etrayalogs | MISSION 005 (part 1)

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MISSION 005 (part 1)

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: September 13th-September 27th
WHERE: Throughout Etraya
WHAT: Mission Log!
NOTES\WARNINGS: Horror elements, including fear-inducing landscapes, distorted environments, unseen predators, mental/emotional distress, potential body horror, corruption, possession, brainwashing, and compulsion.

⏵ reality bends ⏴
A strange anomaly has overtaken Etraya. The skies, once familiar, now shift unpredictably, cycling through hues of unnatural colors as an eerie hum fills the air. Tension crackles beneath the surface, leaving an unsettling heaviness across the land. Aurora’s mission announcement offers little clarity—more cryptic than comforting—and she remains unavailable for further explanation.

Reality begins to warp, twisting Etraya into a surreal, haunting reflection of its former self.

The hospital deteriorates into a decaying structure, its halls haunted by phantom patients, endless corridors leading to nowhere. Rooms morph into massive white padded cells where characters may find themselves imprisoned, alone with spectral figures who whisper of treatments yet to come. Some of these apparitions seek the attention of those roaming the hospital, warning them of a dire fate: failure in this mission means not just the death of their worlds, but their souls becoming trapped in this fractured reality, far from home, forever.

The forest transforms into a dark and twisted labyrinth. The trees close in, their branches twisting unnaturally as unseen predators howl from the shadows. Narrow pathways wind through the maze, and while some may navigate unscathed, others will be violently pulled into the depths by horrors lurking just out of sight. Within this twisted forest, a small cottage appears, its walls echoing eerie whispers: "little scorpion," "selfish bitch," and "by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

The rivers, usually calm, have become a dangerous, volatile force. Their waters churn violently, and inky black tendrils rise from the depths, lashing out at anyone who strays too close. These dark appendages drag their victims beneath the surface, where those who resist must battle their way to freedom. But those who surrender will be drawn into an otherworldly dome beneath the water, surrounded by strange fish, far from where they should be. Inside, they will find an eerie stillness, but their earpieces still allow contact with the world above. A large mirror dominates the dome, offering an uncertain way back.

⏵ shadowy haunts ⏴
Those inside the zones come face to face with an echo of fear - a personalized manifestation of what scares them most. It could be an oppressive figure from their past, or something more abstract, such as the feeling of failure, or isolation. These echoes are relentless, feeding off their weaknesses and digging into what makes them most vulnerable.

The Im'mari hungers, and preying on characters' weaknesses appears to be its chosen way of feeding itself. While characters may become stuck in their nightmares by themselves, some of these nightmares are shared between companions. Characters may become trapped within their friends' fears, or strangers'. However, the emotional distress felt by the individual the nightmare belongs to will affect everyone within the nightmare. An emotional prison built to torment those whom it belongs to, these echoes of fears may test the bond between companions, forcing them to face truths they may have rather avoided touching on. Earpieces will still be functional and may prove to be crucial in assisting characters when it comes to escaping their nightmares.

⏵ contamination ⏴
Im'mari may be weaker than before, but it is slowly regaining power, and the creature’s influence is spreading. It infects the wolves, the plants, and even the very essence of Vanessa Ives (and in addition, Aelwyn Abernant), feeding off the deep-seated fears of those around it.

Im'mari thrives in the shadows of fear and darkness, growing stronger with every moment of doubt, pain, and despair. Its presence lingers beyond the edges of awareness, whispering to its victims, urging them to succumb. Through Vanessa and those she has infected, Im'mari extends its reach, turning once-familiar faces into agents of fear, pushing their companions to the brink.

For those who fall under its sway, the transformation is slow, at first nearly undetectable. Perhaps a friend acts off, says something out of character, or expresses sudden, unprovoked anger. But as Im'mari’s power grows, so does the darkness in its agents, until they are no longer themselves—twisted into something monstrous, compelled to spread fear and destruction.

Welcome to your nightmares. We hope you have a pleasant stay.

⏵ NOTES ⏴

For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to the plotting post. We will be utilizing this post throughout the mission - including when we process the next round of applications, so please keep an eye out for new comments! All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Trickster's not secure. Verified when he breaks character. Maybe he belongs in this tableau, or maybe he just smashed himself into a role the same as Tim did, to try and make sense of what's mutating the hospital into the Winchester Mystery House.

