Port Podesta
Present
The streets have lost all familiarity. Illusions piece the city back together like a mosaic made of memory shards.
Under the Sefirah's influence, Port Podesta has been dragged into a collage of nostalgic fragments.
...Wynne!
Leia tries to charge into the illusory bubbles, but a pulse of blue energy throws her back.
Tch! No use, I can't get through!
You have tried multiple times now. No matter what you do, the civilians lost in the illusions remain beyond reach.
Ophelia carries Helentine carefully down the steps and rests her against a wall that still seems steady.
The Understanding Sefirah has dragged all of Port Podesta into an illusory world.
Every person here is lost in a dream of their own, reunited with whoever they most long to see.
What sustains it all is the Understanding Sefirah's manipulation of the Punishing Virus, combined with people's memories and their impressions of the "past."
Then we...
You're not from here. The Understanding Sefirah can't find a place for you in Port Podesta's reconstruction. Right now, we're caught in the gap between reality and the domain of Understanding.
Any outside interference gets filtered as noise inside that space. A faint ripple is the most we can manage.
These bubbles are held together by people's own memories and emotions. Anything that doesn't belong just registers as static in the dream.
I suppose you've seen my sister's memories already...
I'm not like the dead the Punishing Virus conjures. Years ago, to save my sister, my father and I severed part of my consciousness and used it to fill the gaps in her M.I.N.D.
The missing part of me was replaced by the "Understanding" Sefirah's proxy calculation unit. But eventually, the Sefirah and I began rejecting each other. To keep Port Podesta from catastrophe, I ended my own life.
A fragment of my data remained preserved inside the "Understanding" Sefirah. But for reasons I still can't explain... that fragment escaped the Tidal Hub and became "Ophelia".
Wait, wait, wait... I'm lost. Are you saying you're literally part of the Sefirah?
Mm.
Then what am I made of? Is that what you're asking?
Ophelia bows her head and gently sweeps a stray strand of hair from Helentine's temple.
When I first opened my eyes, I was lying in some alley in the rain. I was terrified. Everything around me felt completely foreign. I ran, and on instinct, I called my sister.
Yes. As for the rest, I don't know any more than you do. But from what this body remembers of the Sefirah and the Tidal Hub... it all seems to lead back to an "agent."
That agent painted a beautiful enough future for my father. But I could tell there were others, too, scheming something in Port Podesta, just out of sight...
Short, purple hair, in a wheelchair. And it wasn't his real body.
Wait, I thought Lithos was always an Ascendant...?
The Veil Rain project can sustain this city's dream. But to keep it going, or expand it, they need more data. And that means more people swallowed by the Punishing Virus.
She raises her head and takes in the city that's shaking violently through the roar.
This mechanical whale was abandoned years ago. It ran out of fuel. If it's moving now, it can only be the Sefirah's doing.
What about affecting the Sefirah from the outside? Is that even possible?
...My father's method relies on the collective consciousness of the people. He uses it to recreate the past, then manifests it through the Punishing Virus.
Which means people's consciousness is part of what shapes the Understanding Sefirah's output.
But there are so many of these bubbles... how are we supposed to reach them all one by one?
Your gaze moves past the streets and into the layered illusions pressing in on one another. Buildings from different decades, streets that belong to separate years, all bleeding together through folded light and misplaced silhouettes.
And in the middle of all this chaos, you notice something that is not changing.
A tower. No matter how the eras shift around it, it stays exactly where it has always been.
Remember? We're in the gap between the Understanding Sefirah's domain and reality.
Port Podesta itself might have something that can reach everyone... Look.
From the Golden Age. It's been abandoned for years, but because of everything that has happened to the city, it's still functional.
Back then, there was no divide between the port and the city. The tower's signal connected everyone.
That tower exists in every Port Podesta resident's dream, because it once belonged to all of them.
Ophelia answers with a slight nod.
I get it. We storm the Tidal Hub, right?
You give her a nod.
I'll stay with her.
When she wakes up, I'll explain everything and catch up with you as soon as I can.
The signal tower isn't far, but the layout of Port Podesta has shifted.
Let them guide you in my place.
She claps her hands, and a few round, odd-looking creatures come hopping out from the city's dark corners.
These are Port Podesta's Huhus. Follow them, and they'll get you to the tower.
Ophelia leans down and murmurs something to the Huhus.
The octopus-like creatures gesture in reply, but their tentacles are so stubby that the motions look utterly comical.
