DELIVERANCE

ignorance is not bliss, it is oblivion ☾

[hansungs]

whatever you say, whatever they say. i don’t give an uhh.

[neogun]

respect.

@neosaeyi during phase one of the power outage, in a vr pocket somewhere 

gun is an old soul. at least, in the way that he believes in writing things down with pen and paper, old wooden furniture passed down tens of generations with a story hidden in the scuffed varnish, and face-to-face interaction. it’s hard for his charm to permeate through pixelated text and virtual worlds, after all. and so, he doesn’t indulge in the wonders of tech for personal pleasure, but he appreciates its importance in modern culture, in the way everyone uses it to escape. he appreciates, also, the logistics behind it. creating with it. using it to keep everyone in the palm of his calloused hand. 

this is why he’s at a vr café near absolution the night of the power outage. research for his latest idea towards expansion. an improved, more immersive way for the depraved to view the more... self-indulgent memories he sells in hushed transactions. a way to make it feel like they’re really there, as if it’s their memory to keep. the odyssey has that way about it,  the perfect research subject, the epitome of escapism by living another life. and gun’s in the middle of silently observing other avatars interacting with the environment, the npc’s, when the facade of a fantasy world starts to break down around them. pixels breaking until there’s nothing but black for a split second, then a clearing. a blue sky and sun so bright he, or rather his spitting image of an avatar form, squints at the sudden emergence. 

it’s eerily quiet after the previous bustle of a fantasy city, a few birds chirping and the rustle of leaves in wind the only sounds he hears. that is, until he hears footsteps behind him and he turns quick, alert, confused. when his eyes land on an unfamiliar but unassuming avatar, he breathes, shoulders relaxing. “so, what is this, some sort of weird boss fight? i don’t play this game very often,” he says by way of greeting, half joking, a grin growing on his lips as he tacks on, “but if you’re the type of boss that shows up, maybe i should log on more.” 

[neogun]

trigger.

[neogun]

rua -- 

“well hurry up,” she tells him, gestures him inside and closes the door behind him. it whirs, beeps. the urge to  hide her face is there, but he knows. he always does. more than she herself, perhaps. every secret and sin she’s every wanted washed away - a burden he’s carried for her. “you picked a strange day to stop by. or do you really love the look of acne scars and eye bags?” she teases, laugh lines scrunching at the sides of her eyes as she takes down two glasses. a strange normalcy in the middle of this maelstrom.

rua is, in so many ways, different from his usual clientele. there’s the status, of course, and everything that comes with it. the fact that he has taesun usually keeping an eye out for any strange visitors trying to drop in while she’s down. the extra deadbolt lock he installed in the absolution room to silently reassure her. small courtesies he doesn’t bother to extend to most others. perhaps that’s why. she isn’t his other clientele. she doesn’t build him up as a figurehead, she doesn’t buy into the absolving of sins narrative. she sees it for what it is. a way to forget. a way to keep going.

it makes it easier to be just gun with her, build a real relationship not baked in niceties or words put on a pedestal, because he’s not a god to rua. she can’t even look at him, sometimes, while others have adoration in their eyes. like they’d follow him off a cliff if he said that’d release them from their sins. that’s why he tells her to take it easy, to not immediately drink. she knows how he works much like he knows all her secrets, her burdens, her sins, and the way she looks, feels even, when she takes that mask off. 

so, he brings her a drink because he knows. a whole bottle of his finest wine he swiped many years ago. and maybe for the first time in a while, their eyes meet. he smiles back, and follows after her. briefly turning to glance back at the lock despite the whirring confirmation. he makes himself at home, setting the bottle down on the table before sinking into the plush cushions of her couch for a moment. after countless hours sitting tense in absolution, it’s comforting. the tease in her voice is, too. he snorts, leaning forward to pick up the bottle and pop the cork off,  “you caught me, that’s just my type. it’s the only reason i let you come in so often.” 

he avoids acknowledging why he’s there now at such an odd time, nodding a small thanks instead when she hands him a glass. “have you seen how crazy it’s gotten out there?” he asks (means, ‘have you left your house at all after mods went down?’), pouring deep red liquid into her cup before his own. 

[neoyani]

haven.