The last thing Tim wants to do is misstep. Supernatural, hallucination, something that isn't traditionally "real" can still fuck you up. Tim tilts his head to put his chin a few inches closer to Trickster, quiet but less obliging than he's been with the boss man. ]

It's your show, but I'm interrupting if you're about to get either of us killed. Your angle should've been babysitting me on whatever order got us out of this room.

[ And the scene - holds for this exchange. Odd. The man behind the desk - no one who fits the overall profile would wait for them to have this little tête-à-tête. ]

I'll follow your lead.

[ Tim will play along. That's the promise he gets. He's not committing to silence or inaction because the odds of anyone who calls himself Trickster being an idiot? Pretty high. ]

[ Tim's very right about the name.

Once again, the noise of a low battery alarm going off somewhere outside the room sounds. The corner of Trickster's eyes jumps as a muscle twitches. The hidden smile behind his mask sharpens like a razor blade. ]

Nothing gets me out of this fucking room.

[ The words are delivered with numb, vehement certainty that's rubbing up against the brittle edge of a total fucking meltdown. Krouse flicks the hat in his hands again, then spins it out carelessly to the opposite side of the room than the one Tim is on. ]

It's a loop. [ He semi-explains, tone ratcheted back to semi-calm to match. He reaches for a pouch on his belt, flipping open the fastening of the flap. ] I don't get out. I go back to the cell after I fuck it up. Then I come back here. You get out when - well. It depends. But you get out. Happened every other time someone else showed up.

[ Krouse lets out a little, shaky exhale behind his mask, a breath to psych himself up. ]

That's an interesting assumption. [ The mastermind says, steepling his fingers again. ] Do you believe that's grounded in reliable observations, or is that what you're telling your new guest to ensure his compliance with whatever it is you're planning?

[ The mastermind seems unfazed by the shift in the scene. He even seems, in a cool, distant way, mildly amused. If a pitcher plant could feel anything about the insects that fell inside of it, scrabbling weakly at slick sides as they're digested, it might feel the same way.

Krouse glances at the mastermind, then back at Tim. His smile is gone. There's a hunted, pressured look behind the impassive red mask, bleeding out through the eyes. ]

No. No, I don't think you want him dead. Because this is worse for me if he isn't.

[ With that, Krouse flicks his eyes back to where something that is and isn't Coil sits hidden in the shadows behind the desk. And on the way, with fluid, practised ease, he draws and aims his gun.

It's a gun very similar to a MP-443 Grach, a Russian military and police sidearm. There are superficial cosmetic differences built into the gun itself, not aftermarket modifications, from being manufactured in a universe where Russian industrial design turned out slightly differently. Otherwise, it's a gun. Loaded, chambered, safety flicked off as soon as Krouse lined it up. His finger sits inside the trigger guard, not laid alongside it. He's prepared to shoot in a single split-second decision. An impulse. And there's not much happening here to suggest this is a person currently mastering their impulses.

He's pointing the gun behind the desk. Not at Tim. There's that. ]

A minute. [ Krouse says, with raw, quiet desperation. He says it to Tim, to the thing behind the desk, to the universe. ] Not even five. Give me a minute.

[ The hands above the desk are as relaxed as they were before Krouse pointed the gun. The mastermind didn't so much as flinch. Didn't so much as shift back in his chair, if there is a chair in those shadows, and a body occupying it. It's not clear that there's anything there. Which also means it's not clear if Krouse is even aiming at anything. ]

I'm not trying to get you killed. [ And that's just for Tim; undertone of that not being a hypothetical fear, but one Krouse has lived through before. He's gotten people killed. ] I just - I need to ask him something.

[ And whatever the answer is going to be, or even the question, Krouse thinks it'll be worse with a witness. Which is why he's betting on Tim getting to live through this. ]

[ There's someone in the prison cot. It isn't Tattletale, and it isn't Lisa Wilbourn, and it isn't Sarah Livsey.

