Observer outpost of the post-human world.

Day in and out, the living land goes through many twisted historic moments. But as always, things are sort of erased with time turn back. Sometimes there are 2 or 5 world wars. But time seems to freeze back when the modern 24th century hits heights. The technology of soul-serving machines always constantly is wiped out. The god's are to blame for such technology phobias. Imprinted on humanity that seems to keep twisting these fears. The main events gladly don't change. Centuries are quite uniform progressions. Stepping forwards while it spins backwards eventually.

It's up to undertakers to erase anomalies that are glitches of miss place-time objects. Occasionally it's the odd animal or creature. Such as why we had a dinosaur in Scotland by accident. Even so, it has been dealt with and smoothed as some urban myth. This is an example of the case study for why our duty is important. This a reminder that we can't have screw-ups. The creature was not killed but sent to an aquarium for some god. Out of the picture as time reverted backwards. But the historic stain of its sightings has left physiology Imprinted on the human race. Angels and demons are the ones that directly influence humans. Their duties are too stable for the events to slow down. Allowing the spinners and weavers of existence to keep the fragile realms from total meltdown. Everything has some consistency thanks to such duties.

This notation marks the fourteenth time that humanity fell apart before the fourth World War. Impart to some mistakes with global energy uses and resources spreading. floods and draughts. Transport and downfall of governments.

It's nothing but a struggle to survive for a living. Even plants wither and are soul harvested. Just how much longer can this keep going? What mutants will come crawling from the flame of creation itself? The aura of unknown anomalies is still 24 per cent, within this territory. Buffer increase of 3 per cent in the last check. The chances of boundaries collapse are still 74 per cent for this segment. That was after attempting to recalibration of equipment. I have had faulty pings of 840 per cent, which is impossible. That shouldn't even register over 100. There isn't anything I can find for the source and lesser for any spiritual flow disruption. Baseline energies have been 0 balanced, which is how it should be. These off-reads are why I am kept here, looking for something to explain the inaccurate jumps. There is nothing to report as of yet. There is nothing to offer.

The only thing he will have to worry about is what hunting spirits around here are. Nine undertaker pairs have been lost since the search for the discrepancy. But this is nothing strong changing as the people that are the turning points of historic moments.

The living realm's weather is about to leak another wave of radiation, time to seek shelter. Call code, Curiosity. Solo rank 4.

The crystal screen powers down, and the local network signal to Sigil has already begun to wane. Ash falls softly, falls like snow. The protective gear is burdened, and belts are tightened. There is no gas tank since he's not a living human. Just the suit to keep the radiation from causing organ disruption. Undertakers are atomic reliant on internal radiation, acting as puppet strings to the clay body. This is how the soul moves in a husk body. Graduated undertaker has proper and unchangeable channels to their body functioning. He should not need to wear protective gear, but the 800 boundaries read... he feels safer in case. Just in case.

The buildings of low intellectual types are also taking shelter. There might be some competition for a roof today. He made the mistake of assuming the ash dust would not ruin his gear. Staying his first year in all weathers. Time has a way of corruption, even for spirit beings. Living realms are and have always been dangerous. Not just due to veil layers being interactive while not unaware of each other. Even the low-floor scraps around here can stare at a spirit like him. They can sense his there, but they can't do much. But it doesn't mean that the minimum amount of this would lead to worse later.

He leans taking the brunt of the whipping breeze that picking up. He left no trace behind him, that no living low intellectual types can use. He doesn't smell. He doesn't breathe. He mostly doesn't even touch the floor most of the time. But the ash is a burden, and a smart human could therefore track it. But as he knows, there haven't been humans for 28 years. Possibilities lowered to single digits when death gods began their harvests of metal vaults. It's not unlikely, though. There are human cities with some small communities patched hidden. There aren't any entities like machine people. This flow of time path didn't go past computers that bulking expensive things.