[neogun]

yani --

“just the same as ever,” she admits, biting at her lip, as a worry grows in the back of her mind, twisting and twining like vines between her ribs. “worried about my plants though,” she adds helpfully, a frown on her lips. “how does your operation manage without power. are you going to lose data?”

half of him is relieved when she flicks his forehead like nothing’s changed. the other half twinges with old regret resurfacing. maybe he should listen to taesun, he considers briefly, maybe then he can fix everything with even more lies. for now, he tosses that thought to the side, and his relief settles in. slows the beat of his heart, quells the panic in his mind. pulls a grin that matches hers on his lips as he jests (lies), “don’t flatter yourself too much, i wanted to see if it broke and i’d be able to finally mine all of jinsol’s secrets out of there.” he snorts, and it seems like everything’s fine. she doesn’t remember, and that’s good, he reminds himself, it’s better this way. his shoulders relax, and then she continues.

in all his worry about yani, he hadn’t thought about that. his data. his mind picks up again, cogs turning at rapid speeds trying to recall the blueprints for his devices. had he put a failsafe on them? would it even matter if he did? the cause of the outage reads like more than just a system failure, and rather like an attack that gun can’t quite figure out the logistics of just yet. so, truthfully, he doesn’t have an answer. only more questions for himself, like what if his database, his machine were the targets all along? or would it be so bad if all the memories he’s taken from yani and sungki and taesun and rua be wiped from existence entirely? and --

he shrugs, betraying none of those thoughts to her, even as they continue to shoot off in his mind. “i shouldn’t, but even if i do it doesn’t matter. it’s only been a few hours and i already have people asking for appointments the moment power turns back on. so, i’ll just get new data and build it up again,” he answers instead, the only truth he’s sure of, “anything important from the old data has already been seen by those who need it anyway, or i’ve written them down- see, it pays to be ‘antiquated’ sometimes.” his grin slants as he finishes, stepping forward to look closer at the hybrid plant she’d been sketching. 

“you might want to try it yourself if your setup doesn’t start back up soon, you know, watering and caring for the plants individually?” he teases, a useless suggestion while his finger idly traces the edge of a leaf.

[neogun]

trigger.

@neoorua on the last day of the system failure, just before the city comes back to life

by tuesday night, gun almost thinks he can get used to this. the absence of technology. funny, because his livelihood is so reliant on it and customers have already run around to find him, frantic, wanting to book the first appointment available when the power comes back to erase the trauma they’ve suffered over the outage. and, unsurprisingly, he’s obliged happily. spoke them off the ledge, so to speak, when some asked him if the power would even come back at all, looking up at him like he would know. would have the answers. of course, he’d say. voice soothing, smile gentle, your sins will be forgiven soon. and that was that. another week, month even, booked. 

sometimes, it almost frightens him how easily it happens. 

other times, he drinks to that. like tonight. amber liquid filled a little too high in his glass as he sits in the darkness of absolution. with his detonators offline and cctv’s out of commission, he’s babysat the machine and his database for a better part of the blackout. paranoid as ever that someone might take this chance to riot, to loot, to destroy everything he’s clawed his way out of the gutter for. but after the umpteenth customer coming in frantically with scars evident on their face, no longer hidden by the magic of tech, his mind wanders to a different one. 

a face framed with dusty blue locks and tired, dark eyes. 

a face used to looking brighter, reliant on it. 

idly, he wonders how she’s handling it. then he wonders why he’s wondering. then he looks at the glass in his hands. then at a full bottle of wine in his glass cabinet. 

half an hour later, he’s at her door with that bottle in his hand. 

this is just a courtesy visit, he convinces himself. it’s how he built up his original clientele, charming them until they couldn’t resist. and it’s how he’s kept them to this day, rapport. building a sense that he cares about them, looks out for them when really, they’re just another name in his books. oh rua isn’t just a name, though, but he pretends she is. he compartmentalizes the same way he does when some pervert asks for the latest. 

and he does so now, shutting that part of him out, the businessman. knocking at her door as just gun. smiling something small when she answers warily, eyes avoiding his like they’re back at absolution and no amount of hot water can wash her regret away quite like gun can. still, he tries to get their attention, holds the wine bottle up close to his face and gives it a little wave. “i owe you a drink,” he says by way of greeting, “for all those times i denied you one. it’s been quite a few days since your last wipe, so i’m sure it’s safe to drink now.” 

[neoyani]

haven.

