Early Access: all fragments used
Early Access: skeet love you
Early Access: a portal techno fantasy
Early Access: and uuuuup!
Early Access: skeet glue
Early Access: grrrrrrr!
Early Access: skeet, are you there?
Early Access: the spy is static
Early Access: cores are optional... until now
Early Access: charge the battery
Early Access: don't feed the viiix
Early Access: a choice
of questionable statistics
of simplistic manufacturing
of lucid misapprehension
of the grid
of trusted trustworthiness
of the 6.66 sixterhood
of the exorealms
of the programmatic colorform
of the neglected toolkit
of the inner core
don't hope she'll stay to watch you die
Early Access: it's high noon for these pilgrims
Early Access: no null none
Early Access: level up level down
Early Access: pinwheel go round
Early Access: islands in the sky
Early Access: the way through
Early Access: amphisbaena goodness sake
how did you manage this, zerously?
but there is more to be seen
Early Access: they a bolo boy a bolo girl
Early Access: you must like sonnets
Early Access: pegasus or buck
Early Access: the gat e o p e n s
Early Access: skeet dominates
Early Access: skeet fixes things yay
Early Access: ouch notch hurts
Early Access: don't let the viiix get you
Early Access: something down there
Along the grid, that far off grid...
The Ocelot makes her way...
A midnight bolt in the silver light...
A daemon of the shade unchained...
The Ocelot sleeps by day...
Then she rides. Watch her go...
You, some punk she’d cast aside...
She smelled you, read you, knew where you’d been...
Figured you for another dead end...
But such is life with the Ocelot...
Your bones say follow, but don’t you dare...
The Ocelot had her say...
Go she must through roads unknown...
Looking for her core long stole...
The Ocelot knows the score...
She has the sight, the trace, the trail...
You, just a break in her maze...
So watch her go by moon and gloom...
A hunted hunter, the prey with fangs...
But when she feels it, can almost drink it...
The beat of that core long stole...
Not dawn, decay, neither eyes nor rage...
Can keep her from pressing on...
The Ocelot draws her claws...
And into the tower she glides...
She knows this place by smell and taste...
And remembers you from that day...
The Ocelot smells a spy...
You grab her from behind...
But before your fingers close, she’s gone...
A gash dug deep inside...
Such is the wrath of the Ocelot...
Beyond the grid, that far off grid.