"Just my luck..." He stops watching the radar equipment spike for a split second. This means he has to stick here in the ashfall to seek what the source could have been. The ash can't make such readings. The energy he seeks has to be cosmic, like if a god-level entity was directly influenced by the living realm. But there aren't any gods for this area. No, even Death. This explains why the low intellectual types are undying and lack living attributes. The thickening fall is making visible horizon scans make no sense, the occasional ping of anomalous aura, but all static readings say it's nothing significant to overall data. He tries to listen, but he's a spirit. He can't hear the living world as a human does. It has always been white noise, baring the creatures close by. The only noises he can calculate basic distances with. He can't hear a drain pipe or an explosion. Environmental factor noises, spirit people can't make changes to the environment without a medium to act through.

All silent as heavy ash sprays more like peddles. It seems the ash has gotten clumped with wet rain and turned into radioactive hail pelts. Even then, it is just annoying but not dangerous for him. Only risking the plastic suit, which is just a precaution for security. He can see past the hard, fast-moving pelt balls. They fall at such force that it's bouncy and sprays the collision of falling spatter. He narrows at maybe something that could be moved, but he shook in disappointment. The reads off his equipment don't care for it.

"What is wrong with you? Move!" He was pulled backwards by such a tiny person. Barely making it to evade a sweep of a large sticky black monster. Still no sound for the undertaker, but the weird small human rushing them both to shelter is also mixed in the static white noise. Both girl and monster were living world veils. Yet then again, why is this girl dragging him?

"Not to be rude, but what is it we are running away from?" He carries that monotone and lacks any breath to draw a pause of speech. Nor does it sound like he finished asking anything. The little person is looking at him, sort of expecting some few mutters of words.

"Are you sick? Or are you a dead guy?" Answering a question with a question. He is not impressed. At least the nuance of her question meant she is a living-world human. Asking if his dead... Well, that could still do many anything in relative terms. Being sick is a living thing. Undertakers can't be sick unless something is removed, changed, or damaged in the clay body. It's sort of asking if they need to sleep. Undertakers don't need to sleep as such. They do for mental health but not the health of the body. They can't dream unless they are cursed or damaged. Baring in mind the moment, peering backwards at the black stick monster. It stops short of entry into a shadow-covered shelter, staying out in the hail storm. The little person sat in a heap on the floor, tired from running. Watching how lacking breath he is, his 'instant' recovery from running and being stupid to stand right up to the edge of the shelter.

"A corpse wearer." She hissed with a gun pointed up but he plays surrender. She only aims more for his chest, "Are you going to eat me too?"

"I don't eat." He snickers, "But seriously, what is that thing out in the hail?" He turns to look away but she steadies aiming, "Don't waste ammo on me. I am sort not here." He lowered with crossing his arms. He leaned at the doorway watching the creatures prowling to attempt reach. He stares wondering what it was evading. An undertaker can't see light and darkness nor feel temperatures. He can't tell that he standing in pitch black looking out to sunlight. He could stare at the sun wondering if it was the moon, and vice versa.

She jolted in reaching to hear something in the darkness of the building around her. She practically was up to running. She was willing to leave this weird guy to fend for himself. She wipes her face in a strange motion and began softly surveying the sort of building they are in. Gun pointed in ready to shoot things. She makes a last look back to how he was focused on scanning data on the black thing outside. She snarls and softly walks deeper into the bowels of the building. He can't see the mask she wears nor that her afterimage is not human as she is. He can't see shadows if there is no light and darkness. He can't understand the black thing at all for how it works and its sensitivity to darkness. Being so depth in his thoughts, she slipped away before more things could be discussed. But the readings of this building, especially where she walked had spiked hell energies. He began to make the handwritten records, posed in thinking about what phrase to use. Pen taps his chin in trying to justify what this discovery could lead about being.

"I would rather face the black than those things." She snatched him through into the daylight with her. She looks back at shooting whatever from the deeper building. Demon spawned from depths of dark patches of the building's open area. These small weak are the power of many and they swamped the black monster. The two distract each other for her to drag this deadbeat with a notepad out of range. Throwing them to a new place of cover, a rusted long wasted car of some 2006 model. Doors long lost and the engine gutted. Glass shattered and fluffy moss grows in the padded seats. Cover enough from the radioactive hail pelts and distanced from the victory winner of the monster battles.

