Reverse: 1999 story · Event stories
Floor it! To the Golden City
22 scenes, 2,504 lines
1. Weekend Fever
186 lines
Goood afternoon, San Francisco, to my dazed-out junkies, my loud and proud mischief-makers, and all my beautiful little heartthrobs!
It's your oldest and dearest friend, with the straight shooting of your father and tender-loving just like your mama. It's your boy, Vincent, aka "The Old Ostrich"!
Bringing you a balanced dish of good news and bad news! Let's soften the blow with the good stuff first: The New Age Market has finally gotten a little reinvigoration after the Harmonic Convergence.
Was it a sign from another world, or the harbinger of a Mayan doomsday prophecy? Who knows? But why worry, my lovelies? Keep those heads in the sand and your ears to the ground.
Because more visitors means more money! Huuuuge potential for young and old to make some dough!
Now, to hit you with the bad news—
Yesterday's gangland battles stretched from the sticks all the way to the steps of the People's Palace. And it came with a particularly heavy drizzle of bullet casings to rattle you all night long!
Last night, Legers the Dead and his arcanist minions booted the Tung Ch'ing Cham so hard in the ass, that they've been driven right out of our city!
If you're brave enough to head out into the streets, might still find a few gold teeth left on the ground!
Now, the sweet naive souls among you might think that means our fair city will finally have a moment of peace. But you listen to Papa Ostrich here, kiddies, this is only the beginning!
What Legers wants is nothing less than the whole damned city, and I have it on good authority where he's headed next.
I'm told his aim is to make a deal with Haight Street's very own Joe, aka "J Brown," for a stake in that juicy New Age Market pie.
Here's hoping that it goes smoothly, but if that fails, at least we'll have some quality entertainment.
Now it's time for The Old Ostrich to duck his head again, leaving you with some solid music to grooove your body and shaaake your booty with our next track: The Golden City.
"Papa Ostrich," *sneer* give me a break—anyways, what can I get you, guy?
Tequila.
Gio waves his hand, and the rest of his gang break off into the crowd.
And ...
He pulls a bundle of notes from inside his jacket and puts it on the table.
Straight-forward. I like that.
So what are you after? The waitress's phone number, ticket to an underground boxing match, or you after someone specific?
The bartender's idle chatter digs under Gio's skin.
You know what I'm after? I'm after you shutting your damned mouth!
He yanks the bartender by the collar, pulling him in close as he growls out his next words.
Cut the smart s**t with me and listen, 'cause I'm only going to ask once:
WHERE IS J? Point him out, then get your ass out of my sight!
Whoa, hey, hey! Easy, man! I'd be happy to; you don't even gotta tip me.
That bastard owes me money. So, you can go ahead and beat his ass, throw in a kick for me.
He drops the bartender's collar.
You'd better not be playing with me, because that's a good way to get cut.
But, hey man, little heads up: J was born and raised in Haight Street, and he knows the place better than anyone. Ran circles around the cops. He won't be easy to corner.
Plus, he's got a lot of friends around, so picking a fight here could go south fast. Never know who's liable to stand beside him.
Gio's eyes narrow and dart around the room, but the bartender attempts to change the subject to calm things.
But you know what I say? The good times are over, so J and all his crew can bite the big one for all I care.
Hey, and uh, just so you know, you're the first one with enough guts to mess with him, so whether you're here to break his nose or ...
Well, this shot's on me, bro. To you, and your boss!
The clinking shot glasses at last break the ice, as a wry, wolfish grin escapes Gio's face.
Ha, you're a smart ass. We need more people like you.
Young guys these days are jammed by arcades and slots, you know. These adult children living in their mothers' basements. They ought to be out here begging for a job.
A heavy hand lands on the bartender's shoulder.
What's your name, pal?
It's Vern, sir.
Put 'er there, Vern. Call me Gio.
Their hands clasp together in a hearty shake.
Alright, now you point me to this J bastard. And afterward, if you're looking to do some hustling, meet me at Rouge Street. I'll take you to the boss.
But, uh, mind yourself around him, will ya? The old man's been unpredictable lately. Quick to fly off the handle, you know?
Thank you, sir, umm ...
The bartender moves to speak, tilting his head to one side.
I probably shouldn't pry, but, what do you want from J?
If you wanna take him down over Haight Street, you'll be disappointed. This place's got nothing but struggling folks. You couldn't mug someone for enough to catch the bus.
What else could it be? That damn New Age Market. Don't know what Pops is planning to do with it, but he's got to have it.
Not like I'd give a damn otherwise. What kinda schmuck does business in a gutter like this?
But Pops' stubborn about it. Used to be I'd have a say in private, but he don't listen to anyone now except those freaks from the "Order of Enlightenment."
Not that I'm crying about it, but robbing folks who ain't got no money, kicking 'em while they're down ... It don't sit right. But orders are orders.
So, maybe I'll turn a blind eye, when I can.
The grin on his face goes sour, and he scans the bartender's face again.
You ask too many questions.
No worries, man. But you were looking for J, right? That guy in the suit, near the dance floor. See him?
Gio is already up and walking away before the bartender could finish.
His followers join him as he moves, advancing like hungry wolves toward their target.
...
The bartender drops his act, and with it, his smile turns fierce.
At the same moment, the silent woman stands up from another table and makes a graceful exit.
See you later, J.
The bartender responds with an imperceptible nod.
...
The technicolor lights cast everything in a dreamy glow.
Caught in the ecstasy of the pumping music, the dancers on the floor are unaware of the scene unfolding nearby.
The lead wolf fixes his gaze on his target and signals to his pack.
Three, two, one!
On his signal, they rush to the well-dressed gentleman.
Hold him down!
In a flurry of action, the gentleman is thrown from his seat down to the ground.
As the violence erupts, the crowded dance floor freezes, and the music stops on a skip.
Gentlemen, what is happening here?
Gio steps hard on the gentleman's shoulder, leaning down on him.
His face is twisted into a predator's smile.
Tie up his hands, but careful you don't break them, for now ...
Sure thing, Mr. Gio.
His grip tightens, veins bulging, and then—
*cracks*
...?
The gentleman's hand pulls loose from his body, popping up through their grip and rolling across the floor.
What the hell? What's going on with ... Huh?
An unseen hand taps Gio's shoulder. He turns his head.
"Pow!"—A heavy punch strikes him across the jaw.
Urrh!
That hurts. You got rocks in your jaw?
J shakes his bruising hand before extending it down to the mannequin gentleman on the floor.
Trust me, you're the perfect bait. You draw the fishes in like a magnet.
I'm bait?
This is terribly unbecoming of you, J! Do you realize how many times this is? My body may be artificial, but my soul can feel pain, too!
...
Heh heh. *spit*
Gio spits a gob of red from his bloody mouth.
You lying sack of s**t.
He wipes his hand across his face, as he is helped up by his followers.
The lackeys all square up beside their leader.
Not so friendly after all, huh?
We'll continue our conversation later, J.
"Pop—"
Gio's dagger falls to the ground in a ringing clatter.
Now, who's lying, Mr. Gio? You took my shot, but you didn't even break that J guy's nose.
Still, thanks for the offer. Give my best to Mr. Legers for me.
Gio is beat, and he knows it.
Heh. The old man is gonna like you, smart ass.
See you next time. We'll have another "parley," you and me.
He falls back toward the door flanked by his lackeys, before making a hasty exit.
Yeah, yeah, run on home with your tail between your legs. *spit* Legers's losers!
Looks like he might need a "Dentist," 'cause he just got kicked in the teeth!
They'll be home crying into their cereal soon enough! Haha!
The way they're hoofing it, they coulda outran my 4-cylinder Hummingbird G-R8100. They must have missed their calling. They ain't dentists. They're track stars.
The dance hall breaks into jeering laughter.
Bottles are raised and cheers made in recognition of their triumph.
Hahaha. Cheers! To unbreakable bonds!
To unbreakable bonds!
After a cascade of clinking glasses, the music is spun up once more, and the club returns to their dancing.
The excitement continues for some time after, only being broken by the arrival of a disheveled looking young man.
Look, J, I gotta go. The shelter's gonna be closing up soon.
My partner at the shop, you know ...
He rubs his stained-black fingers across his face, shaking off some flakes of drying blood.
He doesn't like it when I come in covered with blood, scares the richie-rich types away.
It is getting late.
The celebratory atmosphere wears thin and tired as more people leave.
It's all good, bro. Thanks for coming today. If there's anything I can help ...
J pats his friend on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug.
You know where to go.
Hollick sniffs, returning the hug with a tight squeeze.
Heh-heh. Thanks, bro. But, if you're really such a good friend ...
How about you spot me, a quarter mil- or so, so I can buy that sweet new convertible Lamberrari LM50. Since we're such good buddies, right?
Yeah, sure thing, buddy, right after I give you a knuckle sandwich, hahahaha.
Hahahaha, see you around, J!
Waving off the mostly gentle giant, the rest of the group gathers around J.
Spirits are still high as they bask in today's victory.
But tomorrow, they must get back to work.
The moment shifts as a stumbling dummy drives a playful kick into J's leg.
Would you kindly give me back my damn hand already?
Hey, stop kicking me! Just a sec!
*panting*
M-my apologies. Where were my manners?
Please don't take it personally, but I need to warn you that ...
Whoa, wait, wait! Someone's missing.
The disco ball continues its spin over the empty dance floor.
Where's Mercuria? Hey, Ms. Sputnik, have you seen her?
His eyes fix on the shining ball, which stops then descends from the ceiling to speak.
Oh, Ms. Mercuria? She left in a hurry, carrying that dagger those rough-type gentlemen dropped.
Do we follow her?
He shrugs, looking out past the door.
Gio stumbles. He catches his breath before glancing back through the long alleyway.
*panting* S**t! The old man didn't tell us what kind of mess we were in for here!
I'm not paid enough for this.
*panting*
?!
Hey. Gio, right?
He stands unmoving, unblinking.
You're just giving it back?
What's this meant to be, some kinda insult?
Hey, y-your boss runs me off, now you're giving me back my own knife, like I'm some pity case? Think I won't hurt you 'cause you're a woman? Think again, b***h.
Anger overtakes his wariness of the woman, and he swings out his arm.
"Clink—"
The dagger drops to the ground as he reaches into his pocket, producing a wand.
Vita Void!
The black arcane symbols dissolve in the air as soon as they touch her.
The color of your energy is as dark as the coal in J's forge, no, worse, darker than I've ever seen before.
She jumps down from the fence and picks up the dagger.
You're afraid. But something else besides that, I see a burning energy—the embers of a home reduced to ashes.
A harrowing darkness that's followed you throughout your life, when your wife and child left you, when your debtors begged on their knees at your feet.
W-what're you talking about?
She seems lost in her own thoughts.
I'm sorry if I scared you, but I'm only here to return this.
She delicately places the dagger into his coat pocket. He shivers as if hit by a chill wind.
You're a boy trembling inside this brawny shell of a man.
You're too far down a path that you never wanted to set foot on, Mr. Gio.
...
She hums softly, her steps light as she walks back from the dingy alley.
The man stands in place, lost in her words, until an alley cat leaps over his shoulder.
In his daze, he recalls the first time he fired a gun, the blood and brain matter, and the trembling midnight he spent hiding in the bathroom after.
*pukes*
2. Won't Be Amused to Death
128 linesSo as I take off the tire, I notice the gal, some rich lady from the market's got a crazy look of worry on her face.
So I tell her, "Break my jaw if I'm telling a lie. We're good folks here. Don't believe me? Just ask around about 'J and his friends' on Haight Street"!
At the bar, the drunken mechanic sways unsteadily, bellowing out his story.
The diligent satellite, now serving as a bartender, hovers close, wiping up spilled drinks from the table.
P-please take care, Mr. Hollick. You have been drinking way too much.
Hahaha, come on, Hollick, you don't get the balls.
I saw this guy get a nose bleed yesterday, and he cried like a little baby. Back me up, J!
He jabs J with his elbow, but J fails to react.
Hey, J?
W-what?
Did they bust your head or something? You're off daydreaming while we're talking about some rich bimbo.
Sorry, Mr. Becket. I believe J's present concerns may be revolving around, you know, "Legers the Dead."
"'Bombshell' News: Uncovered Video Shows FAE Used as New Execution Method?" Hmm, what will the minds of those Hollywood producers think of next?
Oh, I think I've seen images from this video, from spam mail and newspapers.
We're still trying to identify this woman to confirm the authenticity of the video. If you have any information, please call us at 429-7234 ext. 7 ...
Up Next: Homebound or Hoodwinked? The Mystery of the So-Called Long-Lost Son!
We turn to the story of Sgt. Howard Eden, a retired army veteran, and the stranger claiming to be his long-lost son.
But, is this a heartwarming reunion or a sinister story of senior exploitation? Let's ... *static noise*
The old television emits dying sputters of static before cutting out entirely.
Awww!
Oh, too bad. You know, it's good fun watching all her nonsense and sensationalism.
Hey, show some respect! Sure, that whole "How Woodchucks Could Control the World" piece she did was a little iffy, but—who knows what those woodchucks could chuck at us?
The drunk mechanic jolts awake and upright with renewed excitement.
I've heard it. Not gonna lie. Kinda sick. Cops hate him, but the street punks love him!
They say back in Hunters Point, a bunch of guys was torturing him, had him tied up like a pig.
And when they got tired, they put a gun in his mouth and made him eat it. The bullet went straight through his throat out the back of his head!
But, when the cops came, they found nothing but a few bloody teeth. He was gone!
Scary, right? But here's the thing, yeah, Legers is a pure human! So, what happened? Where did he go?
He waves his arms dramatically, animated and almost cartoonish in his performance.
But his audience is less than captivated.
Mr. Hollick, I think you've been watching too many of those horrible Romero movies. People returning from the dead, that's hokey cinema, not reality.
Hollick goes red, unable to form any defense.
I can only assume this "Legers the Dead" made up this rumor himself, perhaps so he might attract more powerful arcanists to his side.
Potion addicts, smugglers, card sharks ... Getting them all under his thumb until he can gobble up the whole of San Francisco.
And yeah, it's been working. But not anymore, 'cause we ain't gonna sit and watch!
Afraid you're overestimating our strength, Mr. Hollick. Their enterprise is much more dangerous than all our previous rivals. No less so if they're aiming on partnering up with the lunatics in the New Age Market.
Gotta agree with that assessment, Pioneer. It's been days since my last session with a paying customer. Seems like everyone is joining up with them, and their energy is disturbing, to say the least.
They've been poking around my shop, looking for some rare sort of books and materials, kinds I never even heard of before.
I would advise avoiding direct confrontation, J.
I hear you.
It is a rare moment of calm consideration for their hotheaded leader.
Avoid confrontation, that's the right move for sure. But it's not gonna be possible. They aren't giving us a choice.
The cops abandoned Haight Street a long time ago. Ain't nobody that cares about these streets but us now.
Remember? That was when all those artists' trailers were burnt down. After that, the rest of the diviners and such were run off quick. It's only those loonies that have stuck around, misguiding arcanists, making everything worse.
He looks to his friends.
If we were smart, we would have left then and there! Closed up shop, took the first bus out of this city, and ran for our miserable, pathetic lives.
But then, we ain't that kind of smart, are we?
But, this is our home, so we've gotta make our stand here or we'll never stop running.
The mannequin next to him speaks, broaching his words carefully.
Please, don't misunderstand me, J. I'm only saying: this fight is beyond our capabilities alone. Should we not consider ask- ...
Uh-uh-uh, don't you finish that thought. In fact, don't even think it!
The sharpness of his tone is clear. The idea is beyond consideration, not to be touched on—not even to be breathed.
Look, I know what you're saying, but, I don't know, man. That kind of talk is for cowards. We don't have to get them involved in this.
You have to admit that they care about arcanists, despite all their bureaucracy.
Turning to the Foundation would not be a bad choice for us, J.
A perfectly timed silence.
From beneath the bar, the round bartender floats up as if peeking.
Yes, Mr. J. I think Mr. Pioneer might be right. I don't want to lose my job because of these bandits.
I'll be glad to bring you to the Foundation!
Your assistance would be more than welcome, Ms. Disco Ball.
It couldn't possibly hurt to reach out to Paulina. Maybe she could help us with the red tape. She's your sister, after all.
J looks away and huffs audibly. It's a childish, almost silly, display.
No, no, no. I'm only gonna say this once, and it's for real: This is our OWN business. Nobody else's, especially not hers.
Paulina made her choice. She could've talked with me, she could have approached us, if that's what she wanted. She had the chance. She's had years, not a word.
She "has her own life," and she made it out of these streets. She ain't coming back. She ain't even looking back.
She's not that little girl tagging around us anymore. She's got fancy marble floors now, got all that "decency" and "good taste" that she never had here.
She doesn't need us.
You think I'm gonna scrape down on my knees for her? Ha, I'd rather stick my foot in hot slag. Least that way I'd have one leg to stand on.
J, please, just give it some thought. This may be the only way for all of us to survive this.
Er, I need a drink!
He mumbles and steps away from the bar.
"Crash."—But as he does, a darting figure collides into him at an unfortunate angle for the both of them.
AH! Something just hit me in ... my ...
He crumples over, wincing with pain.
As he collapses, a handful of coins tumbles to the floor.
Shoot. Run!
The small boy makes a panicked sprint from behind the bar.
The round bartender stammers out a revelation.
Mr. J, all the money in the bar is, ah, how is it you're saying, "gone"!
Ca- ... urgh ... Catch that kid!
Becket moves to block the little thief, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck.
He takes a look at the thief's face.
Ha, knew it, Cateye Wisen, owner of the most infamous sticky fingers from here to the Market and back.
Little dude, I know your dad ran off with those guys from the "Order of Enlightenment." But why didn't you go to the shelter? You trying to get yourself hurt out here?
Let me go, you big jerk!
The would-be thief spits on his face.
Humph, sooner or later, someone is gonna teach you a lesson or two.
Don't think that arcanist mom of yours wants you using your "cat eye" to steal things.
Becket grabs the boy's hand, taking his remaining coins.
As he does, he reveals a gruesome cigarette burn on the boy's hand.
I know things seem tough right now, kid. But acting like the world owes you something ... it's gonna bring you nothing but trouble.
When I got my finger chewed up by that machine, I lost everything. I coulda went around sticking up places. I didn't. Think you got it worse than me?
...
Mercuria picks up the coins strewn about the floor and walks over to them.
She signals Becket to let the boy go.
Hey, we gonna let him go just like that?
