Epic narratives reflect the ideals, struggles and challenges of a society through their Heroes. So it has been for centuries, so it will probably be throughout mankind's whole history.
As 1982 comes, Scion's appearance begets a new era upon Earth Bet. We all know how it went last time.
Follow The Oracle and his Muse as they strive to rewrite the epic of Earth Bet into a kinder story, nation by nation, hero by hero.
This is based on the Interactive CYOA v6. with a liberal dose of "what the hell am I doing". Being posted in parallel with SB.
My chosen options are not optimal, half assed at best, fruitlessly masochistic at worst.
A mishmash of conditions, restrictions, and impositions, all in service of my need to fix as much as I could of that broken mess that is Earth Bet. Because when promised nearly unlimited power, both Hubris and Morality push me to take responsibilities to match.
ARE THE CHOICES TRULY TO YOUR SATISFACTION? THERE WILL BE NO CHANGING THEM AFTER THIS POINT.
It is the best I could come up with, and honestly, I am plenty satisfied by it if not for one thing.
I once again gaze upon my greatest regret… my previous life would end, only memories left in the privacy of my mind. I would never see my loved ones again, and all I worked for until now would be thrown to the wind. My heart aches at the thought of those I was about to abandon, tempting me to go back to the drawing board and select that damnable power, 'Raven', for myself-
THAT WOULD MEAN TO POSSIBLY EXPOSE YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY TO RISKS OTHER THAN THE ENTITY
-only to be stopped dead in my tracks. I lower my finger and blinking away the tears, I nod.
At least my home world would be protected, unreachable, unknown to all.
THEN THE TRANSFER WILL BEGIN SHORTLY.
Tears stain the carpet, as a light begins to surround me. In a matter of seconds, my physical body dissolves into the aether. A few minutes later, all memories of me are erased from my reality, a blessing to spare my loved ones the pain of a sudden and inexplicable loss. In less than an hour, all records of my existence disappear; the fabric of time suppressing any hole or continuity error with nary an effort.
MAY WE NOT SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN, TRAVELER. GOOD LUCK.
By the time dawn comes, even the tears upon the carpet have disappeared.
Powers: Publicly known powers:
self-Bio kinesis, mass limited
Tinker: Swords speciality
Thinker: Prophetic Precog
Thinker: languages (not actually a power)
Publicly hidden powers:
Variable Trump power (magecraft), Striker component, Tinker component, Thinker component
Variable Trump/nullifier power (Thinker/Master/Trump immunity), passive, allows case by case removal
Reflexes improvement power (minor)
Master: Construct/Companion [see Subject #000:M]
Mental Profile (Third party report):
Oracle, for all his lack of focus and generally scatter-brained attitude, is nonetheless considerable as one of the best strategists and tacticians this organization has at its disposal. Analysis of operations conducted under his leadership show a tendency toward sudden, unexpected strikes, combined with an attitude for impairing proper communication and cooperation within enemy ranks. This is further exacerbated by him often holding informational superiority in any fight he picks.
His attitude toward its own underlings is often unpredictable and appears to vary depending on both the results of his own prophetic visions, the intelligence at his disposal in any given moment and other yet unidentified factors. This seemingly schizophrenic behaviour is not something many people appreciate, and might be one of the cause of his tendency to delegate command to some of his more trusted companions (see #001:U, #001:C, #000:K and others) and taking advisory role when in command of regular army or police forces.
On a personal level, the man seem to have almost opposite personalities when in and out of combat, though the many peculiarities of his character make it difficult to properly assess.
Out of combat, Oracle holds back no information he deems useful from his allies, and even shares many he deems completely useless. In general, he is also characterized by a laid back, laissez faire attitude toward anything not directly in his interest. Other relevant quirks are his obnoxious manner of speech, his many varied and unrelated hobbies and interests, as well as the apparent easiness in which he is pulled into long and winding tangents.
While in combat, Oracle show a predilection for fast, ruthless analysis; tight information control (though born not of a need for control but rather from operational security concerns); the preference toward destabilizing opponents before engaging, either with misdirection or psychological warfare, and a great protective instinct for any and all he deems "under his aegis", be they his own men, civilians or prisoners. He also shows a pathological need to end every conflict situation as fast as possible, at times through the use of reckless manoeuvres. Unfortunately, neither his tendency to showboat and monologue nor his weird speech patterns are impaired from being under pressure; suspected consequence of powers.
