24 Build Guide — Morimens

In solitude, one must act as a team. The twenty-four minds are crowded together—they whisper and chuckle in the dark, tearing at 24's soul, craving to devour her. The stench from the corner sewer, the cotton drifting through the workshop, the stale black bread... The past has long faded, and no one remembers the ordinary worker from the East District. She has finally shed her weary body, only to step into a new quagmire.

Awakener ID: MA-C06 Danger Level: A Special Containment Procedures: MA-C06 is currently housed in Awakener Observation Room 7 with dim lighting. Fearing mind control by @3, MA-C06 refuses to sleep, only provided with a chair. Due to good behavior and friendly attitude, MA-C06 is allowed to use the greenhouse and explore parts of the campus with an Investigator escort. —"Awakener Containment FileMA-C06"

Mythag uses the silver extracted from the bodies of the deceased to create the Awakener. The Sculptors' Association induce the formation of silver from living bodies and refine it into the Awakener. These are two entirely different ideologies. The latter, while having an extremely high ceiling, clearly violates ethical standards, thus becoming a taboo Research that persists despite prohibitions. After the Wax Museum incident, 24 was brought back to Mythag. She spent a long time in the campus observation rooms and research labs, necessitating personal supervision whenever she went out. Undoubtedly, this is an extremely uncontrollable living Awakener. During the subsequent observation period of half a year, 24's body continuously split into many personalities. She suddenly found herself with unfamiliar friends and enemies, bought many strange items, and even learned to speak Chinese without realizing it. Her life is never short of "surprises". "24 is a discrete function composed of a series of isolated points," Doll commented, "Do not believe every word she says."

24 discovered that their home had been robbed less than a month after moving in. First the cheese, then the bread, the milk, the tomatoes... the food in the house always seemed to dwindle, little by little, without a sound. She waited patiently for several days, and at last caught the culprit—a mouse. Weaving left and right past the traps she had set, it snatched up two mushrooms and vanished behind the cellar door. 24 opened the cellar door and descended the damp, moldering steps, only to find that they led down into an underground waterway. The mouse scurried into the shadows, mushrooms in tow. 24 followed, and caught a glimpse of bright eyes in the darkness—like those of a wolf pup. The child was wrapped in tattered cloth and covered with old newspapers, shivering all over in the near-freezing air. Something pricked faintly at 24's heart. "Mushrooms are best not eaten raw. You'll get sick." The child remained silent. 24 went and cooked a pot of mushroom soup, set a small bowl of it on the table, and went to bed. She had to be up by 6 a.m. every day for work, with hardly any time to rest. When she woke the next morning, the bowl sat exactly where she had left it—but the soup was gone, every last drop. After that, 24 would occasionally cook a little extra to share with the neighbor downstairs. In return, the child would sometimes leave her small gifts—trinkets and toys found from who knows where... And so a quiet, unspoken understanding was formed between them.

On a snowy day that November, 24 fell ill. After a week of grueling work, she came down with a severe fever and lay in bed for days on end. In her daze, she seemed to hear little mice whimpering near her ears. After an unknown stretch of time, someone was standing at her bedside. She recognized those eyes—it was the child from the sewer. Covered in mud, the child held out a grimy little pill to 24. "For you. Take it," the child said bluntly, her voice surprisingly pleasant—so it turned out she was a girl. 24 looked at the scrapes on her elbow and face but did not ask where the pill had come from. She simply held the girl's hand tightly. The girl mumbled awkwardly, then said in a cool tone, "I won't leave. I'll go once you're better." Even when I'm better—don't leave. 24 answered silently, in her heart. The first snow of winter fell over Londinium for an entire week. On the day it finally stopped, 24 was very happy—because not only had her fever broken, but she had also gained a sister.