As he releases his grip, the boy falls to the ground.
Mercuria lowers herself to the boy's level, gently slipping the coins back into his dirty hand.
Go on. Your friends are waiting out there.
They look toward the door. A group of ragged, filthy children are watching them back, retreating timidly as they meet their gaze.
But, Mr. J ...
It's fine, Sputnik. Let 'em go.
These kids lost their homes to the New Age Market. Their parents deserted them. They've got nowhere to go.
...
...
Becket, look at them.
You can't compare. It doesn't work like that. Each suffering has its own energy.
The boy picks himself up, muttering a "thank you" as he walks uneasily toward the door.
Before he reaches it, a hand rests on his shoulder.
You mean ...!
T-Thanks, J.
I got sharp eyes! I can do lots of stuff! Counting coins, cars, finding water drops ... I'm great at spotting cheats and shady dealers!
J pats him in a brotherly gesture.
Easy, kid. Fill your belly first.
Ms. Sputnik, please get these kids some burritos. Dang kid, those arms are like chopsticks. Hey, Ms. Sputnik? Let's make those extra meat.
Alright, man. Consider my second thought, thought over.
He slumps over the bar, giving a long sigh at an old photograph in his hand.
In the photo, he stares at the girl caringly, while she looks cold, longing for independence and freedom.
Regardless—
*sigh*
But get this straight: if I see her fold her arms and give me any of that snooty attitude, we're gone, out the door, no discussion!
3. A Small Box
173 linesThe wind sways the window shutters as it blows in through its gaps.
The thin door does nothing to block out the noise beyond it—clattering dishes, clinking glasses, and chattering talk peppered with curses.
Curled up on the bed, a girl sniffles, holding her teddy bear tightly.
*sob* But, but Joe! Those men in white said there won't be any more bad people around the school.
And nobody will be hungry, just like before, like with Mom and Dad.
They'll give us candy, and soup, and real meat every week, and a big, comfy house. *sniff*
She raises her little hand, as if reaching out to a dream-like house.
*sniff* Achoo!
Heh heh, cover up a little more, Polly. You're gonna catch a cold.
Her brother wipes her nose with the back of his coarse and callused hand.
You can't trust anything adults tell you like that. If they give us candy, or soup, or even meat, it's because they want something from you.
Nothing you get in this world is just given away. Least of all from people like them.
But, but they did give me a fun job! See, now I can make straw dolls and sell them for money.
The shabby pile of dolls are stacked up on an old wooden table nearby.
That's 'cause they need you. Our little Paulina is one of the most cleverest kids in all of Haight Street!
So, are they bad guys?
Bet on it. Only good adult I ever met is Mr. Tang.
Hmm, okay. But Joe, what if they're not lying, then you don't have to wash dishes, or take off tires or any of that stuff.
J, hey, J! Two dozen beers for our guests. Get a move on, lazy boy!
A loud voice booms through the door, his tone sharp but strangely paternal.
Don't overthink it, 'kay kiddo? I'm right here with you, always will be.
Okay. But if you do leave, you have to tell me first! Because we'll always stick together! Deal?
Deal.
He rubs her hair before tucking her and her bear into the blanket.
Sleep tight, Polly.
Perfectly aligned stone columns blend into the walls.
The floor is spotless, overly tidy, even the lights above shine in exact symmetrical patterns.
It is a distant and alien world to them, nothing like the cluttered alleys and unkempt streets of home.
This place is Ritz'd up like a palace. Who do they think they are?
Who needs a floor that shines like a mirror? What, they hire a dog to lick it clean every day?
Oh. Philistine as ever, J. It's evident the people here must possess exceptional aesthetic taste.
I'm at my limit of you sucking up to them. This place is built like a fortress, a bomb shelter. Makes me feel like I've got a target on my back. Can't imagine why anyone would feel safer here.
You ask any artist, they'll say "clean kills the soul"! Might look clean and tidy on the outside, but inside—
He looks around absent-mindedly, failing to notice the three staff members walking in his way.
Wham—Shoulders collide, sending the small girl sprawling over.
Oouphf! That hurt! Ergh, just what this place needs, another stupid oaf that does not know how to watch where he is going!
Hey, mind your manners, short stuff.
Excuse me? D-Did you just call me short stuff?
J is clearly taking pleasure in the petite girl's annoyed outburst.
I apologize for my friend, Miss. He ought to mind his own manners.
Hmph. Considering you two look as though you have just wandered in like, how do you say, "lost puppies"? I'll let it go, just this once.
Are you here to register as arcanists? Sorry, we're just in the middle of a shift change. Please wait a moment.
Isn't it Fiona's shift? She should be able to handle this on her own.
There is work to be done, people. Quickly, vite vite!
Got it.
She leads the team away with swift half-stomping steps.
H-hello! Welcome to the St. Pavlov Foundation reception center. How can I help you?
Hello, we're here to visit a member of your staff for, um, some private matters. If possible, we'd like to have a conversation with her in person.
The staff member's smile is visibly forced.
Sure, please read the visitor's advisory here and fill out these forms. Ah!
The dense tower of paper tumbles out of her hands, spilling out over the floor.
Um, so sorry, sir. Just let me pick these up.
J bends down to help her pick up the documents.
Relax, Miss. It's nothing, just a short visit to my sister. She's like a clerk here or something, nothing important.
Her name's Paulina Lesage. Just tell her that it's her brother, just popping by for a visit.
...
The receptionist falls silent and pale.
Paulina Lesage ... Could you tell me your name again?
It's Joe. Joe Brown. You can call me J.
Fiona anxiously shifts through the scattered papers.
She looks down at the list in her hand, then up at the person in front of her, repeating the process several times—
As if confirming something with delicate care.
Then, she stands, and after regaining her composure, begins walking down the hall.
Follow me, please.
Ms. Paulina was one of the first people I met when I joined the Foundation. She was so talented, so incredible. It was no wonder they gave her all the big assignments.
I could always tell she was very proud, but not in an arrogant way. She never turned her back on people. I always knew I could turn to her for advice.
They walk to the end of the corridor.
As the staff members move about their work, there is a spirit in the air, light—almost joyful—as if it were the day before a holiday.
Haha, it's the first time that we swept Manus that badly. They even forgot the rest of their supplies in the basement. What are they gonna do without those?
Now that we have some spare manpower to chase after them, I heard that team "Razor" started searching for the Foundation's lost assets.
After all this time, we're finally back on the trail.
I don't know, man. Good as it seems to be. I'm worried the news is getting out of control! Now rumors are spreading everywhere. It could get dangerous!
Otherwise, why would we have been assigned here with Mr. Bernard to get to the bottom of this?
Shh, zip it.
Ahem.
The people chatting by the door take notice of the unfamiliar visitors, shifting their gaze as they make way.
What, you guys having a party or something? Never seen an office so ... "smiley."
Feels like a sales day at the mall, all those eager girls and boys running past the window. A mood like this usually comes with good news.
Please don't pay them any mind. They're, uh, just chit-chatting, doesn't really mean anything. It might mislead you even.
She takes a key from her pocket and inserts it into the lock.
But she doesn't turn the handle. Her hand rests on it reluctantly.
*panting*
Gentlemen, come in, please.
Beams of harsh light descend from above, stretching near to far.
The space is vast and silent.
Despite all the smiles, it hasn't been easy for us recently. Our time and resources have been stretched thin. We've suffered a lot of losses.
It still feels a little unreal that we're still standing.
A lot of good people sacrificed everything they had to get us where we are.
The walls are lined with transparent cabinets, each marked by a stamp-sized photo.
Next to the photos, the label numbers increase like a timer, progressing digit by digit.
The numbers grow, ticking over from tens to hundreds and further.
Ahem. Excuse me, I suppose that's also just idle chit-chat. Maybe I don't know any more than they do.
I only just wanted to say, since you're family, that Ms. Paulina was one of the best people I've ever met, an asset to everyone here at the Foundation.
She stops before yet another column of cabinets, no different from the many behind and in front of them.
Each one the same as every other, except for the photo.
Gentlemen, this is where the remains of all those that died in the service of the St. Pavlov Foundation are kept in memorial.
I'm so sorry that I have to be the one t-to tell you, but, Paulina is here, too.
There is no grave, no coffin or epitaph. Just a transparent cabinet to serve as her headstone.
A plain and ordinary box, void of any sentiment.
He pretends not to see it, but he knows exactly what is there.
That unmistakably familiar blue ribbon.
I'm sorry, Fiona, dear. Would you mind giving us a moment of privacy?
I'll be waiting outside.
Her figure grows more and more distant, receding back through the space until vanishes altogether.
...
J, are you going to be alright?
...
Talk to me, J! Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe we can take a look, just to be sure.
No, don't-don't do anything. Damn it! Don't you f**king do a damn thing!
He struggles against himself, failing to hold himself back.
How can all that someone is, was, be in a box like this? It's so small?!
This is some kind of sick joke!
Pioneer grips his arm tightly, staring directly at him.
The atmosphere is filled with heavy, unspoken tension.
Until J lifts his gaze to meet the mannequin's own.
Do you have her photo? You stay here. I'll go double-check.
With trembling hands, J pulls out the crumpled old photograph from his pocket.
*deep breath*
He holds the photograph, comparing it closely to the one on the box.
Then a strange look of astonishment washes over him.
J walks toward him like a zombie, and then—
It is as if a light suddenly flickers on over his head.
So, then, what? This was all some kind of bulls**t?! That woman out there just decided to mess with my mind? Or did she not want us to see Paulina?
Maybe they got the photo wrong?
No, no. Look at that ring on her finger! Polly wasn't married. She couldn't be. She would have told me.
Unless, she just doesn't wanna see me at all. So maybe she put her friend up to all of this, but this, this just gives her away!
Polly said it herself: She'd rather die than stay with me and never live at all. I knew then she'd never look back.
Man, this was stupid! Never should've let you talk me into coming here.
I know that sometimes brothers and sisters don't get along. But I thought that only meant little fights, quarrels over toys. This is something much worse.
We're leaving. Now. Ugh, I can't stand the idea that she's just looking at me through a monitor, maybe even laughing at her pathetic loser brother. Get me out of here before I turn this place upside down!
...
I apologize. I'm sure this loss must feel ...
J hides his face, making an exaggerated show of his tears, while Pioneer gently pats his shoulder.
*sob* Mhmm. Such heart-wrenching news. I'm crying my eyes out.
It is an oddly captivating performance. If Haight Street didn't work out, perhaps he ought to head to Hollywood.
Oh. But there's nothing we can do now. Sorry for bothering you. We'll be on our way out now. Let's go, J.
Propped up on one of the mannequin's shoulder, the heartbreaking act is nearly flawless.
Please wait, gentlemen, you need to fill the visitor's log form first.
And, let me see, this one.
She pulls out a yellowed and worn piece of paper.
Please, sign your name here as her next of kin.
Consent form ... to document that I've confirmed the death of a Foundation staff member ... What is this?
He looks up with disdain, catching himself as he remembers his supposedly weeping face is dry, and buries it back down again.
Why do I have to sign? Don't you understand I can't take any more of this?
I'm sorry, but please bear with me. I thought we might confirm her belongings with you. It's standard policy, though usually within the foundation. Then I could ask my superiors. Maybe they'd let you take these home.
Here, I'll just need your name and address.
What? That's just sick, Miss.
His expression changes abruptly, rising up into a bitter scowl.
You're really asking me to sign some papers? For what? So you can hand me off some old junk and pretend this never happened? You think that's enough to get me to stop asking questions? Where is she?!?
Did you really think it would be this easy, sis? That I didn't care?
He grabs Pioneer and runs off without looking back.
Sir! SIR!
...
Security, stop those two gentlemen! They haven't signed the confidentiality agreement!
Before security can react, the duo have already escaped into the crowd.
'Scuse me! 'Scuse me! Man, move your ass or get moved!
They dart through the bustling halls, dodging employees with cat-like grace.
What's going on? They're after us like we are trying to ditch a bill for dinner.
Told you these Foundation creeps are all the same! Soon as you don't buy what they're selling, they start trying to get you shot!
If she wants to cut me loose, then she can damn well say it to my face, but not like this, not this bulls**t!
They wind through the twisting corridors, until at last they find an exit and dive through.
There is a wave of uneasy commotion in the hallway as people gathered in a throng.
A tall man moves through the crowd. As he passes, the throng goes silent.
Fiona, can you tell me what happened here?
4. A New Guest
93 linesNeatly stacked clothes lie on the bed, the suitcase open and empty.
On the eve of her departure, she paces back and forth in the room, tidying as she goes.
Route 77 ... Hmm, I don't understand. Why would the editor of UTTU visit such a desolate place? What could this mean about Urd?
Alright then, at least I can drop by and visit Mama. Humph.
That will most certainly be a surprise! What their Matilda has achieved will make the whole family proud!
"My daughter, my Matilda, a special investigator for the St. Pavlov Foundation! Now little Matilda adds another star to the Bouanich family line!"
*humming*
"Knock, knock, knock ..."
The sound of knocking comes at an inconvenient time.
Ms. Bouanich, a moment of your time? Unfortunately, it seems our mission has been canceled.
Canceled? Why?
You may have heard what Fiona did.
Well, I had heard the chatter about it certainly, but she only just started as a receptionist. It is no matter if she is a little unfamiliar with the processes and ...
Per regulations since the first "Storm," families of the deceased employees are no longer informed of their deaths, but she made a mistake, or forgot.
And the two arcanists she received earlier got away from her near the memorial hall. They didn't even fill out the proper forms.
Ah, not good. That could indeed represent a serious intelligence leak.
And Mr. Bernard asked that we get ahead of the narrative, before it gets to the press, given how fast the news spreads in this day and age.
New orders are for us to find these two visitors and prevent the information from further spreading.
Us?
Of course. So then, our present task tracking down the editor of UTTU will be reassigned to some other team.
Correct, ma'am. Tracking down these two arcanists was given top priority, and ...
Those two were the same ones you ran into earlier today.
Fortune-tellers, alchemists, and arcanists of all stripes gathered together, creating a sprawling marketplace.
From magic-infused cords to rare alchemical texts, and a dazzling array of herbs. Its goods have attracted a steady and constant stream of visitors.
My friends, after the Harmonic Convergence, we discovered the failure of prophecy and eschatology, and the new possibilities of coexistence between the faith in pneuma and science!
They claim there is one god, and god is dead. But is that so? Friends, it's time to abandon the disputes of religions, and to know that we are one. God is you, god is me.
In the midst of the bustling crowd, a speaker gives a lecture out to no one in particular, seemingly unconcerned if anyone is listening at all.
We've got information that our escaped visitors have gone into hiding with an energy healer called Mercuria.
It's crowded here. I'd rather not attract attention to ourselves, so keep your heads down.
A solitary tent stands out in the corner, a refuge from the bustling crowd.
Some kind of temporary tent. And a sign lying on the ground. Something's not right. I barely sense any arcane fluctuations here.
Could it be a trap?
This market is filled with unregistered arcanists, not to mention the human tourists. There are sure to be dangerous ones among them.
Shh!
With her sharp ears, Matilda notices a faint whispering sound emanating from inside the tent.
I shouldn't have come. They're gonna slice me up and feed me to the pigs!
The deep, painful cries of a man break the quiet of the moment. Irrelevant though it may be, it draws the investigator in.
The girl shifts her feet cautiously, as if approaching a sleeping, coiled python.
She delicately lifts a corner of the tent's opening and peers inside.
Pigs will eat everything, all the bones, your head, not a hair left. That's how they treat traitors!
Pops won't save me then. He won't stand at my side. No.
A mysterious girl places her hand over the hulking man's trembling hands.
But here you are, Mr. Gio, shivering like a new leaf. Because you're ready for an answer.
The answer to yourself.
She sniffs the air around him.
Hmm. You brought a strange smell with you, and a weak, faltering energy, like that of someone gravely ill.
Have you been to any hospitals?
No, just following Legers. Nowadays, only visits we have are with the living or the dead ones, not much in between. We don't deal with addicts or sick dogs.
Wait, shut it. Before you start, I'm not buying any of your goddamn spices or candles! I'm just here for an answer.
How did you know about the fire that took my family? How?
Are you some kind of psychic? Or a prophet? Tell me! TELL ME!
He jerks his hands away, only to begin gnawing at his nails.
No, no. I shouldn't have come here, unless ... Maybe I chop off your pretty little head and give it to him. That'd be my excuse.
In an instant, he presses the dagger against the girl's throat.
...!
Matilda fights the urge to rush forward to help.
"Whoosh."—The candle illuminating the room is snuffed out.
What have you got? What do you see in your hand? Is it a knife for my throat or a diamond-covered key?
Shut up! Stop babbling! You're just a witch who survived her burning, a liar!
His hand trembles again.
Breathe, slow and true. Look at it again. This is a dagger forged in your own dark flame.
He looks at the dagger, as if seeing it through new eyes.
Everything has a shell of "meaning." But hold your gaze on it, and it all strips away.
Until those words become strokes of black, and that dagger becomes a cold sheet of metal.
Her incense burner releases a puff of strong scented potion into the air.
All at once, the dagger transforms into a blazing fire.
It slithers up the man's arm, toward his face, roiling and coiling like a snake.
Urgh! AHH!
W-what's going on?!
"Meaning" is a cage. Cast off its shackles, and nature reveals itself to us.
Don't be afraid. Hold that feeling. Now close your eyes with me.
Do you see it? A door surrounded by darkness.
Yes. The door is shaking, like something's behind it. No, it's scared.
Don't try to picture it. Take away the shell. Just tell me by the impression: Where does it lead you?
It goes home?
Fire! The door's on fire!
No, I-I don't wanna go there. Not there. Someone's screaming. Savina! My-my baby! No, no! Help them! Help them, please!
That's over now. Look around. Who is with you?
Pops and others. They're standing there, with torches and chains.
Who are the "others"?
I don't know. I don't know. Their eyes are covered by hands.
No, not hands. Those are hand-shaped masks!
Manus Vindictae?!
A beam of light breaks in from above, expelling the smoke and darkness of the scene.
The extinguished candle catches flame once more, and all present return to reality.
Hey, who's this girl? Didn't your mom teach you not to spy on people?
A hand stretches from behind and lifts the investigator up to her feet.
You!
Behind them, urgent footsteps reach the scene.
Ms. Bouanich!
Dammit, you're the girl from the Foundation?! Ain't that just my luck!
J flings the girl from his hand like a hot potato.
Catch him!
5. "Interrogation"
120 lines"Bang—!"
