File: madrigal - @valanthaea.png (1.46 MB, 776x1053)

1.46 MB PNG

"All Lottie. Except for the part where you bailed her crispy ass out? Never bothered to tell anybody you had god powers?"

"It was kind of personal."

"Kind of personal. Okay. Well, I'm glad you decided to un-personal it, because—"

You have finally formed a coherent sentence. "What are you doing here? You didn't, um— you weren't on the—"

"I wasn't in on your suicide pact? No kidding. But you told me and Pat all about it, yeah?" She jerks her thumb back at Pat, who inclines her head. "All about it. So we got to talking about it, and we got to realizing that you were planning on violently relocating... what the fuck is it... thousands of people? Tens of thousands?"

You don't actually know how many employees Headspace has. You don't say anything.

"Yeah. You went into it not even knowing how many. And you didn't mention any kind of plan for what to do about those people, or... like... how to explain anything to them, or what to do if they got hurt, or how to deal with the massive fucking civil war over who's in charge now, or anything afterward. At all. Which seemed a little short-sighted, no offense."

"Oh," you say.

"So we ended up... uh..." Madrigal looks over her shoulder. "The scope kind of... I mean, you told a lot of people already, and then other people who heard wanted in, just to gawk, I guess, and I pulled some contacts, and some of the others pulled their contacts— I guess Earl got the spelunkers— and we knew where you were gonna end up, thank god. So it wasn't too hard to hike over, or dream-zap over, or whatever you do. So, yeah. We've kind of been prepping all day for you to..." She gestures up and down at you. "But then that asshole popped out— not you, Bug Man. Gil. That asshole."

She means Real Ellery, who's standing tensely to the side, hands in pockets, eyes trained on an imaginary horizon. "He popped out, and his ex— poor woman, by the way, oh man— and the Headspace guy himself, and Gil, but no Miss Big-Dick Princess. So you got a lot of people worried you blew yourself up."

"I wasn't worried," Pat says dryly.

"Okay, she wasn't worried. And Ell wasn't worried— he said he shot you in the head?" Madrigal raises her eyebrows. "Sounds like something he'd do. But your Bug Man was all, you know, 'we need to do something,' 'even if she survived it doesn't mean she can get out on her own,' blah blah blah, so we had the rescue thing. And it looks like you needed it, no offense, so I suggest you give him a big fat kiss on the mouth."

(2/3)

File: welcoming crowd.png (44 KB, 1535x464)

44 KB PNG

"What?" you say. "Why'd... hey! Excuse me! I'll have you know that, as has been explained, there is zero courtship between Gil and I, and—" He's still holding your hand! You wrest it free. "—to insinuate otherwise is baseless, completely baseless, and—"

"So you are in there!" Madrigal laughs at you. You scowl. "I never said it had to be romantic, did I? Give Bug Man a big fat friendly kiss on the mouth, if that's what you'd like. Whatever gets you off. Anyways... any questions? I can stick around, Pat can stick around— you know, whoever you need. Ell's going nowhere, if you still have beef. Bug Man's right there. Or you can go kick back, crack a cold one, pass out. Doesn't matter to me. I think you deserve it."

(You'll have the chance to talk to multiple people about multiple subjects before you need to move on, so don't overthink it.)

>[1] Talk to Pat and Madrigal. You get what everybody is doing here, but what are they... doing?
>[2] Talk to Anthea. You only properly saw her one time. What was she up to? Did she help Gil out? (You should probably thank her if she helped Gil out.)
>[3] Talk to Real Ellery. Is he done trying to kill himself now?
>[4] Talk to Casey. Is there even a person left inside there? What did Management do to him?
>[5] Talk to Gil. The last time you spoke to him, he blasted you with disgusting paganness, and you had no choice but to flee. You should probably address this.
>[6] Write-in.

File: 1-4.pdf (1.4 MB, PDF)

1.4 MB PDF

>Announcements
Welcome back to Drowned Quest Redux! We're back to IC downtime and I'm nearly on winter break, so I expect a chill and nicely paced thread. Don't jinx it for me, folks.

Also, all those clunky Google Drive links have been compiled into a single sexy 3500-page PDF! At last, you can read (or CTRL+F) Drowned Quest Redux all in one place. I'll keep this PDF updated on a hopefully threadly basis. Link below. (Threads 1-4 are attached to this post: I can't attach the full one because of filesize limits.)

>Schedule
One a day, occasionally more if the first one was short. There may be sporadic half-updates (no options) if I start writing too late in the evening, sorry in advance. I am in the PST timezone.

>Dice
We use a 3d100 roll over degrees of success system with crits. The base DC is 50. Modifiers may be applied to the roll or to the DC as relevant. The # of rolls that match or exceed the DC determine the result. Probabilities may be found in the Dice and Mechanics pastebin.

The degrees are:
0 Passes = Failure
1 Pass = Mitigated Success
2 Passes = Success
3 Passes = Enhanced Success
0/1/100 = Critical Success / Critical Failure / Critical Success [regardless of other rolls]

>Mechanics
The (typical) MC has a pool of 14 Identity ("ID"), which may be considered both HP and the measure of her current sense of self. It may be lost through physical, metaphysical, or emotional damage. It may be regained through write-ins, designated options, and at reasonable narrative points, including sleep. It may be spent on a flat +10 bonus to rolls, as well as on more elaborate metaphysical effects. Dropping to 0 ID is bad.

>Archive
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=drowned%20quest%20redux

>Fancy archive (PDF!!!)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1XZ-wmLX4bVinqhK21dZImKKtfuhKcXvQ/view?usp=sharing

>Twitter
https://twitter.com/BathicQM

>Pastebins
https://pastebin.com/u/BathicQM

>Recaps
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VPJwXzTpv4lO_t6R3jA32NLbKjdIZjtJlRFsWQgBMnM/edit?usp=sharing

>Ask the characters (or the QM), get a drawn response eventually
https://curiouscat.live/BathicQM [ALMOST CERTAINLY DOWN, I'll make a new one eventually]

>"Redux"?
This quest is a loose sequel to the original Drowned Quest, which ran for eight short threads in 2019. Reading the original may help with context in very early Redux threads, but is not required.

>I have a question/comment/concern?
Tell me!

File: DQR - @realiste.png (134 KB, 1505x2031)

134 KB PNG

>LAST TIME ON DROWNED QUEST REDUX

You awaken to the Herald making final arrangements-- it has to vacate your body soon, but it wants to leave you in a good spot. In fact, it has wrangled you and four Managers onto an elevator straight down to the BrainWyrm Mk II, the central mechanical "brain" controlling Headspace's operations. You're pretty sure that the Mk II is what you need to blow up.

The Herald leaves, but thanks to its machinations, the Managers believe you still speak for it. As the elevator descends, they answer your questions about the prisons of extrareality that hold the locitis victims captive, though they get a tad defensive when you grill them about their use of live subjects. They also tell you more about the BrainWyrm, which you finally see when you exit the elevator: it's an enormous metallic sphere that exerts a powerful gravity.

Also, Ellery's here, along with an incapacitated, vacant Casey. You send the Managers to corner them, but Ellery wards them off with the tine of the Crown he took from Casey (and which Casey took from you). Annoyed, you summon up residual Herald power to turn the Managers real, rendering them immune to the effects of the tine... but vulnerable to Ellery popping off and murdering every single one of them. Oops. Ellery waves around the tine, now full of Managerial essence, and tells you he'll trade you it in exchange for his sun back. You manage to negotiate that down to half the sun, perform the exchange, and set about convincing the newly re-empowered Ellery to not explode himself.

You do this by sticking your hand into his chest, grabbing his strings, and forcibly merging your mind with his. Now possessing a direct link to Ellery, you search for the silver-bullet reason why you ought to blow up Headspace and he oughtn't, why you're a special important heroine and he isn't... but can't find anything. Ellery is superficially different from you, but you share all the core traits that might otherwise prove your specialness. That is, except for one: Ellery does wrong things all the time, while you've never done anything wrong in your life.

Ellery, baffled by your conviction to this bizarre idea, discovers the reason why you're so convinced of it: your memories are seriously, seriously messed up. If your life were a book, it'd be illegible: words, paragraphs, and entire chapters would be missing, and many of the pages would have severe water damage. That, and there's two pages stuck together with something crusty and metallic-smelling...

Augh! Attempting to open the stuck-together pages sends you reeling, distraught, but Ellery pulls you back to reality. He tells you that there's nothing to freak out over: *Management* did this to you, and that means you can probably get your memories back. Hearing this comforts you a little, but now you're back to square 1: you still have nothing separating you and Ellery.

File: charlotte - @vongacy.png (477 KB, 1956x2878)

477 KB PNG

And maybe that's the point, you realize. A heroine isn't special because of her qualities or actions, but because she was designated as a heroine from the beginning. Therefore you're the heroine because you are, and Ellery isn't because he isn't. It isn't just circular logic-- it's actively *powered* by circular logic, by recursion, by self-consumption. Having realized this, you take control of the narrative-- as in the literal narration-- and force Ellery to give up. He has no other option.

Defeated, Ellery begs you one last time to kill him. You decline and flounce away to commune with the BrainWyrm instead.

After forcing comprehensibility onto the BrainWyrm's interior, you "find yourself" in a place with a great many filing cabinets. Reasoning that your memories might be stored in one of them, you command the BrainWyrm's automated system to retrieve them for you. You wind up with a strange device which, you decide, must be some type of snake memory-storage technology; you save it for Richard to look at. Then you cruise to the BrainWyrm's center, which you visualize as a glowing snake made of Law.

You skip straight to communing with the snake, who promptly devours you, possesses you, and nearly kills you outright. You're saved by the model of your manse, altered by Richard, which provides a protective shield. Inside, you regain your strength, remember all the things that make you *you,* and successfully wrench back control. You're still not sure how to blow up the BrainWyrm, though, so you consult the Managerness inside the tine of the Crown. You pour Headspace's contents into the Namway manse, then implode it, filling it with all-consuming void.

With you inside. But with the help of your friends, or "friends," you're rescued: Richard protects your consciousness, Gil finds you inside the void, and Ellery (and everybody else) helps haul you to safety. You did it!

>TO-DO

Immediate goals:
- Debrief

Short-term goals:
- Use the memstick
- Make Richard tell you what's going on
- Leave Headspace/Namway in decent shape

Long-term goals:
- Resurrect Annie
- Return Claudia
- Attend your richly deserved Game Night
- Use, extract, or otherwise deal with the Wyrm stuff you got going on
- Find Jean Ramsey and her snake; challenge her to epic single combat (probably); reclaim the Crown
- In the meantime, continue collecting and storing Law (5/16)
- Make friends (...unless you have already?)

Mysteries:
- Who or what is Namway Co. and Headspace Corp.'s “Management”? What did they want with the clone of a snake? What do they want with a massive store of Law? If they're snakes... what does that mean?
- What kind of company(?) does Richard work for? What is its endgame? What does it want with you? What is its relationship with Management?
- Who is Horse Face investigating, and why?
- Who wiped three years of your life from your memory? Was it Management? Why? Can Richard really not remember them either?
- What is the Herald? Why does it keep showing up? What does it want? Where is it supposed to be? What are you supposed to forgive yourself for, exactly? (You haven't done anything wrong!)
- When is the world going to end? How?
- Do you have a destiny? Is it God-related? It's a good destiny, surely?
- Why does Richard keep developing stab wounds?
- If Richard isn't a snake, or anything else, what the hell is he?
- Why does Management know Richard by name? (Or mean nickname, at least?)


---

>Don't forget to scroll up and vote!

>>6159299
>5
Thanks for all the saves bro
>4

Pat still ungrateful even though we just all but guaranteed Management would never come after her again and I'm pretty sure we also managed to grab her boyfriends location in that memstick? Wow

>>6159299
>[1] Talk to Pat and Madrigal. You get what everybody is doing here, but what are they... doing?
>[2] Talk to Anthea. You only properly saw her one time. What was she up to? Did she help Gil out? (You should probably thank her if she helped Gil out.)

>>6159313
>>6159315
Please pick one, unless you plan to talk to both of your votes at the same time. "You'll have the chance to talk to multiple people" means you'll have a chance to talk to somebody else after the first person, sorry for the lack of clarity.

>Pat still ungrateful
Wait for her to have more than one line of dialogue before jumping to conclusions, anon!
Even if that's what Charlotte would do

>>6159323
In that case 5 first
He was the prime lifesaver

>[5] Talk to Gil. The last time you spoke to him, he blasted you with disgusting paganness, and you had no choice but to flee. You should probably address this.

>>6159299
>[5] Talk to Gil. The last time you spoke to him, he blasted you with disgusting paganness, and you had no choice but to flee. You should probably address this.

>>6159331
>>6159448
>>6159598
>[5]

>>6159315
>[1], [2]

Gilbros... we winning. Writing shortly. I don't expect this to be a super long update.

File: enlightened.png (2.49 MB, 997x1123)

2.49 MB PNG

>Give Bug Man a big fat friendly kiss on the mouth

Crack a cold one? A cold what? Madrigal's grinning down at you like she expects you to know what to do next. You're not sure you followed any of what she said. You can talk to people? But what if they ask you things you don't want to answer?

Gil, ever-faithful, sees your consternation. "I think she wants to sit down, right? Lottie? Take a breather?"

"Sure," you mumble. "Yeah."

Madrigal nods approvingly. "Sounds like a plan. I'll tell people to clear out. Give me a shout if you need me, 'kay? Not literally. I'll probably be nearby. If I'm not, ask Monty."

"Or me," Pat says.

"Or her, yeah. Pat knows what's up. I think she had something to ask you...?"

"I can wait." Pat grips her wrists. "Go sit down."

"We'll see you in a little bit, then," Gil says. "Uh, thanks for everything, really, Madrigal. You didn't have to—"

"Yeah, yeah. I fucking well did have to, but that's life. At least it got exploded. See you later, you two."

And then Madrigal has turned and waded back into the crowd, and Pat without comment has followed, and nobody is looking at you but Gil, whose hands are in his pockets. "Can you walk okay?"

"I'm a heroine," you say, concentrating, "of course—"

"Here! I gotcha!" Gil catches your arm as you teeter. "You've been through a lot... I mean, I assume you've been through a lot. I can only imagine. Um, how's— is this okay?" He's lifting your arm and placing it gingerly over his shoulder. "Just for support."

You rub your fingertips against the suede of his jacket. "...Yeah..."

"Okay! Ace! We don't have to go very far, just out of the way of everybody. I don't want to be stared at. C'mon."

He walks/drags you some ways, then stops, looks around, and squats down. He pats the ground in front of him, and you collapse to your knees right there.

"Hey, there we go. Looking good. How are you feeling?"

A complex question. You roll it around in your mouth. "You saved my..."

"Not really," Gil says. "I think you would've been fine without us, like they said. I just couldn't stand the wait. Ha-ha. You know how to wig me out, Lottie."

"You're lying." You feel sure of it. "I would've died! I thought I was going to— I thought— I was all screwed up at the end, thinking I was going to— I was wigged out, not you. I was thinking all this horrible stuff, all negative, and I wasn't being heroic at all, and you came in and—"

"Of course you were wigged out. You went and exploded yourself." You're not sure you like how lightly Gil is treating this. "I was glad you weren't taking it in stride, because you— I mean— you exploded yourself. You were just acting human."

"And not what?"

"Lottie..."

"Human and not what?" You dig your thumbnail into your finger. "And not like a scary monster trying to kill you?"

"That's not what I was going to say," Gil says. "But since you said it, I mean... yeah. That was a plus."

(1/2)

"Because I was a scary monster trying to kill you?"

"I— I don't know. Were you? All I know is that I found you, and then..." He gestures vaguely for the 'hug' bit. "...you were gone again. I didn't know if it was me, or you, or—"

"It was me," you say. "I was trying to kill you. I mean, I— I really wanted to— it wanted to kill you. And I couldn't let it kill you, so I... yeah. I ran."

"Ah."

"Are you mad at me?"

"What? No?" (You side-eye Gil, but he looks genuinely confused.) "Why would I be mad?"

"Because you were mad last time when I screwed up? You told me to plan better. And I didn't, and I ditched you, and I imploded myself, and I made Madrigal go to all the trouble of... whatever she's doing, and... anybody normal would be mad." You fold your arms. "Are you going to be mad after you stop being pagan?"

What kind of answer were you looking for? Either a yes or a no. Gil's hesitation stings. "I... I don't know. I don't think so. How did you know?"

"Besides the god powers? Your eyes are all funny-looking. Blue. Did Teddy do this to you?"

"Only a little. There was a fish, and..." Gil rubs his eye self-consciously. "I won't bore you with the details."

"A fish?"

"What did you call it? A vision quest? It was one of those. I think. I don't have a lot of experience. Don't worry about me, though— I mean— I didn't do much of anything. You're the one who blew up Headspace. Are you at least proud of that?"

"I... I think once I see it..."

"Needs to sink in. No problem. You should be proud, though. I mean, fucking Headspace— the amount of— this is a big deal, Lottie. A big goddamn deal! Be proud."

"Thanks," you say.

"Yeah," Gil says. "Of course."

>[1] So... what was he up to before and after you ditched him? You're sorry you got separated.
>[2] So is he all magyckal and perfect now? You don't know what being paganfied does. (You just remember he got really uppity last time it happened.) Will it go away?
>[3] Tell Gil about the new developments with the Herald.
>[4] (Attempt to) tell Gil about your revelations about the nature of heroism.
>[5] Ask Gil if he ever got a souvenir from Casey Effing Kemper.
>[6] Ask Gil about the mini-siphons. He got all of them planted, right? ...Right?
>[7] Write-in.

>>6160153
>1,5,6
Oh god the mini siphons
We forgot completely

>>6160153
>[6] Ask Gil about the mini-siphons. He got all of them planted, right? ...Right?

>[1] So... what was he up to before and after you ditched him? You're sorry you got separated.
>[6] Ask Gil about the mini-siphons. He got all of them planted, right? ...Right?

>>6160153
>[6] Ask Gil about the mini-siphons. He got all of them planted, right? ...Right?

>>6160817
>>6160585
>>6160395
>>6160380
>[6]

>>6160585
>>6160380
>[1]

>>6160380
>[5]

Called for [1], [5], [6]. I'd normally just do [1] and [6], but asking won't hurt anything and it provides me a convenient segue into the option slate. Behold my evil QMing powers at work.

Writing.

Rolled 4 (1d16)

Oh, and rolling for how many siphons Gil managed to plant offscreen. You get 4 of 16 automatically, since that's what you planted *on*-screen.

>Why would he not do his one job?
Because Casey brainwashed him and stole the rest of the siphons! You should consider yourself lucky your loyal retainer managed to steal them back and plant any extra. (Well, maybe. We'll see how the roll turns out.)

1 = No extra siphons
2 - 12 = N - 1 siphons
13-16 = All the extra siphons

>>6160858
>3 extra siphons

7 / 16 were planted, so you're just under half capacity. Not entirely what you were aiming for, but it could be worse.

Back to writing.

>Catching up

Gil's unbroken eye contact is too much for you: you redden and look down. "So... what have you been doing? Besides saving my life, or not."

"Aw, geez, that's a lot of... I haven't seen you since we jumped out of that window, right? Not counting the run-in. Wow. Okay, well, uh, I fell and wound up— I guess I got pinned as a Friend, because I wound up... most of it doesn't matter. I wound up getting reamed by Casey Fucking Kemper, is what happened. Completely jacked up. Mind-wise, I mean. Not my finest hour. But—"

"You seem okay," you say suspiciously.

"I am now. I think because I'm not real, strictly speaking, he couldn't wipe me out. Or maybe it's..." He leans his cheek against his hand. "...you know, I'm a tough nut to crack. After everything. I don't know. So it took me a while to work through it. Vision quest. You know."

"Oh." You process. "Oh. So you're all dumb and pagan because you needed to shake off Casey's vile brainwashing?"