[neogun]

yani --

the green house is quiet. she doesn’t really have anything to do, and she can’t really tell, when the final phase sets in. there’s nothign to give her a clue that the world has been plunged further into chaos. lacking in modifications herself, she’s wrapped up rather peacefully in botanical sketches of the latest hybrid plant she’s bred into existence, has been carefully nurturing. it sits in front of her, with curling leaves and a fuzzed stem, and is the object of her entire focus when gun comes crashing into the room like a man possessed, grabs her by the shoulders and yanks her around on top of her stool to face him. she blinks up at him skeptical and owlish. “can i fucking help you, weirdo?”

this is the thing about relying so heavily on technology, it can shut down at any moment. gun could get up on his high horse and say this is why he lacks in modifications, or why the ones he does have are all non-essential. but that would be willfully ignoring absolution. the way he makes a living. the reason anyone in this selfish city cares about him at all. isn’t that, in its own way, an augmentation? it’s this line of thinking that prompts gun to run out of afterlife, nimbly slipping through the bodies of people the moment cybernetics shut down. he gives theo the excuse that absolution and his machine are left unguarded, and maybe that’s true, but his mind wanders elsewhere and his feet follow until the greenhouse comes into view. 

memories can be erased, but how permanent is it? 

they can be implanted, too, but how sturdy are they in a system failure? 

these are things gun never thought to test, and as he slams the door open, breath heavy, mind frantic and overloaded trying to think two, three, a hundred steps ahead, he’s worried to find out. and as he’s met with puzzled eyes and an ambiguous greeting, his heart fails to slow, every beat louder in the quiet of the greenhouse. her question goes ignored while his grip tightens and his eyes stare, trying to find any signs of contempt in hers, any signs of remembering. when he finds nothing, he catches his breath and releases it with relief. loosens his grip and manages a rasp, “yeah.” a beat passes, and another, and he’s uncharacteristically speechless. great. 

he clears his throat, letting go of her completely to swipe a finger underneath his nose and jam his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. “everyones crazy rubbed off on me on my way here,” he starts again with a half-assed grin, an attempt to explain away his behavior, “cybernetics went down too, and some people just don’t know how to function.” 

his eyes stay trained on hers, still searching, half hoping for any semblance of what used to be there before the indifference he inflicted on himself. nothing there, of course. but he fishes anyway, questions casually, “but i guess you don’t feel any different, huh?” 

[neotaesun-deactivated20200306]

RECONFIGURE

[neogun]

taesun --

his arm’s jerked up, like there’s too much energy buzzing underneath his skin. the drink sloshes, nearly crashes over the edge. he takes another sip before sliding it noisily onto the table. “it’s not like you’re doing anything all that meaningful right now anyway.” as far as taesun’s aware, it’s most of the same old. given enough time, and taesun gets bored. “i’ll even let you test it on me, a willing guinea pig.” he smiles, and it’s the picture of charismatic.

taesun is, to put it frankly, annoying. irritating. aggravating. and all synonyms in between. at least to gun. who has, for reasons unknown to even himself, known him for far too many years. maybe that feeds into it too, the years between them, that fostered sense of brotherhood making him feel like the annoying sibling he never asked for. and despite his gripes, it works, they work. he appreciates taesun’s presence (most of the time) and the business he brings into absolution. they know each other well enough that gun can sense his 'suggestion’ coming as he holds his empty glass out. gun obliges silently, bottle clinking against the cup as he moves to pour, then he braces himself. takes a sip from his own glass and stares down at the liquid swirling as he turns his glass absently. 

his first answer is a groan the moment taesun starts his pitch. gun’s been running out of ways to beat around the bush, to lie himself out of why he refuses. “we’ve already been over this taesun,” he mutters uselessly while the other continues rattling on. his grip around his glass tightens, memories flooding back the more taesun speaks. old prototypes gone terribly, terribly wrong. he could just tell him the truth, and he has considered this. telling him just to rid himself of the burden, then knocking him out, making him forget right after. 

but, he resists. and he does so tonight, too, grip loosening, eyes finding taesun’s curiously when his snap fills the room. he grins back despite himself, and snorts, leaning forward to set his elbow down on the table. “alright, alright, i’ll humor you,” as gun always does to begin with, pointing his glass towards taesun, “let’s say i do it, yeah? i make the prototype, i test it out on my willing guinea pig, it works and you now think i saved your life. i’m now your hero and savior. cool.” he holds his hand up before taesun can protest and takes another sip before setting his glass down, lips straightening as he shifts. 

“but how exactly do you propose we implant fake memories into every single government worker? we can’t just do it to one or two or a few, they’ll catch on or it just causes more issues and that memory becomes useless,” he finishes, excuses pulled from thin air, but good enough. 

“and i don’t want to give them any ideas, what happens if they turn around and do the same to us? it’s dangerous tech, tae, more harmful than good.” 

[xxxxneojinsol]

black magic.

