sweater

[attr="class","word"]at the expense ofthe death of a

[attr="class","urie"] Over the past few weeks, trecking across ESPUS with the help and support of Raava, and the mental fortitude of a Tibetan monk, Machina managed to pry a number of souls from their shells. Chance meetings, connectiosn through friends, quests, bar conversations - all of it. At first the Support Group was supposed to be a small, single-digit thing. It had grown into something all of its own. He was proud of it, really.

Getting word of the first social around proved difficult, but not impossible. Booking a back room at Opal City's famous and homely tavern was almost as hard as trying to convince some of the Rolling Stones more passive and reserved members to show up was perhaps what took the cake. No, this wasn't just a drink thing. There's a pool table and darts, non-alcoholic drinks too. A cosy spac with three low oak tables and cracked leather chairs and sofas, a fireplace burning in the back.

It was perfect. Organising all of this was one of his crowning moments. He wasn't just a sad, lost cyborg trying to come to terms with his own trauma, but one willing to help others. Even if all he could do was provide them with kindred spirits and a place to unwind. God knows, Machina needed that. He hoped others did too.