"More or less, yup. I don't know if that'd be my word choice, but that's what you're here for." Gil smiles crookedly. "I need to thank Garvin, since it was his statue thing that..."

"Horse Face is responsible for this?!" You should've known! "Do you need me to talk to him?! Because I will have a word with—"

"Lottie, sit down. I'm fine. I'm still me, just— you know how sometimes you set some shitty expectations for yourself?"

"No?" you say. "I always meet my expectations."

"I— okay. Should've seen that coming. Don't worry about it. The point is, I did shake off the vile brainwashing, etcetera, socked C-F-K in the jaw—" Gil sounds pleased with himself. "—took off. And, uh, from there, I— I don't think you need a play-by-play, since I was mostly trying to track you, and you know how that worked out. But I did run back into Anthea... did you even know she was there? I guess she found out Ellery was trying to blow himself up, and she thought she might be able to wrangle him. Since I guess she does that a lot. She was going to nab him with... basically a pocket-dimension generator, which I thought was so cool, and I got to— have you ever really talked to Anthea?"

"Um..." You think. "...no..."

"You should! She's super nice. I mean, nicer than any other lady I've talked to..." You glare. Gil holds his hands up. "You excluded! Obviously she didn't save my life or anything. But she also didn't shoot me in the face, or insult me, so it's a low bar... um. She helped out a lot. And the body really helped. The goo, I mean. It's crazy how much more you can get done when you know you're not gonna get hurt. Like, when you know it. So thanks for that, again, if I haven't said it a million times."

"Certainly," you say, and sit down primly. "I'm pleased you have all your limbs, Gilbert. Did you have a chance to stick the siphons up?"

"Uh..."

"You didn't?"

(1/2?)

"I did! Some of them! Look, Lottie, I got— you know, jacked up. I was working on it until Casey went in and stole all my shit. Or I gave it to him, I don't know. I got the first four up, and then everything happened, and then, by the time I got any back, you'd pretty much cluster-bombed the place. It was over."

You draw your knees to your chest. "How many did you stick up total?"

"Four plus..." Gil counts on his fingers. "...three? Seven."

"So less than half?"

"Look, Lottie, I'm sorry. I was a little preoccupied. But don't you have juice in storage already? You're not starting from scratch, here. And the ones I did get should've captured what they could, so it's not like we're getting nothing. Just maybe not enough. Positive thinking?"

"Don't tell me to think positive," you snap.

"Sorry," Gil says. "Just saying."

"...Did you at least steal what you wanted to steal from Casey? I know in the penthouse, you really wanted to—"

"Oh! Yeah!" Gil rummages around in his pocket, then pulls out a boxy black thing. "I nabbed a talkie! Check it out! It's like a short-range radio in a little box, but it works two ways. I'm thinking maybe I could tinker with it, try to duplicate it, see if it can go between minds... whatever I can think of, I guess. But it's awesome stuff. Headspace really had a lot of crazy technology, so I'm glad you saved a lot of the infrastructure, or else it'd—"

"They were snakes," you say.

"What?"

"Management was snakes. Like Richard. That's why they had all the fancy technology."

"Oh." Gil lowers the talkie. "Wait, so Richard is Ma..."

"He says he isn't. I think it's probably complicated." You look over your shoulder at the diminishing crowd of people. "I still don't know that much, so... maybe later."

"Right. Good plan. Are you feeling any better?"

You reflect. "Yes."

"Okay! Ace! That's all you need sometimes, a breather. Can you stand? I saw you standing earlier."

Yes, you can stand, though you're still not wholly steady on your feet. "Grab on if you need me," Gil says helpfully. "Where are we going?"

>[1] To Casey! He *brainwashed* your retainer?! This is entirely unforgivable. You must either wreak your revenge or determine that he's so messed up revenge would be worthless.
>[2] To Anthea! It is sort of weird that you haven't properly talked to her in weeks. You should probably tell her how you made Real Ellery not explode himself, so you get the proper credit.
>[3] To Us! You might be feeling better, but that doesn't mean you're ready to accept the adulations of the public. To gird yourself, you must face the one person(s) who's probably annoyed at you right now. Also, Gil can give Teddy back (fingers crossed).
>[4] To Horse Face! You're glad Gil likes being all pagan-y, or whatever, but pawning off nefarious artifacts on your retainer is a bridge too far. Give him a piece of your mind. (Also, Horse Face might be able to help with crypto-theological... stuff. Should you be experiencing it.)
>[5] Write-in.

>>6160961
>2
Oh you wanted to save Ellery? Sorry we’re so heroic we accidentally did your entire goal as a side quest. Not easy being a destined savior and all

>>6160961
>[2] To Anthea! It is sort of weird that you haven't properly talked to her in weeks. You should probably tell her how you made Real Ellery not explode himself, so you get the proper credit.

>>6161054
>>6161071
>[2]

You got it. Writing,

>>6161054
kek

File: anthea - @alfheimr.jpg (301 KB, 1200x652)

301 KB JPG

>Yes I did singlehandedly rescue your ex-boyfriend you're welcome *dab* *dab* *dab*

You scan the people remaining. Madrigal looks busy. Pat looks peeved (though that might be her normal face, you're not sure). Horse Face looks like Horse Face. Okay, there definitely is somebody with multiple faces on them, which you refuse to address right now. Casey is as blank as ever. Ellery... Ellery also looks peeved. He's being talked to by Anthea.

Anthea! Gil's right that you haven't talked to her much. Does she know you're responsible for exposing Ellery's dark secrets? Is Ellery telling her you just saved his life? The last time you spoke to her properly, she was mad at you for spying on them, but surely she'll have forgiven you by now. Since it was for a good cause and all. Also, since she's so nice. You'd normally be skeptical of anybody claiming to be that nice, but Gil says it's true, and you trust his judgment.

You clear your throat. "Er, if Anthea was so helpful to you, I better go bestoweth upon her my... esteemed regards. Yes. Additionally, I must inform her that I did in fact rescue Ellery, since he's probably lying to her right now about that. Since he's such a liar. Why are you making a face?"

"I'm not making a face," Gil says, even though he clearly was. He was smiling in a weird way. "That sounds great. Lead on?"

"Yes!"

You lead on. Once or twice you have to catch yourself on Gil's arm, but only so he feels useful.

Ellery spots you first. He's significantly more messed up than he was when you left him: there's little holes burned into his skin everywhere, and he's missing big patches of his arms, neck, and face, plus a couple fingers. It's like he got splattered by acid. You guess you shouldn't be surprised that he doesn't seem to care. "And there she is."

"Charlotte!!" Anthea breaks away and rushes up to you. "Oh my goodness! You did it! You didn't need me or anybody at all! And you evacuated— I didn't realize— you've ended so much suffering, and saved so, so many lives, and it's— I can't believe it's over! It's really over! Oh, and Gil, I'm so glad— it was so brave of you to go and get her, and it looks like it worked perfectly, and, and, and I— and—"

She wobbles and goes glassy. "Thea?" Ellery says, and comes over. "Shit. Here."

He waves a sachet of something under her nose. She inhales, reflexively, and her smoke goes white. Ellery withdraws the sachet. "Strong emotion," he tells you neutrally.

Anthea wipes her upper lip. "Thank you," she says, equally neutrally. "Thank you, Charlotte. Gil. You did a really amazing thing. And thank you for stopping Ellery from doing something stupid."

"Not stupid," he says. "Charlotte, can we chat?"

"You're not chatting. You and her talking alone is what led to this mess." A flicker of red in Anthea's white smoke. "If I have to stay around to stop you from hurting yourself, I'll stay around."

(1/2)

File: anthea - @mainframe110.png (1.52 MB, 1175x1480)

1.52 MB PNG

"You're not my fucking mother," Ellery says.

"You never knew your mother, Ell."

"Yeah! So I don't need one! And I'm not your fucking project anymore, either. I can make my own godsdamn decisions, and I can talk to whoever I—"

"No, you can't." Anthea folds her arms. To you: "I'm sorry about him. Thank you for talking him down." (Ellery snorts.) "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

>[A1] You really know very little about Anthea, other than the outline Ellery's sketched for you. What does she do, besides be president of Spelunkers Associated? How did she meet Ellery? Did she know about his dumb martyr plan all along?
>[A2] She's not still mad about you spying on her, right? (She doesn't seem mad, but she could be harboring resentment.)
>[A3] Has she met Madrigal? Did she know there was going to be a welcoming party?
>[A4] What's this about a pocket dimension generator?
>[A5] Uh... so she thinks it's fine if a lot of the Headspace employees fell into Us, right? She still counts that as saving their lives, right?
>[A6] Write-in.

>[B1] Thank her sincerely for helping Gil.
>[B2] Thank her heroically for helping Gil.
>[B3] She seems mollified enough already. Omit the thanking.
>[B4] Write-in.

>>6161559
Anthea is definitely a good person if she appeciates us as much as we deserve.
>[A4] What's this about a pocket dimension generator?

>[B1] Thank her sincerely for helping Gil.

>[A1] You really know very little about Anthea, other than the outline Ellery's sketched for you. What does she do, besides be president of Spelunkers Associated? How did she meet Ellery? Did she know about his dumb martyr plan all along?

>[B1] Thank her sincerely for helping Gil.

>>6161559
>A1
>B1
She’s awed enough for our ego to not need the heroic thank you

>>6161625
>>6161630
>[A1]

>>6161589
>[A4]

>>6161589
>>6161625
>>6161630
>[B1]

Called for [A1] / [A4] / [B1]. Also, since everybody's picking single options, here's your reminder that dialogue options like the [A]s are "pick however many you want" unless otherwise specified. You don't have to pick multiple if you don't want to, but it's not prohibited.

Writing. I am starting late, so slim chance I won't finish, but I feel pretty good about it.

File: why don't you write.jpg (119 KB, 640x396)

119 KB JPG

On second thought, I'm pretty much beat, and the update would need extra legwork to get it to the endpoint I'm envisioning. I think I'll go ahead, pass out early, and maybe see if I can work on this during the day. If not, it'll be tomorrow night as usual. Thanks for your understanding.

File: charlotte & gil - @centip(...).png (518 KB, 754x934)

518 KB PNG

>I'm sorry I have literally no idea what your deal is

"Um, yes." Will Anthea think less of you if you're too grateful? No, you doubt it. She's nice. "I wanted to say... thank you... for helping Gil. Not that he couldn't have handled himself, but, um, I'm usually there to help him, and this time I couldn't be, so I appreciate... I think Gil appreciates your help. But I also do. Yeah."

"Wow," Ellery says. You imagine him getting torn into one million pieces. Gil is looking at you, but you refuse to look back, so it could be a good or bad look. Chin up. Eyes forward. You're only being polite, like your Aunt Ruby taught you, it's not weird for you to thank her...

"Aw! You're so welcome!" Anthea is clasping her hands together. "It wasn't anything, really, if anything he was helping me— it was teamwork, was all! I just felt so bad, because I judged him, you know, on appearances— most unpeople aren't trustworthy. By nature! Not their fault! But I was so impressed by how smart he was, and brave, and the way he broke out of the Friend programming— I mean, it takes someone special for that. You too, Charlotte, really. He said a lot of nice things about you."

Right. Because he was (is?) god-addled. You understand. Still, you redden. "He did?"

"Yeah! About how he owed you his life, and how he couldn't let you down, and how you were just about the specialest person he'd ever met, and on and on, and—"

No avoiding eye contact now: you look questioningly, accusingly, at Gil. He doesn't flinch, but does produce a sheepish smile. "Well, I meant it."

"Oh," you say. (God-addled.)

"I was pretty worried about you, was all. And I missed you. Not that Anthea wasn't nice to have around, but— you know."

"Oh." (Practically insane. No— not 'practically.')

"No hard feelings!" Anthea says. "I'm so happy you could find each other, honestly, I felt so bad for Gil, and he was such a big help with my runaway—" She tugs Ellery's sleeve. "—I can hardly believe it! Can I hug you?"

Now, you'd ruled it out previously, but there is still an infinitesimal chance you're dead. "What?"

"Both of you! For everything!" And before you can protest, or even process, Anthea is hugging you. Both of her arms are around you. But she is a woman, and (you think) not far from your age, so it's acceptable, if... ungainly. You make a strangled sort of noise and she releases, only to grab Gil and squeeze him too. "Oh!" she says, as she withdraws. "You're cold!"

"I think that's the goo," Gil says, shockingly undisturbed. "Sorry about that."

"No, no, no worries! Just surprised me. Whatcha looking at, Ell? Did I skip you?"

Ellery attempts to loosen his expression. "No, I think— ah!" Anthea has grabbed him into a side-hug. "Uh... thanks, Thea. Charlotte, was that it, or—"

(1/6?)

File: anthea 5 years ago.png (10 KB, 348x562)

10 KB PNG

You previously had a vague conception of Anthea as a friendly-but-uptight rules stickler. (Maybe that's why you never invited her to anything.) It's not as though she's disrupted this, precisely, but you may have underestimated the friendliness and overestimated the stickleriness. What else have you underestimated? What do you even know about her? She's president of Spelunkers Associated (Corcass chapter), she's Ellery's ex-girlfriend, she was in on the dark secrets all along... but how? If Ellery was supposed to be stuck in exile, how did he even meet a girl? You're sure you could use your master detectiving to work this out, but you could also ask. Richard would approve of asking.

You clear your throat. "No. I was wondering, Anthea... uh... I haven't talked to you very much. I don't know anything about you. Who are you?"

"I told you she was nosy," Ellery says.

"Knock it off! I have nothing to hide. And now you don't either, Ell." Anthea smiles up at him. "I don't know if there's that much to know, though. Was there something specific...?"

"She wants to know about me," Ellery continues, as Gil says: "How'd you get down here?"

"Me? Oh, murdered. About Ellery and I?"

Damnit. He has you dead for rights. "Sure. Yes."

"Ell, do you mind if I—?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter! Alright! Well, it's been... gosh, I don't know how long, actually. I lose track."

"Five years for me," Ellery says, a touch bitterly.

"Okay, five years. Five years ago, I was spelunking all the time. Just for fun, you know. Seeing the sights. This was mostly in Headspace manses, because they're all wired similarly, and the security is usually shoddy-to-none. Meaning you can sort of... you're non-technical, right? Um, you can kind of throw the dice and delve whatever comes up, as long as it's abandoned, which most of them are. So it's a normal day, I'm doing my normal thing, I wind up in a normal abandoned manse. And it looks abandoned, to be clear! Everything's in ruins. But there's a weird atmosphere, so I poke around, and then I find that it's not abandoned."

"She found me."

"I found Ellery! Sheer dumb luck! Or fate. Only, it's not— er— he was in a bad state."

"What Thea is trying to say is that I was bugfuck insane. This is after a couple years of zero outside contact, so I'm sure— actually, you might understand, Gil. You were mansed for a while, weren't you?"

"Me?" Gil frowns. "Er... yes. Not for years, though. I think it was six months, give or take, and I... um, I am glad Lottie showed up when she did. I don't know if I would've lasted too much longer."

"Aha. Yeah. See, I remember being six months in. I do not remember two years in, because I didn't last. Nobody would last. That was the point of it, to be a fucking inescapable deathtrap. And it worked, because I fucking died. Isn't that right, Thea?"

(2/6?)

"He wasn't dead," Anthea says apologetically. "He was just... eh..."

"Was I wearing any clothes?"

"Oh God," you say.

"He was... in the buff. Yes. It was an unexpected day."

"Shut your fucking mouth already, Charlotte. It wasn't a sex thing. I was way too far gone for it to be a sex thing. Ellery," says Ellery, "did not, at that point, exist. At all. As best I can tell, I was nerves on legs. Basically an animal. Anthea thought this was hot."

"I did not!" Anthea squeals. "I thought it was interesting. I thought he was part of the manse at first, actually, but it was all so odd, and... I came back the next day. Um, with spare clothes."

"Came back more than once," Ellery says.

"Well, yes. More than once. ...Every day. It was such a mystery! I was sure there had to be something behind it! So I spent a lot of time talking to him, um, showing him things, reading him the newspaper, hoping something would stick— because he couldn't talk, or wouldn't. But he was always interested in me, and I never felt threatened, so I knew there had to be— I was convinced there was a beautiful spirit in there somewhere!"

"There wasn't," Ellery says.

Anthea, smoke yellow-red, elbows him. "Of course there was. But all of this went on for a while— weeks. And I knew it was all paying off, because he started to sort of, um, mutter nonsense— but then I started hearing words in the nonsense! And then finally he could talk for real! A little. One or two words."

"What do you think the first one was, Charlotte?" Ellery's gaze is piercing. "Guess."

Damn! You hate being quizzed! You need ample time to utilize your detectiving skills. "...Headspace?"

"Ha. Imagine. No, Charlotte, I was bugfuck insane. I could remember next to nothing. I knew one name, and it wasn't mine."

Wait! Second time's the charm! "Madrigal's?"

"Maddie."

"Er, yes." Anthea rubs the intact side of her face. "He dubbed me 'Maddie.' Lots of Maddying. I didn't mind, since he was clearly impaired, and I kept at it. And he could speak better every day, even if he couldn't remember very much, and he started taking initiative for certain things, and... er..."

Anthea's smoke is now hot pink. Ellery puts his hand on her shoulder. "How about I explain," he intones. "Since I can start to remember this. See, Charlotte, Gil, I was bugfuck insane. Did I mention that? Still insane, only barely able to string together a sentence. Barely remembered who I was. Did not remember how I got there. The one thing that I knew for sure is I had a girlfriend, her name was Maddie, and I had strong feelings about her."

(3/6?)

File: real ellery.png (224 KB, 806x1018)

224 KB PNG

"Very strong feelings," Anthea says, still pink.

"Very strong feelings. So, in my catastrophically fucked mind, I saw a woman being nice to me, and any woman was Maddie. All women were Maddie. So I behaved as though she was my, you know, long-term girlfriend, very attractive girlfriend, who I hadn't seen in actual eternity. Draw your conclusions."

You are choosing to refrain from drawing any conclusions, actually. Gil makes a sort of closed-mouth cough-type noise. "Oh boy."

"It was flattering. I didn't do much to stop him." Anthea rubs her neck. "And he kept recovering more and more— I mean, he was more and more of a person every day, even if he couldn't remember much, and— um, I stopped correcting him about my name. I figured if it made him happy, calling me that, I didn't mind. Eventually he was well enough that I could take him with me, spelunking, and... we spent a long time like that."

"Maybe a year. I'd remembered my name by then, but not much else. If you were me, you wouldn't want to remember shit, so don't get titchy. Sure was more fun than whatever the fuck this is." Ellery grimaces. "Bubble had to pop, though. I don't think it was even anything in particular. I just wake up one day, and she's right there, and I look at her, and I'm like: what the fuck? That's not Maddie. And I remember— it all comes crashing down. I remember everything. Like I woke up from a dream. You can imagine how I felt."

"He yelled at me," Anthea says ruefully. "We sorted it out, though. And he told me everything. About Headspace, and locitis, and... everything. You know the rest from there. Spelunkers Associated was sort of separate, since it was already my hobby, but it was also a good way to scope out future... private expeditions. And we found Nettie through it, which worked out great, until—"

"Until she flipped out and kidnapped Maddie? And shot me."

"And me," Gil volunteers.

"And him. Yeah. She was cool until then. Now..." Ellery gestures impatiently at Pat's back. "...I don't know. She's supposed to be cool again, or something. Boggles my mind. But yeah. That's the story."

It's even more pathetic than you were expecting. There's just one thing. "But you two aren't— you're exes. When did you stop, um..." Were they ever formally entangled? What a horrible situation. "When did you start? And then when did you stop?"

"We started when I started fucking her, Charlotte. I didn't think I had to spell that out. I—" (Anthea whispers in his ear.) "What? Officially? There's no such thing as officially. When I found out she wasn't Maddie and kept fucking her, I guess. It ended last year when I told her I didn't love her."