Urgh!
He falls to one knee, lifting the long-wrapped shaft that has been on his back, as spells continue to strike him, forcing him into a step-by-step retreat.
Mr. Brown, we have need of your cooperation. We do not wanna hurt you or your friends, but should you continue to resist, we'll be forced to take necessary action.
Unbelievable, so rude! Even as an arcanist, all he does is this vulgar hand-to-hand combat.
Still, that long stick he carries most certainly isn't a toy.
Ahem. Gentlemen, if you would be willing to come quietly and play nice, I will consider lowering your risk rating in our report.
She tries to reason with them, keeping in mind her desire to search for the man who mentioned the Manus Vindictae.
But he is already gone, and the dagger lies undamaged on the ground.
Her teammates gain ground on the would-be warrior, who has sunken to his knees.
He smiles through bloodied teeth.
Sadly, even after all those hard-knock lessons, I never learned once how to raise the white flag.
He reaches into his pocket, ready to grasp the handle of his small and agile Bowie knife.
Put it down, J. Your fight is over.
?!
This-This is the smoke of burning Mandrake! Cover your nose and your mouth!
Ms. Bouanich, hold your breath. Stay away from the smoke.
But the smoke is already too thick. One by one, they give way, collapsing harmlessly to the ground.
Oh, no!
The situation changes in the blink of an eye.
She moves automatically, falling back to the entrance, only to find that the tent has been shut tight.
Umm!
Hmph.
The bound girl and her "kidnapper" look at each other with disdain, like two squirrels fighting over a chestnut.
You should know that kidnapping a Foundation investigator and interfering with an official investigation is a serious crime, especially when you've kidnapped the one and only Matilda Bouanich, a pivotal figure in the St. Pavlov Foundation we're talking about!
Pivotal, eh? Ha. A whiny little pup happens to stay standing from a little smoke. Yeah, I don't see anything worth being proud of.
He extends a finger to give the girl's forehead a sharp flick.
As the first approach to an interrogation, it proves surprisingly effective.
Tell me, did Paulina send you to ask us to sign this bogus confidentiality agreement? Let me guess. She's probably still hiding in the Foundation office, right? Too scared to see her own flesh and blood.
What are you talking about? Who's hiding in our office? We're here to bring you and that mannequin back to the Foundation. This is a serious violation of the Visitor's Advisory!
J, I think we should ask this another way: Ms. Bouanich, what proof do you have that Paulina Lesage is dead, as your receptionist claimed?
The photo on the box isn't hers, just some lookalike or airbrush job. So how can we believe anything else you say?
J seems so nonchalant, yet his eyes are filled with concern—a gravity reserved only for great love.
How can I explain this to you? Please be assured that we have no reason to lie to you at this juncture.
Actually, you shouldn't have found out about any of this in the first place.
She falls silent for a long time, pondering how to best express herself.
Maybe, I'm not familiar with your Paulina. But I do know that there was a woman at St. Pavlov's named "Paulina Lesage," and I know that she died.
As far as the claims of "different photos, mementos," it's complicated, and there is, eh, little I can say freely, but headquarters is working on it and many other similar cases.
I don't have the kind of clearance to know what's really going on, and even if I did, I couldn't tell you, for everyone's safety.
He looks entirely unmoved.
Ha. So our little prize investigator is also in the dark.
Maybe we can just go ahead and jot all these questions down and send them back to the Foundation.
Or maybe we set up shop here, just let any old passerby take a good look at them!
He lifts the chair.
Hey, wait! Wait a second!
After a moment, the "hostage" looks up reluctantly.
I-If I could prove this Paulina of yours is, in fact, deceased ...
Then will you come back with us, do the proper paperwork, yes? Then we can be getting out of your hair for good.
With a light tone, she proposes a deal.
Yet all involved suddenly grow hesitant and quiet.
...
The burden of proof lies with you, Special Investigator.
Alright. But I will hold you to your word, mannequin. Before we begin, I should say, I don't do this lightly, but if you need to know, don't say I didn't warn you.
She is released from her ropes.
She pushes the others aside, smoothing out the black velvet cloth on the table, before placing a crystal ball in its center.
I am a diviner, one that uses crystals. I suspect that sort of practice may already be familiar to you.
I'll need an object that symbolizes Ms. Lesa-, Paulina, or something related to her. It must have a deep connection to her, something she once owned or often used.
I will then begin my scrying using this object to the fog in my crystal orb and reveal to us her current existence.
But if we find nothing beneath the fog, I am quite sure you understand what this means.
And then, I will be needing you to return with me.
And as I've heard that energy healers are able to detect the flow of pneuma ...
The madame here will be able to prove the authenticity of my divination, no?
I'll see it. Yeah, like I saw the arcane energy flowing from your little friend's hand to their wand just now.
J, what do you think of all this?
J leans against the edge of a nearby cabinet, keeping his distance and responding from afar.
My sister's little minion back at the Foundation already exposed the lie. Still, seems only fair I get to spy on her back. We'll see who's laughing now, sis.
Alright, Frenchie. This is hers. Take it.
A plush teddy bear, its fur now well-worn and patchy.
It is the last thing she had from their parents, and one of the last things he has of hers.
Everything is in place. Matilda eases the tension in her chest with a deep breath.
Then let us commence.
Her hands scour the crystal ball as she closes her eyes.
Absent moonlight and tides, her regular breathing becomes erratic under the stress.
But all that is no matter to her. The only thing she has to do is find one person, and she does not even need to find her. Only prove that she exists, or that she does not.
Thread that binds all, show me the trace of the one to whom this belongs. I bid you to respond!
The crystal ball emits a faint glow through her fingers.
A heavy mist rises, obscuring the inside of the ball.
...!
Lift the fog. Reveal what existence lies hidden from us.
Give us your vision. Sight beyond sight!
...
Time passes as the swirling mist slowly, achingly dissipates.
Matilda withdraws her hand from the crystal ball. She silently shifts her eyes away.
The little bear beside her appears to have its eyes fixed on the ball.
What, all that and you just stop? This thing busted or something? Nothing happened.
J feigns ignorance.
Still, he is far calmer than any thought he should be.
You come all this way, for what? Just another Foundation trick?
So, what is it this time? Did you mess around with the orb? Some kind of protection skill? I don't have time for these games.
J!
The mannequin's voice is deafening.
It means she's really gone.
Sorry, J.
...
He keeps up his stone-calm face, giving no sign of anger or astonishment.
There is no change in his expression at all.
It is both emotional and emotionless at the same time.
J, are you still with us?
Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.
The words hang stiffly on his lips.
So I guess it's legit.
He looks into the crystal ball again.
His lips parting, as if wanting to speak, but nothing comes out.
As if wanting to ask a thousand questions at the same time.
He turns his head again, his eyes drifting out to the crowded market, to a girl dancing in the midst of the crowd, a girl adorned with a crown of flowers.
She twirls gracefully.
The crowd applauds, their faces joyful—happy.
He wants to cry, or scream, or even to take that ball in his hands and smash it to pieces.
But he does nothing.
In a swirling storm of grief, despair, and rage, he finds his center.
Unnoticed by any present, a faint crack appears at the base of the crystal ball.
6. Elysium Is Coming
145 linesHer luggage is half-packed and already overstuffed. She's rushing, haphazardly throwing things in as she goes, unwilling to pause for even a moment.
That smug, know-it-all, manipulative bastard. How is it that I still need to learn not to trust anything that comes out of that-that stupid lying jerk's mouth?
"No mail today, sis," "Nah, no visitors yet, Polly," "Haven't heard a word" ... Just another pack of lies, and I bought 'em.
On the desk lies a crumpled stack of invitations from the St. Pavlov Foundation. Only one was ever opened.
Hey, Polly, open the door! What are you even doing in there?
Leave me the hell alone, Joe! Who the hell do you think you are to decide my choice, my future, my fate?
Don't talk to me. Don't ever talk to me again! I'm leaving, today!
A fierce response booms through the door.
Whatever—Why are you even this obsessed with this "mission" of theirs?! They're fooling you, sis, don't you see it?!
Only two kinds of people that buy the "Peace Be with Us" kind of bulls**t they're selling.
The first kind are those like you, Polly. Stupid kids that don't know nothing 'bout anything except what they've read in books.
And the others are the ones fleecing you. Taking all you got, and spitting you out, all so they can have more money, more control.
He pours out his anger, inadvertently realizing the weight of his own words.
Pol- ... I'm sorry, alright. I flew off the handle. I made a mistake.
But these guys, Paulina. You think they care about you? About anyone? You're just another penny in their pocket, a coal for their furnace. They'll burn you up and replace you, easy as that.
You think you're going out there, do something big, because you don't even know what life is yet.
You just read about it in your books, telling you some s**t about "A Foundation member paying the ultimate sacrifice for others," and think that makes them some kind of hero. You don't know what that kind of sacrifice means, sis.
Do they say how those "brave" Foundation goons really felt facing death? They aren't going to tell you they were afraid, that they hated everyone who put them there, that they probably s**t themselves before they bit it, just wishing they could go home. They don't put that in books, do they?
You read what they want you to think. It ain't the truth, Polly.
Maybe I'm not smart like you, sis. I can't read the things you read, can't learn like you. But I learned the hard way.
Enough, J. I really don't give a crap about what you've learned "on the streets." I don't want to hear it.
I'd rather take my chances and die out there than stay here and never live at all.
J kicks the door hard, smashing a hole straight through it.
He steps in through the now-open doorway.
I feel sorry to be the, how do you say it, "bearer of bad news"?
But at least now they are willing to cooperate, no?
Only ...
She taps the ground with the tip of her shoe.
There is an unwilling feeling of shame rather than pride at her work in this moment.
Why my team members haven't awakened yet? We really must report our information on the Manus Vindictae back to the Foundation.
She paces forward and back.
After Arcana's death, the remnants of the Manus Vindictae all scattered into the wind, nowhere to be found.
They even abandoned all their stashes and resources just to hide in this era. And it seems they succeeded. There has been no trace of them so far.
Well, not yet. But I think perhaps with this news, Special Investigator Matilda Bouanich will be the one to at last find the key.
I am very certain that my exemplary intelligence gathering will be rewarded by our leaders. Oh, perhaps, they might even place Ms. Sonetto on my team.
A man bumps into her and then tumbles hard to the ground.
Hump. Mind yourself, please. I have had quite enough of these bumping accidents today.
She speaks, but he is oblivious to her words as he rises clumsily to his feet.
His face is a wild contortion of joy and madness, lacking any awareness.
The enlightenment! Soon comes the Sufferer's enlightenment!
?!
There is a familiar pattern on his neck.
She freezes in place, taking in the shock.
A Manus's sign? But certainly, they didn't transform into those monsters.
Before she can take a step to follow, her surroundings begin to stir.
They come one by one; then more emerging, all pouring in one direction as if drawn in by a funnel.
Enlightenment. It's the enlightenment!
The crowd stampedes across the grounds.
The moment passes, and her immediate surroundings empty, leaving behind only herself and a few indifferent vendors.
She attempts to follow him, pushing through against the crowd, but the heavy press of bodies is like a wall.
She catches sight of a nimble shadow moving through the crowd.
Yeah! Yeah! Chant louder, you stupid jerks. The higher you lift those arms, the easier it is to reach into those pockets.
She spies him as he darts under legs and through the throng—a shortcut of sorts.
A clever way to get around, if not so very decent. But then, I suppose decency is far from the most important thing now.
She crouches down and follows his lead.
No one takes notice of her. All eyes are drawn to an older-looking man as he begins to speak.
Our world drowns ever deeper into depravity.
The multitudes, trapped in their cages of materialism and logic, refuse to acknowledge the coming day of Judgment and salvation. Instead, they sell their souls to violence, gangs, and vile music.
Though they may laugh or cry, they know nothing of the truth, and speak only lies. Held hostage to their worldly possessions, but forgetting the value of their souls.
But the Sufferer didn't abandon us. THEY know where the souls are hidden. THEY will save our lost children, save us.
THEY suffered burning pain, even faced death for us.
He allows a line of tears to etch down his face.
Yet, his words are spoken firm, and he shows no hint of emotion. Indeed, his face is almost mask-like in its stillness.
And now, together we are THEIR children. Only we possess the truth of salvation. Police, governments, communities, and nations are only the deceitful constructs of history; our salvation lies solely in the return of the Sufferer.
But now, we must stand shoulder to shoulder, as we anticipate our coming celebration of the Sufferer. We await, we rejoice!
We await, we rejoice.
The Sufferer has heard us, know this, children. Now take heart, for we have another lost lamb who has cast aside the world to join us.
From the silent crowd, a man hobbles forward and kneels.
...
Legers, the Sufferer has bestowed THEIR blessings onto your broken body, and welcomes you to be THEIR child. Would you present THEM your loyalty with the shedding of blood?
Blood?!
I would, and I pray.
He holds up the dagger, drawing a long sharp cut across his palm, and lets the blood stream down.
Urgh!
The blood stains the ground below, forming a mysterious symbol.
Rejoice! For the passage to Elysium has been promised to you.
All, it is time! Follow the Bell-Ringer, the gate to Elysium shall soon be opened!
He raises his arms, and the crowd responds with fervent cheers.
?!
As he lifts his robe, the answer becomes unmistakable.
That's the sign of the Manus Vindictae!
I must return to tell the Foundation. I need to get out now! Move, move away! Crap! It's getting crowded!
The uproar stirs the crowd into an agitated frenzy.
No, it can't be! Where is the key to the gate? Apostle Matheus, p-please wait a moment.
...!
From the platform, the speaker catches sight of the darting figures.
Be vigilant, all! There are deceivers among us!
Crap!
She quickens her pace, rushing without caution through the crowd.
"Thud!"—Two heads collide.
Ouch!
Behold, the deceivers among us!
Where the finger points, the crowd instinctively makes way, leaving the two surrounded in an empty circle.
As Matilda returns to her senses, she realizes the dire nature of their predicament.
Not good.
Dang it! Dang it! Dang it! Where did you come from?! Didn't anyone tell you whose turf this is?! Ahh, we're in so much trouble.
The boy's pockets are stuffed full, jingling as he moves and making him run in an awkward, clunky manner.
*panting* What?! I can go wherever I please. Y-you rude little boy! I-I should have let them catch you.
An engine growls behind them, gaining ground on them fast.
Where did they get this vehicle?! *panting*
Their capture now appears inevitable.
Son of a gun, kid. What did I tell you about making a mess! These freaks are mad!
The man on the motorcycle grabs the boy, pinning him to the back seat in a fluid motion.
Sit back, rubber's hitting the road!
?!
Hahahaha, so long, suckers!
Damn! Wait! Are you really just leaving me here?!
Her legs are giving out from exertion, huffing with labored breaths.
What brings you out here, short stuff? Starting to wonder why we keep running into each other.
Another engine roars, and then the throttle eases as it pulls up alongside her.
It's you?! You should have listened to me and waited in the tent! You, you oaf!
You've got a funny way of saying thanks, French Fry. If I listened to you back there, you'd have been stuck here and hung out to dry.
I got straight As in SPDM's P.E. tests! I-I do not need your help!
I can take care of these kooky cultists all by myself.
As you wish, my lady!
He is more than happy to accommodate her, putting a sizeable distance between them before slowing again.
Release the Glawackus!
The magical critters snarl and bare their teeth from the cage, before bursting out.
*roar*
?!
Glawackus?! No, they don't have such an acute sense of smell. It must be a kind of mutant they tamed!
Knight in shining chrome; at your service. Just say the word.
Please keep your distance, sir. It is me they are after! You must keep yourself safe!
I am an investigator of the St. Pavlov Foundation, and it is my duty to protect civilians!
...
Her words feel strikingly familiar.
And also familiar hurried steps.
Her incantation is interrupted as she is lifted unwillingly onto the back of J's motorcycle.
Get on, Frenchie. Really don't wanna get involved, but you were starting to look like a lost puppy, so I'll forgive you.
You know, Short Fry, if you're trying to protect someone, you should learn when to accept their help.
No one gets anywhere in this world alone. Not even at your big-shot Foundation.
The wind howls past as they pick up speed. Matilda sticks her head up to speak.
What did you say? I cannot hear you! The wind is too loud!
I said, take the help!
WHAAAAT?
A number of profanities tingle on his tongue, but for the moment, he swallows them back.
Hold on to your socks, water ahead!!
7. Best Buds, Best Guest
105 linesThe motorcycle slows as it enters the alley, having lost their mad pursuers.
Familiar faces poke out from nearby, marveling at the new arrivals.
Hahahaha, J, where did you get this chick? I hope you aren't looking for a babysitter!
Hey, J, you say hi to Pioneer for me! Those heels he recommended helped me land a big role.
Hey, uhm, Mr. G, right? It's me, Brian. I've been looking for you. All thanks to you and that badge you got me. They finally gave me a room down at the shelter. They even offered me some dishwashing work tomorrow!
No more sleeping in tents or under the overpass! Bless you, Mr. G. I owe you my life!
J stops his bike, reaching out to grip Brian's hand.
Oh, come on, Bri-Bri ... Brian! Weren't you the one that helped me get that girl's number? You help me, I help you! That's the deal.
From the distance, a man leading a critter approaches.
Hey, if isn't my favorite customer, J! I got the latest edition of Motor Babe, you interested?
I swear they're not pirated!
J offers only a warm smile as a reply, before kicking up the stand and twisting the throttle on his bike.
See ya, guys!
Hey, HEY! I'm talking to you, J! Want it or not?
Isn't that man calling you?
What are you saying? Sorry, this kitten here purrs pretty loud!
Um, this thing you have behind your back, is it not troublesome? Why do you take it with you?
Oh, my dad gave it to me. Carried it around for years.
What is it?
Hold on tight! We're almost there.
...
Items are strewn on the table, as those present stroke their chins pondering over them.
Here's everything that was in that Bell-Ringer guy's pockets. Think I got everything, except anything that he was wearing under that get-up, but there ain't enough money in the world to get me to rifle through some s**t-stained cultist undies.
Hey! Hollick, what was that for?!
Sorry, kiddo, J said I gotta knock you on the head any time you cuss.
Exactly, Hollick. We gotta teach this potty mouth some manners, especially when there's a lady present.
Well, seems I have you to thank, Ms. Bouanich! Years of wasted effort trying to cultivate gentlemen out of these cads, and you manage it in hours!
The girl nearby is fiddling with a complicated device, unfazed by their commotion.
SPF-I Portable Contact Device activated. Welcome.