Nobody talks to Tattletale like that. The people who don't hate Tattletale need something from her, and even those groups aren't mutually exclusive. Lisa is an acquaintance, a colleague, and once in a while, a friend. But she's an older friend - an older sibling, never a younger, and never an equal. Good for a shopping trip or a sleepover, but not much else. And Sarah is dead.

Krouse talks to the person in the cot like he understands her. Her power only confirms it, the inferences it draws matching up almost precisely with the words he's saying.

The body in the cot takes of her mask. She rises, strides over to the computer, and looks in the reflection. An exhausted, half-alive girl stares back at her, but this one doesn't wear a white dress. She has a green eyes, and freckles, and a face that changes when she puts her hair up. ]

It's easy to hate me.

[ The girl in the screen says about Tattletale. Laughing, like she's told a joke. But it's not even funny, because she's just riffing on someone else's material. ]

Anyone can do it, you fuck-up. [ It sounds wrong. It might be the gentlest anyone has ever called someone a fuck-up. ] You remember that I killed your girlfriend, and I separated you from your team, and if that's not enough, I destroyed a hundred other relationships too, and then when everyone else was too broken to do anything about it, I took over the city.

[ The problem is, the girl in the screen is lying. That's what Tattletale did, and she isn't -

It's ugly, that reflection. Ugly and hideous and confusing, and her power keeps saying self, self, self, and she doesn't know what to call it, but she knows she wants it to stop.

The next thing Krouse will hear is the crash and crumple of breaking glass. ]

Are you trying to manipulate me, Krouse?

[ The smile she says it with doesn't match the noise. ]

I want it on the record that I'm not doing this for Madison, Wisconsin's seventh-best Ransack player.

Someone's going to come get us in a few minutes. I can't imagine the boss liking all this property damage. [ A scissor-slash smile, just for herself. ] Computers are expensive.

[ Then, quieter: ]

I hated you because I thought you got out, too.

[ Time loop explains... nothing, really. Time travel is a mess (and that's being kind). He wants off this ride after one (?) spin on the merry-go-round. If it is his first time through. Crap. 'You get out. Happened every other time someone showed up.' But is the someone always someone new?

If there is a time loop, it's more worrying than the man at the desk, no matter what he -Gun. He tenses, falling into a much more ready stance. There's two batarangs in one hand and the other might be palming something as he touches his earpiece, turning on a feed. Hopefully Babs is available to record. ]

I know this is a big concept for a standoff, but questions don't come with bullets. You two can talk it out. I'm going to take two steps back, nice and easy, because I don't want to butt into the conversation.

[ He takes two steps diagonally back, picking up distance and a better line of sight on both of them. If Trickster's telling the truth - which, really, he calls himself Trickster - straight up disarming him leaves him open to retaliation from the respectable businessman.

And if he's not, Tim hopes he's a terrible shot. ]

[ Krouse laughs, sort of. Nothing she said was funny. She's not nearly half as fucking funny as she acts like she thinks she is. Neither is he, so he knows how it goes. The property damage is, a little. Look at the goddamn pair of them. Losing their cool, breaking shit, like a pair of goddamn middle schoolers. ]

Wow.

[ He says, dry as desiccated skin over bone. A low battery alarm beeps. He goes over to the chair, examining it, and plants a boot on the bent leg before he hauls on the back, experimenting with leverage. ]

You really do love giving yourself credit you don't fucking deserve.

I killed my girlfriend.

[ He's never been able to say it like that. He's never been able to almost, almost keep his voice level. It doesn't sound any better. He opens a pouch on his belt and catches a small lead weight meant for fishing lure between index finger and thumb, swaps it for a screw in the chair. ]

I broke up my team, too. You were there. And if you're still taking responsibility for that goddamn shithole you people call a city, you're unbelievably up your own ass. You were just the last ones left standing after everyone else fucked up trying to take it. Everyone knows a technical win due to disqualification is bullshit.

And manipulate you? You'd break your own legs to skip walking to water if someone asked you to drink. Can't even try reverse psychology. You have the most annoying goddamn power, you know that? Well. Of course you do. That's your whole gimmick.