There's a silence. Anthea's smoke has darkened considerably, but she doesn't say anything. Ellery won't stop making eye contact with you.

"That's awful," you say finally.

"Yes," Ellery says. "It is."

(4/6?)

File: charlotte & ellery - @gob(...).jpg (164 KB, 1080x1851)

164 KB JPG

"Anthea! All that stuff," Gil cuts in, "and you didn't mention the generator one time! Or where you found it, or built it, or— do you have special expertise in the topic? Why don't you tell us?"

"..." Anthea snatches the sachet from Ellery's hand and inhales deeply. The smoke pales again. "Yes. Thanks for asking. Um, I originally got into spelunking from a psychoarcheological standpoint, thus the focus on ruined and abandoned manses, but this also involved a lot of research on subspace— um, there's a mode of thought that—"

"Charlotte," Ellery hisses, and jerks his head.

"—all unreal spaces, including manses, but also pocket dimensions, aux spaces, rifts, even the Edges, are in some metaphysical, semi-spatial sense interconnected, so that—"

Anthea is distracted. Gil is riveted. Ellery is maintaining the eye contact. You could stay and listen to a metaphysical lecture, or you could talk to Ellery. Rock and a hard place. But Ellery might have something interesting to say.

You sidle away. Gil sees you leave, but doesn't seem to register it. And what does it matter if you talk to Ellery? It's not illegal. It's not like he can blow himself up now.

Anyways, you're well away from everybody now. Ellery scans around, to make extra sure of this, then returns his attention to you. "So. Herald."

"Don't call me that," you say, and fiddle with your neckline.

"Why? It's you. Right from their mouths. They're not really dead, right?"

"Uh..." Management, right? "...I think the ones you killed are really dead. The others... I don't know. I don't think they're coming back soon, since they— they were all routed through the BrainWyrm. And I imploded it."

"You imploded it. You sure did." Ellery toys with one of the holes in his neck. "Heroic of you. I lived, by the way."

"Um... I figured."

"I lived because you decreed it. Herald. I am at your command. I'm not important enough not to be."

He's doing the evil leading question thing. You keep your mouth shut.

"That's why I can't kill myself any other way, see? You wouldn't like it. And if you don't like it, it can't happen. Your rules. Your story. Your script. I can't tell you what to do, and I can't do what I want to do. All I can do is beg like a fucking dog. Are we on the same page?"

You're not even in the same book. "Uh..."

"Okay. So here goes. When you wield your ultimate destined power, when you decide my fucking eternal fate, don't make me live. Kill me. If you can't do that, don't make me live like this. You can't possibly hate me enough to make me live like this, Charlotte. I don't want a body. I don't want a life. I want to be something else. I am begging. Do you understand me?"

You understand the words. You're not sure about the rest of it.

(Choices next.)

>[A1] Er... yes. Humor him. If/when you magyckally decide Ellery's destiny, you'll make sure to turn him into a slug or something. Probably not a slug. You'll come up with something better using your ultimate powers, once you have those.
>[A2] No? You think Ellery's misunderstood something. You might be a famous heroine, yes, and you might have an epic nemesis-slaying/world-saving destiny, but you're not God. (You're pretty sure that's heretical.) You can offer suggestions about his fate, if he wants, but you can't "decide it."
>[A3] No? How does he know he doesn't want a new body and/or life? He hasn't even tried it yet. If he won't try it, maybe you'll make him have one, just to prove he's being a big whiny baby.
>[A4] Write-in.

>[B1] So, is he happy about Headspace getting imploded, or...?
>[B2] Why did he have to be mean to Anthea? It's like he did it just to hurt her. Not cool.
>[B3] Maybe it's a bad time to bring this up, but he knows that he can get a goo body right now, right? Management can't come after him anymore. He could at least try it.
>[B4] Has he talked to Monty or Eloise or anybody from camp? Hell, has he talked to Madrigal? He should know they all miss him and feel sorry for him.
>[B5] Seriously, you're not the Herald. You were faking it. He needs to calm down.
>[B6] What's up with Casey?
>[B7] Write-in.

>>6162943
>[A2] No? You think Ellery's misunderstood something. You might be a famous heroine, yes, and you might have an epic nemesis-slaying/world-saving destiny, but you're not God. (You're pretty sure that's heretical.) You can offer suggestions about his fate, if he wants, but you can't "decide it."

>[B1] So, is he happy about Headspace getting imploded, or...?
>[B2] Why did he have to be mean to Anthea? It's like he did it just to hurt her. Not cool.
>[B3] Maybe it's a bad time to bring this up, but he knows that he can get a goo body right now, right? Management can't come after him anymore. He could at least try it.
>[B4] Has he talked to Monty or Eloise or anybody from camp? Hell, has he talked to Madrigal? He should know they all miss him and feel sorry for him.
>[B5] Seriously, you're not the Herald. You were faking it. He needs to calm down.
>[B6] What's up with Casey?

>>6162943
>A2
Since he keeps bringing this up though, fine, if somehow we do end up in a position to decide his eternal fate we'll make him as happy as possible.

>B5, 6

>>6162943
>[A3] No? How does he know he doesn't want a new body and/or life? He hasn't even tried it yet. If he won't try it, maybe you'll make him have one, just to prove he's being a big whiny baby.
>[B1] So, is he happy about Headspace getting imploded, or...?
>[B4] Has he talked to Monty or Eloise or anybody from camp? Hell, has he talked to Madrigal? He should know they all miss him and feel sorry for him.

>[A2] No? You think Ellery's misunderstood something. You might be a famous heroine, yes, and you might have an epic nemesis-slaying/world-saving destiny, but you're not God. (You're pretty sure that's heretical.) You can offer suggestions about his fate, if he wants, but you can't "decide it."

>[B2] Why did he have to be mean to Anthea? It's like he did it just to hurt her. Not cool.
>[B3] Maybe it's a bad time to bring this up, but he knows that he can get a goo body right now, right? Management can't come after him anymore. He could at least try it.
>[B4] Has he talked to Monty or Eloise or anybody from camp? Hell, has he talked to Madrigal? He should know they all miss him and feel sorry for him.

6163424
6163181
6162981
>[A2]

6163231
>[A3]

6162981
6163231
>[B1]

6162981
6163424
>[B2]

6162981
6163424
>[B3]

6162981
6163424
6163231
>[B4]

6163181
6162981
>[B5]

6162981
6163181
>[B6]

I see you guys have expertly colluded to make me write every single dialogue option. I'll do it, but I will almost certainly need two updates to cover everything.

Called for [A2] + all the [B]s and writing.

>What? Come on dude

You ought to remember that Real Ellery is not a normal person. In fact, he's told you several times that he is decidedly abnormal, that in fact his brain is cooked clean through, and any appearance of normality is because Anthea painstakingly taught him how to speak and wear clothes again. Or something like that. So when he says inane things like this, you shouldn't be surprised at all.

Still, you take a deep breath. "Ellery..."

"Yes or no. Do you understand?"

"No, because I'm not— it's nice that you think I'm so special, and all, but I don't actually control your entire life? Or anybody's? Except mine, I guess. I can take your dumb ideas into consideration, maybe, but I can't actually—"

"Can't you?" He juts his chin. "Herald?"

"No? Obviously? Ellery, I'm not actually the Herald. The Herald is a big lizard. I don't know if I explained that to you. I lied to Management about being it so they wouldn't fight me, then they believed me, and then..." You gesture with both hands. "...you saw the rest. I am definitely a heroine, I'm not arguing that, but I'm not a big lizard, so I'm not the Herald."

"Management didn't agree."

"I literally just told you why? I tricked them. With my heroic wits." You toss your head.

"Okay. I don't believe you. They can't be lied to, Charlotte. They read your thoughts." Ellery raises his eyebrows. "And you're a shitty liar, besides. They saw something in you."

God. Well, it's not like he talks to anybody. "Fine! If you must know, I— I contacted the real Herald, and she helped me convince them. But it was still a lie! And I was still using my heroic wits. The point is, you're talking nonsense. I can't change your entire life. If I could, I would've already made you less annoying, so isn't it obvious?"

"What is the Herald?" Ellery says. "I've never heard of it."

You shift. "It's... a big lizard. It's sort of, um, mythical. To Management."

"Is it normal to be able to contact a big mythical lizard? For help? At will?"

You frown. "It's not like I do it all the time. And it's the one that's pushy! It shows up in my dreams, or whatever. So it's not that weird that—"

"Okay, Charlotte," Ellery says.

"Okay?"

"Listen. I thought we were on the same page about this, given our little fucking tête-à-tête—" (Pronounced like "tate-on-tate.") "—earlier. Clearly not. So let me lay this out plain as day for you. I think you're Management's project."

"I thought you were Management's project."

"Me? No. I was an afterthought. I didn't have a guy assigned to me. I didn't have half my memories scrambled. I was shoved in a box and left to die. You're special, like we talked about. You're the project. And Charlotte, it worked."

"No it didn't," you say.

"It did. With flying colors. Why are you like that? That's why you're like that. And you said they're not dead for good?"

(1/3)

"...I don't think so, but..."

"Then they're still out there. Still monitoring. I don't think they're going to let the whole thing fail now, do you? Maybe they wanted Headspace blown up. Maybe it was all a test. I would put fuck-all past them."

Ellery doesn't know the BrainWyrm almost possessed you. You tuck your hands behind your back and try not to look guilty.

"And what do they want from their project? I don't fucking know, but I can see where they're going with it. Do you know what it looks like, Charlotte? Watch this."

Ellery takes his finger and runs it in a straight line, then starts curving it up steeper and steeper, until he's going straight up, way up, as far as he can reach. "I think you're... here." He circles his finger in the middle of the curvy bit, right before it goes straight up.

"Oh," you say. "Um... well... you're making that up."

>[-1 ID: 7/15*]

"Maybe I am. What do I know? But as far as I can tell, I've only ever been right about you."

"I'm not God," you say.

"Did I say that?"

"And I'm not going to be... that's blasphemy! But I suppose I should expect that, coming from a pagan. I won't be God. God is a giant snake that wants to eat people, by the way, so being God doesn't even make sense. And I wouldn't want to be God, even if I was. That's boring! I'm happy being an extremely impressive heroine, who can't— I mean— I can help your fate, probably. But I can't decide it."

"You can think what you want." Ellery rolls his shoulders. "But humor me. If you did achieve ultimate power, or whatnot, would you listen to what I asked for?"

God! He's so stubborn! Is killing himself the only thing he can think about? "I guess... sure? I would probably use my ultimate God powers to find out what'd make you happiest, and then do that. So if that really was killing you, or not giving you a new body, or whatever, I guess so. But if there were any other option, I'd do that! Duh."

"No worries. There's no other option. You swear?"

"It's never going to happen, so... yes?"

"Shake on it?"

Ellery has extended his three-fingered hand. You consider alternatives, then determine he'll probably only shut up if you shake it, so you sigh and do so.

"Thank you, Charlotte," he says, and puts both hands in his pockets.

"Uh-huh. Is that it?"

"Is what it?"

"Are you going to congratulate me for ending Headspace's awful tyranny? And saving the lives of thousands? Your life's goal?"

"I thought Anthea covered it." Ellery purses his lips. "You ended a lot of suffering. You prolonged mine. Forgive me if I'm not licking your boots."

"Are you saying your suffering is worse than thousands of people getting..."

(2/3)

"I'm not saying anything. I'm glad it's destroyed. I'm glad Management's paralyzed. Am I happy about how it ended up? What do you think? My life's in fucking ruins. So congratulations, Charlotte. Good job. I have no reasons to live and I can't die. You know, even the people they were sucking the Law from— they lost consciousness. I'm just saying."

"You're a jerk," you say. "You're— you're selfish."

"Always have been! Strung Thea along for years. She could find a better guy, you know— total catch— but she sticks with me. I jerk her along. When I only ever thought I loved her." Ellery spreads his hands. "It'd be better off for her if she ditched. It'd be better off for Maddie if she stuck with the fake guy. What the fuck do I have to offer?"

"Have you asked them?" you say. "Have you talked to Madrigal? Or anyone else from camp? I saw Monty, and Eloise, and..."

"What the fuck do I have to talk about? I made all of their lives slightly worse, and now I'm worse. That's the story."

"I don't think they'd say that." You fold your arms. "Don't you realize Management is gone? Or they can't hurt you anymore. You could get a body again. Gil has one made of goo, and he says it works—"

"No."

"—pretty well... why? It's not that gross. Only a little gross."

"I have no interest. The last fucking thing I want to do is get my body back."

You stare at him. "So you're just going to sit in your manse and rot forever?"

"I don't know. Seems likely. Is that what you decree, Herald?"

>[1] Write-in. (Real choices in the morning.

---

*I've been pretty lax about tracking ID this thread, which started from an unwillingness to pin down where you'd be at post-rescue and then compounded from there. I'm nipping it in the bud now and retroactively stating that you started low but gained a bunch from Anthea/Madrigal/Gil complimenting you, and we'll track it like usual going forward

>>6163566
>1
As a TEMPORARY VESSEL for the Herald I decree that you must go around and socialize with everyone from camp, AND you have to be nice while doing it

Thanks for waiting, folks.

>>6163566

>[1] This is stupid! There's no reason not to get a goo body and go back to real life except his own baseless hang-ups. You decree he get one ASAP. (Optional: Write-in arguments for bonuses to the roll.) [Difficult roll.]

>[2] He should get a goo body. But maybe it's too tall of an order to demand he get back to real life forever? You just want him to try it for a little bit, like... until Fake Ellery comes back to life. See? That makes sense. (Optional: Write-in arguments.) [Roll.]

>[3] You don't care if he gets a goo body, honestly, but it's straight-up stupid to avoid Monty and Eloise and everybody. He needs to at least say hello. In a nice way! Not a jerk way! (Optional: Write-in arguments.) [Easier roll.]

>[4] At some point, Ellery is no longer your problem. You blew up Management and gave him his girlfriend back and he's still mopey? Whatever. He's a grown man. Drop the topic for now.

>[5] Write-in.


>>6163635

I will take this as a vote for [3] unless explicitly changed. Thanks for taking the leap.

>>6163723
>[3] You don't care if he gets a goo body, honestly, but it's straight-up stupid to avoid Monty and Eloise and everybody. He needs to at least say hello. In a nice way! Not a jerk way! (Optional: Write-in arguments.) [Easier roll.]

>>6163723

I am in fact changing from >>6163635
>2
Once he does have a body I'm sure it'll help keep him grounded

Tell him uuuuuuuuh
He should at least have one final conversation with everyone before unaliving himself somewhere, face to face. Which I guess is also 3 but not right now at least.

>>6163723
>>[3] You don't care if he gets a goo body, honestly, but it's straight-up stupid to avoid Monty and Eloise and everybody. He needs to at least say hello. In a nice way! Not a jerk way! (Optional: Write-in arguments.) [Easier roll.]

>>6163750
>>6163770
>[3]

>>6163763
>[2]

Called. I need dice.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 10 (+10 Reasonable Request) vs. DC 55 (+20 Unreasonable, -15 Knows It) to convince Real Ellery to talk to his friends!

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 7/15 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

Rolled 63 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6163887
>[2] Nah

Rolled 1 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6163887
Y

Christmas miracle plz

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>6163887
>Yes

Rolled 99 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6163887
>[2] N

>>6163890
>>6163920
>>6163930
>73, 1, 109 vs. DC 55 -- CRITICAL FAILURE

Lol. Alright. If you rolled a 1 and 100, they'd cancel out. You rolled a 1 and a 99, so I'm going to offer something else.

>Spend 3 ID to convert your Critical Failure into a Mitigated Success? i.e. making the 1 and 99 cancel out, which leaves the 73

>[1] Y, spend 3 ID
>[2] N, take the critfail

>>6163934
>[1] Y, spend 3 ID

>>6163934
Y

>>6163935
>>6163936
>Y
Good enough. You're getting the Mitigated. Writing shortly.

File: pocket mirror.jpg (43 KB, 720x720)

43 KB JPG

>Ellery. Bro. Touch grass
>73, 1, 109 vs. DC 55 -- Mitigated Success

"No?" you say. "Why would I ever decree that? If you don't want a body back, I don't care, but you should at least go talk to people. They're probably going to want to talk to you, you realize? What are you going to do, walk away? I happen to know first-hand that they all care about you, for some reason, and they got really worried when they heard you were in mind exile, and they'll be even more worried if you ignore them for no reason, so— yeah. Go talk to Monty! Or Eloise! Or Madrigal some more. I know they're busy, but talk to them when they're not. It's not like they won't make time for you."

"I should go talk to them?" Ellery says. "That's your decree? Herald?"

"No! Did I not explain this enough? I can't go around decreeing... I mean, I can strongly recommend it, which I do, because you'd be stupid not to. But I'm not the Herald, like I told you, just now, in great detail, so no! That's not my decree! Stop being a jerk."

"I can't help it. It's what I am." He grins fiercely at you. "And what are you, Charlotte? If you're not the Herald, you must be a nosy little kid. And I don't listen to kids. Sorry. Run along."

"It's a normal suggestion!" you say. "What would Anthea say, huh? She'd probably say the same exact thing as me. Should I go get her?"

"Don't drag Thea into this." He's suddenly serious. "She'll faint. This is between you and me. And between you and me, kid, there's nothing left. You got what you came for. If you won't face the facts, leave me the fuck alone."

"You're delusional!"

"Takes one to know one. Hey, tell Thea I headed home, will you?"

"What? Hey!" (Ellery has fished out his pocket mirror.) "Put that away! You're not done here! What about Casey?"

"What about him?"

"Uh..." You don't know. "What about all the Headspace employees? Don't you care about them? Ellery!" He's flipped the mirror open. "Fine! I decree, as a— as a strictly temporary vessel of the Herald, that you should put that away and go talk to Monty. Is that what you want?"

He looks up. "You don't mean it."

"Yes I do! I mean it super hard. Don't be stupid, Ellery— Ellery? Come on!" He's looking down again. "Tell me what you want me to say!"

"I don't care what you say. I want you to mean it."

"I don't know what that..." He's raised the mirror to his face. "Damnit! Give me that!"

Before you can think, you've lashed out and snatched back Ellery's sticklike wrist, the one attached to the hand with the mirror. You hold it pincerlike between the two of you. Ellery, a head taller than you, looks down into your eyes. He's half-smiling.

Without tugging his wrist away, he rotates it, so the pocket mirror is facing toward you. "Look."

(1/5)

File: redness 5.jpg (54 KB, 412x500)

54 KB JPG

"Why?" you say. "So you can suck me into your manse and trap me forever?"

"I can't do that. Look."

"No! I'm not looking into your evil mirror!" You push his hand back toward him. "Just stop trying to—"

"Why don't you look, Charlotte? Are you scared of what you'll see?"

God! If only Anthea weren't around, so you could shut him up properly. "No! I'll have you know that I already thoroughly explored your dumb mirror dimension, and it showed me looking perfectly normal, so you can shove that up your—"

"Did it? You saw nothing out of the ordinary?"

You saw the Herald, briefly, but you're not telling Ellery that. Fat chance. You'd rather kill him before you told him that. You'd rather jam the mirror down his throat until he choked. Why does he have to be such an asshole all the time? "No! Shut up."

"You seem a little upset, Charlotte."

He's mocking you. He is absolutely, 100% mocking you. How dare he?! You could shatter the mirror in your fist and slice him open with the shards. You could draw The Sword and stab him, or— better yet— burn his paper skin to ash. You could kill him for his impudence. You should kill him. You should KILL him. Your throat's stuffed with something thick, something wet, and if you opened your mouth you—

He's looking at you.

What are you thinking? You can't kill Ellery! He wants to die, and that ruins absolutely everything. Plus, Anthea's right over there. Practically everybody you know is right over there. You'd be arrested. You'd be exiled. Even Gil wouldn't like you anymore. You can't— you can't— you can't. You can't. Choke the red stuff down. Unclench your grip. Can Ellery see that you almost murdered him? Is it all over your face? Do you have a scary monster face? Finally, unwillingly, you glance into his mirror.