Verification success. Registered user: Matilda Bouanich. Access level: B.
It worked! Humph, I have a higher rank now. I won't be making the same mistake twice.
"Emergency Support"—Apologies, as there have been no abnormal arcane fluctuations detected, the emergency support team is currently occupied.
Please provide further details, so that we can evaluate the necessity of emergency assistance.
*beep* Message sent.
Support will be arranged in order of priority.
*sigh* I knew I should have applied for an expansion to our team.
They will be of no help at all. I will have to send my entire team back just to deliver my report to the Foundation.
So we must count on them to bring support back.
Oh, yeah? Support?
You wanna be a part of this, French Fry? You finally taking an interest in all of this? Hahaha.
This is a central part of our mission! The Foundation will deal with this, without letting nosey civilians like you get involved.
If you must insist on helping us, I suggest you provide what information you know, and then, I, Special Investigator Matilda Bouanich, will solve the problem and save the day!
She reaches out to the key on the table.
But a large hand covers it before she can grab it.
Yeah, not going to do that.
There isn't one of us here on Haight Street that would stand aside while someone else "saves us."
You wanna get a clue about this place, then the first thing you gotta know is that we deal with our own problems.
He makes no move to remove his hand, staring at her intently.
Well, you can have the key, little Investigator Bouanich, since you're so dedicated to your job.
Whether you get your "special approval" or not ...
We're going to be the ones to take down those bastards.
It's not about vengeance. It's that the people here, they'll never trust someone to do this for us. We have to do it ourselves.
Judges, police, your Foundation ... One rat's nest after another promised to bring us change, and then left us to the wolves.
Nah, worse than rats. At least they know how life here really works.
At least they see us. At least rats don't claim to be our saviors.
He withdraws his hand and allows her to take the key.
We can only trust someone who's been through the trenches with us.
The key feels heavy in her hand, as if something weighty were attached to it.
Mercuria, would you?
He looks up, signaling for her to continue with the explanation.
Yeah. This will be the key to wherever their hideout is, a place of dark revelry. They've kept it a close secret.
But I've seen those that have come back from that place. They're transformed into something unnatural.
Their flesh and their spirit ... it wasn't their own anymore.
Big-shot businessmen groveling and sobbing at the feet of their Apostle; and the most loving mother I know, she abandoned her kid by a dumpster.
The friends we've lost ... It's like they're gone. They aren't them anymore. They're possessed.
Until one day, they just vanish. Never to be seen again.
She shakes her head.
So, we must find this gate, and flush out their nest of vipers before they can open it once more.
Otherwise, our mission here and your chance to avenge your friends will fail.
She bursts up from her seat before falling back down.
Gets even better from there, French Fry. That ceremony of theirs is set for the day after tomorrow. They're planning something big, bigger than anything they've thrown at us before.
The boy raises his hand, eager to answer.
Yeah, I heard that big guy mumbling stuff like "the last revelation" or something.
Kinda weird seeing a big dude crying like that, hahaha.
"The last revelation"? Perhaps then this is the last time Manus plan on opening the door to their "Elysium"?
Everyone knows what is implied.
And then, they will be gone, perhaps for good.
J, you got a lot of friends there still. What'll you do when they point their knives at you?
How do we keep their sacrificial lambs from leaping off the cliff?
He does not shy away from his answer.
Not my business to save someone who doesn't wanna be saved. Never even really thought of saving everyone, not in a long while. It's not worth the pain.
While the answer weighs heavily on the others, it brings her some relief—borne out of trust, if nothing else.
I see.
The girl from the Foundation pipes up.
Unfortunately, I cannot disagree this time.
Still, we have time to make preparations in advance! Support is on the way, so until then, we must stay below their attention.
I'm thinking that maybe we may try collecting more information by infiltrating their followers. Perhaps then, we will have a better chance to find this "gate" of theirs.
She supports her chin as she stares out strategizing in her mind.
Sure, Tildy. Tomorrow I'll show you around the New Age Market. You can meet some of my friends, figure out how to fit in.
Uh, but maybe a change of outfit first. Who knows who might recognize you.
And the St. Pavlov Foundation is not the most welcome organization around here.
I see. Thank you very much, Ms. Mercuria. Oh! And I remember you know that, Gio! We might collect some further information from him!
Gio? I don't know who you mean.
Her voice is sincere.
But, but, do you not remember? It was just as I arrived, you had a visitor, and you called him Gio.
I haven't had any visitors all day.
Ah. That cannot be. J, you saw him, yes?
He meets her eyes with a blank expression.
Only thing I remember is some weirdo investigator poking her head into this tent.
Matilda stammers in bewilderment at their answers.
...
8. A Warning at Dinner
45 linesBlood must be shed, and our blasphemers eliminated. You have proven your unwavering devotion.
Roger the Green Chair, Meyer the Petty Plague, and our human brother, Legers the Dead, welcome to the Hall of the Sufferer.
Arrgh ... Uggh! *sob*
A bundled person wrapped in red-stained cloth writhes in a cage, giving out vague, muffled sobs.
The Apostle steps into the shadows, gently caressing the trembling body.
Shush, child. It is rude to disturb our precious feast.
The bundle quiets at the touch, though the trembling continues, causing the binds to clink and chafe.
Very well. Remain silent.
He withdraws from the cage and places his hands on Roger the Green Chair's shoulders.
Brothers and sisters, our arcanist siblings and your bountiful offerings gathered have greatly enriched the coming ceremony of the Sufferer.
We rejoice to see such devotion from the faithful, yet we are troubled by the sorrow and abomination now filling the world!
Yesterday, two intruders broke the ritual of revelation, and stole from us the key to the gates of Elysium.
The precious gift of Elysium granted by the Sufferer before THEIR agonizing sacrifice has been blocked from us.
You should have kept the secret of the key.
A prolonged silence follows.
L-let me use my green chair to grill this shameful rat! I'll make him talk, spill the secrets he hid, and present his flesh to you as an offering!
Well, well, Roger, such a caring brother.
Your offering is appreciated, yet our siblings have already torn his chest apart and still no secrets—Just another careless fallen brother.
This is our final warning: the ceremony for the Sufferer draws near. I would keep a close watch on every one of our flock. Let not one among you linger alone, nor be held above suspicion.
And the Bell-Ringer who gave out our secret is here, in front of you. Tell me, which one of you would bestow on him our final mercy?
He fidgets with the key of the cage purposefully.
*sob* Urghhh ...
Legers stands, breaking his silence.
"Clink—"
The cage door opens. The trembling lump falls to the ground and wriggles like a helpless maggot.
*whistle*
*roar*
Two shadowy creatures descend the wall from above with predatory motions.
Good, eat your fill, children. Until it's done. Not a single stain left to offend our Apostle.
The drooling critters tear at the wrappings, dragging the body across the floor, leaving a trail of fresh blood.
They deliver a heart-rending howl before disappearing back into the darkness with their feast.
Our thanks, Brother Legers. All, be seated, and enjoy the feast!
...
The banquet ends, and the remaining guests have now dispersed.
You may be just a recent convert, still you have more than proven your devotion with your zealous contributions.
But my child, something still blinds you, fetters you. That which deprived you of your control of the New Age Market? A thing that threatens to hobble our fast-approaching ceremony.
Trespassers from the St. Pavlov Foundation, treading across our sacred sanctuaries as if they were their gardens. This failing of yours could reflect poorly in our esteem for you.
Brother Legers. The coming of the ceremony cannot be delayed, and we will soon run out of patience. Retrieve the key.
My word is my bond. I will find it.
The Apostle wipes the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief.
All is now prepared, but we still seek the one who will lead us through the ritual, a child overflowing with pneuma. Yet, not a single soul now among our flock is qualified.
We must seek the one who will guide the faithful on the transcendental path, to forsake the world, and become one with the Sufferer.
I'm sure you understand what is expected of you.
Speak to no one about this sacred mission.
Find the one worthy of our ceremony for us, and for yourself, Legers.
9. Snake in the Grass
143 lines
So this lovely young lady is family all the way from France, Mecuria? Well, let me be her guide to the wonders of America! Look at her pretty outfit, add some crystal earrings and a stylish wand, I bet she'll be knock-out, am I right?
Umm, I appreciate your hospitality, madame, but I, I have a very important mission, a shopping mission! So much shopping to do. So, nice to meet you, Ms. Cooper.
Let go of the poor girl, Cooper.
It's time I show her some real treasures. I'm sure they are much more suited to her than your old trash.
Oh, and I oughta tell you, the "Merchant of Eternity" says she'll soon come to the New Age Market, and she's bringing her stock of treasures. It's gotta draw in the crowds.
Ah, give it up, Maich. There's no way Eternity will like that old junk.
The two vendors square up. They appear to be on course for either a confrontation or an embrace.
Heh heh. Will you two ever just fess up and admit you're friends?
The two gawk at her words, looking at each other before falling into embarrassed silence.
Ahem, fine, fine, Mercuria, you don't have to poke fun, just let us know how we can help you.
She responds with a greedy sort of look, as if opening up her purse strings.
A door. We're looking for a door, or a gate, the one you mentioned before.
...
She chokes out her next words.
A ... door? Sorry, I need time to ... recall it. Hey, why don't you show Ms. Bouanich around, and I'll stay here to gather my ... memories, not going anywhere.
I'm still trying to rack my brain, and this old thing can only manage one thing at a time.
It is an unconvincing excuse.
But the moment gives Mercuria pause to examine her surroundings, books, tools, daily necessities, all in various states of being packed away.
Is this your luggage? You're packing up?
Yeah. We're leaving this place. Before the wackos hold their "ceremony," if we're lucky.
When we came here, it was to find some safe place away from these people and their conflicts, but now they followed us here as well.
And we've already lost too many friends.
Her head falls low and limp.
I suggest you follow us out, before whatever is going to happen here happens.
But, is this not where you made your living? Can you so easily walk away?
I thought everyone on Haight Street would be just as stubborn as J.
But I think it's a wise choice.
"Wise"? Huh.
She repeats the words as if insulting herself.
Don't make me laugh. Haight Street, New Age Market, none of this is ours really. Even the clothes on our back. All we own are the footprints we leave behind, until they're washed away by the tides of time.
We live our lives on the fringes of a world that is not kind to us. We're used to it. Fighting for every street, it's not worth it.
Um, but your friends ...
"Bang!"—Maich slams the suitcase shut.
Maybe you ought to stop nosing around where you don't belong.
I'm sorry.
She gently tugs Matilda to her side.
Come on, we should get going. Maich has got things to do.
...
They turn around and blend into the passing crowd.
Until they disappear within the milieu.
You shouldn't be so hard on her.
You've had a hard enough time convincing yourself of what you have to do.
She sits down to comfort Maich.
Let's just focus on what's next. Nothing more.
Hmm. What's keeping Ms. Mercuria? There were only a few unexpected patrons; she should have already returned.
She walks toward Mercuria's tent, where three shadows linger conspicuously in the firelight.
Wait, Ms. Matilda!
Hmm? Oh, are you looking for Mercuria?
Shh!
The peddler is pale with anxiety.
N-no, I'm looking for you.
I have to admit something, Ms. Bouanich. I lied to you about the gate, but I have to, to protect my friends.
What do you mean? Why do you feel you have to lie?
The woman shakes her head ruefully.
Because I wanted to give this to you in private. I know you're from the Foundation, and I think I can trust you.
I know Mercuria better than anyone. If she knows the information I have, she will risk everything to help her friends.
She hesitates over her next words.
So please, don't tell her this. Don't put her in danger.
I do not think I can make this decision for you.
I get your concern, but she's my friend. I don't want to put her on a dangerous path.
So ...
She leans closer still.
Whispers mingle with the wind, barely audible.
Quick and light steps approach Mercuria's tent.
Hmm, there's three guys in that tent. I knew the boss was here!
But who's the third dude? Hollick? I heard he was in the market collecting information.
His hand has only just lifted the curtain when he feels the weight of a tall figure behind him.
What?! Why are you here?!
You're that big guy, Legers's lackey!
?!
Gio turns back, afraid of being seen.
The boy, now facing away from the tent, stares at the man with cold calculation.
He reaches into his pocket to a waiting knife, ready for action.
But the boy fails to notice a hand reaching out from behind the curtain …
Uggh ...
The night outside is kept at bay by the soft glow of lights from the dance floor.
People press close to each other, exchanging suggestive glances, arms entwining and swaying.
Amid the intoxicating scene, the small girl at the bar is noticeably out of place.
Oh. What should I do? If I were to tell J about the key and the gate, then Ms. Mercuria will soon know it, too.
According to the investigator's manual, waiting for support is the safest action. But if this situation escalates any further, more civilians might be involved.
Perhaps then I should let Ms. Mercuria join, no?
*sigh* Where did J go? He's not returned once all night. That man has no sense!
Ms. Mercuria will go on stage soon. I must decide before she goes.
She leans on the table, adrift in her own mind, rocking a small cup back and forth with her hands.
Ms. Bouanich, it seems as though you're having a bit of trouble selecting between putting your money in stocks or real estate. Why don't you take this cup of hot chocolate to smooth out your furrowed brow? You're too young to have such a serious face.
He adjusts his tie performatively.
You know, besides my modeling career, I'm also a professional investment and costume advisor, and the success of my friends is my best advertisement. Feel free to reach out for a consult if you're interested in making your money make money.
Thank you. Actually, I do have a problem that, as you say, relates to money.
It seems I have now two bags of gold in a cave, surprisingly heavy, and no one person could take both of them out alone.
However, there is a dragon devouring the gold. The longer I am hesitant, the more it eats and the less I can take.
But I don't want my friend to risk their life for it. Ahhh, what am I talking about?!
Please forget it, forget everything.
Matilda lowers her lips back to the cup, sipping her hot cocoa. Her advisor lifts his chin seriously and ponders her words.
Ms. Bouanich, am I right to infer that these two bags of gold don't properly belong to you?
So then, if your friend decides to go with you, then you should respect them and their decision. They want to take on that risk with you.
I admit, I've offered some poor advice since I first awakened. My suggestions at times have lost a gambler his home, but they also helped a father win back his wife and children. Surprisingly enough, they were the very same man.
When you provide as much advice as I have, you realize that our words can't really change another person's fate.
That's why I love watching window shoppers, the ragged folk that can't make it in, because they have the light of life in their eyes.
Penniless as they are, I know that one day, some of them will return and take the clothes that they only dreamed of wearing before.
And my favorite thing is to point it out to them when the day finally comes, and say:
"It's been waiting there for you."
The music stops.
Hmm?
A hand pulls aside the glittering curtain.
People seem entranced, their eyes following her every move.
Mercuria steps barefoot onto the stage, her arms raised like wings beneath the lights—motionless, frozen like a photograph.
Shh. The performance is about to begin.
At first, one note collides with another.
Then, the music rises like a crashing wave, enveloping everyone in its vibration.
Yet no one sways or cheers as it washes over them; people simply stare at Mercuria with rapt attention.
Those drinking from their glasses and mugs pause midair; from the arcade slack-jawed boys usher in a cascade of digitized voices repeating, "Game Over."
She flourishes her arms, stretching them up toward the light, like a hopeful seed emerging from the soil, until she reaches a sensual peak, and the music stops at a cut.
...
"Clap—clap, clap …"
The applause rises up over the room, reaching a crescendo until falling silent.
I do not understand. She is not dancing with the rhythm, and her movements, they are so bizarre.
Ms. Bouanich, do you happen to know the meaning of the word "ecstasy"? It originates from the Greek word "ekstasis," meaning "standing outside" or "transcending oneself."
People have been controlled by the commercials, slot machines, arcades for so long, so long that they've lost sight of themselves.
Souls too long constrained become rebellious, seeking something real outside the boundaries of convention, and the illusions of flash and neon.
So, they gather here, for a dance that is free from the limits of rhythm and timing.
She understands the heavy burden of time.
But she also understands that she doesn't decide the fate of others. Like me, she provides another option, but in the end, we can only make decisions for ourselves.
Her dance offers to break them away from the reality of time and the weight of decision, even for just one song.
The dancer, who has been on tiptoe, lowers her heels to the ground. She bows before making her exit.
The dance floor regains its excitement.
Its restless souls returning to the embrace of the night's pleasures.
I see. Then I must tell her! Thank you, Mr. Pioneer.
"Tap, tap-tap—" Her footsteps are light and quick.
She's in such a hurry, but why is she not heading to the lounge? I must catch up with her.
*panting* Huh? Where is she?
The girl, doubled over to catch her breath, spots a familiar hulking silhouette in the distance.
But it only leaves her more bewildered.
Why, that is ... that is indeed Mr. Gio inside her tent? Ha, I knew my memory did not fail me.
She pinches her nose and dives into a nearby pile of garbage bags.
So she is hiding something from us, and this Gio seems special to her. But if he is from Manus ...
No, stop it, Matilda! You mustn't make such rash assumptions. Mercuria could not be ...
Her huddled shoulders are nudged.
?!
Her eyelids grow heavy, and her limbs go weak and limp.
What ... is ...
10. See You, Rats
184 linesUgh ... Whoa!
Matilda awakes from her stupor.
Where am I? Is this the room behind the restaurant?
The bedding is neatly pressed and folded, and the windows are covered in a patchwork of repairs.
Despite the age and disrepair of the room, it is clean, nearly spotless.
I must move quickly! Ms. Mercuria left with that man. She's betrayed us. I have to warn J!
The ceremony is coming. She'll give away our plan.
She picks herself up and move to open the door—Click!
What?! It's locked?!
Did they just leave me here all alone? Oh, wait, the contact device. It's still in my suitcase.
I brought you a gift, J.
A familiar voice slides beneath the gap in the door.
There is indeed a hole covered with a loose cloth.
She leans closer, peering through the hole, taking in everything outside.
The familiar voice came from a man sitting at a round table, a face she had seen before in the market.
They're all here!
As an apology for my children's poor behavior, I'd like you to take charge of this negotiation.
J hesitates for a moment, scanning the ranks of Legers's subordinates.
Thanks, grandpa, but we both know we're not having a party here.
And why doesn't your boy Gio come over and apologize himself?
Let me give you a piece of advice, J: don't go tempting dogs away from their owners. Pay attention to your own men.
Or did I misunderstand? This gift from us, Mr. Hollick, he a friend of yours?
*roar*
The wall of people behind him part, creating a path.
The critter drags a bloodied man behind it, throwing him onto the ground.
It's Hollick!
*coughs* I-I'm sorry, J. I went to the New Age Market.
*coughs* I-I just thought, maybe there was something I could do.