Whoa! What the heck are these little guys?!
They used to be the most popular artificial pets in the TEC. The streets are a mess right now; they know them better than you do.
Alright, let's go!
Port Podesta Tidal Hub
Meanwhile
Tavis' eyes are fixed on the surveillance display.
Ophelia...
A short pause. Then he changes the view, tracking the silhouettes moving toward the signal tower.
It's not time yet to wake up from the dream...
He taps the panel. The command goes out, and the streets surrounding the signal tower stir like something startled from hibernation.
Red light flares in the projections' eyes. Mechanoids that should lie dead begin to spasm, limbs twisting and convulsing against the ground.
They do not wear the gentle faces of the revived.
!!!
Near the Signal Tower
I thought the projections here were not hostile!
Corrupted burst from the crimson downpour, blades aimed straight at the two of you as you run.
RAAAARGH—!
The wall buckles inward, leaving a cratered dent. But more Corrupted are already crawling from the dust and smoke.
Their claws scratch against the ground, their movements still clumsy and slow.
The Huhu in your arms points toward the roadside. It's a motorcycle.
Why are there so many Corrupted here?!
Leia vaults onto the roadside motorcycle in one swift motion. She tests the ignition, and to her surprise, the engine catches.
Commandant, Huhu, hop on!
Huhu, lead the way!
The projections and mechanoids massing around you grow more numerous by the second.
Understood!
The motorcycle plows through half the roller shutter. The front end buckles on impact, and the brutal recoil almost lifts the entire bike off the ground.
Your body goes light for a split second before gravity hammers you back into the seat.
The Huhu clings to the rear of the bike in terror, its round body squashing flat in the wind.
Your vision blacks out briefly. The crash leaves only a sharp ringing in your ears.
You okay?
You tuck the Huhu beneath you, shielding it with your body.
The Huhu springs from your arms, its stubby tentacles jabbing upward.
The Huhu nods and scuttles over to the dead elevator, bouncing up to hit the button for the eighth floor.
Behind you, Corrupted are already massing beyond the shattered roller door.
[player name], you go to the control room.
Someone's gotta keep these things busy down here. If they crash your broadcast halfway through, this whole plan's shot.
Don't worry about me. I can hold the line for a while.
Then get moving, [player name]!
Without hesitation, you turn and bolt for the stairs.
The Huhu bounces ahead, and the overhead lights flicker on one by one, revealing the crumbling steps in the dark stairwell.
The stairwell shakes violently as the terrain shifts. Dust pours from above. You steady yourself against the wall and push higher.
Port Podesta City Communications Control Room
Eighth Floor
Inside, dozens of screens glow at once. Ancient dust drifts through the air, floating above the false illusions playing across the monitors.
On the surveillance feeds, you can see even Leia fighting the Corrupted. Another screen shows Wynne, still lost in her illusion back at the office.
You draw a deep breath. All or nothing now. You reach for the broadcast microphone on the main console.
No time to hesitate or prepare. You must rely on instinct and experience alone for what you are about to say.
Your voice floats across Port Podesta, echoing through every distinct illusion across the city.
Port Podesta Docks
Before the Atlantic Calamity
The port hums with industry. Rollers turn in the cargo bays. Workers fit metal plates into ship hulls, each piece locking home in seamless rhythm.
Around them, the docks are a symphony of welding sparks, swinging booms, and hoarse shouts. On the horizon, the Atlantic Eye spreads its outer shell across the water like a giant iron shell catching the light.
Crassus balances on the repair scaffold, chewing an energy bar, a checklist creased in his grip.
Crassus! Port thruster readings are off!
I know! It's been sitting since yesterday! Let me finish the electrical diagnostics first, then I'll get to it!
Put your side on hold and go help the other crew! They're falling behind!
I've got this ship covered on my own.
Got it. Good luck, man.
Crassus stoops down, digging a multimeter from his kit, and reaches toward the exposed wiring.
From the side, a hand extends toward him, a bottle held out in quiet offering.
Thanks.
He glances back. A young woman is half-kneeling on the other end of the rig.
Thanks for your work, Crassus.
Helentine? What brings you here? Weren't you handling the supply contracts yesterday?
Already sorted. I sat through a whole afternoon of meetings, got the contract signed, and came straight back.
I asked around, and they said you were shorthanded over here. But it looks like... you were planning to just power through it alone again.
I brought drinks for everyone. Here.
Crassus unscrews the cap and tips the bottle back, swallowing hard. His breath leaves him in a slow, heavy sigh.