It's you. Charlotte Fawkins. You look concerned, somewhat strained. Your Aunt Ruby would scold you if you said "constipated." You don't look too murdery, you think, which is good. It's hard for your winsome face to look murdery, so long as you keep your teeth away. So that's good. Score for you. What was Ellery trying to get you to see? Was he just pranking you? Distracting you? But he's right there watching.

It's your face. Charlotte Fawkins, dashing heroine. Privately, now that you're examining yourself, you're not sure you appear altogether heroic. Face-wise. In the classical sense. Based off the book covers. But— well— the book covers aren't real, are they? You're real. And you're a heroine, actually, indisputably, so by definition you must look like one. They ought to pattern the covers after you. It is because you are.

File: inside a mirror.jpg (174 KB, 564x853)

174 KB JPG

You don't look anything like the Herald, despite Ellery's provocations. The Herald is actually, indisputably a giant lizard, and (except in rare circumstances) you are not. Except that's not what it said. What did it say? I am a lizard because the Herald is a lizard. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be. It is because it is.

Spiral logic. Tail-eating logic. Am I a lizard? I don't know. You don't look in a mirror often. Hardly ever. I'm malleable.

The Herald is a giant lizard. Ergo you are not the Herald. The Herald is not necessarily a giant lizard. Ergo...

You lift your lip to expose your fangs, then prod the venom glands with your tongue. The Herald gave you those. You really want this? It can be a real pain. The Herald knows what it's like to have those. Probably has those itself. Herself.

You are not drawing any conclusions. You are categorically refusing to draw conclusions. If you draw conclusions, Ellery wins. You let go of your lip. In the mirror, you see your strings faintly— your sun faintly. You see the bad eye. The spiral cut into its surface. Your good eye, too. Your mother always told you about your pretty eyes— they were from her side, she said. They were Bowers eyes, not Fawkins. Fawkins eyes were cold.

Your good eye is blue, but it isn't cold. It's a bit greenish. Sun-heated. Poolwater. Richard at his meanest insulted a great many things about you, but not your eyes. Are you thinking about your eyes so you don't think about other things? You're not thinking about anything. Your pupil is dilating.

If Ellery has anything to say, he isn't saying it. If he's making a new expression, you're not looking up to see it. You are looking into your eye. Seeing into your eye. And you are having a sense— and maybe it's that you're still unsteady, that you're not recovered from near-disintegration— that you are seeing yourself. Seeing into yourself. Seeing through—

>[-3 ID: 4/15]

—yourself, past yourself, down the pupil's damp tunnel, out into blackness and redness, redness and whiteness, whiteness and blackness, out into the near future and far past, out over the world, out into your own startled eyes, and you say Wait! and you say Stop! and you say Get out!, but it's too late, it's two-way (it always is), and nature abhors a vacuum. You don't know where you got that from. Maybe Richard said it. If Richard said it, it's probably true, so it makes sense that there's a woosh and a rush and the future pours in to meet you.

You look up. Ellery is grinning a chilly victory grin. "Herald."

"Go talk to your stupid friends," you resonate, "you stupid God-damn bastard. They feel sorry for you. If you act like a jerk they'll blame it on your horrific torture, not you. Even if they should blame you. You have literally nothing to lose. You imbecile. Go!!"

(3/5)

File: anthea - @chicoqore.jpg (224 KB, 864x1112)

224 KB JPG

"There," says Ellery, and snaps the mirror shut. You shudder. "Thought so."

"My decree is that you go to hell," you add.

"I'm working on it, believe me. I think I have some people to talk to first, don't I? Well." Ellery considers. "Actually, I might see Monty there. Is he still big on that?"

"Yes."

"That's good. ...Not good for him, I mean. Uh..."

You tilt your head. "They're how you remember."

"I figured."

"It's only been six months."

"Don't remind me." He stashes the mirror back into his pocket. "I don't think that's a good thing. Are you going to keep talking like that?"

Are you going to keep talking like that? Keep being like that? Like what? No conclusions. Inside you the future collapses into the present, and the present into the past, and the past into chalky dust, and you wobble and drop to your knees. Your head pounds.

"LOTTIE!!" Gil is by your side way too fast. He must've been watching. "You prick! What did you do to her?!"

"What did they do to her?" Ellery says curtly. "Don't blame me."

"What?! Who?!" Gil is trying to pull you up. Squintily, you wave him off. "I'm fine..."

"Ask her."

"Don't ask me," you mumble. "I don't know. I'm fine."

"Charlotte! Are you okay?" Anthea is right behind Gil. "This is what happens every time with you and him! Somebody gets hurt! I don't know how I ever let you go off and—"

"Breathe," Ellery says. "It's not your fault, Thea."

"What happened?" Gil is asking you. "What did you talk about?"

"I told Ellery he was stupid, and he... agreed with me. Finally. I'm okay, really."

"Grab my arm," Gil says.

"I'm okay. I don't need..." Your valiant attempt to stand on your own would've surely succeeded, were your knees not made of rubber. "I like sitting."

"It was none of your business what we were talking about, Anthea. Nothing happened. I couldn't hurt Charlotte even if I wanted to, so what's the big deal? Remember I shot her in the head?" Ellery to Anthea. "I didn't shoot her again! Don't look at me like that!"

"I'm fine," you say, louder, even as Gil grabs your arm and hoists you up. "I'm good."

"See?" Ellery says. Anthea pouts.

"You're going to have to tell me what did happen later," Gil says in your ear. "I saw you collapse."

"I didn't collapse!" you protest. "I... knelt."

"I wasn't leaving, Thea. I was showing Charlotte my anchor. That's not leaving. Actually, I was planning to catch up with a few people."

Anthea brightens. "You were? Can I meet them?"

Ellery looks over at you: you shrug. "...I guess?"

"Ooh! I'm so proud of you! I can't wait! Wait, Charlotte— did you need anything? Something to drink? A place to lie down? You shouldn't push yourself. I mean, direct void exposure... that's awful. Look at Ellery!" She indicates all the holes in him. "And you got it for way longer! It's incredible you're alive to tell the tale."

(4/5)

"Uh... yes." You wish Anthea were less nice. Slightly less nice. It'd make her quicker to talk to. "I don't need anything. Wait. Ellery?"

"Yeah?"

"What about Casey? I mean, what happened to him?"

"Vegetable." Ellery sounds regretful. "Had a snake in him all along. Not exactly a snake— snake-like thing. Management had him under their thumb. I had Nettie cut the thing out so we wouldn't have a mole, but I guess it was also keeping him, uh, functional. He hasn't done shit without it."

You frown. "Is it unfixable?"

"No clue. Seems pretty bad. If it is unfixable, I'll probably just shoot him. One more for the road. You know." Ellery scuffs the ground. "A lot of it was his responsibility, but it wasn't really his fault. If you get what I'm saying."

"Not really," you say.

"He was always kind of crazy, but he had good ideas. Good intentions. I think. I don't think he wanted things to end up how they did. Anyways, if you want to try your hand at him, go for it. I don't care."

"Okay," you say. "Where is he?"

Ellery points.

—

Casey Effing Kemper looks like a cardboard cutout of himself. A sad cardboard cutout. His face is slack, and he doesn't register you when you approach him. (Gil helps with the approaching.)

"Hello?" you say. "Casey?"

"Mr. Kemper?" Gil attempts. "Mr. Kemper? It's Gil Wallace... you know me."

He doesn't. Zero reaction. The only reason you know he's alive is the rising and falling of his chest.

Okay. So far, so bad.

>[1] Try to help Casey. (Write-in how.)
>[2] Try to get somebody else to help Casey. (Write-in who and how.)
>[3] Casey Kemper is a reprehensible person, responsible for the deaths and horrible suffering of thousands of innocents, including (most importantly) your loyal retainer. It's weird to see him vacant like this, but you owe him absolutely nothing, and trying to help might actually be eviler than the alternative. Turn around and do something else.
>[4] Write-in.

>>6164075
>1
Start with a communion? Maybe it’s like what we did for Gil

>>6164075
>>6164244
+1

Hi folks. Maybe it's obvious, but no update tonight: Merry Christmas! Vote remains open.

Rolled 3 (1d4)

>>6164244
>>6164461
Communing with Casey! Will it work? Maybe but probably not-- that was not one of the multiple solutions I had in mind.

1 = Backfires
2 - 3 = Ineffective
4 = Works

File: gil - @beanbeanington.png (5.03 MB, 1440x2059)

5.03 MB PNG

>Mindspace

You look at Gil. "Do you want to kill him?"

It takes a moment for him to respond. "What?"

Is it not obvious? "He brainwashed you! And stole your siphons! And he made the cruddy manse that turned you into beetles! He should be your sworn nemesis, Gil. That's how it works."

"I don't think he personally made the cruddy beetle manse, Lottie."

"Okay, but he was responsible for it!" You cross your arms. "That'd be close enough for me, if he were my nemesis. But he was mostly nice to me, since I was possessing his guest—"

"What?"

Oh. You didn't tell him about that yet, did you? "I was possessing Jean Ramsey's vile lackey! Everard! Don't worry about that. He's dead now. Anyways, I was saying, Casey was nice to me, so he can't be my nemesis. But you..."

"I don't want to kill him," Gil says. "But thanks for thinking of me. Did you want to kill him?"

"No." You waver. "I mean... he probably deserves it... for what he did to you! Plus everybody else! But Ellery said it wasn't his fault, so, um..."

"Are your heroic convictions at an impasse?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No."

"Then... yes!" You flourish. "My heroic convictions are at an impasse! Thank you, my loyal retainer. I think it could go either way here, er, heroically speaking. But you said you didn't want to kill him—?"

"I think there's a decent chance the original guy's been completely eaten, or subsumed, in which case he should be put out of his misery. I think there's also a decent chance that, if you did fish out some CFK, he'd be totally dysfunctional."

"Like Ellery!" you say.

"...Yeah, but not Ellery now. Ellery, you know..." Gil gestures around for a polite phrasing. "...before Anthea got to him."

"Nude?"

"Not literally! I mean brain-damaged. Where it'd take serious work to get him in shape, and I don't know if anybody's interested in taking that on, considering what he's been responsible for. The point is, that's another possibility. Then the third possibility is that there is a guy, mostly sane, who is trapped in there. And he's been stuck watching Management fuck up everything he knows for a decade, and if we killed him now he'd never get any peace. And I don't think that's a big possibility, but I think it's critical enough that it'd be— it'd be wrong to kill him without finding out."

You try to spot any life in Casey's eyes, but they're like two marbles. "You've really thought about this."

"I do that a lot. Thanks for wanting my opinion." He smiles.

"Of course! I always want to know what my favorite retainer thinks! Wait." You stop dead. "You're not being biased by your paganness, are you? Because that'd be exactly like its corrupting influence, to make you not want to take revenge on your—"

"I'm sure it doesn't help, but I can't imagine I ever would've wanted to kill him." Gil shrugs. "I don't go for vengeance as readily as you do, Lottie. No offense."

(1/2?)

"Maybe you should!" you say, slightly offended. "It's fun! And it makes you feel better."

"I mean, it's up to you. I think it'd be wrong to kill him now, but not wrong enough that I'd care very much."

"No, no. It's fine. I'll take care of it. I'll go into his mind to fix him! Like I fixed you, Gil. Remember? See? Easy." You stand on your tiptoes in an attempt to get level with Casey. "Sit and wait, and I'll go ahead and—"

"I don't really remember. I think that's for the best. Are you sure you want to go into his mind, though?"

"Yeah?" you say. "How else am I supposed to fix him?"

"...I don't know exactly, but you're pretty beat up, Lottie. I just want you to be safe, is all. Do you have a way to bail out?"

You don't die because you're a heroine; you're a heroine because you don't die. "Um," you say. "I'm sure Richard will show up if it gets really bad."

"Richard? ...I thought he was gone."

You didn't tell him that either. Damnit! "He came back after Ellery shot me in the head. He's around somewhere."

"Ah." You wish Gil's eyes contained less questions. "Okay, neat. Be safe! And don't go somewhere Richard can't get you, okay? I don't know if I'm in shape to do it all again. ...Sorry."

You nod, exhale, and step forward. Through and in. Quick and dirty. Up close, Casey is both unpleasantly saggy and eerily cheekboned, a skull with skin slapped on. Dead, unpromising eyes. No room for doubt, though: in and through.

>[-1 ID: 3/15]

—

You know this. You know this, you know this, you know this. You traced your fingers along these pages. Casey is shredded, is gored, is spongy with holes. Casey is snake-eaten.

So are you, but not like this. Without Richard in you, you can still walk, talk, and think. (You proved that, these last couple days.) Were you and Casey put to different ends? Or is the only distance time? Ten years of snake-Richard in your brain— you'd be catatonic too. And Richard cared about your well-being, if only because it was more efficient to keep you healthy. Management never cared. This is ruins.

Casey could still exist in here, buried deeper than a surface glance. Squirreled away in a tunnel, maybe. You don't know. You can't know, unless you go searching— but the terrain is unstable. If you were in better shape, you'd plunge onward. But you're not. You're fairly shredded yourself.

Do you go for it?

(Choices next.)

>[1] Yes. Push deeper. [Lose 1d3 ID.]

OR

>[2] No. You're not ready for it, and you don't know if there's even anything to find. Pull back...

>>[A1] ...And call it. Sorry, Casey, you tried, but it doesn't make sense to put time and effort into trying to salvage a semi-complicit mass-torture-killnapper. You're a heroine, not a god-addled idiot. Let Ellery make the final decision, while you go off and talk to...
>>[A2] ...And table it. Maybe you'll think of something later. It's not like Casey's going anywhere, though you suppose he could get worse, or Ellery could decide to shoot him. Er. Positive thinking? Those won't happen? In the meantime, you can talk to...

>>[B1] ...Richard. Where the heck has he been? Shouldn't he be safe from squishing now? Maybe he just doesn't want to show up with all the people around, but you can hop over to your manse for a little while if he wants. You do need a break.
>>[B2] ...Pat. She had something she wanted to talk about, didn't she? You just saved her entire life, permanently, so you sure hope she has something to say.
>>[B3] ...Us. You did just dump a significant number of people into it. Like, maybe hundreds. Even though you got its permission beforehand (sort of), you think this needs addressing sooner vs. later.
>>[B4] Write-in.

OR

>[3] Write-in.

>>6165028
>[2A]
After I learned this isn't actually a no-stakes quest, there's no way I'm losing 1d3 ID when we only have 3. You know Drowned dice
>[2B3]
Putting off the talk with Us any more would be simply rude

>>6165028
>2A2
>B3
I want our heartfelt thank you from Pat but she was rude when we woke up so she can wait

>>6165044
Meant [2A2] here

>>6165044
>>6165140
>[2A2]
>[2B3]

Us time. Writing.

Rolled 5985 + 2500 (1d7500 + 2500)

But first, rolling for a couple things.

First up, total number of Headspace employees (may include suspicious duplicates and/or Friends, we're just counting bodies here).

Rolled 4431 + 850 (1d4465 + 850)

>>6165477
>About 8500 employees

Rolling for death count and Us absorption count. You chose to prioritize absorption over death, so up to 65% can be absorbed, while only up to 25% can die. We'll see what the dice say.

Rolling for absorption first.

Rolled 208 + 425 (1d1696 + 425)

>>6165479
>Near-maximum absorption
Er... well... I'm sure it's fine. At least they're not dead. Right?

Speaking of, rolling for deaths, then writing.

>>6165483
>633 deaths
Tragic, but given that you did just violently implode these people's home and workplace, probably about as good as could've been expected. These are people who got imploded, fatally injured, or killed in the probable resulting post-implosion confusion.

That brings the total up to:

>5281 absorbed
>633 dead
>2581 alive

Now I'm writing.

>Bail out

No. No, you've already gotten yourself shot and possessed and imploded today. You don't need to add "trapped inside Casey Effing Kemper's mind" to that list, and you don't need to make Gil or Richard stick their necks out for you. They've done enough.

So sorry, Casey. Maybe later, or maybe later. You can't say you didn't try. For now, you're shallow enough to not need extraction: you wrest yourself backwards and out, and then you are there before Casey. He is unchanged, which is to say vacant-faced.

"Lottie?" Gil sounds tentative.

"Yup." You squeeze your eyes shut and open. "I'm here."

"What's the verdict?"

"Uh..." If you were feeling better, you might try to gussy it up a little. Not now. "...I don't know. I didn't see any sign of life, but I didn't look very hard. I was trying not to get stuck or hurt or anything, since you, um, said to stay safe."

"Really? That's... I didn't think you'd listen to me."

"I listen to you," you mumble.

"Not that often. But I'm really glad to hear it, Lottie. I'm sorry you didn't find anything, but I'd way rather have you safe and him fucked than him fixed and you fucked. Er. For whatever that's worth. Should we tell Ellery it's no dice?"

"Not yet! I might still fix him! Um... later. Maybe I'll have a drink first, or..."

"Whatever works for you, I guess. As long as you don't get smashed. I hear Game Night's tonight."

"What!?" Game Night! Long-sealed from you by nefarious, bitchy quartermasters, jealous of your raw gambling skill— but now, through your detectiving prowess, it is unbarred! You are free! "Since when?!"

"Since today? Yesterday? Madrigal said something about it. Something about everybody being in one place, so she might as well—"

"Gilbert!" you say, and clutch his wrists. "Do your god powers help you play cards at all?!"

"N-no? I don't think so?"

"Well, think about it! Because we have to win big!"

"...Do they play for chit?"

You have no idea. "Yes! I mean, probably! Look, don't worry about it. Just start brainstorming what games you're good at! Wait, you're good at darts, right?"

"...Yes? How did you know?"

"I saw it in your mind! I, uh..." Actually, you'd rather not reflect on it further. It was not a high point for you. Or him. "...don't worry about it. You can play darts if they have a dartboard, okay?"

"Okay?" Gil says, befuddled. "Sounds good? Do you think you'll—"

"MS. FAWKINS."

(1/2)

You startle at the voice, or really voices— then startle again, clutching Gil harder, when you see what's producing them. You weren't seeing things earlier. There is definitely a person with multiple faces right there, looking right at you. Also right at Gil. "...MR. WALLACE."

"Person" is generous. The thing is person-sized and roughly person-shaped, but it has the one smooth multi-faced head and a minimum of four sinuous arms. It is distinctively slick-looking and somewhat blue. It is wearing a clearly modified Namway-style jumpsuit. All its eyes are different colors.

You take a wild guess. "Us?"

"IF YOU WOULD CALL A CUP OF WATER THE OCEAN, YOU WOULD CALL US 'US.'" All the mouths move at once. "WE ARE A FRAGMENT, NOTHING MORE. BUT WE APPRECIATE YOUR PERSPICACITY. WE WERE TOLD YOU WERE SOMEWHAT RECOVERED, MS. FAWKINS, AS WERE YOU, MR. WALLACE. IS THAT TRUE?"

"Somewhat," you say defensively. (The last time you saw Us, it was mad at you.) "Why?"

"WE DID NOT WANT TO AMBUSH YOU WHILE YOU WERE OUT OF SORTS. IT SEEMED DISCOURTEOUS. STILL, THERE IS ONLY SO LONG WE CAN WAIT."

You look to Gil for help, but he's not focused. "For?"

"WE WOULD LIKE TO DISCUSS OUR PRESENT STATUS, AND YOURS, MR. WALLACE, MS. FAWKINS, MR. WALLACE."

Oh. You did dump a bunch of people into it just now. Whoops. "...Yes."

"EXCELLENT. WHERE SHOULD WE START?"