His limbs hang loosely like a puppet with broken strings, unable to support his body, and thick blood gurgles in his mouth.
A revolver is pressed down against his gasping chest.
Legers, you piece of s**t! I'll smash your head in and feed it to your dogs!
Don't do it, Becket! We already have a captive to save!
Pioneer holds back Becket as he rages.
You should focus on your friends. Forget about the New Age Market. It doesn't belong to you.
...
Don't worry. Helping people make decisions is a particular skill of mine. I can be very motivating.
He stands up and pats J on the shoulder.
Let's play a game. You big boys love playing games, don't you?
He points to the revolver poking Hollick's chest.
Take a look. This revolver is fully loaded with four bullets. Here's how you play.
I give you a condition. If you accept, I remove one bullet. When all the chambers are empty, you win. If you take your chances and reject a condition ...
I shoot. Just know that I might bury a bullet in your skull.
I totally respect your freedom of choice. You're even welcome to try your luck with all four bullets loaded, if you like.
The gunman spins the cylinder of his revolver.
A glint of light flashes across the boy's cat-like eyes.
I-I can see the bullets in the chamber when he rolls the cylinder! Alright, I gotta count for the boss. Gotta help him survive the game at the lowest price.
He dashes into the kitchen.
Here's your glass, boss.
Thanks, Wisen. I could use a drink.
J pulls out the paper from under the coaster, glancing at it from the corner of his eye, and then coughs into it heavily.
As he removes it, the faint black ink has smeared beyond recognition.
I got sharp eyes! I can do lots of stuff! Counting coins, cars, finding water drops ... I'm great at spotting cheats and shady dealers!
...
He hands the paper back to Wisen, hesitating for a moment before nodding.
Alright, let's do this, grandpa.
Wisen, get that tequila from the bar. Need a drink to clear our minds.
On it, boss.
The boy pulls a bottle up from behind the bar and fills two shot glasses.
Heh, that's a clever kid you got there.
Alright, let's get started, kiddo.
The cylinder is spun again. Four rounds, four demands—two ways that this can end.
Condition one: Return what you took from us.
Sure.
Without hesitation, he pulls the key from his pocket, places it on the table, and pushes it forward to the elderly man.
Hahaha. Continue like this, J, and this'll be the best game I ever played.
A snicker rises from the crowd behind him.
I thought he'd hesitate, at least a little bit. Looks like you got a coward for a boss, boys! Hahaha!
The first bullet is pulled from the chamber, and the cylinder is spun again.
The boy mutters inaudibly.
Five, eight, ten, ten times.
The next chamber's loaded.
He leans in and refills the shot glasses once more.
Thanks, Wisen.
Condition two: Get your people out of here. Now.
We need quiet. Your friends are disturbing our conversation.
You heard him, guys. Get outta here.
But no one moves.
This is a decision that falls out of his authority. Each of his crew has to make it on their own.
Wisen, take good care of your boss.
The first to decide makes his exit.
J, what're you doing?! I'd rather take this bastard to hell with me! When did you become such a coward?!
No, guys. You're not helping by staying here. Just go.
Becket kicks the chair fruitlessly, holding his stare.
Damn it!
Becket breaks, as he makes his exit, the rest follow, until J sits alone.
Hah. It's a pleasure doing business with you, J. You're a practical man.
May the Sufferer bless you. There's no denying that you got a merciful heart.
"Clink"—the second bullet is pulled from its chamber, and the cylinder spins once more.
Ten ... Eighteen times!
!!!
The keen cat eyes a fleeting opportunity.
The next two shots are safe! I gotta tell the boss!
The boy grips the bottle tightly as he pours its contents into J's glass, filling it only half-way.
When just as he lifts his hand—
Fill it to the top, kiddo. Don't skimp on him. I'll tip you if J doesn't.
Legers's rough and firm hands grasp the boy's own.
Yes, sir.
That had been only half of the code, he couldn't be sure that J would understand now. It is too great a risk to continue.
Now, condition three ...
J shakes his head, dismissing the words before he speaks them.
You've already lost the game, Legers.
J's gaze shifts away from the red marks on Wisen's arm.
Oh, so you wanna take your chances, huh? Figured fifty-fifty was close enough? But you know, kiddo, I never said I would only shoot once.
J bows his head, gripping the handle of his Bowie knife.
Try it, old man.
Do it.
"Click."
The hammer drops into an empty chamber.
You got lucky, kid. Now let's try that again.
J crouches as his boots shift loudly against the floor.
From the scabbard, a cold gleam reflects the room's dim lights, like the stars on a sheet of ice.
?!
"Click."
The cocked hammer falls and finds another empty chamber.
J's blade slides out from its sheath.
Sparks fly, trembling in the air—
Eat lead, you lucky bastard!
"Bang—!"
The deafening gunshot echoes against the walls.
*coughs* J!
See what happens when you mess with me?
A new hole appears in the wall.
And the revolver falls to the ground, still gripped by a severed arm.
Ugh! No ...
Game's over, grandpa.
Oh, but we'd prefer to continue.
Kids, rip his face off.
The Bowie knife is pointed at his throat.
If that's the way it's gotta be, let's do this, old man.
But this time, we got the upper hand.
Now, give back what you took, and I'll let you and your little lackeys go.
Or ...
The blade's tip pierces the skin of his neck, and blood trickles from the wound.
Legers surveys J with a pensive stare.
You're a smart kid, J, but apparently, you need a lesson in failure. I'll be glad to give it to you.
We were actually playing two games just now. Those "missed" shots? They had a purpose.
They may not have hit you, but they did hit our second target.
"Boom!"
An explosion shakes the room, erupting with a surge of flames.
Boss, that's Hollick's garage. And your bike!
Put down the knife, kiddo. That was just a warning, to let you know the game isn't over yet.
Now, I got one last condition: Let us leave in peace.
So? What do you say?
Guys, help me out! Hollick needs this place to live, damn it!
People outside desperately beat at the flames, but the fire grows fiercer despite their efforts.
I can turn all of Haight Street to ashes if you want me to.
The Bowie knife is lowered.
Good boy.
By the way, get yourself a better knife. I got butter knives sharper than that thing.
"Bang—!"
Without any time to react, the gun's muzzle flares.
His Bowie knife shatters into pieces.
A warning, for trying to take my men.
...
Flames lick at the charred debris, as Becket sits dazed on the ground.
The people of Haight Street gather silently, watching the fire, seeing their final ultimatum unfold.
Then, the daze lifts, and Becket rises with an outburst.
What happened to you, J? You were fearless when Hollick and I first met you.
We were like a pack of stray dogs, rummaging through the trash cans and sleeping on the street. All we had were clothes on our backs, but we still made it this far.
I'd rather break my bones and shed my last drop of blood than beg for mercy. But look at you, J. What were you thinking?
Are you a coward, Boss?
He spits on the ground as he helps the bloodied Hollick to his feet.
He holds J's gaze as he unpins his badge and tosses it into the trash.
Don't blame him, Becket. It's my fault. *coughs* Please don't go.
J! I-I'll come back to help!
Becket pulls at Hollick, unable to contain his anger any longer.
Oh, come on, Hollick! You just said that this is your fault. So do me a favor and shut up.
You know you're the one who got us into this mess, right?! If you'd learned your damn lesson, none of this would have happened!
So just shut up!
Hollick hangs his head, dejected and quiet.
Becket forcibly drags the wounded giant away.
...
Then, another from the crowd.
S-sorry, Mr. J. All I wanted was a safe place to sleep, not all this. I-I don't wanna get killed.
He leaves behind the second badge and fearfully makes his way from the street.
The third and fourth ... They tremble, reluctant, feeling their own smallness in the crowd.
The flames dwindle, and ashes hang in the air.
The crowd breaks apart slowly and wordlessly, until they've left only an empty, burned-out street.
Boss, I'll, I'll get them to come back! We'll get everything back!
Hey! Hey!
He runs out to catch the crowd, but soon he too grasps his vulnerability.
Like a straggling bird, left out from the flock.
11. Ingle and Anvil
113 linesThe club's air is thick with smoldering ash and smoke.
The "Open" sign swings forlornly at the door. Those few that still pass it on the street do so quickly, as if running past a graveyard.
Even in the heart of the city, it feels remote.
Yes. I am awaiting orders at 379 Haight Street now. I have sent two investigators back to the branch. They'll show you the way.
Since time is limited, I will go to the target location in advance and update you on my coordinates.
This mission will bring us one step closer to eliminating Manus Vindictae. You have provided us with vital information thus far, Ms. Bouanich.
Please stay in touch. The reinforcement squad will arrive soon.
And, one more thing.
She stops, but eventually cannot help but continue.
One of our arcanist friends may have defected to Manus Vindictae. I believe they'll be expecting us and the reinforcements.
This was my personal oversight, so I hope you will allow me to scout ahead. That way, I can provide optimal support for the following operation.
The other end of the line is silent, until a staticky clamor breaks through.
It comes with a resolute reply.
Your current mission is to wait for reinforcements at the New Age Market. Please follow your orders, Investigator Bouanich.
Understood.
She bites her lip, disheartened, and puts the device back into her pocket.
It is good news, but she can't calm the turmoil within her.
I heard Ms. Mercuria went to Legers's place this morning.
Ms. Bouanich, we've done everything we can. It's not your fault.
She shakes her head, no longer in the mood to respond to any words of comfort.
Legers and those arcanists have made a total mess of the market. The people's safety is our top priority now.
J's been away since this morning. He has to be here when the reinforcements arrive.
Where did he go?
The mannequin shrugs.
Nowhere, Ms. Bouanich. He's right there.
He points to the back door of the kitchen, held slightly ajar.
From behind it comes a rhythmic, metallic sound.
"Clink—"
"Ding, ding—"
"Ding, ding—ding!"
She steps forward, moving through the cluttered kitchen, past sauces, grills, and towers of unwashed plates.
What's he doing?
The mannequin turns his head to the door, giving no response.
She pushes the door open and steps inside.
...
Hah, to be honest, I thought I'd never use this thing again.
His hammer strikes down heavily on the glowing, red-hot metal. Something tells her they fell harder than they should.
I remember that day. Dad was in the living room with his friends, boasting about this awesome treasure he found on his trip. Hadn't seen him smile like that since Mom died.
Heh. His friends all sucked up to him. Thought he dug up some good stuff.
I was just a whiney little kid back then. No one liked me.
After his friends left, Dad put me in a suit and tie, like I was some kind of stage performer, and took me to the Velvet Restaurant.
When we got there, he brought this little girl to me and said, "Hey son, I got you a little sister."
That was the first time I met Paulina and her mom. I realized that he wasn't lying about the treasure. The days after were sweet, like eating dessert on cloud nine every day.
Sparks fly across his eyes.
But it didn't last long. My dad was nothing but a broke insurance agent after he ran away from the Wayland family. He had big dreams, but he was too weak to realize them.
The Wayland family? I've read about them in the Arcanum and Metal, compiled by the SPDM.
They've been arcane blacksmiths, famous for their sword-making, for generations. But the book says the family perished in the war.
No matter what generation, Frenchie, weak people cower in dark holes, learn to hide their power, and only use it when they really need it.
Being reckless can kill you. I've learned that better than anyone since my old man died.
And, you know what? His friends were right. He followed Solomon's Manuscript, a document left behind by his family, and dug up something from under the ruins. A worthless piece of black iron.
Solomon's Manuscript? That document holds top-secret information, only available to certain members of the Foundation. How did he get it? And what have you done with the iron?
Most of it became this thing strapped to my back, and the rest ...
Well, you're looking at it, girl. I didn't get why Dad said it was good stuff until now.
You know those witches who can tell at a glance whether a kid'll be a warrior or a priest?
When I looked at this scrap of metal, I had the same feeling. It was destined to be a killer knife.
And now, it's gonna make its debut.
The girl catches sight of the cloth bag at his feet and, further away, a weathered but polished old motorcycle.
Reinforcements will arrive soon, and I have decoded the spell on the key.
You have to wait, J.
Ms. Mercuria, she's joined Manus Vindictae. We have no way of knowing what information she's given them.
He shakes his head.
I don't need their help. I can bring my friends back myself, French Fry.
Those crazies are holding the ceremony soon. I'm not gonna let them destroy my birthplace. I'm not gonna wait for your little friends to arrive, either.
Please, J, there's no reason to risk your life! The reinforcements will arrive in no time. Then we can finish this with minimum casualties.
Take this lesson from the experienced Investigator Matilda Bouanich: preparation is the key to success!
The young man laughs hard and steadily.
Hahaha, I guess you're right.
When I was a scrawny little street kid, I'd look to a savior, like a cop or a boss, anything to avoid a beating.
We all got the smarts to stay outta trouble.
We just gotta look both ways before we make our move.
"Clink—"
This wallet is all I have, please! There's nothing in it! Just a photo of my wife and daughter!
C'mon, you old fogey. Take it back if you got the guts! Hahaha, Berton, catch!
Over here, old man. Hey! Get out of the way, you stupid bastard!
...
Help me, Brian.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, friend.
He shakes off the old man's trembling hand as if preparing to run.
We show tolerance and modesty.
"Clink—"
Hollick, tell me, did your brain slip outta your skull? Don't you know how expensive this cleaner is? Spray it on this piece of crap one more time, and you ain't getting a cent next month!
B-but, sir, the customer paid us to use this cleaner.
And I pay you to work for me, you idiot! Either listen to me, or go back to daydreaming in that burnt-down garage of yours!
He timidly glances downward, feeling at his empty pockets, struggling to find words.
We know our limits. Do what we can and give up when we have to.
"Clink—"
*coughs and spits*
Ten, nine, eight, seven ...
Hey, hey! Just stay down, you idiot! You'll get paid after the game, I promise!
Oh c'mon! You think you're a tough man? Just stay down, and we'll make a fortune!
His body is exhausted, pushed over hard, yet his fist remains tightly clenched.
"Clink—"
"Ding, ding—ding!"
But if you've ever tried to temper a sword, you'd know that hesitation ruins the work.
The searing-hot blade plunges into the water, producing a hissing burst of bubbles and steam.
You gotta be brave, decisive. That's how you make a great sword. That's how you live a great life.
You don't gotta be too careful about what you say and do. Don't gotta be prepared for everything.
He pulls the cooled blade from the water and places it into the soft wrapping cloth.
A new Bowie knife.
Because a brave and decisive fist ... Well, that's unstoppable.
I won't just stand back and wait like a coward. Never. You understand?
She hesitates.
Perhaps you're right, but this would be a serious violation. You'll be going against the direct orders of the Foundation!
Deep within her restless mind, an answer is slowly emerging.
Therefore, as your supervisor, I will keep an eye on you wherever you go, just in case you do something stupid.
A helmet flies through the air, landing in her hand.
Fine by me, commander.
The round bartender has polished the table to a shine, as if oblivious to the destruction around her.
He is already gone.
"Buzz, buzz—buzz!"
12. Empty Coffin
139 linesJars and bottles line the table, with dried herbs bound with twine placed neatly in the corner.
The furnace spits out the scraps of old business cards.
Beside the furnace, a box lies half-open, revealing a familiar black mask.
Sorry, I've never seen a case like this before. I can't quite believe what I'm looking at, to be honest. I'm afraid there's nothing human medicine can do. This is well beyond my means.
He removes his hat and bows deeply to the injured man sitting in the chair.
Then he picks up the briefcase and turns to leave.
...
He gathers more cards into a tight ball in his fist and tosses them into the furnace.
There is another knock from a separate door.
"Bang—!"
Before he could answer, the door is bashed open.
What do you think you're doing, Pops?! No one told me you took the new kids to Haight Street!
Those crazy dogs coulda hurt you! You know that?!
Hurt me? Heh. I appreciate your concern, kiddo.
I heard that you found your dagger. Who was kind enough to return it?
That lady from the New Age Market? I know you've been sweet on her.
...
Legers tosses a stack of sealed envelopes onto the table.
You've been over here for a few years. I think it's time you went back to Italy. Stay there for a while. Oh, and say hello to your mother for me.
Gio, standing at the other end of the table, lets out a silent laugh.
Listen to yourself, Pops.
He raises the gun toward the old man with purpose.
Five years ago, when we moved here from that remote arcanist village, we were down and out.
But still, you said you'd rather shoot yourself in the head than return home a loser.
You promised we'd settle down here. Make it our second home.
We were cast out by the humans, but we trusted you.
We all understood that hating humans wouldn't put food on the table. That's why we respected you—why we still respect you.
The gun trembles in his hand, his words increasingly agitated.
Jerry Little Finger died in the tub. His mama still thinks he's working for us on the sea.
Short Ken, who spent his whole life waiting tables, was shot to pieces just a couple of days after his daughter was born!
And my wife, Savina, was burned to death by some piece of s**t arsonist! Even now, the cops won't tell me who did it!
But even through all the pain, and all the hardship, we had principles. Principles that have earned us respect and made us more money than our fathers did in their entire lives! But now you've been corrupted by those lunatics from the Order of Enlightenment!
Now the clinics refuse to treat us. They know we don't go by our principles anymore! That every cent we have is taken from those poor people who're as hungry as we used to be!
What do we stand for now? Beating down on the poor and murdering children?! No one trusts us anymore! You're pushing everyone further and further away! When are you gonna stop, huh? How many more have to suffer?!
His arm feels heavy. It trembles with exhaustion.
Gio, my boy. You haven't seen the bigger picture.
Legers approaches, grasping the quivering muzzle of the gun.
Then, like a kindly father receiving a gift, he takes the gun into his own hands.
And even now, with that girl messing with your mind, you have no intention of killing me. You're loyal. I'll give you that, kid.
"Boom!"
Gio collapses in a heap.
Ugh!
But the gun is not held at Gio's head. Instead, it is aimed out toward the pitch-black corridor.
I've been wondering who that witch is, the girl who's making my boy feel mercy and guilt.
You're not thinking straight anymore. Can't even hold a gun. It's shameful.
Gio's hesitating because he is thinking straight, Legers.
She emerges from the shadows of the corridor.
Bullets don't bring peace.
Gio is risking his life to make you see the truth. I believe you understand that better than anyone.
But, if you insist on taking his life, I won't stop you. He made this choice himself.
Is that so?
He presses the gun's muzzle down on Gio's chest.
Gio reaches out a hand, grasping the man's shoulder, as if asking for something.
I'm sorry, Pops.
...
The gun is thrown to the ground.
Get him outta here. I've no need for cowards, no matter how loyal they are.