She sits scrunched with as much roof over her as possible. But the notepad freak is braving the pelts, staring in watching the war. Pen moves fast making its drawing and notation. He was relaxed and lacked any amusement for everything. She snarls at how much his a freak for not fearing death. But she also has this sort of flickered fear that he could be not human underneath the plastic. He weighs nearly nothing and is deaf. But he can hear her speaking, contradictory to being deaf. The plastic suit seems just like a floating empty balloon, not a corpse or a creature that puppets corpses. She had left human settlements for this exact reason. That she can see beings they don't and was assumed a turning one. She spoke of horned or winged people, and that made all the normal folks turn against her. She wasn't even given any supply on her way out. Left to go die away from them.

She has been navigating the ruins in hope of new humans or a sustainable lock in place. Too many buildings are mould, infested with a problem or had no protection at all.

"What are you?" She asked wavering in worry and with her gun softly ready.

"You can still see me. Interesting." He cares for nothing but pain. Even as the hail smashed harder making the two creatures sided war end abruptly with no conclusion of the winner, "If I told you that I am a ghost. Wouldn't you find it offensive to your religion?" She ponders this term. She called the wing folks and horned one as a ghost like. So this guy is their side and not hers. The bullet would be wasted. He put away handwritten things and trade them out for a dictionary or some thick-paged book. He shuffled pages in scan read and soon he found the area needed. A finger posed in checking the exact words. He makes strange tilts for a while like he wasn't finding it helping.

"Do you remember the days when this place was not radioactive? Cars that didn't rust as badly. Cities were full of many workers that ride buses in and out. Houses with doors that worked. None of the creatures prowling to kill us?" She asked sort of attempting small talk. No one on the other sides normally accepts talking to a human like her. She overheard their rules many a time. Seen those break them too. This was an opportunist moment of working out how long ago this spirit has been around. She looks odd that he closed the book and passed it to her. He gladly using his left hand. The horned ones use the right side to curse folks. The wing folks make things happen with a right hand. She just knows this guy has tricks with right hand too. She reached with her left hand softly felt the surface. The cover changed colour around her grasp like it was a new printed surface. She goes to pull it closer and his copy stays in his hand but there is a sort of magic trick here. She has a new fresh print in her hand. 'the guide of the dearly departed'. She holds it close to her and looks at his lacked expression.

"Be careful with such a book. You can make other humans confused or angry in what you learn." He made a sharp look of a direction, "May the things turn for the better for you." He moved on. She can't hear his footsteps, proving his spirit more. She worries of see him around here. She has seen a few corpses of horn folks nearby, which put her uncomfortable that spirits have a life system of their own. To die a second death. She can't convince him to stay, bad things happen to those that don't return to their 'realm'.

Given the storm, she can't follow after him. She also just has to hope nothing tries for her in this flimsy bit of metal. But instead of wasting this rest time and not willing to sleep here. This book was good company to read. She finds it so easy to read in spite of the characters and letters changing as she turns pages. Horned folks are demonanta or demons. Depending on culture and hell ring that come from. Angels are divided by wing colours and shading of that colour. They are opposite of each other and want different goals for humans they rescue. The rescue part is unclear of why and the end goals are very idealistic. There is death gods but this reads they stopped when a war broke with an empire. Further on there is talk of how everything was altering because most areas are under the Silverstone Empire. There is rouges patches of undisturbed places that been so far protected by humans unknowingly. Humans have been the stop of many invasions and prevention of erasing the original guidelines. Without following these basic of veils, the collapsing of realms will create another living land and fall apart this universe. Or at least that how the writer interpretation of the outcome. She ponders what this had to do with her. Skimmed ahead to other sections. Drinking tonics for healing wounded from supernatural causes. Candles... strange candles. She had to stop reading now. The weather is finally passing. She can't stay in the tin can forever.