[ The leg of the chair comes free with a shriek. Krouse tosses the rest aside with a fresh clatter, stoops to pick up the bent leg, puts it on the table. A low battery alarm beeps. He doesn't have anything in mind for what he might do with it yet. It's just handy to have more discrete moving pieces.

Seventh-best, she says. Of course she knows the number. It was probably written all over them the entire goddamn time. That gaping hole like an empty tooth socket, raw and twitching, from a rotten molar ripped loose. ]

So, no. I don't think you're doing anything for the fourth-best Ransack player from Madison, Wisconsin. I think you're doing it for the same fucking reason you do anything.

[ The world's the only thing Lisa had left to her. What else is she going to do?

He rubs his sleeve over his face, the inside of his mask. He puts it back on, closing the fastening with a whisper of a click. The cell is so many feet by so many feet. Transparent front. Absence of cover. Not much to work with. That's workable. He's been worse off. ]

And be real, Lisa. Do you think I'd ever get that fucking lucky?

[ There's no way out. There's never been a way out. He can't even die right. There's something thrumming in him that's like the opposite of hope. Not despair, or resignation, or horror. It's just energy. A hum. Potential. ]

When they show up, how are you going to play it? [ He asks, facing the front of the cell, hands full of a slight, ready tremor. ] Smash and bolt isn't your style. So, what else?

Edited 2024-10-01 01:48 (UTC)

[ On some distant level where Krouse is always tangentially aware of tactical details, he could probably guess Tim might record this. Krouse did the same thing to someone else once, and he didn't even have a reason at the time. You just never know when footage could come in handy.

He just doesn't care anymore. It's done. Cover blown. He's not getting out of this with anything left under the table. What's another set of eyes? What's all of them.

Tim backing up, making the concession, it takes one fractional ounce of pressure off. It's the different of going up a foot at the bottom of the ocean. But a little relief is still a relief, however crushed Krouse stays. ]

I'm not going to shoot you.

[ Or try. Krouse doesn't know if he could. Whatever Tim is holding looks like it's meant to be thrown. But he still makes the call, in the moment, and that's another ounce off. One less thing. ]

And it doesn't matter if I shoot him. He's dead. He's been dead for years.

Are you certain about that? [ The mastermind asks. ] Did you see a body?

I saw your fucking brain smeared on the fucking concrete. [ His voice is a tense tremor, vibrating at the fringe of shattered self-control. ] And that didn't work last time, either.

No. [ The fingers of one hand tap the knuckles of the other, idly. ] Not yet. But you're slipping. Even our guest can see that. Doubt creeps in, doesn't it? After all... [ The fingers rise, then settle. ] We're both aware that death is a less final concept than you believed.

I'm not fucking - [ Krouse's shoulders heave, his throat working in a hard swallow. ] Not this time. I'm asking you a question.

But you haven't, yet. [ The thing that is Coil observes, mildly. ] But very well. Don't leave us in suspense.

[ Krouse's finger almost tightens on the trigger. The barely visible skin between his glove and his jacket twitches with it. He swallows again. ]

Did I ever say no?

[ He asks. It hangs in the air like the tang of propellants would have, if he pulled the trigger. Like the aftermath of the shockwave. ]

Did I ever say no? In any of your timelines? Because you'd know, right? If you're you? That's how it works. You do your fucking projection of the future, and you collapse it, and no one else knows how it would have played out. But you did. You remembered them. And I want - [ His voice nearly cracks, shuddering at the edge of it. ] I want to fucking know.

Did you ever ask me to do anything, and I said no? Did I ever, fucking once, tell you no? Not about my team. Not about her. [ Her; three letters, a black pit of grief. ] Was there any fucking thing - any fucking goddamn miserable thing - that you asked me to do, and I wouldn't do it?

Because I don't remember ever saying no. Not for one goddamn thing. However fucked up, whatever I had to do to anyone else, I fucking did it. I did every fucking thing you asked me to do. And I looked away, and I kept my mouth shut, and I did -

[ Things that kill him, even now. Things he thinks about every day. Things he sees when he sleeps. He doesn't have to say it. It's all there in the tremble of his hand, finger tugging on the first degree of give on the trigger. ]

I just want to know.