You've got me wrong. I didn't come here to help Gio or to witness his sacrifice. I was just following my heart.
I was invited here, to join you.
She nods, stating it as if guided by fate.
To be precise, I've come here to help you. Just like that doctor.
Her gaze sweeps over the hearth, the herbs, and the box, taking in everything in the room.
Finally, her eyes fix on the carpet between them.
*deep breath* I see.
I've seen it countless times. How people gather energy to themselves. They put their own lives—their own desires—above all else. They take from others, even exploiting them to satisfy their greed.
But Gio's not one of them, nor are you. I can see the aura around you—your soul, your wishes, your energy—none of them are focused on yourself.
They're all focused on someone else—someone hidden in this place.
She raises her hand and points to the blood-stained patch beneath the carpet.
...
He's right here, beneath these floorboards. And you've kept him secret all this time, haven't you?
...
She carries the lamp into the pitch-black stairway.
Her guide walks ahead of her, descending with neither light nor a raised hand, taking each step firmly and confidently as he moves into the darkness—never missing a step.
It is as familiar to him as walking a well-worn path home.
The acrid smell hits her nose, filling her lungs with a shuddering insect-like sensation.
Black mold spreads out from the bed frame in front of them, creeping down and across the floor and walls.
*coughs and spits*
The emaciated body on the bed arches upwards, coughing out a haze of yellow spores from the gaping sore in its throat.
So he's the reason for everything you've done.
Death has almost taken him, yet you still cling on to him. You won't let him go. He's suffering.
She picks up the photo next to the bed frame.
Two men standing in front of a university, their faces nearly identical.
So the rumors were true. The wailing that people heard, it came from this poor man.
And you, a human of flesh and blood, unprotected by any arcane skills, were shot in the head, yet continue to walk and talk. Those bullets never penetrated your head, did they? Because you're not Legers.
He is.
Mercuria crushes the dried grass in her palm with her thumb, then bites her fingertip to draw some blood.
She gently smears the paste of blood and grass onto the corpse-like man's withered, emaciated face.
Red blood begins to drip from the steeped paste, following the fungal strands into his throat, ears, and nose, and, at last, into his lungs.
The Order of Enlightenment has allowed him to survive, albeit in a dying body. But there's a price for this: his consciousness.
*coughs and vomits*
A thick mass of fungi-strewn pus pours out of his throat.
The most I can do is recover his consciousness for a short while, but I can't save him from death.
She closes her eyes and extends her hand, a halo of light enveloping the unconscious patient.
The patient's eyes reopen weakly.
*coughs* You tried so many treatments, brother. Sometimes it felt like torture.
Heh. *coughs* Look at me. I look like a piece of moldy bread.
You're back?! Legers, you're back!
Listen, I've found a way to cure your condition. I swear you won't die. I swear!
The patient shakes his head in a creaking drawn-out motion.
Are you a professor now, Salvadore? This outfit isn't your usual style. *coughs* You used to wear a pair of gold-framed glasses and criticize everything you saw. A true intellectual. That's the Salvadore I know.
After you were shot, I disguised myself as you. I've been running your kingdom. These kids need you, so I gave up my diploma.
We'll share the fame and power when you get back on your feet, just like you always wanted.
*coughs* Listen, this isn't what I wanted. You're supposed to be working at a law firm, taking money out of the hands of rich tightwads, not pulling triggers. Not spilling blood.
You-you gotta get out of this dump. I dirtied my hands so that yours would be clean, so that you could live the life you wanted. I never wanted you to follow in my footsteps.
How are the others doing? *coughs* Ken and Jerry? They're both honest, hardworking guys.
I never should've brought them into this world.
They've gone home, Legers. They've—
Really? I knew they couldn't cut it on the street.
His breathing is fainter with each breath.
Ugh, I've been sleeping for too long, Salvadore. My brain isn't working. *sighs* Can't even open my eyes anymore. Feels like they're glued shut.
He tries to open his eyes wider, but they remain motionless, stuck in their half-closed position.
*coughs* Where am I? Describe it to me. Tell me where I am.
The overhead light flickers, shining into his slit-like eyes.
Oh, is that the sun? Am I in Italy?
His consciousness fades into a dream-like state.
I think I can hear Mama calling for us from the kitchen. Did she find out we stole the rum again?
The patient laughs in fits, struggling to find his breath again between each exhale.
Legers, no—
Yes. The sun is rising.
Oh, I could feel its warmth.
You ... You're at home, isn't that right, "Legers"?
The reserved younger brother continues stoking their shared dream.
Yeah. We're in Sicily. We're in your old bedroom, remember? Dad just beat the hell out of us.
He's smoking in the doorway right now. He said he'd tie us up to stop us from getting ourselves killed on the streets of America. Told us to settle down here, in Sicily.
I'm sorry, brother. I couldn't get us tickets to the States.
Mama told us to take our stuff out of the suitcases and put it away. We packed a ton. Heh, you must be exhausted from unpacking it all.
Oh, we didn't go to America? That's too bad. *coughs* But I'm happy to hear that.
On the brink of death, he looks so serene.
He grasps his brother's hand, holding the pistol firmly.
Damn. My eyes are totally glued. Dad really beat the crap outta me. I-I gotta go to bed. Don't wake me up, Salvadore.
Remember to keep reading. We gotta have one member of the family who uses his brain for a living.
Promise me. *coughs*
I will, brother. I promise.
The withered hand of the patient covers the hand holding the gun.
See you tomorrow, bro.
A long silence passes.
Until at last his heart gives way, beating its last.
He's gone. I won't blame Gio.
And I see now why you all made your choice.
13. A Small Tip
96 linesWe thought she was a grandma, you know, like one of those little old ladies who uses a walker.
Boy was I wrong. She ran faster than a jackrabbit. So there she went, the goods still in her arms.
Shut up, Roth. And quit trying to get rich. I gotta take a leak.
He waves his hand and darts into the small grove.
Some time passes, and the other guard left behind grows wary.
Hey Cuco, you trying to piss up a lake or something?! Hurry up!
No one answers.
He cautiously peers forward, catching sight of someone leaning over a tree stump.
Shoot! Don't come over here! My zipper's stuck! Gimme a sec!
Despite the frantic tone of the pleading voice, the guard seems not to have detected anything.
Hahahaha, Cuco, you need scissors or something?
Mr. Pioneer, now!
Behind the guard, another figure emerges in response.
"Crack—"
The wooden club comes crashing down on the guard's head, before splitting into two pieces.
The would-be victim appears totally unharmed.
W-What the hell?!
... I told you it wouldn't work. It isn't "handy" at all.
He discards the wooden club, removes an arm, and clenches the hand into a fist.
Hey! Intruders over here! Come quick, you idiots!
From afar footfalls rush toward them.
I have a feeling this one will be a hard nut to crack.
I clearly saw Mr. Pioneer and Wisen draw the guards away. Where did they go?
Don't worry about them. They're probably just hiding somewhere. We've already taken down most of the guards. They'll realize soon.
The two late reinforcements scan the area.
*pants* I'm here, boss! Help, Mr. Pioneer has ...!
The boy's desperate cry echoes from the lakeside.
Is that Mr. Pioneer's arm?!
J kneels, pounding the ground in frustration.
Pioneer! I'm sorry, man. I should've come earlier.
J appears genuinely heartbroken at the thought he has arrived too late, fighting back messy tears.
A stiff hand is laid gently on his trembling shoulder.
The soothing words arrive just in time.
Enough faffing around! Go get my arm! And don't make me repeat myself!
Hey! Hey! Hey! Don't kick my butt!
"Thud—"
*pants* Damn! What's wrong with you, man?! I've never swum in my entire life! You almost killed me!
Well, when new boys join us in the future, I'll tell them, "You know that famous J? He was drowned in a kiddie pool."
"May the rubber duck be with him."
Shh! Enough, you fools!
She separates the pair, who have been standing side by side.
Move, get out of the way! According to Ms. Maich, the door is right where you're standing.
She crouches down to examine the barren soil, stretching out her hand to measure its length.
The other three mimic her actions.
Yet apart from the solid earth, there is nothing in sight.
But there's nothing here, Ms. Bouanich. No keyhole, no door frame. Is it buried underground? Perhaps we need to dig it up.
No. Since the very beginning, there's never been a specific door that leads to their lair. In other words, any door could take us there.
The key is a shortcut. It will take us directly to them.
I saw them go into the woods with dozens of believers. They went inside a tent.
I was worried about my friend, so I searched for any secret tunnels or cellars that they might've used. I thought I could follow the traces left by their arcane skills.
She shakes her head.
But I found nothing.
At the same time, I heard that a door had been salvaged from the sunken Lady Elgin. The archaeologists found that the door didn't lead anywhere—it was useless.
Back on the ship, it was installed in front of a wall. I've read about these "meaningless" doors before in my brief study of archaeology.
When installed inside tombs, they serve as a decoration and a distraction against tomb raiders.
So, it dawned on me that perhaps it is not the "door" that matters.
It is the key that matters.
Doors are just a medium through which spaces are connected. It is the key that opens the way.
En conclusion, this key can make any door a shortcut to their lair.
Even without a door, there is still a path we can take. There is always a direct route that connects two points on the map of Gnosis.
One line, two lines—their fingers sketch the outline of the door roughly on the ground.
We can take that path by touching the key and reciting the incantation.
All we need to do is draw an entrance.
So ...
...!
Hmph! I will send the coordinates to the Foundation. When the reinforcements arrive, they can come with us.
Before we enter, you must know. I only mastered the art of opening the door. The art of closing the door, however ... Well, only the Manus know how to do that.
Are you all aware of the risk? We may get locked in there and never come back.
Alright, alright, enough talk. We've come this far. Nothing's gonna scare me off.
Fine. Over here, gentlemen!
As the crowd gathers, one person is pulled away.
Boss, boss! What're you doing?! I can help, too! Just ask Mr. Pioneer!
You're smarter than most kids I know, Wisen. That's why I got an even more important job for you—to stay here.
The child's head nearly collapses in response. Feeling abandoned, he looks away in unwilling defeat.
We'll need you soon. But not now.
Alright.
They stand before the door lying at their feet, checking one another for any signs of hesitation.
See you later, kid.
Then all at once, they leap into the bottomless door.
Whoa!
Their center of gravity reverses, the sky hangs upside down, and a wave of intense dizziness passes through them from head to gut.
There is a clamor of voices, rhythmic tap dancing ...
Strange murmurs and whispers fill their ears, while others wail and sob.
Ah, crap! Wh-what's going on?! This was not part of the plan.
Guys ...
Damn it. Hey, where are we?! Please! Put my head back on. I can't see a thing!
They lift his head, set it back on his neck, and re-adjust it.
Now, calm down, fellas. It can't possibly be that ... bad ...
Night and day reverse.
An endless tide of bodies surges, engulfing them.
In the distance, figures clad in black robes gather.
The scene is overwhelming. Words catch in their throats.
If all these people are Manus followers, the Foundation's reinforcements will be far from sufficient!
Ah. It appears we're already in the middle of their lair, Ms. Bouanich.
Behind them, a familiar yet strange voice speaks out.
*chuckles* Welcome, distinguished guests.
14. Hymns
94 linesWhat a pity. I thought you gentlemen would recognize me.
Beneath the black hoods, faces are hard to distinguish.
They instinctively take a step back, gripping their weapons.
The woman removes her black robe, revealing an extravagant gown.
Have we met before? Wait, I know, gimme a sec.
He nudges Pioneer's elbow.
Damn, when did I mess with this girl? She's gonna eat us alive if she finds out I don't remember her!
Regarding J's overconfidence in his charms, Pioneer really wants to roll his eyes, but he lacks the ability—a heartbreaking defect of a mannequin.
My apologies, ma'am. We simply didn't expect to see you. We're new here, and the sight of this place took us aback.
I see. Allow me to thank you again for your "alms." *chuckles* I can forgive your surprise. You're certainly not the first to react in such a way.
You don't look like merchants or believers, and even the way you were invited is unique. You must be the special guests of the ceremony.
Th-that's exactly who we are! We got lost. That's why we look a bit messy. Haha.
*chuckles* What lovely young people! Now, may I see your invitation from the Order of Enlightenment?
J's smile freezes in place.
The question races through his head: "Is it merely a casual question or an order?"
Look at you! Hah hah! There are no invitations. It was just a joke, sweethearts. Relax.
I have no interest in those outdated rules. Where there are customers, there is business. Every coin I earn is as glorious as the last, no matter whose pocket it's from.
And, amidst your confusion, I smell a good deal.
On the other hand, it is good manners to notify our host of the arrival of new guests. I'm sure they'll provide a satisfying reward in return.
Hmm, you've given me quite the dilemma. What to do? I wonder ...
A clear hint and a threat that can't be ignored.
Unfortunately, whatever her toll might be, they can not afford it, or anything else at the moment.
The two poor men look at each other, then turn to their only possible savior.
Wh-what?! Don't look at me! Where's your money? There's no room in my budget for any extra expenses!
In that case, how about another deal?
She extends an unexpected olive branch.
I recognized that thing on your back the moment I saw it, young sir, and those calloused blacksmith's hands.
...
Oh, look. You've wrapped it so tightly for fear of it being recognized, but that thing can't be hidden. Since you've lugged it all the way here, why not show it to me?
He involuntarily takes a step back, hiding the shaft behind him.
No. It's totally worthless.
Matilda lets out an exasperated sigh as she makes up her mind to help.
Fine! I'll make the payment!
...
The lady accepts the hefty bribe but, in an instant, loses her smile.
She murmurs faintly to herself.
This crystal ribbon ... Ah, would you look at that? This is Beryl Bouanich's money. Then you, little lady, must be her daughter.
This will be quite a show!
Huh? What are you talking about? Anyway, I showed you my sincerity. Now it's your turn.
The lady steps back, no longer interested in the trifles set before her.
Hey, hey! Where do you think you're going? We haven't asked you anything yet!
No need, sweetheart. I already know what you're going to ask. *chuckles* A good merchant always knows what a customer needs.
Your friend has been waiting for a long time.
Oh, and here's some free advice: don't get too close to the altar.
She points in the direction of the massing crowd, where the flames and revelry have come to an end.
Flickering torches casting out distorted shadows.
A chant rises above the shrieking of critters and stamping feet.
She vanishes into the crowded marketplace.
He can only shrug.
Leaving behind the fawning merchants, they venture deeper into the celebration.
And the deeper they venture, the greater the joy on the crowd's faces. It is as if they were deaf to the mournful wails and cries echoing around them.
Gosh, J. That's Madam Gloria, isn't it? I thought she went home after she lost her son. What is she doing here?
Not just her. The artists from the trailer camp are here, too.
And that's Reno, the gambler who ran away from home, and Caster, the human who sells fake divination. All our lost friends. They're all here.
The missing people of the New Age Market huddle by the walls. Their faces are gaunt, yet smiling into the fire.
Pioneer steps forward and drapes a filthy, floor-length blanket over a grieving woman.
What are you doing here, ma'am?
Oh, Mr. Pioneer. I haven't seen you for ages. What a joyful evening this is! Please, take a seat.
Her smile is warm and inviting, yet tears stream down her face.
The baby in the swaddling blanket is strangely calm.
Come and see my lovely child, Mr. Pioneer. I'd prayed countless times to the Sufferer, and finally my wish was granted. He has returned to me from the land of the dead.
The smoke is spreading, drifting into Matilda's line of sight.
...!
Don't get any closer, Mr. Pioneer! There's no way to wake them up. They are lost in their own imaginations.
Look! There's hallucinogenic incense burning on the altar. Hold your breath! We have to get out of here—quickly. We can't help them if the hallucinations get to us too! We'll come back for them when we can!
J, what are you doing?! We need to go!
Matilda pulls Pioneer back onto the main road, while J remains standing there, motionless.
The believers notice the oddity and turn their heads.
Why are you intruding on his joy?!
Can you not see that he is enjoying the grace granted by the Sufferer?
Damn! J! J!!
In the distance, J remains frozen.
Her shouting proves futile, only drawing more attention to herself.
Desecrator! Leave that faithful believer alone!
Damn! Damn!!
The bonfire blazes hotter and hotter.
The sound of the fallen hitting the ground merges into the thunderous footsteps of their advancing comrades, all going unheard.
J! Hey, J! What are you doing? We have to get out of here!
She tugs at his arm, but J remains frozen.
In the distance, the chanting becomes clearer.
Faced with sorrow, eyes shall be blinded.
Open your arms and offer us your senses as proof of devotion.
Place your palms upon your eyes.
Feel joy and happiness. Become one with the Sufferer.
*coughs*
You're too late.
Recall the origin of your soul, and return to the one and only home.
Elysium.
15. Don't Look at It
93 lines
According to the Foundation's assessment, this is a priority level A operation, which means it'll be as dangerous as the Walden operation. I hope you're fully aware of the risk.
We don't have enough men or supplies, Captain. We don't stand a chance!
They've refused to send us any support since the last mission. We can't do this without ...
Enough, soldiers! An order is an order.
Remember, the goal is not to fight a war. The Manus leaders are scattered all over the place. Our mission is to find them and finish them.
The assassination of the Manus leaders is our top priority. The backup from the Foundation will not arrive until we've completed this mission.
In other words, if we fail, we're on our own, right?
The hesitation lasts barely a moment, but everyone tacitly understands.
Let's hope it doesn't come to that.
Time to move, soldiers. We've almost arrived at Investigator Bouanich's coordinates.
We're walking from here on out.
Hey! Get outta the way! Quit standing in the middle of the road!
A motorcycle zooms past them.
Hey, are you blind or something?!
Focus on the operation, Todd. Let's go.
...
Heh heh, just close your eyes, and it all becomes real.
Close your eyes. Stop thinking. Then, you will be in paradise. Heh heh. Illusion is also part of reality, is it not?
The old woman rocks her "child" in the swaddling blanket, softly kissing the wooden stick.
She resembles a wounded fawn, gasping for breath.
She is once again that child huddling under the covers, waiting—hoping he would come back.
*coughs* Why didn't you come for me? You should've come sooner.
I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry.
Don't let the illusion confuse you, J! You must break away!
Matilda's voice is cut off from the outside.
Yet he knows better than anyone that he is on the brink of losing himself.
I know you're only an illusion, a thought in my mind that I just can't shake, but even so, I wanna stay.
There's something I've always wanted to know.
Tell me, Paulina, do you wanna go back to Haight Street?
The girl nods faintly.
He steps forward and reaches out his hand.