In conclusion: psychological analyses define Oracle as an idealist with an undercurrent of reluctant pragmatism, an efficient (if eccentric) commander and as someone not averse to leave deep mental scarring on an opponent when deemed necessary. He also seems have a minor form of martyr complex as well as a deep reliance on those he considers close friends and/or trustworthy colleagues. Notably assent are syndromes that many would associate with his non-combat persona, like megalomania, apathy, ADHD and a craving for recognition or power; it is uncertain whether this is due to an active effort to supress them or because said traits are actually "masks" Oracle uses to confuse people around him.
Authors of report by code: #000:O, #000:K, #105:S, #003:T
Meanwhile, a handful of realities away and about forty years in the past, I awake inside a padded cell, my body trapped inside a straitjacket.
Honestly, when I picked containment camp (needed the points, sue me!) I did not imagine that an asylum would be included in the definition.
I look around the cell, and notice the enormous communist insignia painted on the ceiling, looming above me. Information connects in my mind.
Internment camp. Communist asylum. 1982.
I'm in Breznev' sanatoria, the "they are not camps so they are not a crime"-sanatoria, where they locked in "mentally ill" people that just happen not to share government opinions. Looks like the selection included internment camps that did not quite fit the classical definition. …not that I'm complaining, it could definitely be worst. I could be in a Chinese re-education camp. Or a Korean work camp.
Still, better get out of here. I have less than 24 hours before Scion appears, an entire world to save and I'm starting to feel mildly claustrophobic. Attempting to rise to my feet, I find myself stumbling and falling again. Looking down, I realize that the straitjacket makes it almost impossible to even walk.
I listen to the guards walking in the corridor. The paces are frantic, and this is already the third time they passed by since I had woken up in the padded cell. The world outside was still dark, so I could assume the hour to still be 'whenever in the absolute middle of the night'.
It must have taken about the time between two rounds of guards to figure out how to use the 'Self-Biokinesis' to slither and crawl my way out of the straitjacket. It had definitely been an uncomfortable decision and, in retrospect, an unnecessary one.
I could have just had the thing Break with a misappropriate use of 'reinforcement'. Sure, it would have left me drained for a while, and I had not figured out how to even use the thing until I was already with my butt out of the thing, but it had to be better than hearing the creaking and cracking of my own bones as I wormed my way to (relative) freedom. Anyway, I now was left in my undies inside a locked cell, trying to figure a way out, with only my uncooperative powers to help me.
Holding back a hiss, I wonder why I had chosen to go for a thinker shard rather than a warrior one…
oh, yeah, those five shard points and the promise of 'boosted powers'. Fuck my greed.
Anyway, back to escaping:
The cell door should not be that much of a problem. Sure, it was much larger than the straitjacket, but in theory it was much simpler on a molecular level making it more susceptible to Breaking by reinforcing.
The real problem is how to get out of the internment hospital without becoming swiss cheese.
The steps of the guards sound farther and farther… and now the stairwell's heavy door slammed. Having counted the time between two patrols, I now know they pass about once per hour. Better move now.
I lay my hand upon the cold, featureless steel door and push magic (screw fate terminology, I'm going for simplicity here) through my arm into it.
"Aspera…"
[Analyse object's structure] and in my mind's eye the conceptual model of the door before me takes shape, with its peculiarities and imperfections, its physical data. It's like a network of interconnected points and information, giving the rough outline of the object that is. The door is naught but a crystalline net of connections amidst ideas.
[Detect holes for reinforcement] the connections, they have holes amidst them, like little indents on a bone. The space to apply the reinforcement is right there. Pushing magic there I would strengthen the proprieties of the door. Push too much magic there, and the holes would stretch and enlarge to contain it, and at a certain point they would grow so much that they would sever the connections between the concepts. The door would cease to exist because I would break the structure that makes her exist.