[neogun]

neojinsol --

jinsol blinks slow, and his eyes sting from the smoke. it reminds him to take another drag. “any exciting new clients?” jinsol asks around an exhale. because while he’s protective of his own memories, he doesn’t have the same consideration for others. has his own techniques to squirrel out truths from brains, even if he can’t rob someone of them completely. but gun doesn’t know that. jinsol doesn’t think he needs to know it. he’s interested though, in other peoples secrets. mostly just to keep in mind for his own self-interest.

the afterlife is like home. for many in elysium, sure, but especially for someone like gun. it’s fitting, he’s sure many would say, for a demon like him. the haze of smoke, the stench of alcohol, how it’s the perfect breeding ground for sin that begs to be forgotten as the sun comes up. it’s comforting in a way that it almost shouldn’t be, like the bitter taste he sips from his glass, fire coating the back of his throat. he’s grown immune to the taste, to the loud thumping of bass — and to jinsol’s eyes on him, friendly enough but guarded, even after years of friendship, years of scratching each other’s back when it benefits themselves. symbiotic, simple. he appreciates jinsol in that way, but even gun thinks twice before popping anything concoted by him into his mouth.

he dodges his question too, like gun does. by shrugging and blowing out his own cloud of smoke, one long exhale before he jests, “oh yeah, very exciting. got another small wave of scorned lovers and some guy wanting to forget his addiction to some drug.”  he snorts, picking up his glass and swirling it for no good reason but to have something to do with his hands, adding flatly, “didn’t have the heart to tell him that’s not exactly how it works.” 

a beat passes between his non-answer and him shifting, sitting up, leaning forward to rest crossed arms on the dirty wooden table. “you know who would be an actual interesting client, though?” he starts again, grin tilted and telling. he’s sure jinsol knows before gun even gestures his cigarette towards him, answering his own question, “you would.” they’ve gone down this road many times now, and the end never changes. jinsol’s as guarded, paranoid, stubborn as he is -- and, still, he always asks, if only to annoy for entertainment. 

tonight, he asks for fun of it, for that look on jinsol’s features (and maybe more importantly, for the opportunity to steer the conversation elsewhere). so he retreats quick, leaning back in his chair with a grin still on his face. waving his hand dismissively towards the blonde head of hair before him, “i know, i know what you’re gonna say, but ’m just saying. i’m sure there’s some stuff in that tortured head of yours you want to forget. everyone’s got something.”

[neoorua-blog]

spotless mind.

[neogun]

neoorua --

“don’t scold me, i know,” she grumbles, easily dismissing his standard patter, “your bedside manner is terrible. you should at least give me a cool cloth or something.” she complains for the sake of filling an uncomfortable silence that prompts her heart to a rapid fire. swallows hard against the threat of a scream. she can’t place it’s origin but it lingers in her throat, like she’d been pulled out of a nightmare abruptly. “is this ever going to get easier?”

gun doesn’t do pity. 

he’s not accepting of it towards him from others, nor doling it out for anyone else. it’s a useless feeling, not worth the energy it takes. not in elysium where everyone has a sob story and pieces that need mending or are sold off for a semblance of bliss. 

but there’s something about oh rua. 

both different and all too common, familiar. in his business, he’s no stranger to dim eyes and lost voices, but rua’s strikes harder. vibrant blue hues fading to nothing, eyes losing their shine the moment he see’s them. he knows oh rua in ways many can only dream of, human, vulnerable, desperate to forget. it’s then when pity nags in the far corners of his mind, makes him wonder, reconsider.

but in the end, his lips curve. a small, professional smile before he counts her down, watches as her eyes shut and body stills. 

because gun doesn’t do pity, he does business. and no subtle guilt tugging at his chest will stop him from selling her memories to his most depraved customers. she doesn’t want them anyway. is all too willing to let them go and pretend, so what does it matter? he smiles again as she wakes, but it’s crooked, comfortable, easy while he answers, “no.”  he waves her hands away, pulling the remaining sensors off her temples as he starts with his standard reply, banter they’ve gone over time and again, “but hey, be my guest, anything in my cupboard’s open to you if you really want to thro--” she cuts him off just as he’s gesturing towards his office, stepping back to give her room to leave. 

when she doesn’t move, he snorts, dismissing her just as easy while he flicks a switch to straighten the chair, “yeah, yeah, it’s coming. didn’t realize i wiped all your patience, too.” he turns toward the metal cabinets behind her, grabbing a cloth and running it under cool water, lips straightening now out of her view. wringing the cloth, water drips into the metal sink, filling a quick beat of silence. “i don’t know,” he answers, more truthfully than normal. turns to dab the cloth on her forehead a few times before handing it to her.