[ He needs to know. He needs to know if he ever found a line, anywhere, in any of the futures he never saw. He needs to know if there was ever any part of him left that hesitated. If there was ever anything in him that was good. ]

Remarkable. You're finally asking something of value.

[ The mastermind's face remains invisible. The shift in his focus to Tim is palpable all the same. It's an intent, inevitable sort of focus. Incisive. Weighted. ]

Before I answer, I'd like to bring in a consultation. From our new associate. You seem like a young man with a decent head on your shoulders. Tell me, based on your experience. Do you think Trickster ever found a line he was unwilling to cross? Does he strike you as an individual who would find himself incapable of doing anything in his power to help someone he loves?

Fuck you. [ Krouse breathes, anguished. ] Fuck you. Fuck you, don't fucking talk about her -

That's the only thing we've ever spoken about, Krouse. I see no reason to interrupt the continuity now. And neither of you will be leaving this room without the answer you've requested. So, once again, I encourage you to refrain from further interruptions. [ The focus stays on Tim, heavy as an open grave. ] My apologies. Now, if you would, render your judgment. Did he ever say no, to anything I asked?

[ Amy's remarkably composed. Tattletale's power fills in the rest: she's seen this before. She knows how it's going to go.

Which means that even though Amy isn't delivering the smug lecture, she might as well be. Amy is scared, and Tattletale isn't. Just like Amy is a hero, and Tattletale is the scum of the street. Amy, standing tall, and Tattletale, made small in her cell.

When Tattletale grins, it's clear that she's making a threat. ]

He did. He directed all my movements until I killed him. Did you know the bank robbery was just a diversion?

[ And when Tattletale got to see what they'd done - what she helped achieve - what Coil had in store as her inevitable future - ]

Which meant that our interaction, and your ensuing episode, was even less important to everyone else than you initially believed. You threw your whole life away, your chance at escape, over nothing.

[ - and Taylor had said: no.

Tattletale rises. She picks up the phone. ]

Heya, boss. [ Her voice is too light, too easy, too obviously an act. ] Got a new recruit. The cape formerly known as Panacea.

[ A man's voice rings out over the receiver, made richer by the distortion of the telephone. ]

Good. Welcome, Amelia to our organization. Apologies for the accommodations. We've had some staffing issues as of late. I'm hoping you can correct Tattletale's...deficiencies.

[ Why the fuck did she think it was a good idea to come out after dark?

The whole of Etraya has taken on a cast to it that makes Johanna want to crawl out of her skin. It's like being a kid, lying in bed and knowing that if you open your eyes to look at the window there will be something looking back at you, with its mouth wide and its eyes glittering.

Except when she was a kid, she could tell herself monsters aren't real. Now she knows better.

Fuck, why'd she come out after dark? ]

--is someone there?

[ Pathetic, how nervous she sounds. Swallowing, she reaches into her pocket and wraps her fingers around her lighter. When in doubt, she can always start a fire. Works against lots of things. ]

Fett watches her fade in and out, his sense of misgiving only growing. She really doesn't seem to be in a good way, mentally. It's not like any of them are this month, but Starr looks to be one bad shock away from catatonia. He wonders what exactly Aurora had done to her... then decides he doesn't want to know.

"Wash up before you turn in," he mutters as she shuffles away. "The hospital can't help you if something gets infected."

She'd scraped up her knuckles pretty badly punching his armor. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't bother reminding her of something so basic, but with the way she's acting, he doesn't know that she'd think of it herself.

'Why should you care?' part of him thinks, but for once, it's half-hearted. Call him soft, but after being trapped for hours in a hallway full of his family's corpses, he's had his fill of misfortune for the month. He'll see to it that things go quietly from here on out.

She visibly shudders at the mention of the hospital, wouldn't want to go back after what she had experienced there. "Yeah, it was worthless," Ava responds flatly. And realizes perhaps he had been foolish enough to search those winding and shifting hallways too to have come to that conclusion.

And while she fundamentally agrees that it's a good idea to rinse off the injury, despite the fact it's probably obvious she hasn't bothered to bathe in days... she looks rather lost on where to do so, hovering uncertainly outside the door to the spare bedroom. She glances back, away again, hates feeling so bothersome. She phases through, to retreat.