[Apply mana filling] …fill, fill, fill; I feel sweat starting to pour from my brow as I strive to keep the concentration. My lungs ache, like I was trying to fill a balloon with only one breath. My veins, nay, my 'magic circuits' burn as if molten metal was flowing through them. I am almost tempted to let go, to find another way.
But then, I feel/see/hear something through the analysis, like little pieces of power flaking off the "idea" of the door before me. I open my mouth and exhale a muted cry, pushing with all the magic I have left.
There are little snaps, creaks on the glass, red hot pieces of metal deforming, the sound of shrieks, the…
As a reflex, I open my eyes and interrupt the [structural analysis], just in time to see the door before me dissolve in untold fragments that scatter in the wind, dust iron to be dispersed and maybe, eventually, reformed into something else one day. I still shake my head, not appreciating having analysed the "breaking" of an object. I pass a hand to remove the sweat from my brow and step out of my padded cell.
Guided by an instinct I did not know I possessed, I move through the empty hallways and dark corridors of the sanatoria, trying not to rouse the other prisoners and risk being discovered before having formulated an escape plan. I try to reach the main staircase, but I notice the medical guard post blocking the way. Unwilling to harm those innocent nurses condemned to the indignity that is a night shift, I get back and look for another way out. I look out the windows, hoping to find something… when suddenly a red, thick rope swings down before me.
I blink a couple of time. It's still there.
"…Sense must have absconded my mind"
I open the window and poke it, and it seems indeed real… I'm about to grab it, when the thing suddenly moves, like a snake, around my arm, my mouth and then my torso, before yanking me out of the opened window and all the way to the rooftop. Once there, I am laid down and I take my time to breathe before looking at my abductor/saviour.
And there I see them. It. Her. Small for an end bringer, around the height of the Simurgh. She still towers over me, sitting upon the rooftop with her legs bent and closed, emulating the Japanese sieza.
She has a bronze skin, cast alike a Greek statue, and long auburn hair falling in translucent locks, weaving themselves upon her like a toga that splits back into long, thick strands past the hips before twisting togethers in a dozen long tresses-like tails that seem to move of their own accord. In retrospect, she must have used one of those to bring me up here.
Her face is sculpted with delicate, high cut features frozen in a stern expression, and from the holes her eyes spheres of radiant, molten gold flicker and dance in simulated amusement.
Melodious, her voice echoes in my head despite the lack of vibration in the air to accompany it.
"Good to see you, Master. I am Conflict Engine Unit EXTRA, temporary identification Muse, awaiting orders. Are the physical avatar of the unit and its identification satisfactory?"
She does not have a proper… inflection. Her words are said not exactly in a language and have no accent, nor peculiar cadence beside the almost harp-like quality that characterize them.
She calls herself Muse, I guess she communicates through her song.
"Appropriate, to say the least. How fare you, oh Muse? Much work awaits us."
I do not know where the flair in my words comes from, nor the confidence to actually say them. Here I am, on a rooftop of a 'containment camp-light', with an end bringer ("my end bringer", a part of me whispers possessively) and no clothes beyond my underwear. I should probably be freaking out.
Honestly, I should be freaking about WHY I am not freaking out.
"GRAIL summoning system online, all clear, 0/10 slots used. PRIESTESS power selecting system online, all clear, 1/3 slots used."
"One slot in use? For what power?"
"Active slot: N/A
Support slot: N/A
Passive slot: Classified shaker/trump, fields with a variety of effects, in use to keep master and unit hidden, as well as providing mental and physical comfort to master. From common memories referenced: parahuman Citrine.
Does Master wish to alter current configuration?"
Ah, that's why. Good… I take a breath and realize that my 'master effect resistance' was inadvertently half-way up. I dial it down and bask in the calming effect of Muse's field. I sit down near the end bringer.
"No, impeccable performance requires no corrections. Preethi, do thee perchance know the hour?
And how long 'till the appearance of our golden opponent?"
"Avatar of Entity [Warrior] will appear in around 8 hours, according to the information in our shared memory. This makes our current local time: 4:35, 20th May 1982"
I nod, before beginning to consider my next course of action.
I could have easily left the area and hightailed toward the States or, even better, my beloved Italy; and then simply hide somewhere, accrue wealth in 'extremely legal' manner and then finance my research into some magecraft that could kill Scion. It would definitely be the smart play, the safe play…
A silent ache in my heart reminds me, it would also be the selfish play. Gazing upon my personal endbringer, I find myself asking: what use it all this power if others suffer for my negligence?