>[1] Small talk. Maybe you can make it comfortable (and nicer to you) before you get to the big stuff.
>>[A] So, uh... new body, huh? Pat's been busy?
>>[B] Hey, if it's been around, does it know what's up with all the search parties? What's the actual plan with them?
>>[C] Has it seen Casey? Any ideas?
>>[D] You imploded Headspace! Like a real heroine! Is it proud of you?
>>[E] ...Did it just address Gil twice? Is it glitching?
>>[F] Gil's all blessed now. Did they notice? Do they approve?
>>[G] Is it coming to Game Night?
>>[H] Write-in.

>[2] The big stuff. Maybe you'll be off to a better start if you can pick what to discuss, instead of getting blindsided. (Choose one to lead with. Us may or may not bring up the others, but it'll likely be less hostile about a topic if you beat them to it.)
>>[A] So, you dumped a bunch of people into it. How does it feel about that? How are they doing?
>>[B] So, you're not giving Gil back. You know you said you'd ask him if he wanted to go back, but you're not letting him come back even if he wants to. He's your retainer. Sorry.
>>[C] So, you accidentally brought Teddy along. You didn't mean to do that. You can put Teddy back if that'd make them feel better.
>>[D] So, you still have Claudia. Um, you don't know where she is. You think she's alive? You're working on it, okay?
>>[E] Yes, you still have red stuff in you. Maybe you'll always have red stuff in you. It doesn't mean you're going to end the world, okay? You're a heroine. So can it chill out?
>>[F] Write-in.

>>6165522
>2ACE
Aces
Clearly this is the ideal vote

>>6165528
I'm sorry, anon, but...

>Choose one to lead with.

At the very least, prioritize your vote so I know what's coming first, and you may or may not be able to wedge in the others from there.

>>6165522
>[1A] So, uh... new body, huh? Pat's been busy?

>>6165548
Okay, not to be persnickety, but "choose one" applies to the [2]s. You are welcome to choose more than one for the [1]s. If you knew that but that was the only [1] you were interested in, please carry on.

>>6165709
Then I'll add
>[1A,B,F]

>>6165532
Alphabetical order

>>6165522
>2A

>>6165528
Supporting!

>>6165867
>>6165877
>>6165528
>2A (C, E)

>>6165724
>1 A, B, F

Called for 2A and writing. We'll see if you get around to the others or not.

File: slug trail.jpg (77 KB, 900x675)

77 KB JPG

>Go right out and say it

Oh, God. Is this a trick question? You didn't leave off on the worst terms with Us, but you didn't leave off on particularly good ones, either. What with stealing Gil back. And Teddy. And Claudia. Does it want to talk about those? But why would it be urgent? No, more likely it's Headspace. How many people work for Headspace? You have no idea. How many of those people did you dump into Us? ...Was it a lot?

You lace your fingers. "The new arrivals?"

"WE ARE PLEASED TO SEE THAT YOU ARE ON THE SAME PAGE AS US, MS. FAWKINS."

"Are they, um, causing issues?"

"WE ARE NOT PRIVY TO THE FINE DETAILS. WE ARE SEPARATE NOW." The hands wave. "BUT THE MERE ACT OF LOOKING WOULD REVEAL THE SCOPE OF THE ISSUE. HAVE YOU LOOKED?"

"She's been dealing with a lot," Gil says for you. "She hasn't—"

No, you haven't. You've spoken to people, but it's been one after another. Where are you? The Namway manse. But where are you? You look outward. You and everybody else are standing on a large flat platform, nondescript grey, suspended in the void. Huh. Thrown up temporarily, maybe, by people with little time or imagination or both. You're up high enough, and you're far enough from the edge, that you can't see down.

"WE ARE NOT CASTING BLAME. WE ARE ASKING THE QUESTION. IF SHE HAS NOT LOOKED, SHE SHOULD LOOK. WE WILL WALK WITH HER."

"...I haven't," you say. (It read your mind yesterday, so you probably shouldn't lie.)

"THEN COME, MS. FAWKINS. MR. WALLACE. MR. WALLACE."

You follow the Us-person to the edge of the platform, trying not to look at its feet: it has them, but doesn't move them. You imagine a slug. When you stop, you grasp Gil's wrist again— you have no special fear of heights, but it's not impossible that Us wants him back bad enough to push him off the edge, and you can't handle that right now. If he goes, you go.

The Us-person slides up next to you. "IS EXPLANATION REQUIRED, MS. FAWKINS?"

When you said you were up high, you should've said that your platform was at the very top of the Namway manse. Below it lies everything: the weird Headspace office-spheres, all crooked and jumbled; even more debris than there used to be; distant lights and moving specks within it all; and down at the bottom, a glimpse of Us bulging oddly, stained pink.

That can't be good, but you can't draw conclusions more specific than that. "...Yes."

"IT IS OUR BELIEF THAT OF THESE SPHERES—" Us spreads its fingers. "—NOT ONE, BUT MULTIPLE, SLIPPED THE BONDS OF GRAVITY, CARRYING WITH THEM ALL INHABITANTS, AND WERE COMPLETELY SUBSUMED IN OUR MASS."

No. That can't be good at all. "How many people is that?"

"WE DO NOT KNOW. WE ARE, AS WE SAID, SEPARATE. WE PRESUME MANY."

"It'd depend on which spheres," Gil volunteers. "And what time it was in there. If it were a dormitory during work hours, it could be dozens. If it's the opposite, it could be... thousands."

(1/3)

"Positive thinking," you snap. "I'm sure it's— it's nothing to worry about. Can't we fish them out? They're not made of goo, are they?"

"WE DO NOT KNOW."

"I don't think so, but they— uh— you've been warned about heavy-duty manse exposure, right? Lottie?"

Maybe, but you only remember important things. "Why?"

"It's really bad for you. Nothing's going to happen if you're in one for a few hours, or a day, but if you start pushing a week or a month without a reality break..."

"You'll go crazy?" Like Ellery!

"Um, no. Well, maybe, but that's separate. What I meant was, the link to your body starts degrading, which isn't great. At a certain point you're stuck. You can't go back out again. And if these people—"

"Wait!" you say. "You knew you wouldn't be real?"

"What?"

You point. "When I rescued you, Richard told you you weren't real anymore, and you freaked out! Like you'd never heard that before! And now it's no big deal?"

"Look, I—" Gil grimaces. "There's a big difference between knowing it and knowing it, okay? I was fresh out of there, I'd spent— I-I mean— I really wanted to believe I beat the odds. And I always thought it'd feel completely different, to not be real, and it... didn't. Or maybe I was the frog in the pot. I don't know. Um, the point was, Headspace had an insane spanner, right? Even people hired on yesterday would've been there over a week."

"Oh," you say, even though you don't entirely get it yet.

"So they would've already started degrading. And anybody who's been there for years— I mean— they're basically a Friend, reality-wise. They're half paper, half delusion. Like Ellery. So I think getting drowned in goo..."

Ah. God. "Don't say it!"

"...might just dissolve the skins completely. Of a lot of them. Not all. So I wouldn't bank on, um, fishing much up."

"Eugh!" He said it. "Well, it's— I'm sure it's fine. I'm sure they were all off having a lunch break, or whatever. Right, Us?"

"AS STATED, WE DO NOT KNOW THE QUANTITY OF NEW ARRIVALS. GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, WE FEAR THE ANSWER." It's hard to discern the tone of the Us-person's voice(s), but you do think it sounds annoyed. Damn! "WE WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU AND MR. WALLACE AND MR. WALLACE WITH US TO FIND OUT. WE MUST CONSULT THE REST."

"Are we hiking down?" Gil says. "I'm not jumping."

"HAVE YOU COME TO VIEW OUR MERGER IN SO HARSH A LIGHT?" All of Us's eyes have swiveled. "...GIL?"

Has he?! Finally! You look carefully, but Gil's response is disappointing. "I'd rather not owe Pat another favor, is all."

"You can't have him back!" you inform Us. "He doesn't want to go back! You can have Teddy back, if you want, but—"

"Geez, you'd consign him to that, Lottie? Your second-best retainer?"

"Second-worst," you mutter. But he does have a point, you guess. Maybe.

(2/3)

"WE ARE AWARE OF THE ABSENCE OF OUR NATIVE MR. WALLACE. IT IS OUR IMPRESSION, HOWEVER, THAT HIS REMOVAL WAS NONINVASIVE AND IN PART CONSENSUAL. WE CANNOT THEREFORE BEAR ILL WILL, CONSIDERING THAT WE OURSELVES WISHED FOR AND WERE GRANTED ESCAPE FROM OUR STRANGE CONFINEMENT. IS HE WELL?"

Gil nods.

"HAS HE BEEN OF USE?"

"Yeah."

"WE ARE PLEASED TO HEAR OF IT. IF AT ANY POINT HE DISCLOSES A DESIRE TO RETURN, PLEASE TELL HIM THERE IS ALWAYS A PLACE. WE ARE POORER FOR HIS LACK. THE SAME FOR YOU, GIL— THOUGH WE DELIVER LIP SERVICE. WE WILL MAKE NO TRUE EFFORT TO ENCOURAGE YOU BACK TO WHERE WE EMERGED FROM. IT WAS NOT FOR THE LIVING."

You swallow. "So we should try to fish them up, or...?"

"THE PRESENT COURSE OF ACTION WILL BE DETERMINED AFTER THE SITUATION IS KNOWN. WE WERE NOT ALLUDING TO IT, DESPITE ITS RELEVANCE. MS. FAWKINS."

You don't like watching Us bonelessly swivel its neck. "Yeah?"

"ALSO OF RELEVANCE. A HOSTAGE TAKEN. WE BEAR HER BLOODSTAINS STILL. WE TRUST THAT YOU ARE PREPARED TO RETURN HER NOW?"

Gil is looking at you. He doesn't know about Claudia, not really. You told him she was like Teddy, not a... not... not what she is. You think she's alive still (for whatever "alive" counts for), but you have no idea where, and you don't think it's something you can figure out quick. Meaning no, you can't, even if you wanted to. Meaning you better damage control fast.

"Uh," you say.

>Some choices will be more effective than others.

>[1] Tell the truth. No, you can't return her. No, it's not because you don't want to. You've just been really busy, okay? It's on your to-do list.
>[2] Tell even more of the truth. No, you can't return her, and also, you never meant to take her in the first place. You got taken over. So you're really sorry, but you also can't be blamed, okay?
>[3] Deflect! Tell it that you want to discuss this with *all* of Us, not just an indeterminate chunk of it. (Then dodge the question with all of Us later, when it's distracted with Headspace people.)
>[4] Mislead! Assume your Claudia persona and have her tell them she's totally fine and cool, actually, and she'll come back when she feels like it.
>[5] Write-in.

>>6166097
>[5] Yeah, we're ready to return her, but the attempt may not be successful
>Commune with the Us-person, and once we're inside, try to find Claudia, disentangle her nd leave her inside Us

>>6166097
>1
We actually spent all our time prepping for this whole Headspace operation and haven't had a chance to disentangle Claudia, sorry

>>6166097
>[2] Tell even more of the truth. No, you can't return her, and also, you never meant to take her in the first place. You got taken over. So you're really sorry, but you also can't be blamed, okay?

>>6166097
>>[1] Tell the truth. No, you can't return her. No, it's not because you don't want to. You've just been really busy, okay? It's on your to-do list.

If pressed, try this >>6166147

>>6166459
>>6166502
>[1]

>>6166498
>[2]

>>6166147
>[5]

Called for [1] and writing, but you can bring up [5] if it seems necessary. Writing.

>Best policy

You can't get too into the weeds, not with Gil standing right there. (He could get all uppity.) But can you reasonably deflect? If there's a dozen people in there, does that make the Us-person a dozen times better at catching lies? The risk is too great. Best to tell the truth, but not too much. "...Not really..."

"YOU ARE NOT PREPARED TO RETURN HER."

"...No. I mean, yes. I'm not. But—"

"THEN YOU INTEND TO KEEP HER."

"No!" You fold your arms. "You didn't let me finish. I didn't forget, and I want to give her back as soon as possible, but I— I've been really busy, alright? I've been working on exploding Headspace, and then I had to go actually explode Headspace, which, let me tell you, was not a walk in the park, and I only just got back, and I'm not feeling super well, so I— I'll take care of it soon. And you can't make me do it right now, because it'd take a long time, and... Gil would get bored. And I'm not feeling well, and I don't want to faint, or something. And isn't all the new people in you a higher priority?"

The Us-person is silent.

"Well, isn't it?"

"WE ARE GLAD THAT YOU HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN YOUR TRANSGRESSION ENTIRELY, MS. FAWKINS. WE WISH ONLY THAT YOU WOULD TREAT IT WITH THE GRAVITY IT DESERVES. IT SPEAKS TO THE CARELESSNESS WE KNOW OF YOU."

You look for help from Gil, but he's silent. "I'm not careless! That's insulting! I spent a long time planning how to break into Headspace, I'll have you know, and it went off without a— mostly without a hitch, so—"

"AND YET IT SPILLED COUNTLESS INNOCENTS OUT INTO DARKNESS."

"It's only countless because you haven't counted them," you mutter. "It could be zero, for all you know."

"IT IS NOT ZERO."

Whatever! It can think what it wants. "I'm not careless, am I?" you hiss at Gil in the meantime. He waggles his head noncommittally.

Damnit. Even if Us is clearly wrong and also a jerk, you don't want it actually mad at you. That could make things difficult. "Okay, well... do you want to stand here while I go find her? It could take a long time, and I might faint, or start frothing at the mouth, but I can—"

"WE ARE NOT ASKING YOU TO RISK YOUR LIFE, MS. FAWKINS. WE ARE AFRAID OF WHAT MAY RESULT IF YOU ARE PLACED UNDER STRAIN." Us' arms are bent behind its back. "WE ONLY HOPE, FOR YOUR SAKE, OURS, AND HERS, THAT SHE HAS NOT BEEN BROKEN BY YOUR NEGIGLENCE."

"Whatever she did," Gil says finally. "I'm sure she didn't mean it. There's no need to—"

"Yeah! Don't threaten me! Didn't I get all the Management out of you safely? And you already read my mind and said I wasn't evil, so you can't go and—"

(1/3)

File: pat & us - @sharklilly.png (3.01 MB, 1600x1200)

3.01 MB PNG

"ILL INTENTIONS ARE NOT REQUIRED FOR EVIL ACTS. WE HOPE SHE IS WELL, MS. FAWKINS, AND THAT YOU BRING HER BACK SOON. IN THE MEANTIME, YOU ARE CORRECT. THE PRESENT SITUATION PRESSES UPON US. SHALL WE GO?"

You exhale. It's dropping the topic. "Sure! But how? Unless we are hiking all the way down, but—"

"I can help!"

Anthea's voice: you semi-successfully suppress a flinch. When you turn, she's at a middle distance, waving. "Hi! Sorry, didn't mean to spy, but are you on your way down? That's the impression I got."

"Yeah," Gil says, and then, excitedly: "Wait! Are you suggesting—"

"You got it!" She hefts the dimension gun (or whatever it's called— maybe you would've learned if Ellery hadn't distracted you). "We put some ladders and things out, but this is faster, if that's what matters to you. Only problem is, it can make people a little queasy, Charlotte. Would that be a—?"

You? Queasy? It's been a long time since you vomited anything that wasn't blood and/or gunk. You can hold your drink rather well. Also, you're a heroine, and you'd never do anything undignified, so it's fine. "That's okay!"

"You know I'm fine," Gil concurs. (You lean in. "Are you sure?" He whispers back "Goo.")

"Alright! And I'm assuming Mr. A is fine, given... you know."

"WE ARE AMENABLE TO WHATEVER METHOD YOU HAD IN MIND."

"Great! Then hold still. And, uh, get closer together. Yeah. Like that. See you soon!" Anthea waves, points, and shoots. A square opens up under your feet, and you fall—

—a short distance, and land on a blank black floor in a blank black space, like the interim without any stairs. You have just enough time to play I-Spy— spot, scattered around you, the rubble, the shoe, the leg that held the shoe, the door, the wall that held the door, the live alligator— before you are tumbling out again. The fall is again short, but you land on your posterior.

"Ow," you say petulantly. Gil, already standing, says nothing. Damn goo and its damn lack of pain receptors. Where are you? You're on a bullseye. No, really. It's painted on the ground, which appears to be an island of sorts in Us's glossy ocean.

"Feeling okay, champ?" Also, Pat's here.

"I'm— yes! I'm fine!" You scramble up and force down a wave of nausea. "What are you doing here?! I thought you were up there!"

"I was. Then I came down here. Don't mind me, though." She raises both palms. You're entirely unable to tell if she's being sarcastic. "Do whatever you came to do, and I'll do whatever I came to do, unless those things happen to overlap."

"I can't imagine they don't overlap," Gil says. "Given..."

"Yeah. You created a real solid natural experiment, didn't you? First you dump all my goo in one place and see what happens. Then you dump a quarter-ton of people into that and see what happens. Hi, Gil, by the way. Body holding up, A?"

(2/3)

"AS WELL AS COULD BE EXPECTED, FOR A DRY RUN. HAVE YOU ASSESSED THE SITUATION? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY LIE IN OUR MIDST?"

"My assessment is that Charlotte slam-dunked no fewer than three big spheres into the soup. Body count indeterminate. I ballpark it at 'loads.' It's a real pity, because we had the nets set up, but they got completely crushed by the spheres raining down. Didn't save a soul. Best-laid plans and all that."

"Don't blame me," you snap. "It's not like you could've single-handedly—"

"I wasn't blaming you. It's just the facts. Don't tell Miss Prissy up there, but I think most of those Headspace sad sacks were dead men walking. You saw their pill regimen? Getting melted down isn't much different. Might be better. Plus, it's new data."

"Data for what?" Gil says. "You?"

"Of course it's for me, champ. Remind me what I do for a living?"

"Shooting people?"

Oops. Watch Pat's hackles go up. "I thought we were square, given the multiple new bodies I—"

"ENOUGH BICKERING. IT IS STALLING OUR PROGRESS. HAVE YOU MADE CONTACT WITH OUR GREATER BODY?"

"No," Pat says. "Not yet."

"THEN THAT IS THE OBVIOUS PLACE TO BEGIN. WILL YOU DO US THE FAVOR, MS. FAWKINS?"

>[1] Write-in. (Optional.)
>[2] Continue.

I'll cook up some options in the morning. For now, take the free response. Good night!

"Me?" you say.

"YOU HAVE THE RESPONSIBILITY, DO YOU NOT?"

>[1] Um, okay. Sure. Crouch down and stick your entire head into the Us-goop. That should allow communication without making it a whole thing.
>[2] Get Gil to tie a rope around you, then sigh and wade in. Anything less could be disrespectful, and you need Us to not be pissed.
>[3] As [2], but get a running start and cannonball in. If you're going to have to do this, you might as well have fun.
>[4] What? No you don't. Get Gil to do it. He's actually on good terms, and there's no way he can get perma-absorbed again, right?
>[5] What? No you don't. Get Pat to do it. It's basically her job. [Roll.]
>[6] Write-in.

>>6166844
>[2] Get Gil to tie a rope around you, then sigh and wade in. Anything less could be disrespectful, and you need Us to not be pissed.

>>6166696
>3
The cannonball helps with the immersion process
Like jumping into a cold pool

>[2] Get Gil to tie a rope around you, then sigh and wade in. Anything less could be disrespectful, and you need Us to not be pissed.

>>6166881
>>6166973
>[2]

>>6166911
>[3]

Alas, the forces of boringness win out. Writing.

>Shallow end

Ugh. At least "responsibility" sounds important. It didn't say it was your fault, so it's fine. Your responsibility. Yeah.

"Can I get a rope?" you say.

"A—" Gil starts.

"Yeah," Pat says over him, and pulls her glove off. "One sec."

As you watch, unnerved, she clenches her ungloved fingers and pulls at the skin of her ungloved palm. There is a squelch, and further squelching, as she tugs the end of a damp rope out of her hand.

She offers it to you. "However much you need."

