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Looking at the semicircle of mannequins, you feel a shudder running through your entire body. You can practically hear them congratulating you, showering you with smug applause even as the fake smiles twist their faces. How did the Phalaris feel? How would ANYONE feel?
Without a moment's more thought, you march across to the piles of discarded mannequins and start searching for a suitable furious expression. Pushing aside countless puppets with idiotic grins, you finally spot what you're looking for – buried under a pile of broken toys, you see a face twisted with rage. Wading in, you start methodically moving the mannequins aside as you dig for your treasure. The others remain at the entrance, watching you with cautious, curious eyes.
“No no, don't all rush to help me,” you mutter to yourself, “There's no need. I've got this all... Shit!”
The curse blurts from your lips as one of the mannequins convulses at your touch, the previously slack jaw snapping at the empty air like a vice. Recoiling back, you waste no time in bringing the heel of your boot down on the mannequin's skull. Your first stamp dents the skull, while the second causes it to cave in completely. Gasping for breath, you step back and watch with distaste as murky fluids leak from the mannequin's shattered skull. Why would a puppet... bleed?
You're not sure if you want to know the answer to that, actually. It might only make things worse.
Kicking aside the limp body, you finally reach your target. Fumbling with the clasp, you pull the raging mask free and carry it back to the faceless mannequin. Putting the mask into place, you step back and wait.
“Ah, anger. Is there anyone here who doesn't feel anger burning within them?” the voice ask, “I think not. You, oracle, who labours under the weight of impossible expectations. You, soldier, who was helpless to stop his friends walking to their deaths. Should I continue?”
“That won't be necessary,” you call back, watching with some unease as Usik's hands ball into fists, “Perhaps we could hurry this along?”
“So impatient!” the voice scolds, although the door opens nonetheless.
Alina scuttles towards the opening door, with the other Galseans following soon after her. Elle starts to follow, then glances back towards you. “Isambard?” she asks, “Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing. Well, yes. Everything about this place is wrong,” you admit, shaking your head, “I just need a moment to gather my thoughts. Go on ahead, I'll catch up in a minute.”
Elle hesitates for a moment more, then turns and hurries after the Galseans. You let out a sigh once you're alone, setting your backpack down and sitting on it. “Okay,” you say, looking up towards the ceiling, “We need to talk.”
“...Do we now?” the voice asks after a long silence, “Well, I suppose I can spare you a few minutes.”
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