Thanks... I've gotta get this ship wrapped up today, and there's still a mountain of work left.
Then I'd say I came to the right place. What do you need me to do?
When you put it like that, I almost feel bad asking.
Crassus bites off the last piece of his energy bar.
If you really want to help, check the electrical conduits over there.
A crane inches overhead, dragging the huge shadow of the ship's hull across them both.
The sea breeze stirs together the smells of engine oil, saltwater, and scorched metal from the welding torches. It is the scent of that era, the one he remembers.
When does this ship launch?
A few more days. Once I wrap up maintenance and she passes one more round of testing, we hand her over. Client's been pushing hard.
No wonder you've been so buried. You're racing a deadline.
Almost there. Just gotta push through a little longer. Not like there's anyone else to do it.
He flips the checklist in his hand to the next page.
A sudden broadcast blares over the speakers, cutting their conversation short. The audio quality is abysmal, and only fragments of the message are intelligible.
Port Podesta is currently... Constellia...
A faint dissonance tugs at him.
He remembers that Constellia in this era should still be...
This era?
A vague unease rises. He drains the rest of his drink and jams the empty bottle into a gap in the scaffolding.
Your old man's doing again? If he's gonna set something up, he could at least make it work right.
I don't know. He never mentioned it to me.
Would it kill him to just play some music? Every day it's speeches, announcements... who even listens?
Crassus keeps his head down, logging valve readings.
Hey, let's talk about something good. I'm taking three days off starting tomorrow.
My daughter's birthday. Gotta take her out somewhere, show her a good time.
Three days? That's barely anything.
Project's on a tight schedule. Honestly, I'm lucky I even got three approved.
Besides, I'm practically part of the furniture around here at this point. Can't just walk away when things get busy, right?
If I took real time off, the whole supply chain would probably grind to a halt.
The new kids still can't figure out half the repairs. So I cover what they can't handle. Long road ahead of them. Might as well help where I can.
You've earned a break. Where are you planning to take her?
She's been going on and on about Constellia. Honestly, I don't even know what's so great about the place. But that's what she wants.
Far off, the port speakers persist, spitting syllables through static, the message arriving in tatters.
Can't win an argument with her, so... sigh. I work on ships all day, and now I'm spending my vacation around more ships.
You really do spoil her.
Helentine's hands never stop. She works through the instrument panel, the pressure valves, checking each item in sequence. Her section of the pipeline is already done.
How are you this fast?!
I'm trying to get you out of here on time, Crassus. We've got to finish this ship today, don't we?
You're something else...
When you get back, will the ship be ready to launch?
Yeah. Timing works out perfectly.
Should be all set by the time I'm back...
The two of them walk to the ship's railing and look out at the horizon. The sea glows an unnaturally vivid red beneath the sun.
Stranger still, a mirage hangs above the water.
It's a ruined city.
It looks old and abandoned. Plaster has fallen from the walls, and moss seeps through the cracks in the foundations.
Something about it feels familiar to Crassus, and yet not quite. He has seen it somewhere before, but he cannot place where.
His mind drifts for a moment. In the distance, the broadcast grows louder and noisier.
Hey! Crassus! Need a hand? We finished up over here!
Sure! Check the port-side seals for me!
Crassus tugs his work cap into place and shouts back.
I'm pulling more guys. You pick up the pace, too. Just holler if you need backup!
Sure thing!
Plenty of work to go around!
In the distance, the ruined city drifting on the sea edges just slightly closer toward him.
Crassus does not remember how he got home that day.
When he walks through the door, his wife has just come back from the grocery store. She drops the bags on the table, slips off her coat, and heads for the kitchen, talking to him over her shoulder as she goes.
You're home early. Don't they need you at the shipyard?
For once, yeah. Someone came by and lent a hand, so I actually got off on time. You're home early too, though. Wasn't there some big inspection at the Atlantic Eye?
That wrapped up days ago. You've just been getting home so late we haven't had a chance to talk.
Well, since you're here early, come help with dinner. No standing around.
The two of them put the groceries away. They haven't even settled onto the sofa before they're already discussing what to cook for dinner.
The faucet runs, and soon the sound of meal prepping fills the kitchen. Crassus tosses his coat over the back of a chair, rolls up his sleeves, and steps in to help with familiar ease.
Tomatoes are yours.
I already cleaned the fish, but give it another pass. Scrape off any scales I missed.