"Uhh..." The rope is damp, like you said, and moreover faintly sticky-looking. The other end of it is nowhere in sight. Do you have any other option? Richard usually handles the ropes, but he's slacking off again. "Okay..."

Deep breath and take it and pull and pull. Pat is unblinking as the rope unspools past the length of her arm, then past the length of her body. Is it a real rope? A goo rope? You don't know which would be worse. Don't think about it. Eventually it's long enough, though the end is still buried somewhere in Pat's arm. Don't think about that either.

You offer the rope to Gil so you don't have to touch it. "Could you...?"

"Sure thing." As your loyal retainer, he knows the right thing to do, and pretty soon the rope is knotted around your waist. "Did you want to set up a system?"

"A system?"

"Like tugging two times to get hauled up, or—"

"Sounds good. Two times to get hauled up. A bunch of times if I'm getting dissolved, or whatever." Too late you remember the Us-person. "...No offense."

"WE WILL MOST LIKELY LET YOU LEAVE AT ANY TIME. A HAULING IS NOT REQUIRED."

"Tell that to Mr. Two-bodies," Pat says, and jabs a thumb at Gil. "A rope's a good move. Better safe than sorry, given the circumstances."

"Good luck, Lottie. Stay safe, okay?"

Why is Gil saying that all the time now? You'll be fine. You tug the rope, to confirm its staying power, then creep over to the edge of the goo. Pick a motto: nothing for it. Forward bound. Positive thinking.

You take a breath, then step. Unexpectedly, the goo comes to your ankle, but no further. A hidden floor? Another step, and only a little ways higher. A floor, sloped, like an artificial beach.

Nothing for it, etcetera. The goo is viscous, but not too sucking, and you wade deeper without difficulty. Shins. Knees. Thighs. Will you have to duck under of your own volition? It seems undignified.

It could be Us heard you, because only a few steps more and you lose your footing. It was one of two things. One, the floor dropped out from under you. Two, the goo seized your ankles and forced you down. In either case, you are wading one second and drowning the next, driven by instinct to kick and flail and aspirate goo down your throat, into your lungs, up your nose, into your brain—

—

(1/3)

File: us (cross stitched) - @dm(...).jpg (1.92 MB, 2251x1689)

1.92 MB JPG

—

—and then you are not where you were. You are seated in a metal chair on a stage in an auditorium. The stage is small but brightly lit. The auditorium, ringed with raised seats, is vast and dim. You are in Claudia's clothes, but are not Claudia. The seats are populated, but you can't see the faces.

"Hello?" you say, and wince: your voice comes out much louder than you expected.

HELLO
CHARLOTTE FAWKINS
says the audience.

Okay. You get it. Are you tied to the chair? You are not. You stand, but realize there's nowhere at all to go, and sit again. "This is new."

WE THOUGHT IT WAS IMPORTANT
TO HEAR WHAT YOU HAD TO SAY
THANK YOU FOR HONORING YOUR
MORAL OBLIGATION

"My obligation?"

TO WITNESS YOUR GREAT EVIL

God-damnit! It is mad at you! Even after you went to all the trouble of asking first! "What are you talking about?! Are you aware I just rescued probably thousands of people? At great personal risk?! That's the opposite of evil! That's— anti-evil! I am probably the most anti-evil person, you've ever met, frankly, so you can—"

RESCUED?

"Yes? Didn't you get the scoop from them yet? I thought I told you how awful Headspace was, and— and maybe the people who landed in you were brainwashed, so they didn't realize, but if they were thinking clearly they'd tell you they were miserable. And I'm not even mentioning the people being tortured? Literally tortured? And kept in foul prisons, and—"

WE HAVE NO WORD FROM THE POOR SOULS
WHO ENTERED INTO OUR MIDST.
THEY ARE TOO BUSY SCREAMING.

>[-2 ID: 1/15]

The audience's faces are dark. "That's not true," you say reflexively. "That doesn't make any sense! I mean— can't you calm them down? And tell them they're in goo paradise now, or whatever? I'm sure you can set them up with jobs at the 200-year-old manse factory. And if there is an adjustment period, that's not my fault, because it's still way better than staying inside—"

YOU MISUNDERSTAND, CHARLOTTE FAWKINS
THERE IS TOO MANY OF THEM.
THERE ARE SO MANY OF THEM
AND THEY ARE SO DIFFERENT
THAT THEY ARE NOT AT ONE WITH US AT ALL.
THEY HAVE FORMED THEIR OWN CONGLOMORATE
WHICH WE ARE LARGELY UNABLE TO PENETRATE.
EXCEPT TO HEAR THE SCREAMING.
DO YOU SEE?

"I—" Positive thinking. Positive thinking. Positive thinking. Positive thinking. "How many?"

HALF OUR SIZE
WHICH IS TO SAY
ON THE ORDER OF FIVE THOUSAND SOULS
WHITE-HOT FROM THE FORGE.

You don't know what to say. "That's a lot."

THAT IS MORE PEOPLE THAN YOU HAVE
ASSUREDLY SEEN IN YOUR LIMITED LIFE
TAKE YOUR CAMP AND THE NEARBY TOWN
TOGETHER, AND THEN ADD IT TO ITSELF
AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN
AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN
AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN
AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN
AND YOU WOULD NOT EVEN APPROACH IT.

YOU HAVE DONE A HORRIBLE THING.

>[-0 ID]

(2/3)

File: warping.jpg (106 KB, 564x792)

106 KB JPG

You rocket up. "No I haven't!"

YOU HAVE.

>[-0 ID]

"No, I— you don't understand! I'm a heroine!" If you could explain it, they wouldn't be mad at you. "I don't— I don't do horrible things. I don't do things wrong, okay? I've never done things wrong. I've— occasionally I have made small mistakes, tiny mistakes, but I fix them! And if I fix them, they're not— it's like it was supposed to happen. You're judging way too fast. I didn't mean to melt— I didn't mean to— just because 5000 people got melted together, doesn't mean it's horrible. Aren't you happy?"

HAPPINESS IS A STRONG WORD
WE ARE HAPPY IN OUR DREAMS.
IN THE HARSH LIGHT OF MORNING
WE ARE AT MAXIMUM CONTENT
AND AT MINIMUM RESIGNED
TO WHAT HAS BEFALLEN US

"That's close enough," you mumble.

WHAT'S MORE, WE HAVE SALVAGED
SOME MEASURE OF LIVING
FROM DEATH'S CRUEL GRASP
IT SOFTENS THE BLOW.

"Okay, but—"

CHARLOTTE FAWKINS
THESE PEOPLE WERE ALIVE
AND HAD THEIR LIVES AHEAD
WHEN THEY MET OUR FATE

>[-0 ID]

"Not really! They were all manseified. They were basically fake people." Gosh, you're glad you listened to Gil. "Maybe they thought they were alive and real, but that's not the—"

PLEASE
GO TELL THEM
THAT THEIR PREVIOUS LIVES
WERE FALSE AND MEANINGLESS
SEE IF THAT ABATES THE SCREAMING

"Maybe I will!" you say. "How do I talk to them! I can fix this, no problem."

YOU ARE HANGING BY A THREAD

You look down at yourself, your strange vulgar clothing, your exposed knees. Then you look up. "I am not! What do you know? Sorry, clearly nothing, since you think I— since you think I could've done something wrong. I've never done anything wrong in my life. You're going to talk to them and find out they're way happier like this, okay? They need to get over themselves, is all."

YOUR THINKING IS DISTORTED
BUT VERY WELL
THEY ARE BEHIND THE CURTAIN

"The curtain?" you say, and hear a noise like birds in flight: every member of the audience has pointed. You turn. At the back of the stage is a dramatic curtain. "Oh. Okay. Neat."

WE ARE SURE YOU ARE EAGER TO ENTER

"I am!" you say, because you can't not be. "I hope you feel lucky, because you're about to witness a fantastic act of heroism. Watch as I—"

You fling the curtain open. It's like opening a furnace door, that sudden wash of heat, only it's— not screaming. Not only screaming. Some screaming, but mostly wailing, sobbing, cursing, babbling, yelping, weeping, all noise, a solid wall of noise, a brick wall to the face. You slam the curtain shut, steady yourself. It can't be wrong. It can't be wrong because you don't do wrong things. It'll sort itself out. You pivot. "Why don't they do the dream thing you do? Where they pretend they're normal people? It's not like they'd be any faker in there than they were already."

THEY DO NOT KNOW HOW
IT IS NOT CLEAR TO US
HOW MUCH THEY KNOW OF ANYTHING

(3/4)

"They can't be suffering if they don't know anything," you say smugly. "So they're fine! It's like I said."

YOU ARE CHOOSING IGNORANCE

"I am choosing," you say, "to ignore your moaning, because if I get all sad, is it going to get fixed? No? So I'll fix it. Shush! Let me think!"

>Okie dokie! Think! How will your RIGHTEOUS POWERS OF JUSTICE solve this minor, temporary mistake?

>[1] Go ahead and talk to them! It sounds like Us hasn't even tried talking, the lazybones. You'll use your mastery of social interaction to fix this right up.
>[2] You're already ignoring Us and its grumpypants take on things, so you might as well go ahead and use some red stuff. You used it to contact Us in the first place, after all. And it looks like the thing behind the curtain is awfully disordered, and the red stuff is great at fixing disorder. It just makes sense. [-1 SV. You are at 3/? SV.]
>[3] Mistake? Did you call it a mistake? Why would it be a mistake? Nothing is wrong. You were just hearing things. When you open that curtain again, everything will be fine. (Advanced Advanced Gaslighting.) [Difficult roll.]
>[4] ...Tug the rope two times. Which is not to say you're deeming this unsolvable! All you want to do is consult with your fine colleagues about the matter. Us might be annoyed, but it's already annoyed, so does it really count?
>[5] Write-in.

>>6167200
>[1] Go ahead and talk to them! It sounds like Us hasn't even tried talking, the lazybones. You'll use your mastery of social interaction to fix this right up.
The rolls have betrayed us again and again

>>6167200
>1
Hey guys I know things are horrifying now but trust me - they were way worse before and you just didn't know it

Not liking where our ID is at :(

>[1] Go ahead and talk to them! It sounds like Us hasn't even tried talking, the lazybones. You'll use your mastery of social interaction to fix this right up.

>>6167234
>>6167326
>>6167597
>[1]

Called and writing. This might be a shorter update.

File: fleshy.jpg (40 KB, 512x512)

40 KB JPG

>Diplomance

Your line of thought is extremely simple. You only need to pull out all the stops to fix the problem if it's an actual problem. Therefore, as it isn't a problem— can't be a problem, mustn't be a problem— you shouldn't need to do much at all. You're certain that once you explain the situation to the employees, the misunderstanding will be cleared up, and they'll settle down. And nothing will have been wrong.

You nod, to confirm it to yourself. That's how it'll be. "Okay! All set! When I come back, they'll be fixed."

YOU BELIEVE IT IS SO EASY?

"I don't believe it. It is easy. Bye!" You wave, then shut your eyes, stick your hands straight out, and push through the curtain.

The noise is the same— louder, harsher, more desperate— and on top of it, the floor is thickly sticky, so you yank up your foot every time you step, and teeter forward, and stomp it down again, and you do that blindly, ignoring the noise, ignoring the smell (it's of death) (you know this smell), stomping on and on, until your shoe comes down on something, something yielding, something fleshy, and something screams, and something siezes your ankle— a hand siezes your ankle, hard enough to bruise— and you don't scream, but (do shriek) make no noise, and open your eyes. Because you thought it was a good time to do so. And you think positive, and you think positive, and you think positive, Charlotte, think positive.

This is fine and it is good. It is a hill of bodies, many of them burnt or injured or otherwise degraded, oozing, twitching, mouths opening and closing, eyes sightless, arms flailing, bound together, not cleanly, mostly at the torsos. This is good and it is fine. This is not wrong. Why?

Why isn't it wrong?

Why isn't it... why... it can't... because...

Ah! Because it's not real! After all, Us isn't really ten thousand people in a giant auditorium, any more than it's ten thousand people holidaying at the beach or at the lake. It's a big thing of goo. And so are these people, even if they don't know it yet! That's right! They're only perceiving themselves as a horrifying flesh-abomination, because that's how they... how they incorrectly, temporarily feel. It's not how they want to be, obviously. So if you reason with them, they'll go back to normal! Bingo!

You take a deep breath, through your mouth, so you can't smell the smell. "Hello! Greetings!"

The noise continues unchanged.

"...Salutations! Employees of the company formerly known as Headspace! I have come to let you know—"

The noise continues unchanged.

"—that, um, you— hello? Can you hear me?"

It'll be simple. It'll be easy. It can't be anything other than simple and easy. If it's anything other than simple and easy, you will crack in two. Except you won't, because you're brave, right? You're strong? Shining? A paragon of virtue and justice? A heroine?

(A heroine who turned most of the people she rescued into...)

No! Positive thinking, Charlotte! You cannot fail now!

>[A] You cannot fail now. You will prevent yourself from failing. Shore yourself up.
>>[1] Convincing yourself has worked so far, but "so far" isn't good enough. One slip-up and you're shattered. Instead, *convince* yourself. (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]
>>[2] The red stuff can help. Can still your heart, can cool your head, can make you shiny and impervious to feeling. You will not have done anything wrong. [-1 SV]
>>[3] You're the one with the problem. Who doesn't have a problem? Claudia. Let her insulate you, so you can plan from the inside. [I will roll.]
>>[4] What? There's no problem. You're fine. (You may become vulnerable to ID loss.)
>>[5] Write-in. (Subject to veto.)

>[B] You cannot fail now. You must always succeed. Contact the Employees.
>>[1] They must listen. They will listen. You are a heroine, and you are listened to. [Roll.]
>>[2] You are not loud enough. You are not strong enough. Be loud and strong enough that they'll listen. [-1 SV]
>>[3] You know a way to cut through the fog. (Communion.) [-1 ID.]
>>[4] There are too many of them. You cannot speak to all at once, even if that is the truth. Reach out to somebody you might know instead. (Who? Write-in.)
>>[5] Write-in.

>>6167714
>[B4] Contact Freddy the Friend
I think Friends might be easier to convince, and then they might help us convince the humans?

>>6167734
Periodic reminder that options beginning with letters are "pick both," and options beginning with numbers are "pick either," which means you gotta pick an [A]. If you don't, I'll take it as [A4] (rawdogging it).

>>6167873
Nononono, [A1]

>>6167714
>A3
>B4
I can back trying someone we know
Someone artificial who won't be as disturbed by present circumstances, who can help inform the rest

>>6167714
A1

>>6168026
>>6167714
B3

>>6167892
>>6168026
>[A1]

>>6167895
>[A3]

>>6167734
>>6167895
>[B4] (Freddy)

>>6168027
>[B3]

Called for A1 / B4. This means I need dice. Try to roll high on this one.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 15 (+15 It Will Be Because It Is, +15 Official Heroine, +5 Rope, -20 Horrified) vs. DC 80 (+30 Advanced Gaslighting) to fortify your ego from further damage!

No spendy by default, because you're back down to 1 ID and it doesn't make sense to drop to 0 to prevent yourself from dropping to 0. (I'd consider allowing it if you were rolling for something else.)

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>6168030
ROLLING

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>6168030

>>6168033
WHAAATTTTTHEEEEE FUUUUCKKKK

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>6168030

>>6168031
>>6168033
>>6168057
>92, 17, 100 vs. DC 80 -- Success

You rolled high. Nice. Writing... probably after midnight, tbd.

Eh. Not happening. Tomorrow. In the meantime, happy 2025, folks: here's to the year when I finish the quest!

Back at it. I'll try my best to get to a good stopping place, though I am starting late.

File: surrender-art 1.jpg (62 KB, 500x666)

62 KB JPG

>Make it true
>92, 17, 100 vs. DC 80 -- Success

And why not? Why can't you fail?

The answer is: because you mustn't. But things that mustn't happen still happen all the time. Not good enough. You cannot fail, because you don't want to fail. Because it would kill you to fail. Because failure would mean you did something wrong.

Still not good enough. If it would kill you to fail, you can still die. You can't, but you can. Maybe. It's complicated, and complicated is the last thing you need. What else is complicated? Melting down people to save their lives is complicated. Killing Richard to make him nice is complicated. Weighing out the ends and the means: all of that is complicated. To hell with it! What's simple? Heroes and villains, good and evil, right and wrong. Vile black and bloody red and perfect shining white. That's you there, always good, always right, always perfect and shining. Not because you have to be. Because you will be and were and are.

You can't fail because you can't. Because you cannot. That's not how it works. It's not how it's written. This is a far more terrible fact than you're willing to acknowledge, than you're able to acknowledge, what with it bearing down around your shoulders. You can't look inward. Something might be wrong in there, and you are not wrong.

You turn outward. The mound of bodies is there. You feel nothing, because the things you feel might be bad, and you are not bad. You are a heroine. You heroic task at present is to rescue the accursed Headspace employees, but this is difficult to do while they are making so much noise.

You contemplate quieting them in some way, but all the ways you think of are wrong, and you are not wrong. You contemplate raising your own voice, but you would hurt your throat. Finally you contemplate contacting, not all of the employees, but one of them. One might be more reasonable. But which? Rudy— (you don't continue thinking about Rudy). Virginia— (you don't continue thinking about Virginia). You have never done anything wrong. You spoke to that octopus-man, and nothing bad happened to him, after all.

You will acknowledge that the squid-man (whose name started with an F) was not precisely an employee, but rather a Friend, an artificial thought-construct designed for a particular role. You will further acknowledge that you do not know whether any Friends survived the implosion of the BrainWyrm. However, this does not mean that Friend-Squid will not be there. If Friend-Squid were not there, you would be wrong; you would be a failure, and failure is not just bad but incomprehensible. Therefore Friend-Squid will be there.

You plunge your hand into a benign-looking area of the mound and draw out Friend-Squid, who is there. There was no doubt; there was no possible room for doubt.

"Hello," you say.

Friend-Squid (joined at the waist to the mound, like so many others) waves its tentacles aimlessly.

"I am Charlotte Fawkins," you say. "Do you remember me?"

(1/2)

File: octopus friend.jpg (99 KB, 900x1305)

99 KB JPG

More waving. You do not experience doubt; doubt lurks in the black spaces inside you, and you are not inside you. You are thickly armored. Therefore you recall, dimly, your interaction with Friend-Squid. Ah, yes. Friend-Squid did not speak, but instead wrote on a board. Additionally, Friend-Squid conversed with you under the misapprehension you were a Headspace employee. It is unlikely to bear much fruit if that misapprehension is absent.

You will correct this.

>[1] Speak to Friend-Squid and convince it you are an employee. It will be helpful then.
>>[A] Convince it through eloquent and heroic reasoning. (Write-in.) [Possible roll.]
>>[B] Convince it through brute will. (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]

>[2] Reprogram the Friend-Squid so it is able to speak, and so it will listen to you. It will really be helpful then. [-1 SV]

>[3] Leave this place and bring Friend-Squid a Headspace employee to converse with. You do have one lying around. (Donate Casey to the Employees.)

>[4] Write-in.

>>6168805
>[3] Leave this place and bring Friend-Squid a Headspace employee to converse with. You do have one lying around. (Donate Casey to the Employees.)

>>6168805
>1a
Name drop Rudy and Virginia and show it our headspace swag

Didn’t seem like Casey was in a state to help us out

>>6168805
>1a

>[1] Speak to Friend-Squid and convince it you are an employee. It will be helpful then.
>>[B] Convince it through brute will. (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]

Rolled 52, 18, 55 - 20 = 105 (3d100 - 20)

>>6168892
>>6168953
>[1A]

Called for [1A]. Unfortunately, because you find it difficult to think about Rudy and Virginia right now, and because you donated your Headspace swag to Gil, you don't have much of a leg to stand on here. I'm calling this late, so I'll be handling the roll myself:

>3 1d100s - 20 (-20 Rigid Thinking) vs. DC 50 to convince Freddy you're an employee!

