Family can be a blessing and a curse; the larger one is, the more issues come to light, though many would say it's worth the price of admission. Sometimes the blessings are better than the helping hand of a tutor, and sometimes the curses are far, far worse than a little tugging of hair.

A mother and father always have great visions of grand futures. Of grandchildren with parents with grand dreams for them as grand as their dreams for those very parents. Of their children following their teachings into the next generation, and knowing that their job was done well. That those children will do the same, following in their footsteps. And their children, and theirs as well. Parents ask for a world freely given by children from all walks of life.

To some, family has a value greater than anything. Others see it as greater than nothing. There are many more views of family in between, and it can vary between different members, but, in the end, it is something we all have.

All families have far reaching histories that bind them together. Rare is the man who wasn't born, and rare is the man who can claim as such truthfully. Even inconsequential histories are history, regardless of import. Some claim great heritage of ages past, others claim great inheritance of estates and land. All who are born gain some small part of their parents? history, and their parents?, and theirs, ad infinum. The chain reaches back farther than most are willing, or able, to see. The bonds do not begin merely in humans, and instead stretch back into the great seas themselves.

Long ago, there were no families. Not by any stretch of the word, and certainly not as we see them today. There was no hair being tugged, or tutorings needed for a big test. There was no hair, and the only test was survival. Year by year, century by century, over eons these things came to be. Life, at first, was microscopic and inconsequential. Slowly, with every turn of the world, some small change was made.

The tree took roots, and those roots dug deep and started spreading at first rapidly, then they divided a million million times over. Some parts began to slow, others kept the same pace, and many more met their ultimate end.

All families are but one family, far removed. All life, from the smallest amoeba to the greatest elephant, from the rarest of birds to the most common bacteria, from every corner of the Earth, the deepest depths to the highest mountain, is full of but one multifaceted family of staggering proportions.

Farther back still, there is but one mother yet no father; the Earth itself. This mother bore many children in her cold depths, and they have since flourished and formed the tree that all life calls its family.

But to you, there was only ever one family, one generation; one inconsequential division of that tree that ends in six buds. Six siblings.

Of those six, only you stand in the room. Of six children, how many remain? The eldest son fell first, and from there it was a downwards spiral of pruning of the buds of the tree.

Next was the loss of three sisters, though you honestly don't know what happened; they vanished without fanfare or even the faintest trace. There was no great struggle, no craters or pock marks. There was not a single sign that they were ever where they should have been. And, quite frankly, you know that those three were too noisy to ever hope to vanish without a trace. Someone, or something, removed those traces of battle. You just know it has to be true... So you assume the worst, and though you hope for greener pastures, you find nothing but dessicated husks of grass.

That left just you and the youngest. Your little sister, Layla. A sweet girl, who has no skeletal hands grasping at her from the yawning maw of a closet.

But then she was taken from you. You know not quite where, and you know not quite why, but she is all you have left.

Family was a blessing and a curse. A curse you wish you still knew. A blessing you wish still could be felt. No longer are there tutorings, or tugging hands in your hair. No longer do you see their smiling faces, or tearful eyes as they scrape a knee. You weren't the eldest.

Sadly, now you are.

But you would rather die than claim the title of youngest, too.

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You'd think that, with a goal like yours, you could go 48 hours without sleep. Your goal is more important than anything, and yet your body seems to disagree, forcing you to follow its tune. Has it really been a week of non-stop searching? You feel like you've combed every nook and cranny for information. Every ad, every forum, every site. Your search took you down the fishiest of places and the most unassuming of sites. You were surprised to find places you had a creeping suspicion were full of Youkai, and other places likely full of Technocrats. And yet, you pressed through.

Through the darker side of the internet you crept, worried just what might notice, you found a lot of things you didn't want to know, and nothing you wanted to. Not one trace of Layla? Of the youngest of you six...

Your dreams are silent things, bereft of either joy or horror. it's probably part of why you have been staying awake, by some twisted definition of awake, till you pass out, or at least an excuse to; your dreams have been haunted by the things that might be happening to the last kin you have.

But sadly all things must end, and so too does your dreamless sleep, to the tune of an odd whistle.

You jump to, reaching for your holster, but realize that you're where you remember, and nothing horrible has happened. Scanning the forgettable hotel room you call home for the time being, hand resting firmly on the old broomhandle, you find it empty of anyone to do the whistling. Still? you know that whistle. Not the whistler, but the whistle itself. It has deeper meanings than just a whistle, and yet? something niggles at your mind, and you can't quite grasp what it means.

Had you enough sleep, maybe you could have understood it as more than a sound. ...But, then, you've been hearing those whistles a lot of late. Probably just you missing your siblings; even awake, you just can't quite grasp the meaning, though it always happens as you are drifting off, or during your sleep. Always startling you awake, only to find a distinct lack of those who know the Prismriver code.

Sighing, you look back to the computer, finding? well, that's interesting. You look over the page in your browser, sliding a finger down the smudged screen of a smart phone. You never much liked the things, what with what carrying one meant; you can't repair the damned things yourself, so you either have to baby them or hope they're built tougher than they look.

Sadly, the phone is the former, and the signs are plain to see; a chip in the top left corner from where it landed when it fell from your lap a couple feet. The thing practically wants to break. Still, the size is as much a blessing as a curse, and the chipped corner is a testament to your rough handling.

If not for the fact that you didn't remember pulling up this page, you might have just closed the window, what with it being an ad for refurbished bandages, but suspicion gets the better of you. You don't so much pay attention to the contents as look for any hidden meanings. You scan over the suspicious message, wondering if there's a deeper meaning than just? that. it's probably another wild goose chase, but it's still better than nothing.


Refurbished Bandages for Sale

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Pricing is dependent on credit check. Mass quantity bulk deals are available to registered hospitals. *1 gallon of water is required per bandage. **3 hour dry time only attainable with zero humidity and while being blown dry. bandages highly flammable; do not iron dry. ***bulk deals require in excess of 10,000 units.

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Broomhandle
Loaded: 7/10
Total Ammo: 107

Phlogiston Pistol
Loaded: 10/10
Total Ammo: 110

Aether Rifle
Loaded: 100%
Remaining Canisters: 20

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