I gaze down from the roof on the complex of the sanatoria. At the lights coming from the guards patrolling the perimeter, at the checkpoints surveilling access and exits, at the buildings where people were being held against their will, criminalized for either their conditions or their ideas.
No. I know myself enough to recognize that running away would not be an option.
Unbidden, words flow free from my mouth in dreadful sentences:
"Unwritten narratives are now in play,
Writhing the weak like worms in the clay,
Fear will give torque, shaped by those who thrive,
Hate will be oven and cook them alive."
I stop, almost biting down on my tongue, the prophecy taking root in my memory as I realize what I had consigned the future parahumans of this country to. And like all of the Oracle's prophecies… only those listening can change them.
I bite my lower lip, before exhaling and standing up. Feeling a need, a burning passion in my chest, I turn to my companion on this dark rooftop.
"Muse, prepare thy GRAIL. The Bear needs to be tamed to protect the people under its banner. Such an undertaking shall require us some choice allies."
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[#00 and #10 access only]
Name: Conflict Engine Unit EXTRA [see Category File, Argument code #1 and #2]
Codename/Cape name: Muse
Powers:
Publicly known:
GRAIL system
Summoner [see Category file, Argument code #3 and #3.5]
10 slots total. Summoned #3 inherit knowledge of modern languages yet lack any other form of modern day knowledge beyond what their summoner knows. #3 summons exhibit a deep loyalty toward subjects #000:M and #000:O, though some (usually those with wilder characters and contrasting ideals) can fight this off. Categories #3.5 show no compulsion per se and exhibit more initiative than their counterpart but seem to require periodic supervision and "maintenance" by subject #000:O least their bodies degrade and their mind muddles. Should be further noticed that #3.5 summons occupy no slot in the GRAIL system.
PRIESTESS system
Trump-power selector, maximum of 3 concurrent powers in allocated "slots":
Active slot: the shards connected here express themselves mostly through blasts, effect on strikes, gates, aggressive AoE effects and in general with phenomenon that cause damage on the target and/or their surroundings. The active slot is highly draining upon the shards, and as such the stronger the output the lower the time limit and the longer the recovery time. Frequent power rotation is advised.
Passive slot: the shards here express themselves mostly through passive effects, there is no strict time limit once the shard is activated, but the shard will be switched once the passive power is deactivated.
Support slot: The shards here are peculiar, as they can only express themselves through purely low energy effects. Usual expressions involve tinker tech databases (with no construction add-on)
Publicly hidden:
Conflict Engine physiology
Profile:
(Third party report)
It is hard to evaluate Muse's personality in any way, nonetheless the association has managed to gain the following observations: 1) Muse is at a fundamental level non-human, exhibiting a program like intelligence, yet has a few behavioural routines (self-described as: "comfort adjusting and Oracle interfacing algorithms") that seem to help her act in a human like manner.
When questioned regarding her "Prime directives", she has answered: "helper, paragon, defender"; we currently hold no evidence that implies she has not respected them.
2) Muse's loyalty to subject #000:O seems not to be borne of a passive effect or fruit of indoctrination. She seems to be completely aware of her subordination to him and when questioned upon it has described it as a "stated goal", even claiming that it is "precondition to her existence". It is interesting to note that Muse's loyalty does not prevent her from objecting to Subject's #000:O's ideas, plans and attitude, nor to act behind is back as long as she believes the goal to be overall positive to him.
3) Muse's and Oracle's memories seem to be deeply interconnected, it is currently unclear whether they actually share them on a conscious or subconscious level.
4) While Muse' sentience and self-conscious are not under discussion, doubts have been raised regarding her "personhood" on an ethical, philosophical and even religious level. Both subjects #000:O and #000:M have declined to officially comment in that regard, though the first seemed to be disgruntled by the insinuations that #000:M could somehow be defined as "not a person".
Authors of report by code: #000:M, #001:C, #000:K, #105:L
This looks very very promising. Watched. Choosing Magecraft is pretty cool. Though that code for the CYOA is incomprehensable.