Fish again? I eat it every day at the port cafeteria. Honestly, that's the one downside of living here. I'm sick of fish.
Fish is good for the kids' brains. They need it.
By that logic, everyone living by the sea should be a genius. Oh! That explains why my Larene got picked for Dominik's project—
Oh, stop it. Just get back to the food...
His wife smiles and gives him a playful eye roll.
Crassus grunts in response and presses the fish down on the cutting board, head bent low as he scrapes off the last of the scales. Silvery bits cling to the back of his hand before the water carries them away.
On the other side of the kitchen, his wife chops tomatoes, the knife striking the board in a steady, even rhythm. The pan is already on the heat, the oil beginning to shimmer. A warm, familiar scent slowly fills the room.
Hey, where's Enid? Still at school? Are you getting her later?
She got out ages ago. I've told you, no classes on Friday afternoons.
Where is she then?
Downstairs playing. Didn't you see her when you came in?
She dug up part of the flower bed the other day, too. Said she wanted to plant some seeds she found.
Ah, let her be...
She slides the chopped tomatoes into the pan. The hot oil hisses, and the sweet, tangy scent blooms through the kitchen.
DING-DONG—
DING-DONG, DING-DONG, DING-DONG—
Alright, alright! Enough with the doorbell!
Daddy, look! I picked flowers!
Enid stands in the doorway, shoes and trousers flecked with mud. Her knees are caked especially thick, as if she has just tumbled down a grassy slope.
Yet cradled in her arms, held with grave importance, is a huge, chaotic bouquet of wildflowers. Yellows, whites, pale purples, all jumbled together with stems of every length. Blades of grass and unplucked twigs are still tangled among the blooms.
How do you get this dirty every time? Look at your clothes!
But look at the flowers! Aren't they pretty?
Yes, yes, very pretty. Now go change.
No! I have to give them to Mommy first!
Before anyone can stop her, she is already on tiptoe, rushing into the kitchen.
Look, Mommy! This white one's the prettiest. This yellow one smells really nice. And this purple one! There was only one growing downstairs!
She says it with absolute sincerity, as though offering a gift of great importance.
Oh, they're beautiful! But Mommy's cooking right now, sweetie. Put them in the vase, okay?
As the flowers slip into the water, a delicate scent of wild grass and blossoms slowly fills the room.
Standing by the entryway, Crassus finds himself drifting off for a moment.
He remembers this bouquet... Somewhere, at some point, he has seen it before. Smelled this exact fragrance.
Outside, the broadcast still plays, and the words seem just a little clearer now.
Shape the future of Port Podesta... with your own hands...
Reality... right before your eyes...
Reality? Isn't it just this, right here before his eyes?
Distracted, he slices a tomato. The knife slips.
A small wound opens on his finger, and the drop of blood melds into the tomato's red without distinction.
Just like every other evening that will never come back.
What's wrong, Crassus?
Nothing. Just my mind playing tricks.
In the editorial office beneath the signal tower, the staff is unusually restless today.
Sunlight slants through the blinds and falls across stacks of proofs on the desks, catching the still-wet ink in a faint gleam.
Outside the window, the signal tower stands across from the office, its summit indicator glowing red. Together with the old buildings around, it forms the skyline Wynne sees every time she looks up from her desk.
Wynne sits at her desk, the computer screen glowing. A half-written article waits on the last period, cursor blinking.
The citywide broadcast that erupted today has rattled her concentration. Writing has become nearly impossible.
Already irritable, she slips on her headphones, hoping the music will calm her. But her mind refuses to settle.
Half an hour passes. She has written only a handful of words, each one deleted and rewritten until she no longer knows what she is trying to say.
Her mind drifts as she stares at the draft. Strange thoughts about Port Podesta rush in, visions of the city's future, apocalyptic disasters, all of it absurd.
Wynne. Chief wants to see you.
Alright, I'll head over in a bit.
She walks over to the editor's desk. The stale smoke woven into his clothes makes her pull back slightly.
He looks older now, weathered, but that sharp, youthful energy still burns behind his eyes.
Sit.
That piece you wrote yesterday turned out pretty well.
"Port Podesta's Golden Age Dream." We ran three printings yesterday alone. Solid numbers.
Port Podesta... Golden Age... Dreams?
The headline strikes Wynne as odd, but she cannot identify where the feeling comes from.
Thank you, Chief.
And that interview with Helentine you did a while back is not bad either. Even if it did stir up some talk around town...
