Palace of Greed, El Dorado (Library of Ruina)

[] Just a few hours. … It can't hurt. Just two, or three more hours, right? You're not sure what you're going to do. Something fun, according to Sun, and well. That's a bit beyond "food tasting" but sure. You can do "fun".

Your eyes flick away from Sun, and up towards the wall. The clock on the wall ticks by without a care – early evening, or late afternoon to some. You're already cutting it close as is, and even if you're not even close to the Night, going out at night is hardly a good idea. Hidden under the night, that's when the worst of the Backstreets start to creep out of their woods, like the bogeymen from mostly forgotten fairy tales, preying on those silly enough to stay outside this late.

You glance down at your plate of croffles, and then back to Sun.

You let out a growl, settling back down to your seat. "Sure, I'll stay –"

Sun gasps

"—but just for a few hours!" You cut her off, scowling. "I'm not gonna sleep here."

"O-oh," she deflates a little at that, but the smile leaves her face. "Still, thank you!" is it just you, or is it a little to bright in here? "Thank you! You won't regret this, I swear!"

Clicking your tongue, you look away. "Yeah, whatever," you grumble, staring at your quickly depleting plate of croffle. She made only four, and now there's only one piece left; another piece in your hand. "But next time –" next time? "—just fucking tell me, alright?" you look up, shooting her a sharp look. "I ain't that kinda gal," Sun cringes at that. "And I ain't that kinda Fixer either," you don't even know if something like 'this' can be taken as a job in the first place. At the very least, Scarecrow's not the Office for it. You think. "So y'know," you gesture vaguely at the air. "Fucking let me know."

Flinching, Sun lowers her head. "M-mhm! Next time, I promise," there's a pause, and Sun glances up at you. "S-sorry, I didn't think – I know, I know it feels like I'm forcing you, and I don't want to be a burden, making you do these things for free, and…" she trails off, a small smile on her lips. "You know."

"So payin' me to do things I don't wanna somehow makes it better?" Sun stares at you, wide-eyed. Scoffing, you roll your eyes. "Well, it does," she blinks. "And you already paid me, for that matter," Sun furrows her eyebrows. "This," you gesture at your plate, and Sun makes a noise of understanding. "So I'm not doing this for free – and 'sides, this ain't an actual job request, so I woulda fucked off if I don't wanna be here."

Sun gasps.

"What?" you narrow your eyes. "What did I fucking say?"

"N-nothing!" she waves her hands quickly, and you eye her suspiciously. Did you say something stupid? She giggles. Your glare doubles. It feels like you just said something stupid. "Ehehe. It's nothing, really! But, um, okay! So!"

She presses her hands on the table, and beams at you.

You groan, biting into your second-last piece of croffle. It's fucking bright. "… So what now?"

For the first time, her smile falters. "Um…" her eyes trace around the room, frowning in thought. She fidgets, and the silence lingers. You watch with a smirk, idly pouring the condensed milk, and chocolate syrup together over the croffle, and – it takes some effort to grab it in a way not to leave your hand covered and dripping with syrup. You fail, but God, is it worth it. "Oh!" Sun jumps, and you also jump a little. Her eyes are on you. Or rather, on your piece of croffle. "How about dinner?"

Your eyes widen. "D-din –" you gulp down your croffle, slamming your chest. Ouch, that one didn't go down well. "… Dinner?"

"Yeah," she nods, before cringing. "Or maybe not? Sorry, I guess you're already –"

"Why didn't you say that from the start?" you exclaim, banging your palm at the table. Sun leans back. "I mean," you clear your throat, staring at your empty, sticking fingers. "Dinner sounds good."

Sun giggles. "So, um, what do you want?"

You raise an eyebrow. "What do I want?"

Sun nods. "… There's – I have a lot in my fridge," her face falls at that, but the smile returns almost immediately. "And I can also cook!" she pumps her hand, smiling confidently. "So if there's anything you want to eat… like a favorite food?"