We'll stay in the restaurant like we used to, but there'll be no drunks looking for trouble this time.
We can hop on my bike and go for a ride around San Francisco. Scare the heck outta any boys who try to hit on you.
If the St. Pavlov Foundation invites you to join them again, I'll tell them to buzz off.
She extends her hand to him.
Of course.
"Zing!"
The incense burner on the ground is split in two, and the illusion dissipates.
He sheathes the Bowie knife, shaking his head.
You're not Paulina. Tsk. Not even close. You didn't call me a jerk. You didn't have that sarcasm of hers when people looked down on her.
Of course, I miss my sister. More than anything. She was proud of me. And when she packed her bags and left Haight Street ...
She was proud of herself.
Matilda, standing behind him, sighs with relief and pats his shoulder.
Good job, big guy. Team Matilda is proud of you!
What do you mean, Team Matilda?! We should obviously be Team J!
Oh, please, neither one of you has good taste.
I'll tell you one thing: you got good noses. But it'll only bring you misfortune in this game.
He steps out from the shadows, holding a gun in his hand.
Other tall figures follow closely behind, gathering around them.
Good evening, uninvited guests. The honorable Apostle and Ms. Mercuria have been expecting you.
It's best not to keep them waiting. Don't you think?
He presses the gun against J's chest, while another lackey rushes in from behind.
A punch for a punch, "Vern." Remember me?
The fist swings solidly into J's stomach, stirring him as it hits.
*coughs*
Dear believers, we were once ignorant lambs led by false shepherds. We yearned for the so-called Truth—to satisfy our meaningless desires.
Those who we served deceived us; those who we believed in betrayed us. That is why we gather here today to embrace the grace of the Sufferer and live a new life.
Before the ceremony begins, I, Apostle Matheus, sincerely express my penitence for my past beliefs.
I came from an isle ruled by a school. The people there believed everything could be interpreted through numbers. Like a coward, I followed this method of thinking and held the same false beliefs within my heart.
We lived in a cave, thinking that we were well hidden from the outside world. We thought no one could reach us.
He paces around the bonfire as all the worshipers kneel on the ground.
But then, the outsiders arrived. They massacred us, yet our beliefs availed us nothing!
Bombs were detonated, and my friends were blown to pieces. The entire isle was shrouded in the darkness of death.
Holding a sharp sword, he makes a fierce black cut across his palm, leaving a deep scar.
Next, he grabs J by the hair, drawing a line with his blood-smeared fingers along his neck.
Urgh!
But that will never happen again. We have found the eternal paradise. The Sufferer has granted THEIR glory to us all. As THEIR children, our strength shall be gathered, and we will no longer face injustice.
Many, many fellow believers have joined us. We are whole. We are one step closer to reviving the Sufferer.
Beside him, the bound girl stares wide-eyed.
These are all ... Oh dear! I've never seen so many Manus masks in one place!
The Apostle picks up a mask from the ground, surrounded by countless others.
Brothers! Sisters! Don your masks! Join in the grace granted by the Sufferer, and repeat after me!
We praise, we rejoice.
No! Don't put them on! They will destroy you!
The illusions! They're blinding you! They're not real!
The reports, acquired at the cost of countless sacrifices, scroll through her mind:
"The mask of Manus Vindictae helps its bearers endure the 'storm' at the cost of losing their sanity."
Faces of colleagues tortured and cursed in the mask's incantation experiments flash through her mind.
"A cruel but necessary sacrifice for the benefit of mankind and arcanists."
Stop! Don't do it!
Her cries pierce the silence but do not reach their ears.
They remain expressionless.
A pebble falls.
With it, a torrent pours down.
We praise, we rejoice.
We praise, we rejoice.
We punish, we cleanse, we awaken—we are one.
We punish.
We cleanse.
We awaken.
We awaken.
We are one.
We are one.
16. Come with Me, Lost Lambs
120 linesThe "Razor" Squad, always sharp as a scalpel, comes to an immediate halt.
This doesn't match their mission intelligence.
We've lost contact with Investigator Bouanich. Please reconfirm the coordinates.
The contact device responds as an answer flashes on the screen.
"Confirming Investigator Bouanich's final coordinates. Coordinates confirmed. Please proceed with the operation."
But, Captain, they're just normal arcanists and humans!
Tourists, vendors, everything in front of them is unchanged.
The crowds bustle noisily.
Investigator Bouanich said that she left a door at the coordinates that will take us to the ceremony site.
But ...
The soil beneath their feet is trampled and bare.
According to the plan, she was supposed to meet us here!
The captain crouches down to examine the soil.
There are some fresh markings lightly obscured by footprints.
...
Matilda, Pioneer, and J are tightly bound and kneeling on the ground.
The masked crowd has fallen into a dead silence.
I will leave these uninvited guests to you, Legers.
Heh, what a hypocrite. Look who's the domesticated dog now, huh? You enjoy licking the boots of your owner?
You got me, kiddo.
J feels a sharp, gut-wrenching pain as Legers delivers him a heavy blow.
Urgh!
We're both eyeing the same prey, remember?
"Bang—"
A gunshot rings out, and blood seeps out from J's chest.
...!
His eyes go wide and unfocused as he collapses.
...
J!
The Apostle raises his hand, signaling for Legers to lower his gun.
Do not sully the sacred altar! Save your fighting. You may deal with these blasphemers after the ceremony.
We are about to close the door to Elysium forever, and this place will become the exclusive abode of the children of the Sufferer.
Now, let us enjoy THEIR grace.
He raises the golden key up toward the altar.
We plead ...
Let not our joy dissipate;
Let our pain and sorrow fade;
Let our souls ...
"Clink—"
A sharp pain shoots through his palm.
The key falls from his hand and plunges into the dense crowd below.
What?! The body ... What happened?!
Got it, boss!
Thanks for making me one of "the dead" for a while, Legers.
Sorry, Matilda. I lied to you.
I said you have to be brave and decisive.
But the truth is, being prepared is even more important.
Damn it! The key was your target from the very beginning!
Get lost, dickwads!
You've been declawed, grandpa.
Now it's our turn. These "street rats" are gonna tear you apart.
Good job, Wisen.
Wisen waves the key from the back of Becket's arriving motorcycle.
He has gathered together J's friends and allies just in time.
Thanks, boss! Took hours to get the plan through Becket's thick skull, but we nailed it!
Put the key away. Mr. Tang once told me an old Eastern proverb, "shoot fish in a barrel."
The rising and falling hum of motors drowns out the crackling torches.
Dozens of motorcycles speed toward them, weaving through the mist.
Their headlights beam through the darkened marketplace, like a row of spotlights.
Impossible! How did they get here?!
He turns his hand to his most devoted believer.
You! How long have you been working with these blasphemers?!
Hah! Say goodbye to your precious "Legers"!
Their leader stands in the distance, shaking his head as he ejects a blank cartridge from his gun.
You're a little behind on the news, aren't you?
I am the only "Legers" now, Apostle.
His stare is intense.
What?! When did you plan all this?! No one told me a thing!
Calm down, Ms. Bouanich. Time was against us, and we thought that your authentic reaction would be more convincing.
Gio reached an agreement with J before we left.
That punch felt pretty personal, though. You almost beat the crap out of me, Gio.
Hah! I couldn't help myself.
The rider next to J removes his helmet.
J, y-you want me to beat him up?
No, Hollick! He's an ally now. We gotta look out for our friends, right?
Becket spits on the ground, seemingly only half-convinced.
Yeah, we're friends. Hah!
Still, if these sons of b*****s don't pay up to fix the garage, I'll beat the s**t out of them!
Their unexpectedly cordial exchange is yet another disruption in his plans. Yet the Apostle seems unfazed as he raises his hand with menace.
So be it. I have already prepared a surprise for you blasphemers.
Legers, I have exhausted my pity for you. It appears your loyalty is even more worthless than I expected.
Very well. The door to Elysium shall be shut tight. There will be no cracks for you rats to crawl through.
Chosen believers, prove your loyalty!
His most devout believers cast off their black robes.
*roars*
*roars*
This wasn't part of the plan, J!
His newly-forged Bowie knife is drawn from its sheath.
The blade's edge gleams in his eyes.
Then make it part of the plan!
Fallen believers have piled up around him.
But many more remain standing.
*pants* Heh. It was about time this knife tasted blood.
Yet, like a forest of dead trees, these devout believers remain a foreboding threat.
And there is no question—if they were to all rush forward, their remaining numbers would still overwhelm them.
I have guided the lost for the sake of the Sufferer. THEY have witnessed my loyalty and devotion.
The Apostle feigns composure, but his steps are wavering and fearful.
This body, this life, is nothing, compared to THEIR great cause!
But we must make the blasphemers pay with their blood!
Children of the Sufferer, awaken your bodies and rip their heads from their necks!
A figure emerges from behind him, moving with deliberate steps.
Soon, one after another, more figures emerge from the shadowy crowd, all heading toward J.
You will die a miserable death! You will get no burial! No, your bones will be made to forever kneel to the supreme one!
However, the masked figures never make their attack.
They walk toward the forest.
My dear believers, where are you going?!
Is that ... our Priestess?!
You thought we were finished, grandpa?
Oh, did I forget to mention? The masks you gave me were old and dusty. I couldn't give them to my kids.
So I got a new set of masks made, ones that you have no control over. You're welcome.
In the distance, the "Priestess" removes the black robe and gives them a purposeful nod.
The voice beckons the figures into the mist.
Not even the most bewitching voice can drown out the songs of the birds.
Those who dance ...
Those who are blinded ...
Breathe in the fragrance of the medick ...
And come with me.
They find themselves within the drifting, elusive fog.
17. Parting Gift
115 linesThe Apostle's limbs fall, having lost all strength.
He hunches over, crumpling as if to hide from the chaos.
The lights draw closer, leaving only a single torch above his head. It casts a long shadow.
Everything, everything is ruined! I never should have trusted any of you!
Thanks for the show. Your failure was magnificent. Your arrogance, your regret, and that look on your face when everything was ruined. They were all just perfect.
Damn it! Where have you been, Eternity?! You've defrauded us! Taken every Sharpodonty! Squeezed us of every drop of sweat and blood!
You swore the ceremony would go smoothly and that you'd pay your highest respects to the Inculcator of Arcanum, the great Sufferer!
You rotten, shameless liar! If I could only throw you into the depths of the Gorgon Current! I will crack your skull and make you bear the price of my pain!
He stands grabbing a rock as a makeshift weapon.
*chuckles* I've almost forgotten about your Mediterranean roots. I must say, I didn't expect such courage from a coward who fled a battlefield.
"Clink!" The rock shatters into pieces.
The fragile noblewoman raises her small, delicate wand, pressing it against the Apostle's chin.
Psh! Your pitiful Sharpodonties are far from sufficient payment. No one would be stupid enough to go against the Foundation for so little profit. Besides, this was never part of the deal.
Do you have any idea who you're dealing with? That's Beryl Bouanich's daughter, and the weapon that boy carries ...
The last of his courage has left him as he pleads.
But listen! If you don't help me escape, I'll never pay you the other half.
She allows her hand to drop contemplatively and shakes her head.
It's true that the people at the Foundation are all misers; they're still more generous than you.
I-I can give you anything! Rare wands, alchemic materials, and jewelry! Lots and lots of jewelry! I got them from the believers!
His panicking hands tremor as he reaches into his pocket.
"Clink, clink—" A pile of glittering rings, pendants, and bangles falls to the ground at his feet.
Th-there's more! I-I keep them in a cellar that only I have the key to!
She retracts her wand and places it back into her pocket.
Pack your stuff. Let's—
Micare Might!
A flickering light blocks the way.
Hey there, little lady. Nice to see you again.
Eternity! You're a Manus follower, too?
I have no interest in the Manus. I just have some business to finish. You know I'll work with anyone if the deal is sweet enough.
I'm a businesswoman. I always keep my word. I'm sure you understand that.
Ugh. You're right, but that incriminates you nonetheless! I cannot let you escape!
I will have to take the two of you to the Foundation! You can plead your case there.
*coughs* Was that a Misty Bubble Ball?! No, the smell is stronger. I can't even open my eyes! *coughs*
This probably came from the Foundation's logistics department! How did she get it?!
The pink mist dissipates. Matilda manages to reopen her eyes.
What's this?
She turns over the business card, which reads:
"Dear Miss Matilda Bouanich—"
"Please extend my warmest regards to your mother."
"Note: Your crystal ball has a few cracks."
"—Yours sincerely, Eternity."
I'm confused. How does she know Mama?
...
*pants* Everything's here. I swear!
He sweeps aside the dirt, revealing a wooden cellar door.
You have to make sure I get out of here safely! If you keep your word, I'll tell the Preacher about you, and we can do more business together!
She opens the door, and a golden glow rises up to her eyes.
Inside, a believer wielding a heavy hammer remains diligently at work.
Come out, believer! There's been a change of plan. Follow me. Eternity will get us out of here!
...?
He climbs out from the cellar clumsily.
What a huge collection of valuables! And people just handed them over to you! Looks like religion is a profitable business.
She closes the door, pocketing the key.
A-alright! Now escort me out of here!
She smiles.
I did say I'd get you out of here safely.
She reaches into her handbag, slipping her hand fully into its narrow opening.
Followed by most of her arm, which the tiny bag seems to accommodate without even a stretch.
Hmm. Let me see. If memory serves, that tricky little thing is—Ah, here it is!
There you go. It's from the St. Pavlov Foundation. One of a kind.
This gadget was stored in their headquarters. No one could lay a finger on it.
But when chaos broke out, it fell into the hands of an employee looking to make a profit.
The Apostle eyes the clockwork toy with a pang of shame and confusion.
What's this? Some kind of wind-up toy?! How's this going to help me?! Do I look like a complete idiot to you?!
She bursts into a fit of laughter.
*chuckles* Of course not, my dear customer.
Just wind it when you need to use it. That's all, Apostle.
He is evidently suspicious.
What's it going to do—turn me into some kind of beast? A three-headed dog, or a crazed Bigfoot?
Haha, listen to yourself. Why would I do that to a customer? You won't turn into a monster, I promise. There's still plenty of business to be done between the two of us.
Headlights beam forward in the distance.
Alright, time to say goodbye.
She steps back slowly, merging with the darkness of the forest.
It's been a pleasure working with you.
W-wait! Wait!!
The headlights come closer and closer, leaving him no other option.
Great Inculcator of Arcanum, please bless this child on his knees before you.
I am willing to sacrifice every drop of blood in my body so that you may be revived.
He turns around without hesitation.
You, most devout believer! Wind this.
He shoves the clockwork toy into the believer's hand.
Hmm?
Turn it. Understand? Wind the—
He guides him to wind the toy, hand over hand.
The befuddled believer grasps the technique at last, but none too soon—
Listen, I have to catch that woman. Those treasures belong to the great Inculcator of Arcanum. I must not let her take them away.
You stay here and take care of those gangsters!
*roars*
Very well.
He turns, disappearing into the forest.
"Creeeak, creak—" one turn, two turns …
The believer's hand, driven by inertia, moves faster and faster.
"Creeeak, creeeak, creeeak, creeeak—"
*roars* ...?! Hand ... hurts ...
Stop ... Stop ... *roars*?!
His hand grips the toy unwillingly as his wrist and arm contort into an inhuman position.
"Creeeak, creeeak—"
His arm twists like a wrung wet cloth, spinning into a spiral of flesh.
*roars* Ugh ... Ah!
His head shakes uncontrollably, and a searing, electric pain courses up from his spine to his brain.
*vomits*
An urge, almost as if to vomit out his very soul, forces him to the ground.
There his twitching eyes make out an engraving on the clockwork toy:
"Ms. Kimberly."
...
The shadow of the believer, elongated by the firelight, lingers on the ground.
It melts into the earth, forming a black mire, bubbling and roiling.
Then, the blackness spills away, revealing a beautiful figure.
Cold and silver moonlight sifts through the treetops.
She opens her eyes and dully lifts her head.
How may I serve you?
18. Alone
122 linesI'll solve any problem for you, master.
Would you like me to break your creditor's neck? Or seduce a politician? I will obey your every command.
As ... As long as ...
She lowers her head again, clenching her hands tightly.
As long as you allow me to have a little bit of fresh.
She appears calm yet frail and needy.
The believer approaches her slowly. As she sees him, a look of joy comes over her face.
*roars* Kill ... Kill them ...
That's it? Oh, I see. I've done countless jobs like this.
But could you be more specific? Who are "them"?
Them ...!
Before the burly believer can speak, a sudden elbow knocks him to the ground, kicking up a swirl of dust.
Urgh!
You alright, lady?
He reaches out but is met with a frustrated sound of rejection.
...
She lifts her chin, gazing up sharply at the newcomer.
What do you think you're doing? Our conversation was finally getting somewhere.
*roars* Them. Kill them!
The voice pierces her ears, his words putting an awaited stamp on their contract.
As you wish, master.
She lifts her hands in a passionless machine-like motion.
What?!
The Bowie knife slides against her crimson spike, producing a shrieking clamor.
His blade shatters in an instant—pieces splintering and slicing across his cheek.
?!
His work reduced to nothing in an effortless moment.
Hmm? I thought one blow would do it.
There's no need to struggle. I am a merciful hunter. When I penetrate your skull with this needle, you'll die quickly. You'll hardly suffer.
Or would you rather I use a more ancient method? I could extract your spine and store it in a jar of formalin.
In the distance, the roaring of another motorcycle covers their voices.
J! She insisted on coming! She wouldn't take no for an answer!
Of course! This is Matilda's order! What are you still doing here? We have captured all the peddlers and believers in the lair. Everyone's waiting for you!
Did you catch the Apostle? He's crucial to our investigation.
...
Move!
?!
Umbra Umbo!
Phew. You freaked me out, Frenchie. For a second there, I thought I'd have to rush you to the hospital.
Hmph! My arcane skill exam scores are second to none! Of course I can deal with such a simple trick!
Yet J blocks her eager attempt.
No. Matilda, Hollick, I need you to go and get all the arcanists who can still fight.
He leans forward, his gaze never shifting from the peculiar girl.
She looks out wearily at the crowd growing in front of her.
I'm just trying to carry out my master's order. Don't waste my time.
Hmm?
A hand grasps her wrist.
*roars* Use ... this.
Kill them.
Thick, swirling smoke rises from the familiar incense burner.
Red mist sprawls out around it.
Oh, this will be useful. Thank you for your help. Now then.
The smell! It's the Mandrake incense Ms. Mercuria used! With this density, we'll be unconscious within a minute!
