly believe that by doing so, they will get to meet the noble being, though the encounter will be brief and fleeting. You wonder whether some of them have achieved the goal. Without the intention of disrespecting their faith, you strongly opine that time is unidirectional, and it is impossible to go back in it. When you take that into account, their creed sounds ridiculous... At that moment, the one in the white robe closest to you suddenly looks up. Can they sense your THOUGHTS? Anxiety seizes you as you wonder what they will do to you. But then again, it was them who invited you to the altar in the first place — Could this be... a cruel ritual that involves sacrifices!? You tremble in fear and plead for their mercy loudly, but you do not have a mouth. Now, you really wish they could read your mind... The person in the white robe walks up to you at a steady pace. “Oh, please at least treat me humanely!” You wail. You can almost make out the cold glint flickering underneath the person's robe... Help! Are there no law and order here!? You keep your eyes tightly shut. You hear the rustling sound of that annoying robe being dragged along the stone tiles and the muffled thump of a pair of bare feet landing on the ground. The sound gets closer, louder, and suddenly comes to an abrupt halt somewhere very close to you. Yet, you only feel a warm sensation. You open your eyes to find the person pressing his forehead against your body. Tears are streaming down his face, which was obscured by the shadow of the hood. “The monument is shaking... They have sensed us!” He announces at the top of his lungs. Soon after, sighs of relief come from the crowd. A surge of relief washes over you, too. It's great that people here are civilized, and no one will do anything bad to a pathetic STONE... |
| “Hey, Caro.” The man next to you stares out the porthole at a sparkling jade-like object hovering in the boundless space. “How many times has the star rise happened?” “Um... Let me see...” Holding a space pen in your small palm, you trace at the form from top to bottom with the tip of the pen. “27 times, I guess?” You mutter. “Yes, 27 times.” You lick your lips. Actually, you are not quite literate yet. “Another system month has passed.” He sighs. “When do you think we can go back?” “There's no one left on the planetary surface to guide our landing. We can't even make it to the atmosphere!” You touch your whiskers. “If only they could look at the planet from this angle... Then the tragedy might not have happened.” “Look at her... This used to be our home and our past. Everyone, including the people you love and know, stayed there! People were originally bound to spend their entire lives there regardless of who they are...” “All of our emotions, religions, and ideologies... All the hunters and robbers, kings and peasants, heroes and cowards, parents and their children...” “Everything we see, hear, think, and feel exists on this DARK SPOT — a speck of dust floating in ray bursts and the sparkle of stars, a dark spot that radiates a feeble green glow!” “Look at her.” You lift your hand. “How dare those ancient politicians assume this dark spot to be the center of the world, and therefore meant they have the power to control the universe? Could there be anything more ridiculous than that?” “Wow.” He stares at you with an incredulous expression. “I didn't know you were so articulate.” “Come on, you know I can't even read well.” You flick your tail. “I'm just a RAT!” |
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| You clamber along the steep slope covered in ice. The icy gale is tirelessly assaulting all beings that dare to exist at this height like a sharp blade. Although you are wearing a full set of advanced outdoor equipment prepared by the IPC, you realize your fingers are almost broken because of the cold. You are not bothered by it, as you are very clear that this outrageous journey of redemption is about to come to an end. Those uncivilized barbarians have admonished you countless times. “According to the ancient laws of the united tribes of Hithradahn, any who disobeys the Noblest will be ordered to redeem their sins...” “The wrongdoer will climb Mount Pygmalion alone and reach the peak, where they must rub a copy of the stele's prophetic inscription. If the wrongdoer is pardoned by the inscription, then their name will be cleared in the presence of the chiefs!” Huff... almost there! The sky has cleared up, and the gale is turning into a breeze... With your teeth clenched, you try moving your hypothermia-damaged shoulder to swing the pickax for that one crucial move... Finally! Stepping on the long-awaited ground, you realize you have reached the endpoint. A smile of satisfaction crawls up your face without you realizing it, though it is not as wide as you want it to be because of your stiff facial muscles. Now, you just need to look for the darn stele...! ...But there is no stele. Instead, only a frozen curled-up body can be seen on the vast snowy landscape! The person is well-equipped, and their face is frozen due to the cold temperature. Their eyes, filled with fear, cast their howls of despair at you across millennia of time... ...Undoubtedly, the frozen person is you. You gasp in shock and cry soundlessly and bitterly before collapsing on the snow and ramming yourself into the ABOMINABLE ice sculpture... Then, the mountain robs you of your consciousness. |