>>6169520
Oops, that vote count should've also included

>>6169141
>1B

>>6168854
>3

Same result, though.

>>6169520
>32, 0, 35 vs. DC 50 -- Failure

Gaslighting yourself into thinking you can never fail is not the same thing as actually never failing, turns out. Let's see how long this state of affairs can last. Writing.

>Show ID
>32, 0, 35 vs. DC 50 — Failure

"I am," you say, and falter: your heart, pure and honest, revolts against attempts to lie. Still, success is not in question. "I am an employee of Headspace, so you know."

Friend-Squid is silent. You believe you will have to present evidence. "After all, I know people in Headspace. Like..." The names are trapped in the dark places inside you. "Many people, whose names I know, and can list, if you want me to."

(Rudy. Virginia. You failed them both.)

"Like Rudy," you say baldly. "And Virginia. Do you know them? Additionally, I possess genuine Headspace merchandise. However, you cannot see it, because I gave it away to my retainer. You must believe me and my word as a heroine."

Unblinking inhuman eyes. "As an employee," you clarify. "An official Headspace employee. I— wait!"

Squid-Friend is sliding back into the mound. Squid-Friend, who never spoke a word, is gone. You are not sad or mad about this. You are not hopeless or despairing or self-blaming about this. You feel nothing.

Nothing does not feel good. You clench one fist, then the other. You squint shut one eye, then the other. This meant nothing. You didn't intend to actually speak to Friend-Squid. You were testing it. You were practicing. Therefore you did not fail, because you cannot, because the weight around you would fall and crush you if you did. But you did not.

Act.

>[1] You cannot fail. This last time was a fluke. This will be your real attempt. [Last chance.]
>>[A] Enough with this. This is not how it was supposed to go, so it will not be how it went. Create something different. (Advanced Advanced Gaslighting.) [Difficult roll.]
>>[B] Enough with this. You are sickened by the insolence and disorder. Once and for all, make it right. [-2 SV]
>>[C] Write-in. (Subject to veto.)

>[2] You cannot fail. You will succeed, no matter what it costs you. [Drop to 0 ID, but choose ONE thing to accomplish, guaranteed.]
>>[A] You *will* convince the employees that they are not horribly mutated.
>>[B] You *will* sedate the employees to halt their active suffering.
>>[C] You *will* open a line of communication between the employees and Us.
>>[D] You *will* accomplish a different discrete task. (Write-in.)

File: drowned iceberg.png (791 KB, 642x998)

791 KB PNG

Also, folks, I'm a day late, but... well, it's not like Ellery would be any better organized. Happy (belated) 6th anniversary to the original Drowned Quest, the sacrificial lamb that got us to where we are now. Good night, sweet prince.

Also, take a DQ/DQR iceberg. Can you figure out what on earth the bottom tiers are referring to?!

>>6169554
>[1] You cannot fail. This last time was a fluke. This will be your real attempt. [Last chance.]
>[B] Enough with this. You are sickened by the insolence and disorder. Once and for all, make it right. [-2 SV]

>>6169554
>2B
We can be forgiven for passing out after all that I’m sure

>2A

>>6169554
Its a hard vote but I lean more towards
>2B
Even if I think all the options won't help but instead just get us what we need. (We are a hero we can do better than this)
However if there is a tie then swap me to 1B I hate captchas and also pouring oil on a fire seems cool

>>6169729
>>6169913
>[2B]

>>6169902
>[2A]

>>6169711
>[1B]

Called for sleepytime and writing.

>[2] You cannot fail. You will succeed, no matter what it costs you. [Drop to 0 ID, but choose ONE thing to accomplish, guaranteed.]
>>[B] You *will* sedate the employees to halt their active suffering.

>Put this to bed

Stride forth. Draw The Sword. Make your true nature known. You have not failed, which is impossible. You have not succeeded yet. That is all. You will silence the screaming and stanch the stench and make this good and right and perfect again. You only haven't yet. That is all. You will act in the name of righteousness, and you...

(You're just making things up.)

...will shine the light of truth and justice upon the Employees, and...

(You haven't achieved some higher state of being. You're no better than you were, and you might be worse. You're lying to yourself.)

...there is a pesky voice seeping through your cracks, which is not to say you have cracks, being flawless and so on, but nevertheless you pay it no mind, as you continue your proud march upward toward...

(See? You're lying right now. You're not marching. You're not even moving. This is pathetic.)

...achieving your heroic mission, which you will of course do, no thanks to the voice, a wicked voice of pure wickedness, a Richard-esque voice, if you might say so, but you have long since left Richard behind in your ascent toward...

(Richard doesn't call you pathetic anymore. He used to, though, quite a lot. Sometimes he was being mean, but sometimes he was right. What else are you supposed to call this?)
(You liquefied 5,000 people. More people than you've seen in your life. Maybe they weren't real anymore, but they mostly used to be. And they thought they were. And they had thoughts and feelings and lives, and now they're suffering. And you won't even admit that to yourself.)

You're not not admitting anything. You are ignoring the voice, and trusting your own senses, which are telling you this is eminently winnable, even an ideal situation, for a valiant heroine, who after all must sometimes test her mettle—

(This is not winnable. You tried things, and they failed. There's only so long you can go without admitting that. Maybe you can't win because you can't admit it, except inside.)
(Maybe you never really win because you can never really admit you lose. You don't know.)
(You're tired.)

You are not tired! 'Tired' is a concept inconceivable to you! You are powered by raw heroism, a well that never runs dry, a well of infinite and perfect vitality, and you will subsist on it until your task is—

(You think you might have put a crazy person in charge of your body. You split yourself into crazy and not-crazy and stuffed the not-crazy inside so you couldn't be a downer. Something like that.)
(It was a good idea until it wasn't.)

You have nothing but good ideas! And this notion of another you is nonsense. You are the one and only Charlotte Fawkins, dashing heroine, and at this very moment you are purging the Employees of their corruptions, their—

(1/5)

File: fangs.jpg (26 KB, 412x450)

26 KB JPG

(You're still doing nothing. And yes, she's you. And you're you, somewhere dark and quiet and warm. Maybe somewhere wet. Water the temperature of your body.)
(It would be easy to wait, to sleep. This will burn itself out. But how? She can't succeed. She doesn't have the energy or the resources— you don't, and she only thinks she's different. So either she'll keep scrabbling, keep failing, until Us intervenes, or she'll push so hard it burns you up, or she'll push so hard it hurts them more.)
(Or she'll resort to a different source of energy.)

You are a positive thinker, not a negative one. All of this is slander. You will, very shortly, be returning to saving the Employees, who are anxiously waiting for your intervention, and who—

(You have her paralyzed. This is a good thing. Positive thinking.)
(What you really need to do is get back in control. So you can be confronted with the grim reality of the situation. The incredible results of your so-called heroism. So despair can choke you and you can fall to your knees and be subsumed. Wouldn't that be ironic?)
(...No, you're doing it. You can't go out if you're moaning like that, or you really will be subsumed and stuff. Positive thinking! You have no evidence that this is actually unsolvable— only that you can't solve it right now. And you have no evidence that you're trapped here— you have a rope, don't you? You have friends.)
(You could tug the rope right now and be out of here, if you wanted.)

Out of here?! Nonsense! You have every intention to finish what you started, to—

(No, she's right. You can't make this right, but you can still make it better.)
(Sit and the dark and think. You have as long as you need to, as long as you don't fall asleep.)
(As long as you don't... you have her... ah!)

Lurch forward. Feel the weight wobble and drop off of you. You are Charlotte Fawkins, and the enormity of what you have done is in your eyes, your nose, your ears, clutching at you, sucking at you, but you will not ignore it, and you will not let it destroy you. You will not compound despair with despair. Open your mouth. No, wider. So the gleaming fangs slide forward. Richard made them, but the Herald of the Bright Epoch gave them purpose. Maybe she knew you'd put them to good use.

Bite. Any part of them: it's all connected. You pick a hand, to not be weird, and cleave the fangs through. Your salivary glands, below your tongue, begin to water. Don't listen to those. They aren't important. Above the roof of your mouth, buried behind your lips and cheeks, are ducts and weirder glands. They pulse rhythmically, faster when you strain.

(2/5)

File: us - @elebant.png (35 KB, 1000x900)

35 KB PNG

A teacup of venom for a mountain of bodies. It's strong, but not that strong. You don't care. If the Employees want to imagine themselves an abomination, you can imagine yourself whatever you like. A million fangs. Glands like balloons. Imagine yourself all the way to the end, which is: the screams gargle and cease. The torsos flop down. The whole mound loosens, puddles. It isn't quite goo, but it's a lot closer.

You don't know whether the Employees are asleep or just paralyzed. If they're paralyzed, maybe they can still fall asleep. Even if they can't, at least they're not screaming. Maybe they can take a while to realize things aren't so bad.

It's not righting a wrong. When the venom stops circulating, they'll still be what they are, and they won't be happy. But it isn't nothing, and maybe it's the best you can do right now. You've had a long, long, long day.

You sink to your knees. You shut your eyes. Then you reach up, as hard as you can, and grasp at nothing. Try it several times. It's okay. When you meet resistance, you know you've found it: your real arm, encased in goo, grasps for the real rope, ditto. When you feel rough fibers, tug. Once, twice.

Then rise up into the air, miraculously, divinely, as if lifted by the wind; see the slumped and sleeping Employees, the curtain-bar, the faces of Us, in rings and rows, tilted toward you: you don't know what to say to them. "Sorry," you say, limply. "I didn't—"

THE SCREAMING HAS STOPPED

"Not forever," you say. "I couldn't—"

IT IS MORE THAN WHAT WE COULD DO
IT IS A START
THANK YOU

If you knew what to say, you couldn't have said it: mucous fills your mouth and lungs, clouds your eyes, coats your skin, like a parrotfish made a nest of you. You scarcely know when you're out of the goo, since you're all still in it. You know only that it's colder, and something hard is beneath you, and something bright is above you.

"Lottie! How do we— aw, geez. This stuff comes off, right? Pat?"

"Just clear her eyes and nose for now. We can desiccate the rest off in a bit. No big deal."

"Okay. Uh..."

Pressure on your face. It becomes clearer and easier to breathe. Gil is crouched above you. "Okay! Ace! Uh... hi, Lottie. You remembered the system!"

You nod a little.

"That's great! I'm so glad you're okay. You were down there for a while. I was starting to think I better... wait, are you okay? You seem a little..."

He doesn't know. You're a heroine to him. How long do you keep it that way? Can you keep it? The instant anybody else contacts Us, it's over. Hiding it makes it seems like you did something wrong.

But you don't want him to know. You want him to keep looking at you like that. You want to keep lying here. You're tired. How have you not passed out? Can you paralyze yourself? Can Richard come and take the world away from you?

(3/5)

File: nice richard (ms paint).png (12 KB, 588x264)

12 KB PNG

"She'll be fine," Richard says. Gil's eyes bug out, but he doesn't flinch at the sudden appearance. Must be the goo. "Oh, shit," Pat says from elsewhere. "You're her—"

"Her father? Yes. Have we met? I'm Richard," Richard says, and ducks out of view briefly. He must be shaking Pat's hand. "Sorry to interrupt, but Charlie needs some TLC! You know how it is."

"I don't think I do." Pat sounds nonplussed. "Wh—"

"I'll explain later," Gil says, while Richard scoops you up and cradles you in both arms. You're in little state to protest, and any desire leaves you when Richard cranes his neck down. «You've done what you could, primrose,» he says in your head. «Which is more than anybody else could do, just about. Take a rest.»

Whether you take him up on it, or whether he does it to you, you don't know. But he kisses on the forehead, and you sink back in his arms and know nothing.

>[-1 ID: 0/15]

—

You dream of the book with two pages stuck together. You have to unstick the pages. You have to read them. But no matter how hard you pull, they won't budge; no matter whether you slice with scissors, The Sword, a knife with a tortoiseshell handle, they won't fall open. You enlist everybody you know, all your new admirers, but their combined strengths and talents fail before the pages.

So you go to Richard and beg and plead and fall before him, and he puts a hand on your shoulder, and says: Charlie, it's only a dream. It isn't real. Sleep soundly.

Then all you know is blackness until morning.

—

It must be morning, because you are in your tent, and red dawn light is coming through the canvas. Though something is odd. Most of your furniture is gone, and you have more pillows than you usually do, and Richard is seated at your bedside.

"Charlie," he says as a greeting.

"...Where..."

"Where are you? You are in your manse." He tips his chair back to reach for the door-flap, then opens it a ways. You see red-lit marble. He closes the flap. "I thought it would be more comfortable if you weren't out in the open. You were exhausted."

"Pillows," you mumble.

"I did see fit to upgrade your usual sleeping arrangements."

"...How long..."

"How long have you been out? Subjectively, some hours. In reference to real-time, it's difficult to estimate, what with the spanner variance. I'd say it's presently early evening." Richard pauses. "You haven't missed Game Night, if that's what you were asking."

"You know about...?"

"I spoke with Gil. Not at length. He isn't here, but he sends best wishes. He said he'd see you when you woke up. In real life, that is."

"Oh," you say. "That's good."

"It is. You're lucky to have somebody so staunchly in your corner. Besides me, of course, but it is good to diversify." Richard smiles. "How are you feeling?"

Your mouth is dry. "Thirsty."

(4/5)

"How novel! One of the lesser-known perils of sleeping in a manse. What would you like to drink?"

"...Water."

"Rainwater it is. I know how you like it." Richard hands you a glass. "Take your time, primrose."

>You have a lot to talk about with Richard. No better time than now. (Pick as many as you want.)

>[1] Where was he? After you left Headspace, you mean, when he wasn't in danger anymore.
>[2] You thought about calling for his help a bunch of times, but you didn't, because you didn't want him to get squished. Just so he knows.
>[3] You almost got possessed, but then the model of your manse saved you. And he did something to the model, you remember. So if that was him... thanks.
>[4] Does he know what happened after you left? Are people worried about you?
>[5] Tell Richard you imploded Headspace, like a real heroine.
>[6] Tell Richard you liquified 5,000 innocentish people, like a... uh...
>[7] Ask Richard about Management. For real this time. You need answers.
>[8] Ask Richard about the Herald. For real this time. You need answers.
>[9] Ask Richard about your missing memories. For real this time. Also, do you still have that USB stick?
>[10] Write-in.

>>6170094
>Everything

>>6170094
By the way, how many people have we NOT liquified?

>>6170094
>2
Not squished and before that not undercooked
>3,5,6,7,8,9
Sorry
We do have a lot to talk about

>>6170112
Charlotte doesn't know for sure IC, but see the calculations here: >>6165487

You guys rolled almost as high on absorption as it was possible to get, which is why the situation is so dire. If you rolled a lot lower, the employees would've been integrated into Us instead of forming their own monstrosity.


>>6170156
>Sorry
It's okay, I figured!

>1,3,5,6,7,8,9

>>6170111 (checked)
>>6170156
>>6170349
>Everything

Writing.

>Debrief

You hold the glass in your hands for a moment. You feel better than you did, though not quite at full steam.

>[ID: 7/15]

Then you take a sip and swish it around in your mouth, trying to dispel the sleep-taste. "Where were you?"

"When do you mean? Over the last few days, I was recuperating. After your escapade with the crossbow, I was holed up inside you-know-where, in an effort to dodge the—"

"No, I know." You rub your eye. "I meant after. I imploded Headspace, and I got rescued, and I went and talked to a lot of people, and you still weren't there. I thought something might've happened to you."

"Ah." Richard looks sheepish.

"...Did something happen to you?"

"No. I, er... you were being degraded, Charlotte. You exposed yourself to, I assume, a substantial amount of anti-reality. I had to throw every ounce of energy into keeping you intact. After the danger had passed, I was forced to regain this energy."

"You fell asleep?"

The sheepishness intensifies. "You might call it that, yes. But I assure you, I was ready to assist the moment I was called upon. I would not have left you in the lurch."

Geez. If you'd known, maybe you would've asked for him sooner. You take another sip. "Before this, I— I thought about needing your help. During Headspace, I mean. But I didn't want to hurt you, or mess up your brain, so I did it all by myself."

"And that was extremely considerate of you. Thank you. Because of your kindness, myself and my brain are fully intact." Richard pats your blankets. "There's no need to be shy about it now, though. I've recovered, and I'm here to help."

Recovered? That's not true. If anything, now he's messed up permanently. You know he says he's okay with being nice, but... you shake your head to clear it. "Um, thanks. Was it you helping me inside the BrainWyrm?"

"The BrainWyrm?"

"You know, the big circly thing in Headspace? The thing I imploded? I tried to commune with it, but I— it tried to take me over. And it wasn't an accident, I think. It's like it— like the point of it was to take me over. Like I was supposed to be... Ellery said Management had been watching me the whole time. That they were controlling me, sort of, so I'd wind up there and... end the world. I think that's what they wanted."

"Nothing so crude as that." Richard sighs. "The simple truth is that Ellery is not in possession of all the facts. Don't pay him much heed. After all, were you taken over?"

"...No, but not because it wasn't trying! Something weird happened. I was inside my manse, but not really, but wherever I was, it couldn't get in. Like it was another failsafe. I thought maybe you had something to do with it."

"That sounds like something I'd set up, yes. I'm pleased it helped."

(1/5)

You squeeze your hands around the half-full glass. "That's it?"

"Were you looking for more, Charlie?"

"I— I don't— I thought you'd have more to say about the BrainWyrm, or— Ellery said you were Management. And I know you said you weren't, but—"

"Well, think about it. If I were Management, would I be installing failsafes? Surely I would've wanted you to be taken over?"

"Maybe it was an accident," you mumble. "Or maybe you went rogue. How am I supposed to know?"

"Or maybe Ellery doesn't have all the facts, like I said. For the record, I'm proud of your survival instinct, primrose. All I did was pull the ripcord. You're the one who fell safely to earth." Richard fluffs your pillows. "Though that might be understating it, given you also—"

"I blew it up," you say.

"Yes. That you did. How do you feel about it?"

If he'd asked when you were talking to Madrigal, to Gil, to Anthea, you'd have an answer. Now you don't know. "I'm not sure it was worth it."

"Oh, Charlie. Why's that?"

"I... I..." Does he know already? Did he read your mind? Will he judge you? He can't now. He's nice. "I imploded the BrainWyrm, like I meant to, and I destroyed all the evil prisons, and I— I cut off Management for good, but it all... I melted all the employees, Richard! I melted them! And they're all made of goo, and they're all stuck together, and they're so scared, and they hate me, and Us hates me, and I— I— I— I don't— why does it always happen like this?!"

Richard studies your face. "Come now. There's no need to cry. You—"

"I'm not crying! My eyes are just wet!" You scrub them furiously. "You don't get it! I can't— every time I think I do something good, i-it turns out to be awful! I try and rescue Madrigal, but she didn't even need rescuing, and I got possessed, and Annie died, and I, I find out what's wrong with Ellery, but then he's annoying and miserable and still wants to die, and I blow up Headspace, but then I screw it up, and I couldn't fix Casey, and I made 5,000 people get souped, and as soon as everybody finds out they— they won't— I— they won't—"

You stop. Richard has stood. "What are you doing?"

"Hm. Will you move over? There isn't much room."

"I... okay." You sniffle and scootch over; Richard sits in the space you created, which is to say right next to you. He takes your hand, and you think of old Richard, cold Richard, who treated physical contact like it might burn him. Richard's hand is warm.

"Alright, Charlie," he says. "What will happen when everybody finds out?"

"They won't like me anymore," you tell your lap.

"I see. And why is that? Because you made a mistake?"

"It's not a mistake! It's worse! And I— I can't afford to— heroines don't mess up like this! They always do the right thing, always, and they battle against evil, and everybody likes them, and they don't soup people, Richard, ever, so it's just obvious. I don't know what else you want to know."

(2/5)

"That does seem comprehensive. To summarize, they won't like you because you're now insufficiently heroic?"

