You play a professor wearing a tweed jacket who's sprinting down the inside of a particle accelerator, leaping from platform to platform to snag energy. Boson me aroundīoson X is an endless-runner that's tangentially about science. It's a new high score, the game tells me. There's a poof of pixels and my run ends. And then I get hit by a bolt of lightning. It's a handful of seconds away, easily within reach. I leap across a gap, darting left to land on a disappearing platform, then double-press to punch-it across the next gap.Īhead of me a blue block, an energy tile, slides into place. I only need to touch another energy tile and I'll have unlocked this particle. Wise, in a fight.There's a brief moment when I glance up at the energy counter in the top corner of the screen and my palms start to sweat. Braids of the rest of the hair, nothing to grip. Claws though, those Atlas concerned herself with, bright and razor sharp in the unyielding light, claws like the raptor her hair feathers bespoke. What did it matter the dance of fluttering veils that curled and twisted around the figure before her, a siren’s body out of a sailor’s dream? An impossible shawl that twisted in a wind Atlas could not feel, teasing with glimpses of flesh, of filigree that circled and danced and was almost more immodest than sheer nudity might have been. Hair made half of feathers, held back by a tiara, clawed back by the same cold, gripping gold that cups the body.
What did she care that the creature wore a headdress of feathers from some white bird that needed flight feathers longer than her arm? No.
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A grin, bloody and broken, and Atlas spat again, spittle and body fluid and rage, rolling her shoulder to loosen it and shake free her axe. Still, it was skin, covered with a fine filigree of gold that might, if one were generous, be called armor, and it was calling her out.
Mother of pearl, bubble rainbow, colors without color. It was as though someone had taken the fractals that certain sea creatures made, bubbles within bubbles, figures within figures, maths so impossibly refracted that the mind began to ache to contemplate them, and etched them in the rainbow white of the inside of a shell.
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Atlas had been trying, before the creature spoke, to sort out what, exactly, it’s skin was made of, or at least, what it looked like it was made of. Atlas’ cerulean gaze, flickering along the impossibly effervescent skin, flesh made bubbles or bubbles made flesh, the reflective sheen of the inside of a soap bubble, but more than that. None of her business what she, it, they had once been, time to move her attention elsewhere. Atlas pulled her gaze away from where the filigree cupped the figure’s right arm and inward, covering her side, caressing it like a lover, leaving no room to question the original secondary characteristics of the body. It was easier to look at though, to trace the lines and whorls even as they curved with flesh, up, around, spiraling inward. Her eyes were drawn, pulled first to the engraving, etched, somehow, as though one could etch a bubble, could somehow score markings into the ephemeral and fill them with liquid metal. Perhaps it was the gold engraving circling the presence’s body, accenting it, that made her think the creature spoke in golden words. Echoing gold, like the sound of a cathedral, somehow, and somehow more than that. Her gaze swept the creature as it spoke, rather than try to sort out how something could speak in tones of gold. Some may even grow so large that they rely entirely on the discarded limbs of guardians that occasionally litter the mega streets of the guardian society for nutrition.Ītlas rubbed her temples, snorted another mouthful of grit, blood, saliva, and shouldered her ax. Indeterminate growers who have growth spurts after every meal, they never age and don’t stop growing unless killed by disease, predation or cannibalism. It will retain the waste from its digestion and barf it at attackers, and will only empty its cavity when it comes across a new food source. Its catch is sawed away from its source by toothy zooids inside its mouth/stomach that spin on cilia tracks, and once separated it closes both ends so that the rotating array of teeth can churn its quarry into an easily digestible sludge. When it finds a source of food it opens one of its ends to engulf a limb or scoop up viscera until its entire cavity is full. With no distinct front or back, it walks around on caterpillar-like pseudopods in search of a carcass. An organism meant to be a scavenger highly specialized for consuming limbs and organs.
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