It's rare for a Worm story to start at the beginning of Scion's arrival and I'm excited to see how Oracle establishes himself and what he does.
Plus I'm always eager to see a story with good world building, especially settings like Worm. My favorite is Champion in Earth Bet. I'm really excited to see where this goes since the beginning already looks good.
click on the leftmost icon on the white bar at the bottom of the cyoa page. Then paste the code into the bottom section and press the import choices button. this will translate the code, and also when opening the tabs all the choices will be highlighted.
Referencing a piece by dream theater, called Overture 1928, which is incidentially what I kept in my headphones for most of the Overture arc. Though yeah, it's also neat that it's a letter swap away from 1982.
Watching Muse beginning her ritual, I silently pondered on what I knew was going to happen.
"…this Muse sings of heroes, and old and new… "
Scion himself would not destroy the Soviet Union, but his disposing of all nuclear arsenal would be a debilitating blow for the regime, enough to embolden the extremist fringes of the Politburo, enough to prevent Andropov' succession to Breznev after his natural death in a few months.
"…thy heirs now need assistance, their pleas make your body, your swords make their destiny."
Without Andropov's distention policies; Breznev's new heir, Grisin, would bring the Union in a completely different direction and ultimately doom it. In an attempt to divert critics away from the central administration, he would incite parahuman witch hunts. His maintenance of the tensions with the US would end us isolating Russia from the greatest goods producers in the world and in turn this would lead to internal famine and consequent revolts. Grisin would need to deploy the army to supress them, gradually losing control of both pieces of the Union and his own men; consequently paving the way for The Sleepers trigger event in '85.
"If thy soul still lingers, if thy feelings still know answer…"
The Sleeper would then be the proverbial "final push". Unstopped for years, he would carve a bloody path through the Red Army and consequently break the union, with the various Warsaw republics and old Soviet States either defecting or being overthrown by warlords, some of whom actually were parahumans.
In the end, the USSR of earth bet would die sooner and leave a worse heredity then its Aleph counterpart, leading to the years of parahuman ostracization in Russia, and the Moskov battle with Behemot in which local militias and armies would open fire on the parahumans that were fighting the endbringer.
"…then let the walls align, the winds announce the arrival."
Wildbow had talked about a series a thinker reforms in the '90s, an attempt at reconstruction and societal reworks, though he seemed to have forgot to mention who had been in power at the time. My suspects laid on one or more exponents of Andropov (though he should have theoretically died in 1986 due to illness, I think)/Gorbachev faction in the Politburo, or possibly even on Boris El'cin. Not that it mattered so much…
"Retrace the Poets' steps and return from lands 'cross the Styx. This Muse for you is singing. "
…since those reforms ended up simply consigning the different centres of power in the hands of competing parahumans and with their own armies; and in the end the nation had been divided in semi-feudalistic organizations that would in turn support or oppose the central government. And once again one of them, the so-called Red Gauntlet would end up acting as Cauldron's way to put a finger on the balance of powers in the region.
"Clad in your kin's dreams, by words and will given power…"
So, what needed to be done was somewhat clear.
Prevent the diffusion and radicalization of Parahuman witch hunts, therefore allowing for more of them to be "on the side of the angels" and reducing the cycle of civilian/parahuman violence.
Ensure Andropov's (or one of his men) election as the secretary general, hopefully therefore ensuring an improvement of the general living condition by opening the market to the west.
Prevent the army from acting out and hope to postpone or at least modify the Sleeper's trigger enough for him not to be as dangerous.
For this to happen, I needed peculiar heroes… heroes whose main power was not their destructive force but rather their ability to move the masses.
I look up, just as Muse finishes her invocation.
"…answer to me, Guardians of the Scales!"
Two figures appear, coalescing starlight in the empty air.
The first is a colossal man, his head obscured by a full gladiatorial helmet, wearing an old and battered legionary armour from the… late republican? Yeah, late republican period, covered by a long crimson cloak.
He does not kneels, but he nods at me, declaiming with a powerful, low voice:
"Nunzio Tiberius Sannium answers to the call of the Muse. Any and all tyrants shall learn to fear this Spartacus' might."
