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[what_do_you_see]

[The voice coming across the psychic network is probably completely unfamiliar to most of the Travelers - Rorschach talked to very few people on his first time in Liminal Space, and during the Jaunt, as Vilmos, he didn't have the same rough, growling rasp.]

Who allowed this?

Cold, suffocating dark goes on forever, we are alone, and yet some force can bend a man's mind, put him in another place, give him another's memories, make him lead a life he never had? We suffer in oblivion and make our own choices to keep us as hell-bound as those that came before us and yet some corrupted, corrupting force plays the part of a non-existent God and twists those choices, the only thing to give a life purpose, to make them meaningless?

Who is responsible?

Comments

[turbedon]

... Dude, try to calm down. The Trumps pick randomly who'll Infiltrate or Investigate.

What's your name?

[littleladyluck]

Deep breaths. I completely sympathize with how baffled and frustrated you must be, but none of us on our own can control what we've been set out to do.

Do you need someone to talk to?

[brokers]

We call them the Trumps. They do not walk among us here.

[In her experience. She's heard a few whispers, but none she's inclined to share at the moment.

There's a brief pause.]

We do, however, have reason to believe they can hear anything discussed in this fashion.

[someonetocarry]

Nobody's found the Trumps here to manage to do anythin' against 'em. I imagine there are folk here who'd want to, but like the lady said, though, good luck surprisin' 'em.

Name's Zoe Washburne. I got turned into somebody else this Jaunt. Last one, too. It ain't exactly fun, I'll give you that. Don't think I met you yet.

[Why yes, she's steering this conversation into introductions. Maybe it'll calm him down a little? It worked with Jayne, sometimes.]

[whydoyoushine]

...do you need a mint? Do they have that? Psychic mint-things? You sound like you're having some throat trouble.

[Look, he's going to be instantly drawn to any talk of darkness, even if he's not going to be serious about it.]

[nicotinized]

Yeah, welcome to hell, etcetera, etcetera.

You can try going after the Trumps if you can find them, but unless you have some sort of addiction to dying you're not going to get much out of it.

[papacerberus]

[Lupa recognizes that growl, and remembers the man and the killer, and the fondness. He normally only listens to the voices but this time he must respond.]

I recognize your voice. Now that I’m myself, I am Lupa, of the Wolves Tribe.

[There’s a moment or two of silence. He won’t ask for an introduction in return, but will be happy if it’s given.]

The Trumps are responsible. Others have already told you what we know about them.

[There's more to address, certainly, but Lupa isn't certain how well this man will take it.]

[ofinspiration]

My, that was melodramatic. Are you always like this?