As the chief editor lists these things, an odd feeling of unfamiliarity creeps over her.
From what she remembers, he never used to talk this way.
Point is... your stuff has been consistently good lately.
I've been thinking. How about putting you in charge of our next headline? What do you say?
Or maybe you'd rather cover the signal tower? The radio station needs content too.
A sudden swell of emotion tightens her throat at the praise. Compliments from the chief editor are a rare thing.
Chief... I thought you...
What? Don't look at me like that. I push you hard most days, and now I say something honest and you go all emotional.
That whole thing you did for Professor Liston, whipping up public support like that. It was chaos. Anyone else would've packed it in, but you pushed that story through anyway.
At least you've still got some fight in you about what real journalism should be.
...
Truth is, I've always respected that. Otherwise I would've killed every one of those pieces a long time ago.
Look. Reality's too harsh for most people. But you slap "Golden Age" on the cover, and they'll line up to buy it.
The truth doesn't really matter. Look at the sales numbers.
Ah, forget it. Let's not get into all that. Come on, time to celebrate your success.
The editor pulls a bottle and two small glasses from his drawer with practiced ease, as if he has done this many times before.
She accepts the glass, a little overwhelmed. In the hazy light, the front page of the newspaper on the desk gleams almost painfully bright.
"Golden Age Dream"?
Hey... Chief? What year is it again?
Ahh, why bring that up now? We're having a good time.
Right, this is a happy occasion. No need to get hung up on the details.
The news, when you think about it, is just a dream factory.
Signal Tower - Lower Level
Port Podesta
That's... a lot of them. This could get rough.
Leia plants a foot on the overturned front desk and launches herself backward.
Red light pours through the breach in pulsing waves.
Hiss!
She sidesteps the first claw, but the second grazes her arm, tearing through the synthetic skin.
The tip of her light whip snaps out and coils around the projection's neck. Using the edge of the front desk for leverage, she wrenches it back and slams the creature into the stone pillar opposite her.
Nngh—
The broadcast's voice carries across all of Port Podesta.
She grits her teeth and forces herself back up, slicking the stray hair from her forehead.
Right now, all I can do is...
Leia pauses briefly, then gives a short shake of her head.
[player name]...
Control Room
Port Podesta
But right now, that doesn't matter. I know what you're facing.
A person. Maybe a dinner table. Maybe a street you haven't walked in years.
Whatever it is, I understand. It's what you want to see most right now.
I'm not going to lie and tell you those things aren't real.
They're real to you.
And I have no right to tell you those visions shouldn't exist.
But there's something I have to say.
Right now, Port Podesta is drowning in illusions born from the Punishing Virus.
The world you're experiencing can only keep going by consuming human lives.
If this continues, you'll become part of it too.
Port Podesta, this city built on a mechanical creature... is heading toward land.
Toward Constellia.
When it reaches shore, the corruption will spread outward from there.
The people on land are no different from you.
They have people they want to see. Words they never got to say. But they don't know they're about to become fuel for the Punishing Virus.
Please. Look outside. Look at Port Podesta. Look at what's happening right now.
Tavis lied to you. What you are seeing now is not reality.
Reality is cruel. It stings. It's barren...
But it's exactly because of that harshness that I believe reality can push us toward something better. Something good.
...
The future only moves forward when we let go of the past.
And it moves forward through your actions. Right here. Right now.
This shouldn't be where your lives end. And it shouldn't be the end of Port Podesta—
BOOM. A violent tremor cuts your words short.
The shaking climbs from the ground floor all the way to the eighth. It has to be from Leia's fight with the Corrupted below.
The monitors show Port Podesta's condition... and it has not improved.
Somewhere
Port Podesta
Ophelia rests one hand on Helentine's wrist while the other gently smooths a lock of hair away from the pillow.
Outside the window, the broadcast continues.
"This shouldn't be where your lives end. And it shouldn't be the end of Port Podesta..."
Taking in the scenery around her, Ophelia pauses for a moment to think.
I've waited so long for this day... Helentine.
I told myself that even if you never wake up, I'd be content just staying by your side.
But now...
She looks out the window. Through the broken buildings, the distant line of the ocean horizon is just barely visible.
The grand, illusory dream goes on.
It seems... there's no other way.
Allow me one more time. Just this once. It's the only chance I'll ever have.
Ophelia leans down and rests her forehead gently against the back of Helentine's hand.
A faint, fragile smile crosses her lips before her eyes shut.
She steps into the blue light.
