You are a startup Datarunner contracted by The Hermits
You don't remember being born, but that's ok. Who'd want to remember such a messy traumatic ordeal anyways? But, on the other hand...not remembering how you got to this point at all is something you find a bit troublesome. It's like you were handed a clean slate, you're entranced, looking down at your left hand while standing near a bus stop, mid-day on a Thursday. The city whirls violently past you, but you are somewhat still and silent save for echoes of the fading rain's drops...The sky is clearing up, this feels like the first time you've seen the sun in....forever...? Concepts are vague and familiar, but you can't really recall particularities. A series of images revolving around the triggers 'blue' and 'mercy' seem to be looping in your head. You look up to the puffy little clouds rolling by in the sky at their slow, sated pace. Pigeons are pecking at specks of filth on nearby concrete corners. The adjacent building appears to be a blue-grayish church with ornate stained glass windows. They look somewhat dingy and opaque from outdoors. Some punk kid clad in dingy-black, patched up vest near the brick building's steps across the street is hassling passer-bys in an intoxicated and excited tone. He's yelling something about "Fuck Reagan" and "Anarchy." You overhear his blonde friend mention his name....it's James.
The look in his eyes are like atemporal mirrors reflecting a forgotten self. You spiral in a moment of reactive vertigo. A great sense of unfamiliar, limitless sorrow overwhelms you & is tinged with anger, but tempered by reason.