By his side, a much shorter man also makes himself known. He is sharply dressed in the late '700 fashion, with two big eyes somewhat peering out of the face like those of a frog.
"By the people's call, I too have arrived to mete out justice. My name is Jean-Paul Marat, and I am glad to have been selected by the Muse. These people sleep in ignorance and fear, and I shall enjoy awaking them, igniting revolution in their hearts."
I smile, bringing my hands together in front of me. We could now begin.
1982 May 20th, local time 5:57. Tolyatti asylum complex. Scion -6:30 circa
Sneaking from the top of the building to the command centre of the complex had been a slow and methodical affair, requiring quite a few uses of assorted stranger powers by Muse and even a couple of "hard knocks" by Spartacus.
The colossal ex-gladiator was now staying toward the back of the group, carrying on his shoulders the unconscious forms of the two guards that had stumbled upon us right while I had been busy 'breaking' open a lock. Muse, unfortunately, could not follow us inside the buildings without tearing up the ceilings, and had therefore elected to suit up with Imp's power and wait outside.
Apparently neither me nor her summons could actually forget her, so that was a positive discovery in all of this.
As the three of us finally walk into the commander's office, a spartan grey room adorned only with political propaganda, we find the man asleep at his desk, a bottle of clear, alcoholic liquid and an empty glass placed upon a messy and disorganized table.
I cannot help but shake my head in silent disbelief, while beside me Marat has to bite his lips not to start laughing. Spartacus carefully lays down his captives, then slowly moves toward the sleeping officer.
His large hand wakes the fellow with a slap, and then Marat begins to speak.
1982 May 20th, local time 7:23. Tolyatti asylum complex. Scion -5:00 circa
"Ok, but I still do not get it. How is that not mind control?"
Spartacus deep, somewhat grumbly voice once again breaks the silence of the hallway in which he and I were waiting for our French companion.
From out an open window, Muse peaks her head in and once again answers.
"The point is that there is no coercion. No manipulation of the brain or any other sort of physical or chemical component. All that Marat' special skills…"
"…noble phantasms…" I interject, pointedly, while nibbling at a local pastry that I ended up appropriating from the soldier's canteen earlier on.
"…noble phantasms do is simply filling the listener's head with the equivalent of a thousand years of debates defending and upholding the ideas of personal freedom, liberty and equality under the law; allowing the listener to empathize with those oppressed by an unjust system while also igniting in them the idea that a revolution, a change for the better is possible. It also helps to highlight how the current system fails to uphold said ideas"
This discussion had been going on for a while, first between the two heroes, then between Spartacus and Muse. The ex-gladiator is still somewhat miffed that we had chosen to 'convert' the guards of the complex rather than slaughtering them to a man like he proposed.
"That explanation sounds very sketchy to me. Like, borderline bullshit. Either he is forcing people to experience empathy they don't have, and therefore he is mind-screwing them, or he simply should not be able to turn ex-oppressor to collaborators for our cause", answers the rebel slave.
And, to be fair to him, it kind of is. Marat's "voice of the Revolution" and "friend of the people" noble phantasms are, in my opinion, skirting the line between what I would consider acceptable use of mind influence and outright mind-rape, with the whole "thousand years crammed in one's head".
Still, at least it was in service of noble and objectively just ideals, and it was a clean, painless process. It was also much less powerful that it would seem at first glance. Marat could not turn people in zealots with only his speech, and the people he had converted would in most cases neither die nor kill for the cause. They would simply be sympathetic, doing their level best to oppose unjust cruelty and oppression where they could like, let's say, in an asylum where the entirety of the guards and staff had been converted; protected by four powerful, sympathetic parahumans.
And again, Spartacus alternative had been literally to paint the complex red with blood, so I'm unsure whether he should really act as a critic.
"…this point of view of yours is born mainly from your inability to believe that 'the oppressors', as you call them, can be people capable of empathy as well. You are dehumanizing them."
As Muse goes for her own verbal jab, I try to hear if Marat is done with the 'oration' in the complex's internal speaker system. Hearing the Frenchman starting to shout something before going into a long, breathless tirade, I shake my head and turn to my companions.
Oh, Spartacus is grumbling again.