He wants to tell her she doesn't need to worry, but there's not a chance, and the laugh that rings out seems to leave little room for anything but dealing with the issue at hand. And Padmé's words, perhaps meant for the both of them, but the message seems clear: face your fears.

And there's a disgruntled part inside him, the one that knows what Gorgug wants to say, that's telling him that he shouldn't give Padmé anything--that he should let her suffer this at the hardest it can get. It makes him hesitate for a second, but still, even so:

"You're not alone," Gorgug tells her, nodding, the smile on his face awkward but there. "I faced my fears once. You can, too. Just remember it's a test, even if it really sucks."

"If we walk enough, we might bump into people who can fly. Someone told me there's people who fly."

Granted, we're not going to think about why they would be bothering with the woods if they can do that, but it's an agreement as much as it is wishful thinking. Gorgug's started to walk, holding his axe close to him to keep the weight distributed in both of his hands, eyes darting around their environment with some frequency. Just to look out for something, or to keep an eye out for it: whatever could be out there, whatever this challenge is.

"What's the worst you think they could do anyway...?"

Edited 2024-10-01 10:43 (UTC)

Gorgug's stuck in place, not stopping Loki (or trying to) as he comes over, kicking the bot with his foot. There's a feeling in him, a sense that he shouldn't encourage this, that this isn't right.

But the words spoken and his own lingering frustrations are a more comfortable duo. Aurora won't like this--but why would Gorgug care? Why should any of them care? The small moment of doubt is crushed easily, like the arm he continues to hold.

"Aurora can let another spaceship drop on us then, if she's mad. I don't care." It's a strange position to take, like he's trying something new. But it doesn't feel bad, being outwardly opposed. Why shouldn't he be? The place sucks. "What can she even do if her robots break so easy?"

Maybe all she can make are muffin baking robots.

He doesn't move from where he is, even as she comes closer, her form a collection of herself, a haze. But he does tip his head, eyes looking down.

"I guess it probably doesn't make sense for me to care," he admits, because they're sorta still strangers, right? Familiar, but loosely, and he remembers how careful she had been to correct him about her not friend, "But, I mean... I just do? I don't get anything out of it. I just wanna know you'll be okay?"

For all the ways the question back could be taken, Gorgug looks at one of his hands, as green as the rest of him, turning and twisting it to double-check. Can he see through it? No.

"Think so," he finally determines, though--even that doesn't come off as entirely sure. But he's looking back at Ed with about as much confine as he can get. "Okay--that's good. There's a lot of ghosts or fake ghosts around, and I don't wanna get scared."

We have our priorities. Despite his appearance, his voice sounds like it could belong to a human's, and he slips through the door properly, letting it close behind him. His ears sit close to his head, pointed at the ends, visible through the mess of his black hair, and they twitch a little as he examines Ed in his current state of dress.

"Did you... are you supposed to be dressed like that?"

[ Familiar woodwork, glass, and design--the assumption makes sense to Gorgug, though it sounds like the room itself doesn't to Linhardt. Beyond it lacking a door, which would be a confusing structure to leave out from a building, if Gorgug had to think about it naturally.

But this is a trap. Not all traps are built with escapes, and finding one so easy would make this a failure of a trap, Gorgug thinks. Especially where Linhardt is looking.

Still, he takes one of the parchments in his hands and walks over to where the carpet is that Linhardt stopped before. Lowers to pick it up, managing to shuffle it some of the way with an easier tug. ]

I don't think we're supposed to leave. [ Maybe that shouldn't stop him from continuing to pull the carpet for that super secret trap door, but he still wants to put it out there. Pauses though, and thinks to add: ] Unless we do it by the window.

[ With the ground that can't be seen. ]

[ Of course she's not okay. Gorgug knows it before he hears the flat delivery of her voice, a warning: that she doesn't want visitors, that she's not in the mood. He doesn't need it, because he senses it from the place that he's stopped, emotions ringing more honest.

But why should he give her space, even if she wants it? She doesn't own Etraya, and so he walks in a little more. Expression mild, as well as his tone. ]

Did something happen? Was it the mission?