She raises her hand to her face, trying to cover her nose.
Cover your mouth and nose! Try and stay awake!
However, J makes no effort to shield himself.
His abdomen is painted in crimson red, and his every movement is bought with intense pain.
J, are you okay?
In little time, the mist has enveloped the entire forest.
Eternity hurries along, but stops after sensing something unusual behind her.
The mysterious girl leaps through the mist unnoticed, like a jungle cat.
Crap! The incense is invading our consciousness. That woman ... She's disappeared.
Prepare your weapons, boys.
Wait, J, what's wrong with your knife?!
...
He discards the remaining fragments of his Bowie knife.
Fine. I'll use what I have.
He kneels.
He removes the shaft he's long kept strapped to his back and places it on the ground.
He inhales deeply as he closes his eyes.
In that moment, your father was ... Well, his arms were charred. There was nothing we could do.
He was dying, but he wouldn't let the sword go.
What I didn't know was that it wasn't he who was holding on to the sword, but the sword that was holding on to him.
The next day, the sword was gone.
And I saw you holding it in your arms, fast asleep in your bed.
Stay away from it, kid. You may not have chosen it.
...
But it has chosen you.
*deep breath* Sorry, Mr. Tang.
At last, he opens his eyes.
Layer by layer, like bandages being slowly unwrapped from a wound, the blade is revealed.
It shines like crystal in the glimmering moonlight.
Blood is flowing steadily from him now, soaking his waist.
The two battered figures stand around helplessly.
Meanwhile, stubborn Hollick lies prone, gripping her tightly.
The red mist has nearly drained the last of J's strength.
The branch pierces his calf, pinning him to the ground.
Just listen to him, will you? This is starting to become bothersome.
She crouches down, looking at the fat man at her feet.
Despite his mangled shoulder, he throws his full weight into her to keep hold of her foot.
No, no, no. I have to do this.
J ... *coughs* Tell Becket that I didn't, I didn't run away or cause any trouble this time.
I'm more useful than he thinks. Right, boss?
He'll never make fun of me again. Hahaha.
Exhausting his last bit of strength, Hollick throws the object he is holding into the air.
*swoosh*
A sickly-sweet taste fills Hollick's throat.
Urgh!
Damn it! Damn it!!
A sharp spike has pierced through his throat, and his oil-stained hands fall limp.
Fire ...
...!
A new idea flashes through his mind.
He grasps his sword and brings it down with force—
The blade punctures the canister, and immediately, flames erupt around it.
The canister has burst open, spewing licks of flame everywhere.
In the dry woods, the fires quickly spread into an inferno.
The blazing fire scours over trees and underbrush.
The red mist mingles with dark gray smoke, forming a deep haze.
Are you going to ...?!
19. Velvet Ribbon
80 linesEnough, J. I really don't give a crap about what you've learned "on the streets." I don't want to hear it.
I'd rather take my chances and die out there than stay here and never live at all.
J kicks the door hard, smashing a hole straight through it.
You really think you're gonna build connections with the government? Rub shoulders with the upper class? You think they'll take you seriously?
You're no different from any of the "cannon fodder" at the bottom of their system! You're gonna be fighting a battle even tougher than the one on Haight Street!
He stomps forward with a domineering presence, playing every bit the role of a stern father.
Why do you think I kept those government suckups from finding you in the first place?
Listen. It doesn't matter where you go, as long as it's not the St. Pavlov Foundation!
You could go to college, join a company, a hospital. You'd live a better life than anyone else!
She closes the suitcase, then looks up at him with a smile of genuine warmth.
Hah. "A better life than anyone else," huh? Listen to yourself. That's ridiculous!
You finally said what you really think, didn't you, J? Our righteous boss and kindhearted neighbor.
But you know what? I'm not interested in comparing myself to anyone else! I actually want to do something meaningful with my life. Something beyond you, beyond myself, beyond the whole of Haight Street!
And there is nothing you can do that is going to stop me from pursuing my dream.
He sneers.
But who's gonna help you when you're in danger? Those idiots in white robes? How can you entrust your life to the Foundation and not your family or friends? And all because of some dream you're not even sure you can realize?
You know, one day, you'll come crawling home and cry about how the world is nothing like you imagined.
And I'll just laugh and say I told you so.
She looks at him coldly.
Fine, then laugh, J.
Some people are willing to deal with pain, even willing to sacrifice themselves if they have to.
If I die out there, it'll be because I chose to.
If that's the price I'll pay to protect everyone, then so be it.
...
His mocking expression falls away; he leans up against the wall and lets out a long, deep sigh.
What happened, sis? Since when did we walk such different paths?
Ever since you beat up that voodooist who tricked me and laughed because I was a human, that's when. You beat him to a pulp, Joe. You forced him to beg on the street.
Everyone here is stuck in a vicious cycle. One person tortures another, then he tortures someone else, and so on and so on. It never ends!
Well, I think I've found a way to break the cycle, and I'm going to try it, even if I make mistakes. I know you think you can stop anything—bar fights, arguments—but you can't stop me.
She pushes open the door.
Bike's broken.
I'll take the Greyhound.
They're not running today.
Then I'll walk.
I'll walk until I get there.
"Thud ..."
*coughs and vomits*
Matilda stands in front of him, resolute and unshakable.
The taste of blood and vomit mingles in his mouth, trickling out from behind his teeth.
Throbbing agony sears through him from each movement.
Alright, blondie. Ready for a formalin bath?
...
She realizes in a moment of terror that she is completely unarmed.
As an investigator of the St. Pavlov Foundation, I, Matilda Bouanich, have a duty to protect the people, even at the cost of my life!
Her voice wavers, and her legs buckle—barely holding.
This is the responsibility that the SPDM has taught her.
Tell me, Matilda. When you confront the Manus, are you certain that you'll have the courage to come face-to-face with death?
Are you sure you're ready to serve as a field investigator?
I will do everything I can to protect everyone.
With honor and dignity, I will make the Bouanich family proud.
J's eyelids feel chained down, dragging his consciousness downward with them.
In his periphery, a jagged snake tail writhes and twists in the air.
A slender figure stands before him.
It is as if he sees that blue ribbon fluttering past his eyes again.
He lets out a final deep cry.
Run, you idiot. I don't need you to protect me! I don't need your sacrifice!
I don't care about your duty or whatever the Foundation says! I don't f*****g care!
You don't get it, do you?! If you die like Hollick back there, everything you have—everything you've been through—will be gone for good.
*coughs* Tell your boss that I got in trouble because I didn't follow the confidentiality agreement. Tell her I deserved it.
And tell her that stupid big guy over there picked the wrong side and got himself killed.
You've done your job. No one can blame you.
Her hand steadies and tightens into a fist.
Some people are willing to deal with pain, even willing to sacrifice themselves if they have to.
If I die out there, it'll be because I chose to.
If that's the price I'll pay to protect everyone, then so be it.
I wish you could've lived a different life.
I wish you'd been born into a happy family.
That you'd had your own room with a huge bed and lived in a beautiful, fancy house.
I wish you'd been a rich girl. I wish you'd been cherished by your parents and that everyone had been proud of you.
I wish you'd never known about the poverty, disease, and war in the real world.
I wish you could've slept in a room without a broken window and with a fireplace that kept you warm at night.
I wish you didn't have to live in that run-down room I set up for you. I wish you could've worn new clothes that no one laughed at.
I wish you could've been surrounded by kind and loyal friends.
I wish ...
... we'd never met.
There they are!
20. Letter Home
49 linesI don't want to write this letter.
But I promised myself that, once we could talk as equals, I would persuade you to accept my decision.
Dust on the ground shimmers in the sunlight.
I thought I would have the courage to confront you, then.
I thought I could tell you how foolish and selfish you were. I thought I could make you proud of me by going to places you've never been and seeing what you've never seen.
But now, when faced with a mission that could put my life at risk, I realize that I'm not as brave as I thought.
My hands are trembling. My body wants to run. I don't want to lose everything I have.
I don't want to die nameless, especially now that I'm so close to the life I've always wanted.
I keep thinking about what I told you that day. About how some people would sacrifice themselves if they had to.
I remember the scared look on your face when you heard that. I was so proud of myself at the time.
I thought, "Finally, I managed to scare him."
But now I wish I could go back and stop myself. I know that scaring you is nothing to be proud of.
I only did it because I knew I was the only one in the world who could hurt you.
...
"Knock, knock, knock ..."
And now that I've established myself, I can talk to you as an equal.
But I've found myself doubting my decision. When my colleague knocked on my door, urging me to prepare for our field mission ...
And he called out my name, "Paulina! Paulina!"
How I wished he were you.
How I wished for you to open that door and protect me.
But that thought only lasted for a moment. Then I understood where my fear came from, and why you were so scared when I talked about sacrifice.
I realized that even though countless people are suffering out there, even though my colleagues have sacrificed their lives, even though more and more children have become homeless ...
I'm not as brave as I want to be.
Phew. All fixed, finally. You're looking much better now, buddy.
The old hole in the door has been patched with wooden planks.
Mr. J, are you really selling the restaurant?
Don't worry about it. A new, even better guy will take over.
But I also understand that someone has to step forward and stop this tragedy. Otherwise, our world will fall apart, leaving nothing but sadness and pain.
A single drop of water can't form an ocean, a single piece of tile can't build a roof, nor can a single person put an end to a war.
For a long time, humans and arcanists have been on opposite ends of the spectrum.
Faced with this catastrophic event, we may all perish unless we stick together.
But in the grand scheme of things, I'm just a blip on the radar.
Yes, I'm just a weak, cowardly human.
But I'm also a member of the St. Pavlov Foundation.
I can finally truly say those words with conviction.
"Some people are willing to deal with pain, even willing to sacrifice themselves if they have to."
This is a good spot.
Piece by piece, we'll build a shelter. And one day, the rain will stop.
We can't save those we've lost, but I believe that one day we'll reach a new era.
Someone waves from outside the door.
We should go, J.
...
He takes down the photo, folds the letter, and smooths it out.
Then, he slips both into his chest pocket.
And just as she had once, he pushes the door open to leave.
21. Landlubber
91 lines*cries* Boss! What's in it for you to join the Foundation?! You know they're all liars!
Those, those holier-than-thou officials, they never tell us what's really going on.
Besides, if Legers is taking over the restaurant—
He clutches at J's clothes, unwilling to let go.
Hey, watch your mouth, kid! Your boss would've been hacked to pieces if it weren't for us!
J bends down and places his hands on the boy's shoulders.
Wipe your nose, kid. Legers will be a good boss. Promise.
He'll clean up the mess on Haight Street. And after that, the poorhouse staff will get you into school.
And Hollick's bike ... It's yours now.
Everyone falls quiet.
So, what're you gonna do now?
What do you mean, boss? I thought you didn't know how to swim.
An all-too-familiar face emerges on the bed beside them.
Shut up, you noisy bastards! I'm trying to sleep here!
You shut up! Your snoring could cause a freaking earthquake!
The two men with their heads bandaged bump foreheads.
"Thud!" The bouquet sent by Legers is knocked to the ground.
Everyone shut up! Make any more noise, and I swear I'll anesthetize you so you sleep for the entire month!
...
They sheepishly retreat under their covers.
J extends his hand toward another Foundation staff member.
I owe you one, "Razor."
No, you owe Maich one. If she hadn't led us to the door, we wouldn't have been able to stop that girl in time.
As it turns out, Mercuria foresaw the whole thing and took action before anyone realized what was going on.
She always does this. Once she's fixed on a goal, she never considers her own safety.
But, despite her courage, she's still a living person who can get hurt.
Please, promise me you'll bring her back.
...
It's a shame we couldn't arrest that girl. If only we'd had a little more time to prepare.
Cheer up, man! You saved my life, didn't you? That'll get you pretty far on Haight Street.
By the way, where's Matilda? She's supposed to take me to the Foundation today.
...
He hesitates over his response.
She's been summoned to report on the operation, I guess.
It's gonna be rough. There were a lot of civilians involved, and she didn't follow her commands.
She might even have her position revoked.
What? But we wouldn't have gotten anywhere without her!
A pair of hands come up again to stop him.
J, that's how things work over there. If you're really planning on joining them, you'll have to learn to follow their rules.
We're not authorized to request that information.
Achoo! Ugh. What's wrong with my nose? This isn't even allergy season yet.
Ms. Bouanich, are you alright?
She stands before her temporary supervisor, preparing herself for the debrief.
Oh, I'm fine. Please, continue!
I read your report last night. I must say that your judgment has given us some very important information.
According to your report, the missing assets are in the possession of Eternity, aside from the most important one, which is now in the hands of Manus Vindictae.
Luckily, the man in control of the girl is one of their insignificant "believers." For the time being, there's a limit to what he can do with her. This, at least, is good news.
You've caused quite a stir among senior management, Ms. Bouanich. It seems you're starting to make a name for yourself.
*chuckles* Thank you, Mr. Bernard!
By the way, I would like to apply to leave the Foundation during my vacation.
I want to go visit my mother in her safety house.
That merchant, Eternity, and the peddlers in that lair mentioned her name several times.
I deem it necessary to confirm her safety.
No problem. Give me the application form. I'll arrange it for you.
Oh, thank you!
She takes an excited step forward.
Oh, wait.
His tone dampens the girl's excitement.
Someone told me to give this to you. He said you left it in San Francisco.
That's odd. I don't remember leaving anything.
Bernard opens the drawer and places the item into her hand.
He said that it's proof of your promotion.
So, what you're saying is that you're not going to turn me back into a toy?
Hmmm. Does that mean I can go hunting by myself? And I can choose my own prey?
*roars* Kill ... Kill!
There is no sense in his words and as such; no clarity to her purpose.
Oh, no, I mean ...
But she realizes something.
Could you sit down for a moment? Don't worry. All you have to do is say "yes" or "no."
*roars*
Yes or no?
*roars* Kill!
The brutish believer swings his hammer wildly.
He runs from one side of the forest to the other, racing east and west with manic energy.
Okay, okay! I get it! I know what you need. This is great!
Her eyes brighten with clarity.
She doesn't need a sensible response; in fact, she doesn't want one. There is a crack in the window; a path to freedom through his madness.
I'll kill whoever you want! As you wish!
Let's decide on our next destination first, shall we?
*roars*
I see, I see!
She nods eagerly, responding earnestly to his meaningless roars.
She knows that this is a chance for a new beginning.
Then, let's go where you want to go!
*roars*
She picks up a long, curved branch, using it as makeshift reins to guide the believer to his "desired destination."
From time to time, she glances back, trying to spot the toy on him ...
22. Unanswered Door
70 linesA figure stands before the ruins.
...
He is silent as a gravestone, keeping all else at bay.
Footsteps echo up from behind.
Mr. Forget Me Not, there you are.
The Guiding One said she didn't want you to come back to this manor.
The figure remains silent.
The St. Pavlov Foundation has destroyed another hidden outpost in San Francisco.
Don't you want to go there yourself? Let those white robes see blood?
In the distance, the figure turns slowly.
There is no trace of longing in his eyes, only emptiness—a dark abyss that swallows up the sky.
Can you see it? It was once a deserted land.
What?
Then countless arcanists—thousands of generations of them—sacrificed their blood and bones to build the tunnel.
When it was complete, they were ecstatic. They kissed the earth in their jubilation.
Yet, in the end, they found nothing.
She notices the old, yellowed book in his hand.
But the title is no longer discernible.
I ... I'm not sure what you're talking about.
...
He turns his attention to something new—
The trembling figure of the girl.
Never mind.
I know what you're going to say. The Preacher has ordered us to return.
She has received a new oracle.
In the distance, the girl nods dumbstruck.
Let's go.
They are leaving the quiet place.
He stops again, returning his eyes to the ruins.
For the last time.
Ah, come on, baby, move! We're in the middle of nowhere! The towing fee will cost an arm and a leg!
Ahh! Damn it, my baby's gonna be stuck here forever! And all for a bit of cash. *sobs*
The tires sink into the mud, spinning helplessly.
The man slumps back in his seat, completely indifferent to the anxious passenger in the back.
Hmm. The map says it's still a fair distance from the safety house.
*sighs* Looks like the Great Matilda must count on herself once again.
Hey, wait, Miss! You haven't paid me!
He climbs halfway out the window to reach out to her.
Three, five, eight ... twenty! And here's a tip, too. I hope it can make up for your loss, at least to some extent.
Hmph. A distinguished and generous passenger such as me must be a rarity!
I will walk the rest of the way. If you stay here and wait for me, I will show you my generosity again when I return!
S-sure, Miss!
He licks his fingers as he counts the bills, momentarily forgetting his worries.
Matilda retrieves her suitcase, swaying with its weight as she departs.
Following the narrow path into the forest, her silhouette vanishes beneath the dark branches.
Naturally, the driver remains entirely unaware of the incantation she had cast on the engine.
The location of the safety house is classified. I must be very careful.
Vestigium Vanish!
Alright. Now I won't leave any footprints behind.
*sighs* If only I had an assistant with me. Then I wouldn't have to carry this suitcase all by myself. It would be even better if it were Sonet—Heh ... Mama would be happy to meet her.
She mutters to herself as she steps forward, leaving a trail of deep footprints.
Hmm. I can't feel Mama's incantation at all.
I suppose that makes sense. The Laplace staff swore that this place was so hidden that not even a Glawackus could find it.
I hope she's doing well.
She quickens her pace, pushing aside the thick growth.
A house appears before her. To her eyes, it seems to glow with hope.
There it is! Hmph, I knew it! Those stupid Manus followers could never find her. She's one of the best diviners and crystal healers in the world! She must have foreseen all the possible circumstances and prepared for them.
The light shining over the mountainside chases away the darkness, carrying her worries away with it.
Humph, but she will certainly be surprised when she sees that this visitor is her own outstanding daughter! It's been so long!
The SPDM canteen knows nothing about French cuisine. I can't wait to eat Mama's cooking again.
Most importantly, I need to have Mama pick a new orbuculum for me. *sighs* Not even the best crystal craftsman could do anything to repair the cracks in mine.
In the distance, a light from the wooden cabin flickers.
The door has been left slightly ajar, as if anticipating the arrival of a visitor.
Hmph. Dear Mrs. Bouanich, come and see who's here.
She pushes the door open gently.
Silence dominates the space.
The wind roams in behind her recklessly, tearing at the curtains.
Dozens, even hundreds of crystal spheres scatter to the floor, like pearls from a broken necklace.
They fill the room, each one marred by a web of cracks.
Mama?!