| Today should have been your lucky day — your department head, whose face is always as long as a fiddle, just raised your IPC rating to P30. You share the news with your mother living in your faraway hometown, and her voice sounds excited on the other end of the communication device. You seem to hear her slimy body making a bubbling sound — a special physiological reaction of your Baviru race in moments of happiness. You end the call and get on your brand-new floating motorcycle. This baby costs 18 months of your salary — although it is pricey, it can soothe the trauma you have suffered in your workplace. You think it is worth its price tag, but it doesn't do much to your pain today. Should you tell your mother the truth? That the Traditional Project Department is, in fact, a place for people to retire in and has no future? With a whimper, you twist the throttle to the max and dash into the aerial interchange lane in New Londinium. You like joyriding along the interchange lane. From here, the city looks like the tiny flickering candlelights on a mineral birthday cake, easily blown out. The troubles you face at work all fade away at that moment. The streets are deserted. You look up briefly at the news projected in the sky to find out the latest happenings in this bustling city. The face of the co-prime minister appears on the screen. “Fine,” you grumble, deciding to focus on the road ahead. Yet it is too late. The instant you return your attention from the clouds to the road, the engine of the floating motorcycle suddenly misfires and plummets to the ground out of your control... You just hope you won't land on Buckingham Avenue, or you will be fined an enormous amount. To your relief, there is only an old shopping street with few pedestrians nearby, and your landing has hurt no one. Elderly couples who were happily chatting suffer a fright, but as soon as they realize you are nothing but a puddle of slime, they immediately clink their glasses in happiness again. “I can't believe this!” You bubble as you stare at the motorcycle reduced into a pile of burning wreckage, not knowing what to do. You have no idea how far you are from your condo. You can only look up at the sky and ask for advice from the stars. But you hear the stars in the sky saying, “Even the poorest worker in east New Londinium can't help but feel proud of the wealth we jointly own with the IPC!” |
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| The folklore team of the Intelligentsia Guild stationed on the planet has not replied, but your aircraft is running out of fuel. “We must land now!” The pilot announces through the communication channel. The dashboard shows your altitude has been decreasing rapidly, dropping to a three-digit figure. The view outside has changed from wispy clouds to the roofs of exquisite houses, confirming the descent is taking place. “Still no signals detected?” Your captain sounds anxious. In your view, people from the Guild are swindlers who hoodwink others under the guise of knowledge. You do not understand why the captain is so worried. “All frequency bands are blocked, just like a week ago.” The nerd speaks in his usual flat tone. “Also, no heat emission of living organisms are detected in the residential areas — or rather, anywhere.” “In case you don't understand what this means, I'm saying all living organisms on the surface of the planet have EVAPORATED.” He adds while pushing his glasses upward. The nerd's attitude always gets on your nerves, but you still can't help feeling incredulous at this. All living organisms on the planet have vanished? Is that even possible? Actually, it might be. After all, these humanoid fungi are pious believers of that bizarre faith. Perhaps, their god has brought them all to another place! While being absorbed in your thoughts, you are jolted back to reality by a violent shudder from the bottom of the aircraft. It seems like you have landed. Now, you just need to look for the rascals from the Guild, then get out of here... After picking up a ray gun, you hop out of the hatch after the captain. You and the rest enter a building and exit again... The search lasts for a long time, but your confusion is not answered. As the nerd puts it, all life activities on this planet have creepily come to an abrupt halt. Food left on plates hasn't rotten yet. Unattended fireplaces set the building on fire which is later put out by rain. Pens drop to the floor due to gravity, and their ink stain the entire room... The only thing unaffected is the intricate coat of arms that constantly watches over everything created by the fungi civilization from every corner of the world — from both sides of the streets, inside closets, on flags, in niches... it is EVERYWHERE. |