[ Hey, if he's about to get stuck in a time loop, he's recording every iteration to compare and contrast. Provided the records survive the loop getting reset.

He nods, only once, at the promise to not shoot him. He bites his tongue about why the other guy's not dead, but Red Robin doesn't look too nonplussed to hear that dead doesn't always mean did. He doesn't react at all to it, really - he already knows that Dead has a number of asterisks and he's here to learn things that he doesn't know.

(Like what the hell's going on.)

This little scene has to factor into it, and he's getting so much more by minimizing himself than he would if he interrupted with silly little questions like how can you be here if your brains were on the concrete. Multiple timelines, ability to predict the future.

There's not going to be a right answer. There's the answer that Trickster needs to hear (yes), and the answer that must be right, for the man to throw the question to him so cavalierly (no). Of the two, Tim would only take one as a potential enemy-of-my-enemy ally. ]

I know Trickster. Know 2 of him actually, but they didn't have the top hat. The multiverse is a strange place.

[ Each statement is completely true, and they don't need to know that none of the 3 are the same person. ]

I don't know how close this one is to the others, but yeah. One Trickster found a line that he wasn't able to cross. Died trying to save someone he cared about.

[ Also true, and carefully thrown in from the reports of what happened after Piper destroyed Apokolips to capitalize on that her. ]

The other one was an idiot. The universes diverged pre-hat, so I can't speak to what he's going to do. Once you hit divergence, you can't predict the butterfly effect.

As Hob steps inside, the internal conflict only gets worse for Loki. It’s almost as if he’s worried he’ll hurt the other man, but why should he care about such things? Why does he care about anyone, let alone this man here and now?

He’s almost more annoyed with himself at that moment. In addition to being confused, he also finds himself annoyed and a little scared, which only proves to make him more annoyed.

It takes a moment for Loki to respond to anything. He closes the door slowly behind Hob as he wrestles with not understanding anything he’s thinking or feeling. How can he possibly want someone around and very much not want them around? He doesn’t manage to snap out of it until Hob asks if he’s alright.

“Something stranger than any of the other things we’ve seen here?” His voice is tight, strained. Loki is clearly not himself. Or at least not the person Hob has met before. “And yes, I am fine. Just tired.” He tries not to snap, but it’s a near thing.

[ The parchment in Gorgug's hands - if he cares to read it - is the first page of a series containing terms of surrender, terms which, judging by the number of parchment sheets on the table, were extensively detailed. ]

I don't place much value on doing what I am 'supposed' to do.

[ At least Linhardt is stuck in here with someone strong - someone whose natural abilities complement his own. He moves on to the next carpet, signaling for Gorgug to help, and, of course, there is no secret trap door. It had always been unlikely, but if Linhardt hadn't checked, the possibility would have driven him mad. It is always best to rule the most obvious answers out; sometimes, people become so dedicated to scheming they forget to attend to the matters right in front of them.

Not in this case.

Which leaves the windows or the walls, as Gorgug suggests.]

I wouldn't recommend that unless we confirm that we're not somehow kilometers in the air. I believe it's a trick of some sort, but if it isn't and we fall...

[Linhardt's words trail off. There's no need to finish that sentence. They both understand, and thinking about it too long makes Linhardt feel queasy.]

I suppose that means our best course of action is to remove part of the floor - it's safer than removing part of the wall of a tower of this size - collapsing a tower with us inside is to be avoided.

[There has to be some form of staircase, surely. The builders would have needed a staircase to get to the top to finish the prison tower - wyverns and pegasi would not be able to haul the materials needed to build a tower of this type, and there aren't enough warp capable mages in Fodlan to dedicate their talents to tower building.

He turns to look back at Gorgug, finally realizing what the other man's presence actually means. Linhardt's face takes on a sorrowful tinge.]

I doubt this is actually my home, but on the off chance that it is and you were brought here with me...first, I am sorry.

[He would not wish Adrestia and Fodlan on anyone from Etraya.]

Secondly, please stay as far out of sight as you can if we see anyone. I'd suggest running away at the first opportunity. My homeland is not particularly welcoming to strangers.