"In life, I never had evidence of the contrary. They chose to oppress, and oppressors never change. Nonetheless, this is your operation, I will not discuss this any further"
I do not need a prophecy to know that he will discuss this further.
1982 May 20th, local time 10:05. Tolyatti asylum complex. Scion -2:30 circa
Working with the asylum's medics and nurses to determine which of the patients are only political prisoners and which instead are actually mentally ill people had been a harsh, long and depressing process, that had occupied most of my morning while Spartacus had been busy helping unloading the incoming supplies while Marat had "converted" the guards coming from outside the base. It had been a slog through medical cartels, prophetic visions, professional consultation and Muse based insights that had left me with a splitting headache, a mild case of nausea and a desperate need to bio-shift myself into a kitten and go look for emotional comfort in a nearby pillow fort.
On the other hand, freeing the prisoners and healing those patients whose issues could be solved with a simple application of Panacea's sponsored hormone medication had instead taken Muse a total of about ten minutes.
Looking at the statue-like woman, I could not help but pout a little, even as the quietly smiles and pats my head, probably attempting to comfort me. I still do not move from the spot I am sitting in, still feeling ill at ease with… myself? The process in general? The situation I am in?
How can I even begin to unravel this mess that ties up my belly, chokes my throat and brings only bile upon my tongue? Hidden on the roof to escape foreign gazes, with only the endbringer as my witness, I find myself quietly tearing up and crumbling down.
Unbidden, my companion's pats keep coming as the time passes, rubbing my back as I try to keep my breath under control.
When I once again seem to be breathing fine, a voice interrupts us.
"Lady Muse? Some of the medics and guards know where we could get some decent clothes and other necessities for those we have freed and are asking if you are willing to open some portals for them. They are waiting in the main yard."
As she nods and makes her way down, I see that Marat is still there, watching me. I let the silence stretch.
In the end, he is the one to speak first.
"You are not beholden to this, you know that, Oracle? No God will judge against you if you decide to step back now. Me and Spartacus are already on the case, and we both know how hard it is to make these choices."
My tone is bitter, my volume low as I answer.
"No God? If known's the pain to come, are we not to try and prevent it? Guilt of inaction is guilt still"
"Do not hide yourself in Christian morals, else guilt will consume you for eternity. It is okay not to act, to leave things to others. This will not be your only battle, and hating yourself is not a price you can afford to pay right now"
"…perhaps. Does this make today's cause a less worthy one? Will the lives we'll save be somehow tainted?
Should I let these people die in order to be stronger for tomorrow's fights?"
For a second, I almost see a tear in his eyes as he smiles.
"No. They will never be tainted, and you should not let these people's die. That's the error of my life and the first of the horrors I begat. Still, be careful. You are not alone, Oracle, and you are not forced to always act yourself. And even worthy causes and righteous questions may lead you down future hell bound roads. Right now… you remind me a lot of a young Robespierre"
At that, I almost choke upon my spit. I try to think about an answer, as he begins to leave. But as I find myself empty, my prophecy speaks for me.
"Not dreary opponents, but worthy questions test a hero truest mettle.
May we triumph in our causes, may our answers satisfy us.
And as tales are spun and interwoven, choices will come to haunt us.
One life and one death, we both are sacrifices."
Marat stops, but does not turn. I am left alone, shaking in the cold.
1982 May 20th, local time 12:31. Tolyatti asylum complex.
We are distributing food in the courtyard to the now fully dressed ex-prisoners. It's an incredible scene, seeing them all there, talking happily amongst them and even with the ex-guards. Discussing freely about anything. Politics, gossip, even sports.
Some of them are even putting on a bit of a show, (apparently they were a small time theatre club that had been condemned due to their tendency toward political satire). I admit that some of the jokes were flying a bit over my head, but it still puts a smile on my face.
Then, with a shiver descending through my spine, I freeze.
Muse' head rises and turns toward the horizon. She can sense Him, and in a sense I can too.
Scion +0:00. Scion has arrived upon earth.
Visions upon visions upon visions… Men, women, being weighted, judged, as the golden idol flies around the world, shedding its seeds according to his dead companions' designs. Poisoned gifts, given to those that would suffer more for them.
Redundant, a new prophecy escapes my lips:
"Aut aliquis latet error: equo ne credite, Teucri.