"Yeah," you say. "Kind of. I- I guess. If I was supposed to do this really big thing, and then I do it, but it turns out worthless, or less than—"

"I see. So people's liking of you hinges on what you're able to accomplish? The larger the accomplishment, the more you'll be liked?"

There's a certain tone creeping into Richard's voice. You tug your hand out of his. "You're asking me trick questions!"

"I'm not—"

"You are! You do this all the time. If I say yes, you're going to twist it around so I'm wrong somehow, and it's going to be me looking stupid, and—"

"That would be your first instinct then? To answer in the affirmative?"

You huff. "Why do I even talk to you? You don't need me. Why don't I leave, and you can imagine my side of the conversation, where you perfectly enlighten me about your stupid—"

"This is a sensitive topic for you," Richard says.

You don't say anything.

"You're right. I do have some pre-existing inklings. I'm afraid it comes with the package of living in your head, primrose. But I try not to presume, which is why I'd rather ask. If it's not through what you accomplish, how do people come to like you?"

If Richard were still mean, you'd assume he were harvesting info to taunt you with later. That can't be true now, so he must think he's helping you with something. It's almost worse. "...I impress them? By being really cool, or scary, or I do something they're too lame to do, or I save a lot of lives— but saving lives doesn't count if I ruin even more people's lives right after! That's not impressive! That's—" You wave the cup of water around. "—you know—"

"I see."

"And you can't say I'm wrong and stupid, because it obviously— Gil likes me because I saved his life a lot of times, and Madrigal sort of likes me because I detectived everything for her so fast, and Horse Face doesn't like me because he isn't impressed by anything— see? Name one example that doesn't work."

"How about me?"

"You? Um, it's obvious? You didn't like me when I was sitting around doing nothing, and then when I started doing things, you did like me. And now you say you're proud of me all the time, since I'm so busy heroing." And because his standards have gotten a lot lower, but you don't need to say that.

"Well, I can't question the rationality of your conclusion. I do see where you're coming from. But you don't think any of those people like you for who you are?"

You think about it. "...No? That doesn't make any sense."

"You don't think that they've come to like you as they've come to know you? You went from hardly interacting to frequent contact. And, dare I say it, your niceties have improved."

"Huh?"

"Have they not?"

(3/5)

"No? I've always acted exactly the same. I've never been mean to any of them, and they all hated me for no reason. Then I started doing things, and they didn't. So obviously it's the doing things that matters."

"...I see," Richard says, though he transparently doesn't. "You've never wronged them?"

"I've never wronged anyone! And they were all supposed to realize that, finally, but then I screwed up..." You toss your head back. "Can you wipe everybody's memory when they find out? Or right now is okay, if they did find out. Do you know if they found out?"

"You want to know whether the plight of the former employees has been publicized? I'm afraid I don't know. It hadn't been when I left with you, but it's not the sort of thing that stays under wraps long. Regardless, I can't erase something like that. Why don't you discover how others feel about it first? You don't know where their priorities lie."

"I can guess," you say.

"No."

"Yes I..." You sigh deeply. "Did you at least tell people I was leaving? So they don't think I fled the scene of the crime?"

"Gil knows. I'd imagine he's spread the news." Richard rubs your shoulder, then stands and stretches. He yawns. "Excuse me."

"Are you going to get the chalkboard now?"

"Pardon?"

"You still haven't explained anything." You lace your fingers. "There was all that stuff with the Herald, and Management, and you said you'd give a whole big lecture on anything I wanted to know as soon as it was safe. And I'm safe, so—"

"Yes. Yes, you are. So I did say that. You have a good memory, Charlie."

A good memory? "Oh! And I got a thingy from the BrainWyrm! Assuming I didn't lose it..." You rummage around in your pocket and pull the thingy forth. "Behold!"

Richard blanches. "A microstick?"

"Is that what it is? I thought you'd know." You push the rectangle out of the microstick with the little switch. "It doesn't look very stick-y, but maybe snakes don't see a lot of sticks. I think I need it in my brain?"

"...Do you know what's inside?"

Your memories. You can tell him that. But you look into Richard's harried eyes, and you think about his odd remarks, and you feel your stomach twist. You can't lie— he'd spot a lie. But you don't have to say all of the truth. "It's information about Headspace. I stole it from the BrainWyrm before I imploded it, but it came out in this thingy, and I'm not sure how to—"

He relaxes. "Of course, of course. It was wise of you to save it for me, primrose— I certainly wouldn't recommend installing it yourself. Did you want to hand it over?"

"I— not before your lecture! You promised!"

"Ah." Richard taps his teeth. "Charlie..."

(4/5)

"You promised."

"I know I did. You're absolutely right. I just don't know if this is the time, primrose. If Game Night is tonight— I'd hate to spoil your evening. And I can't say I've had time to prepare much of anything, either. Can we take a raincheck?"

"No!" You know this playbook. "Because then you're going to make me forget you ever promised, and you'll never ever explain anything to me."

"Charlie—"

"Admit it! That's what you're planning."

"I am planning no such thing. My concerns are genuine. You've been looking forward to this for weeks, for goodness' sake. You'd have yourself a miserable time?"

"Why would I be miserable?" you say. "What haven't you told me?"

Richard's face hardens back up. "We'll do this later."

"No! Now I'll have a miserable time no matter what, because I'll be too busy wondering. You might as well get it over with."

"I—" He closes one eye. "One question."

"One?!"

"That's what I'll give you. Consider it a gesture of good faith, Charlie. If I can't answer it, you can ask one I will answer." He sits back down in his chair. "The rest can wait until after Game Night. Take me up on it?"

>Pick one, unless you're writing something in. The rest will come later.

>[1] Okay, fine. What are "snakes," if they're not snakes? A real answer, please.
>[2] What is Richard's actual relationship with Management?
>[3] What was Management's ultimate goal?
>[4] Are you the Herald?
>[5] Did Richard erase those three years of memories? Or was it somebody else? Who?
>[6] Write-in. (Feel free to write-in other questions, but please select a backup as well in case Richard refuses to answer.)

>>6170760
>[2] What is Richard's actual relationship with Management?

>>6170760
>2
He knows of their group if not them individually
They all seem to know him as an individual
He’s part of his own organization
How does it all fit together?

>>6170762
>>6170947
>[2]

Writing.

File: busssinessssss-isss-good.png (163 KB, 422x550)

163 KB PNG

>https://www.globalnerdy.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/org-charts-tech-companies.png

You could argue. But if you really pushed the matter, he'd be even more likely to make you forget about it, and then where would you be? You sigh. "You'll explain everything else later tonight?"

"If you're sober enough for it, Charlie, yes. I think that sounds like a plan. Did you have a question?"

In a way, he's right. You don't actually want to ruin your Game Night. Better to ask something on the safer side. "Yeah. You're not Management, and you didn't know them, but they knew you. That doesn't make any sense. How are you actually related?"

"Hm? It's not as complicated as all that."

Uh-huh. "Then why wouldn't you explain it earlier?"

"Because you had better things to do, no?" Richard settles back in his chair. "I'll preface this by stating it's all somewhat speculative—"

"How? What is there to speculate on?"

"Slow down. It's all speculative, because, in a literal sense, they were not my department. That's what I believe." Richard presses his fingers to his lips. "You are aware of my... role. My title."

You squint. "Correspondent #314?"

"Yes. Very sharp, Charlie. Am I the only Correspondent?"

"I thought you were supposed to be answering questions." You drink the rest of the water, then set it down. "But, um... no? Since your arch-nemesis snake is also a Correspondent? And I guess there'd have to be 313 others. Oh. That's a lot. 300 other people have Richards?"

"I assure you, only one person has a Richard. But I promised one question, so—" He crosses one leg over the other. "There are more than 300, for the record. I am not as high as all that. But we are all Correspondents."

"So that's what snakes are? Correspondents?"

"No, Charlotte. Like I said, it is a role. Similar roles are grouped in departments. All of the departments, together, make up... us."

"'Snakes.'" You make the quotation marks.

"Yes. This is how we are organized. As you might imagine, then, I only know a small number of others on personal terms, all of whom are Correspondents, or else dedicated liaisons between departments. I believe one of them accosted you?"

Your eyes widen. "She gave me the card for you! R-D-something?"

"R/D-C #1. Yes. She serves as a bridge between ourselves and R/D. Research and Development. It would be inefficient to expect us to keep up with their work, and for them to keep up with ours, so there are a few who are tasked with conveying information and assistance. They... know me well. Regardless—"

"So R/D-C #1 was a Manager?" You frown. "She was too nice, I thought."

"No. In any case, I seriously doubt it. The liaisons are kept far too busy to waste time on a side project. R&D, on the other hand... you said you heard their numbers?"

(1/5)

"One of them called a different one, um, 20-something. Or 30-something? I don't remember."

"Lower-downs. Thank you for overhearing that, because it confirmed my suspicions."

"Which are...?"

"I believe that 'Management' is an unauthorized R&D project. Or if it is authorized, the conspiracy extends beyond their ranks. It must be R&D, because they built a second BrainWyrm, and nobody but R&D knows its workings."

"Couldn't somebody have stolen—"

Richard raises a hand. "There's no reason to resort to complex explanations when simple ones will do. R&D's purview is the discovery and development of new technologies. The second BrainWyrm, the advanced operations of Headspace, the EZ-MANSE— all of these bear their fingerprints. They are meddling in things they aren't licensed to be meddling in. Or were meddling, given you've put a stop to it. I suppose I must thank you."

"Um, you're welcome? But why—"

"How many questions did I allot you?"

"One? But it's about the topic... and if Management's a different department, and you don't know them, how did they know you? And me? That's part of the first question! You can't not answer that."

"Hm. A compelling argument. I thought I answered this earlier, though, didn't I? They know you because you allowed the one of them to read your mind. They know me because I have a..." Richard looks to the side. "...a certain reputation."

"Even in other departments?"

"The R/D-Cs know me well. It doesn't surprise me that news may have spread. The one you spoke to is... mouthy. Does that answer your question?"

You want to know about his reputation. You want to know what Management was meddling in. You want to know what all the different departments are for. You want to know what the other people with Richards have been doing. (Are they all abovewater? Is that why you don't know about them?) But none of those are exactly part of your original question, and Richard's already been more helpful than you expected. You lean all the way back. "Yeah."

"Excellent. Then I believe you need me to install this?" Richard dangles the micro-stick.

Damnit! Where'd he get that from? "Um, yes. Did R&D invent those?"

"I would imagine so, though I couldn't tell you the specifics. I'm not privy to most of what they're up to." Richard sounds annoyed. "It's simple enough to use them, though."

"And they have information in them?" And memories? "Can you put information in, or only take it out again?"

"Both ways. Why?"

"...No reason." If you put your memories of Annie inside, could you upload them into a different giant worm? "I only want to take it out right now. How do you do it?"

"Here. Turn your back to me, please. And hold your hair up."

"That's not a— um, okay." You do. "Can I at least watch?"

"There won't be much to see. You may experience some moderate discomfort, which I apologize in advance for. Rest assured it's temporary. Hold still, please."

(2/5)

File: [processing].png (66 KB, 412x347)

66 KB PNG

You tense up, but hold still, and try not to squirm as Richard digs his fingernails into your skin. "Ow! Careful! I— OW!"

>[-1 ID: 6/15]

Sudden sharp pain, like Richard drove a nail into your neck, followed by a hum in your teeth. Your face twitches; your eyes blink; your fingers curl. You taste metal. "Sorry, Charlie," Richard says. "Won't be more than a minute."

A minute? You steady yourself against the cot. Your vision is garbling: floaters cloud it, colors flash in and out, your fingers triple. Richard says "Charlie."

"What?" you say desperately.

"What's that? I didn't say anything, primrose."

>[-1 ID: 5/15]

Richard says something else, incomprehensible, because Ellery's nasal voice is talking over him, and then somebody else over him, all in useless shredded snippets, and below you on the cot is the Herald figurine, the one on the Manager's desk, but your fifteen fingers go right through it when you reach, and the Richard-snake bares its fangs at you, wraps around the tortoiseshell knife, and it's all stained yellow-puce-magenta, and everyone's talking a million miles a minute, and you smell blood— are you bleeding? Did Richard really put a nail in your neck? You reach around, but your hand is grabbed.

"Wait. I'll eject it."

Richard's real solid hand squeezes your real solid hand, then reaches up to the nail in your neck. He presses it in— everything inside you wobbles— then slides it out— everything in you goes rigid. The voices clear. The colors clear. The snake isn't there. You don't smell blood, but you pat your neck to be sure. Not only is it clean, but the skin is unblemished.

"That should about do it. Are you well, Charlie?"

You turn around slowly. Richard is smiling. "...Yes," you say.

"I presume it was as unpleasant as anticipated. You look queasy, if you don't mind me saying. If it helps, nobody enjoys it." Richard crosses one leg over the other. "Did the information integrate itself correctly?"

Do you remember now? Wait, what are you supposed to be remembering? Everything? Because you sure don't remember everything— 3 years ago is a blank. Your father, outside of reconstructed recent memories, is a blank. God-damnit! Did the BrainWyrm lie!?

"...I'm sensing 'no'? Are you certain?"

You can't remember anything new. Nothing at all is sticking out as new. Damnit, damnit, damnit. You put yourself through that for nothing? No. No, there was the other stuff. The information. What did you ask it for? Stuff about the Herald? What do you know about the Herald?

...

(3/5)

Oh. A lot. Like you stepped into a kiddie pool and fell down a well. Oh, that's weird. You can't explore this yet. If it worked for the information, what happened to your damn memories? "I— I don't know. It's like it got some of it, but the rest didn't—"

"Everything should've uploaded, Charlie. Was there anything particularly massive or impactful? It's possible your mind might need extra time to sort through it, if so. I'd expect it to naturally come to you over the next couple hours. If not, let me know, alright?"

A couple hours? That isn't so bad. You can handle that. Deep breath. "Okay."

"Wonderful. If you also feel briefly disoriented, nauseated, develop a bad headache, those are also normal aftereffects. I can help with the headache, so please let me know. Along those lines... will you drink this?"

You eye the new glass Richard's offering. It's cloudy white. "I'm not thirsty anymore."

"For your health, Charlie. Unless you'd prefer a pill?"

You'd prefer him to inject stuff into your blood, or whatever he used to do. Sometimes you think Nice Richard is a little too nice. "Um, no. That's alright. Does it taste bad?"

"It shouldn't."

Down the hatch, then. You squeeze your eyes shut and chug the lukewarm, salty liquid. Then you wipe your mouth. "Okay."

"Better now?"

>[+3 ID: 8/15]

Irritatingly, yes: you feel brighter, warmer, more awake. "...Yes."

"Good. Lay back down, please."

Why? It doesn't mattter. Better to do it than sit through a lengthy explanation. You lay down.

"Look up at the ceiling."

Same thing. You fix your eyes on the red ceiling. You know it's creepy Wyrm-light, but you'd still prefer to think it's morning. Richard is moving around in your peripheral vision. Raising his arm? What is he doing? If you flick your eyes over, will he notice?

You flick your eyes over, long enough to catch Richard grabbing thin air and pulling.

—

And then he's holding the tablecloth, and the dishes are still on the table. You are lying in your cot in your tent. He is sitting in your desk chair, smoking. It is not morning. It is orangey-tinted evening, and this is your real tent. You are in your real body.

You sit up. "Did you practice that?"

'Smirking' would be uncharitable, but Richard's smile is sly. "I wouldn't know what you mean, Charlie. If I'm not mistaken, Game Night begins around now, no?"

You don't really know. You've never been. "Maybe? But—"

"But?"

(4/5)

But you just loaded a bunch of information into your brain. Shouldn't you think it all through? You can't think it through if you're too busy winning every single game. On the other hand, maybe you shouldn't distract yourself. You can't win every single game if you're too busy thinking. Hmm, hmm, hmm.

>[1] Stay here and figure out what you know now. It might distract you a little, but you didn't go to all that trouble for nothing. You also downloaded info about Lester's location: assume you can access this immediately when relevant.
>>[A] What is the Herald of the Bright Epoch?
>>[B] What are the Herald's roles? Duties? Abilities?
>>[C] What do people think about the Herald?
>>[D] Has the Herald been sighted before?
>>[E] What are snakes?
>>[F] Where do snakes come from?
>>[G] What are snakes useful for?
>>[H] Write-in. (Anything, so long as it's on the topic of the Herald and/or snakes.)

>[2] Go on ahead to Game Night. You need to be in tip-top shape to win everything. Plus, if Richard's going to be telling you everything later, you can find out what you know at the same time. Easy.

>[3] Write-in?

>>6171325
>[2] Go on ahead to Game Night. You need to be in tip-top shape to win everything. Plus, if Richard's going to be telling you everything later, you can find out what you know at the same time. Easy.

>>6171325
>2
Let’s give our brain space to unpack everything instead of rushing the process and maybe messing it up

>[2] Go on ahead to Game Night. You need to be in tip-top shape to win everything. Plus, if Richard's going to be telling you everything later, you can find out what you know at the same time. Easy.

>>6171336
>>6171359
>>6171709
>[2]

Writing.

Eh, scratch that. Didn't happen. The long-awaited Game Night will have to wait one last day-- see you guys tomorrow.

Back and writing for real.

Truly game night is an unreachable dream

File: u24s5j.jpg (48 KB, 568x189)

48 KB JPG

>>6172458

>>6172498
>>6172458
I-I got most of the update done, my will flagged, and I figured I'd crank out the rest in the morning. Was too embarrassed to announce that. Proceeding to crank out the rest in the morning*

*morning for me ok

>GAME NIGHT

"But what, Charlie?"

Oh. You left your sentence dangling. You sit up and rub your eyes. "Nothing. I shouldn't be late. What if they start winning without me? I'll be behind, and I— I have to win all the games, because—"

"Because that's how they'll like you?"

You glare at Richard, who raises his eyebrows, and roll out of your cot. You are fully clothed, thank goodness, and only moderately achy. Your pockets are... light. Your stuff! Did somebody—

"I offloaded your possessions onto Gil. I wagered he would be sensible with them. That, and I couldn't touch the crystal." Richard adjusts his sunglasses. "So the Crown is yours at last. 1/16th of it, in any case. Are you pleased?"

"I— I'll think about the Crown tomorrow, okay? Can't I ever have a break?"

"Of course, of course. Break away."

You sigh, then set about detangling your hair with your fingers. "Do I look okay?"

"As beautiful as ever, primrose."

Richard would never say that. Even if you got him really drunk. But here he is, saying it, no irony or anything. You probably won't ever get used to it. "Really?"

"Of course. And it's not like your peers are particularly well-groomed, if I might say so, and that's without factoring in the day you've had. It's a victory you're not maimed! So shall we?"

Richard leans against your desk, dark-eyed snake around his neck. "We?" you say.

"I haven't had much of a chance to stretch my legs, have I? I won't interfere." He raises his hands placatingly. The snake raises its head. "It's your big night, Charlie."

"...Fine." He has been in the snake hospital for days. And he is nice. "Where is Game Night supposed to be?"

"Why don't you look outside?"

Damnit. You poke your head outside. From your vantage, there's nothing to see but scrub and tents— Gil's is dark inside— but noise carries, and there's a lot of it. Chatter, laughter. Laughter about you? Your miserable failure at rescuing the employees? No, they wouldn't laugh at that. Positive thinking. You are going to have a fantastic first-ever Game Night, and win all the games, and make everybody forget you melted 5,000 people! Yeah! Yeah!

You stride outside and hook a left before you can stop yourself. While it's true you've never attended a previous Game Night, you do recall some manner of set-up for it near the center of camp. Which makes sense, doesn't it? So everybody can attend? Everybody but you, since they cruelly and inexplicably excluded you, but those days are over now. You have a ticket from the organizer herself. Nobody's going to look at you funny. Keep going forward. Ignore Richard treading along behind you. He isn't even there.

(1/4?)