[That is the polite way of describing the combination of Edelgard's paranoia and the Church's disdain for the rest of the world.]

[ What's an introvert supposed to do, when the problem is the induction of a nebulous emotion that can't really be picked up by monitoring?

(Well, not until people start losing their marbles to it, but by then there are bigger problems.)

(Sigh.)

Go to where people are, of course. Technically speaking, he's too young to be in a bar, but he's careful not to offend the bots by trying to order, and he's never actually given them an accurate truth. They probably know, but Tim likes to think they have an accord. ]

Yeah, why not? I'm not ready to say there's nothing we can do, but I'm out of ideas and I don't want to get rusty. What'll happen to the dream of running away and making a living hustling pool in Fresno?

[ He doesn't grab the first cue in the rack. He finds the right length, checks the weight, and rolls it between his hands to check if it's straight. He's not a pool shark, but there's a lot of greasy bars with pool tables in Gotham. It pays to know. ]

I thought they played more snooker in the UK.

He wonders how Sir Nighteye's Foresight would have fared against Danger Sense. Midoriya thinks that Nighteye's Quirk combined with his experience would have outclassed Danger Sense alone, especially in close quarters. Neither of them are on the caliber of selecting timelines, but they help Midoriya sort and categorize his thoughts so they don't just bounce frenetically off the walls of this room.

He can feel his own breath enter quietly as Krouse takes his in more audibly. The rims of his eyes redden. He keeps his voice low because if he lifts it, he will be like a sailing ship in a typhoon.

"Of course it would change something. You can't stay here. It's hurting you. Your responsibilities can't be taken care of if you're not taking care of yourself."

He's not going to tell Krouse to ask how he got these scars or admit to himself his hypocrisy.

"How does he determine what's best? By changing things when they don't go his way or by looking into the future? How often can he change his odds? How does he sense it, by sight? By picking a target, or just around himself? Because I'm not leaving, Krouse-kun. I'm not going to let someone be hurt just because they deserve it or can't be saved or whatever other stupid excuse."

He turns his head finally to look at him, teeth bared, tears streaming down his angry face.

Loki may be a god with an impressive reputation for doing wrong, but Hob has never felt unsafe around him. Quite the contrary, being around Loki has always made him feel happy in a way he hasn't felt in many years. Which means, when Loki appears out of sorts, Hob can't help but feel concerned.

The strain in his body and his voice is noticed. "Stranger but in a different way." That feels a little unimportant now, though. "I'm sorry, if you're tired, I should go and let you rest. We can talk later. I should've texted before coming over, but I just.. wanted to see you."

I travel a lot.

[ Johanna watches the kid go over the cues at hand, feeling a tired flicker of amusement. There have been times in her life where she hustled people at pool, but they were mostly when she was younger. And at the time, she relied a fair amount on a low-cut shirt -- a move she wouldn't want to use on someone who looks like he ought to be in university, even if she was wearing something that showed cleavage.

Let him check for cheats. Why not. She'll rack the balls in the meantime and acquire a fourth bottle of beer. ]

You're fooling yourself, [ she adds, leaning a hip against the pool table. ]

Your persecution complex needs to be studied. [She says, with no self awareness whatsoever.

Tattletale immediately picks up the phone, includes Coil in the conversation.

Coil is a corpse. The fact that Tattletale can't seem to grasp that just goes to show some of the inherent disappointing fragility in her tough guy persona. This doesn't matter.]

I did know that. I did know that you destroyed my life and my relationships out of nothing but idle malice. So your boss could kidnap a little girl. I'd put that together, yeah.

[She glances at the phone, wondering how to respond to that. He's trying to set them against eachother, probably. Not that Lisa isn't doing that all on her own. She decides to ignore it altogether.]

Is that what you think I wanted? Importance? I spent my whole life withering away in the spotlight, wishing I could disappear into obscurity. There's nothing I want less than to have the worst moments in my fucking life held up with some... cosmic significance.

[I'm not Skitter, is what she doesn't say.

But she thinks it.]

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Page 12 of 26

MISSION 005 (part 1)

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cw: gun violence threatened

cw: imprisonment, child abuse and exploitation, grief, depersonalization

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cw: gun violence (referenced)

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