“but it probably doesn’t help that it’s your, what, third, fourth? time here this week alone,” he adds, voice a little too easy, too light for the heavy implications behind his words. his eyes land on hers, lingering, and still she avoids him. he breathes out slow, arms crossing when he leans back against the counter, “you know i’ll do it regardless, but i’ve told you before to take some breaks in between” (a warning he hasn’t extended to any other frequent patrons). 

[neoyani]

oneiric

[neogun]

neoyani --

the interior is dimly lit, in a way that speaks of smoke and quiet, cloaks him in a strange haze. like she’s looking at him through tinted, clouded glass.  it has you wanting to look closer, deeper. or at least, that’s the way it seems to go for her. she taps her fingers against the top of her leg, glancing askance at him, shifting to slouch against to his chair, slumping down against the plush fabric, “you’re a terrible host, anyway, you should offer me a drink or something.” she instructs, brows arching as she tacks on a quick, “i know you’ve got booze in here.”

lee yani rises something out of him that gun can’t quite put his finger on. or perhaps he can, but tries not to. it’s how he operates, after all, the avoidance of inconvenient truths. purposeful ignorance like the faux salvation he offers in this hazy room. 

it started with the rosiness of her cheeks when they first met, that something, and he pushed it away in favor of teaching her how to bait with tears, how to swipe undetected, how to hide in plain sight. you can’t taint the already tainted anyway, he remembered then, and remembers now. even when he still see’s it in her eyes as she barges into his office and all he does is raise an eyebrow at her. unsurprised, unbothered. seemingly. “he has my number, he can tell me himself,” he counters jokingly, closing the notebook he’d been writing in beforehand and slipping it into a locked drawer. it’s an old practice of days past, fitting with the archaic decor of his own office, but gun knows better than most not to trust any technology with valuable information.

“you know you don’t need to lie if you just wanted to see my face,” he teases, a tilted grin growing on his lips, pen flipping between his fingers “door’s always open for you.” and maybe that part’s not just a joke, but no one would know it by the way he clicks his pen instead of his tongue and throws her a playful wink. he follows with an airy snort and sets the pen down onto his desk, wooden, dark mahogany, before pushing away from it and standing. “but sure, i’ll reach out to him later,” he adds like an afterthought, heading over to the liquor cabinet standing tall behind his desk. it’s the same finish as his desk, dark wood that speaks of older times, holding liquor just as old from whiskey to cognac to rum to beer to a variation of wine and more. 

a collection he’s gathered over the years and keeps more for show, but gestures towards now as he turns to face her, answers, tone light despite the deep of his voice, “i’m not a host, you invited yourself.” and, still, he opens the cabinet and reaches for two empty glasses, exaggerates, “but i insist, pick your poison.” 

[neogun]

hey hey! i’m super excited so let me just jump right into it and give you a quick rundown on gun: he’s hermes aka the sin eater aka the absolver aka probably many other names i’m sure. he does have a bit of magic that just makes him appear like absurdly charismatic regardless of what he says while you’re in his presence. so, ykno. that’s fun. it’s certainly helped him con his way through life anyway, and definitely helps him sell his memory erasing (and sorta kinda stealing and selling, but that’s neither here nor there) business for the past 2 years. if there’s anything your muse has ever wanted to forget, there’s a very good chance they’ve come across him, or if there’s any.. information your muse was willing to pay for, there’s also a very good chance he’s told you about his little side gig. so, yeah. that’s him in a nutshell. 

i don’t have many open plots, but i did put up the three potential connections i wrote for the app on my connections page! while those were written with specific canons in mind, we can definitely adjust them to fit your muse better if you’re interested in a plot. additionally, if your canon is on there and you don’t like the idea or had something else in mind, don’t worry, we 100% don’t need to use mine! let’s just chat and plot and have some fun!! 

anyway, that got longer than intended so i’m gonna stop here and just leave links below. please hit the like button if you wanna plot and i’ll hit you up! can’t wait to get things started with yallll 

-- profile / bio / connections

[soracities]

My eyes are like his / watching the night bleed…

Ocean Vuong, from ‘My Father Writes From Prison’, Night Sky With Exit Wounds

[dasisugarun]

[neogun]

Hermes: I’ll admit I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I’m not proud of. No, no, that’s not true, I’m proud of most of them.