Quidquid id est: Timeo Danao et dona ferentis"
As the people in the courtyard turn toward me, I shake my head and turn toward those that had volunteered for the next part of my plan. Our window of opportunity draws near.
In less than an hour, the entire URSS atomic arsenal would be erased from existence, in a public and spectacular fashion. Breznev's first address to the nation would then shortly follow.
And in the consequent chaos we would make our move.
1982 May 20th, local time 20:30. Tolyatti asylum complex. Scion +6:00
All communications with the Tolyatti asylum have been cut since Scion's appearance. "Converted" guards we have sent inside the nearby city report back that no one in the command chain has actually noticed.
We begin to move, all the trucks we have loaded to the brim of people, divided in three columns aim for three different areas of the city of Tolyatti.
The first column, full with local prisoners and healed patients with Muse at the lead, will reach the residential districts, using the Endbringers many stranger effects to allow those that so desire to reunite with their families.
The second group, composed by civilian volunteers lead by Marat, will aim for the local civilian radio station in order to allow him to "do his magic" on throughout the city.
The final group, composed by ex-guards and lead by Spartacus and I, will in the meanwhile move upon the local military and police centre (that some genius had decided to build all near one another in the middle of the bloody city), in order to infiltrate central command and possibly put our hands on a real-time source of information on the rest of the country.
As the night begins to fall, our convoys enter the city unopposed. Civilians are hidden inside their homes. One can almost breathe the fear Scion cause with his display of power. They fear him. They fear an American invasion. They fear new arrests by the KGB for "mental instability". And through it all, it seems the local commanders are too busy to even have their men patrol the city.
My columns reach the "main plaza", and Spartacus leads his handful of men inside the buildings in a discrete and ordinate fashion. I am almost ready to follow them, when I notice something on the other side of the plaza. A young woman is being pushed back by to guards in front of the local tribunal.
I hear her cry, plead, beg.
[DESTINATION]
I see the guards point their rifles at her.
[TRAJECTORY]
I see a vision flash before me, then…
[AGREEMENT]
She collapses. I start running toward her screaming a warning.
[AGREEMENT]
And the guards explode in a bright light and a shower of gore.
[#00 and #10 access only] Name: Nunzio Tiberius Sannium "Spartacus"
Codename/Cape name: Spartacus
Powers:
Publicly known:
"Nemesis of tyrants": Spartacus physical might, durability and speed increases the more he perceives his opponent as a tyrant or as a tool of tyranny. At the highest recorded lever (see File China Campaign #808) he has been shown to be able to clear entire city blocks with a jump and be able to topple buildings running through them.
"I am Spartacus": this power manifests in two parts. First, once Spartacus removes his helm, he is unrecognizable and can blend seamlessly inside any crowd. Whenever someone is fighting against an army Spartacus is part of, he will find himself stricken by terror and prone to believing any of his opponents might be Spartacus himself. Second, anyone fighting on the side of Spartacus can choose to carry upon themselves an injury being dealt to one of their allies. This cannot be forced.
"From slaves to warriors": any army or group fighting under Spartacus orders will see a rapid increase in skill, cohesion morale and even physical readiness. This effect can bring people to fight at a superhuman level but will also see them gradually revert back to top human level once Spartacus leaves them.
I go back and forth on the capitalization. Sure, it makes sense to capitalize them when they are being invoked, but I'm less sure in casual conversation. Might still correct them once I post the next chapter (so in a couple of days, more or less).
Originally I wanted to start either in China or in Russia cause Wildbow never properly explored how one has gone in a compleately different direction than in real life while the other is just a shittier and more disfunctional version of its Aleph/our counterpart.
I chose Russia cause during my research I realized that most dates lined up very well with our starting period. Like, by May 1982 the question of the new head of state was on everybody's mind cause Breznev kept accumulating power while getting sicker and sicker. In our timeline he dies in November 1982, and everybody expected it, so it's easier for me to make the election of his successor a point of divergence.
For China, I am much more dubious on how things would have gone. Partly due to personal ignorance, partly due to information suppression. Also, in hindsight, it might be more interesting to see the fall of the CPR from the perspective of an already established organization.