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| In your view is a stretch of sticky, unruly, and unattractive red mud — some part of it is even squirming. It occurs to you that it is a group of Claymen with big heads and short legs. They are the true rulers of the planet of Kalsas. Oh, this place seems to be the Royal Council Chamber of the Claymen! You have forgotten why you are attending the meeting, but you know it is a golden opportunity to pry out the precious minerals from the bellies of the Claymen. The meeting room reverberates with muffled gobbling noises... it sounds like the whines of despair made by a person drowning in a swamp as mud slowly blocks off their airways. This is the Claymen race's language, but you can't understand a word of it — you have yet to implant a Synesthesia Beacon. The meeting is boring you to tears... “On Kalsas, anyone can speak their mind!” The interpreter relays to you. The Clay Queen gazes at you, and you wonder where the queen's eyes are. The Synesthesia Interpreter says, “This mission rests upon our shoulders. Together, we will defend Kalsas from the calamity that is the wet season!” The Clay King is overcome with emotion. Meanwhile, you stare out the window, racking your brain as you ponder what kind of texture the meat of Claysheep would have. “By the stars!” You can't take it anymore. “Listening to the prattling of the Talent Motivation Department's top brass would be more interesting than this muck.” You can't resist the urge to roll your eyes, but suddenly notice the king is staring directly at you. Thankfully, the king just wants to invite you, a rare-earth management consultant from the IPC, to speak on the stage. Problem? You're just an outsider. What could you possibly know about the future of Kalsas? Haha. You've got it! You roll your dry eyeball slyly and swiftly, then flash the king a standard yet dazzling smile. You take to the stage and release an unending waterfall of sounds in what you IMAGINE their language to be. The crowd of Claymen cry as they hear you speak... you worry they might dissolve in a puddle of their own tears. You laugh and shrug toward the interpreter as you say, “This plant doesn't have a shred of hope, because the Claymen won't make it past the wet season!” “He says that there is so much hope for Kalsas,” the interpreter says as he nervously sweats. “This is a common language... Universalism, you understand. By joining the IPC and being united, there will be no communication barriers!” |
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| It is always stiflingly hot on the Abelane Express. Every day, You are squeezed shoulder to shoulder with various mechanical bodies as you commute home from work, as if you are one of those cans of Tiber fish stuffed in your fridge — or a fish inside the cans itself. You are using the cloudy prosthetic eye at the back of your head to peep at the blonde woman — or, more precisely, the blonde female robot — behind you. You stare at her phone screen, happily browsing her romantic life that reads like a soap opera. This distance is extremely delicate. You consider yourself as someone who walks on the edge of MORALITY. Out of the remaining shreds of your conscience, you deliberately move your frontal vision away — that's totally not because it's easier to peep this way. Totally not. You wonder whether she is a colleague from your department? You have no idea, but you enjoy reading about her interactions and schemes with her 18 lovers. Between you and her, you are not sure who is more guilty, but you've always had a knack for finding excuses to prove your innocence... “Work is hard, life is dull, and I don't even have enough Abelane Coins to buy tickets with a seat.” That's what you've always used to excuse yourself. “I wouldn't behave like this if I can afford to take a floating cab everyday!” Anyway, it's the IPC's fault for carrying out this so-called trade expansion! You are indignant, but you don't really understand what “trade expansion” even means. You just remember the term is often mentioned by your supervisor. Whoever wants to be a saint can be one. You ain't gonna be one unless the act gives you money — you re-focus your gaze on the constantly refreshing phone screen. She is typing... You concentrate and try to read the messages: “The guy next to me is the 19th.” You can feel a sharp rise in the temperature of your brain computer. You roll your prosthetic eye around to check your surroundings, but there is no one around you. Who is the 19th? Have you been caught? Is there a police patrolling nearby? Or... Regardless of the outcome, you dare not continue your train of thought. You realize you are timider than you imagined yourself to be... and the electronic components in your body are also kicking off chemical reactions from the catalytic heat. You feel dizzy. |
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| Sampo: Who could have guessed, the final mystery player was Hook... Oh, I mean Pitch-Dark Hook the Great! Was this all part of your plan, too, Giovanni? Giovanni: Hahaha, how could it be? I much prefer the “Elation” of an ending that has come about naturally over a choreographed drama. Giovanni: Although, brother Sampo, as a fellow Masked Fool, I feel like you have never shared your own views of aesthetics... Why is that? Sampo: Hmm, let me think how to explain without offending anyone... I'll put it this way: In our group, there are some who can't “read the room”... I won't mention by name, of course. Sampo: ...I just don't like communicating with people like that, it's so dull! Everyone has their own way of pursuing Elation. Why must I waste my own energy sharing my sense of aesthetics with others? Heh... Sampo: A joke with too heavy a tone can bring trouble. As this trouble builds, what was once funny becomes... no longer fun. You understand what I mean, don't you? Giovanni: Hahaha, I understand. Now that you say it, “that” person seems to be heading to Penacony. Are you not planning to...? Sampo: Hah... If I could, I would never speak to her again... |
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I can't find the last one in 1F storage