Favorite food, huh? Well, it's obviously HamHamPangPang sandwiches. They're really delicious, and somewhat on the lower end in terms of cost, but that wouldn't be the same. HamHamPangPang is good because they are HamHamPangPang. Dozens have tried to replicate it, and dozens have utterly failed, their results ending up a disappointment. There's something about HamHamPangPang, and that something is one-of-a-kind.

"Anything's good," you shrug, mumbling, thinking of that crispy, and juicy pork-cutlet between two beds of bread. "I ain't picky."

Frowning thoughtfully, Sun places a hand under her chin. "But you have something that you like, right, Lily? Meat, fish –"

Meat.

"Meat," you cut her off. You bob your head. Meat. Uh-huh. Yeah. "Meat sounds good."

"Oh," she starts, tilting her head to one side. She hums, tilting her head to the other side. And then – "Oh!" she jumps, eyes sparkling. She awkwardly clambers up to her feet, clapping her hands once. "Then let's have a barbecue!"

"Wha?"




You watch, almost in a daze, as Sun goes into the kitchen, returning with a portable stove, and a huge-ass black iron plate – cast-iron, Sun comments idly – in hands. She almost dropped it, and there's a slight squeak from the table as she places it down. You hear, almost distantly, as she goes back again into the kitchen, followed up by a series of noises, metal, against metal, thudding, and clinking glasses –

"Hey, you need help?"

"N-no! Just wait!"

– and you wait, and then she returns with a large round dinner plate filled with – God, that's a lot of meat. Thinly sliced beef placed in such a way on the plate that it reminds you of a blooming flower. Specks, and streaks of pure white fat over red flesh. Then she goes back to the kitchen, and – there's more. One plate. Two plates. Three plates. Meat, meat, and more meat. Piles of meat. There's garlic, and kimchi, and lettuce, and sauces – all the time, your eyes are fixed on the meat.

"… That's a lot of meat," you comment, dazed, as Sun settles next to you. "Why do you have so much meat?" you gulp, forcing yourself away from the meat. You keep an eye on them, though.

Sun giggles, nodding. "It's fine," she whispers back. Wait, why are you whispering? "Um," she fidgets, setting up the stove. "I – um, we –" that snaps you out a bit from the daze. We. Sun, and Moon. " – I think, just in general, it's not a bad idea to preserve some meat, but we kept lots of them for special occasions. Maybe we're just in the mood for it, or maybe something good happened, and we wanted to celebrate, but not in the mood for eating out," then in, a quiet voice: "But well, there's too many of them now."

"Oh," you intone, unsure what to say for that. Seriously, she should've waited, and invited Mao instead. "Ya sure this is fine, though?"

She smiles. "It's fine, Lily," she waves your concern, as she starts to place the first slice of meat onto the pan. It sizzles, and drool pools inside your mouth. "This… well, this is also special, in a way. I don't normally have other people in my house."

There's something there. Old wounds that are still fresh. Still, faced with such extravagance, what else can you say? You gulp down your drool, and nod quietly. "Yeah," you whisper, reverently so as Sun places down the cooked slice onto your plate. "Okay. Honestly," your chopsticks tremble ever so slightly as you pick up the meat. It glistens with juice, and fat. "Gimme food like this, and I'll come here daily."

She giggles at that. "I'll keep that in mind."

You chomp into the beef, and – ah. You close your eyes.

This is it.

You feel all your tenseness start to fade away. This is it, you think, the reason why you're doing what you're doing. It's only a slice of that heaven, you're well aware, and it'll be gone in just a few hours – but the knowledge that it exists…

Yeah.

"Lily?" you open your eyes to Sun's concerned eyes. "… Did I cook it too much?" a beat. "Too little?"

"Nah," you shake your head. "It's perfect."

"You're smiling."

You are. "Fuck off," you say, not much heat into it. Sun giggles again, and you grumble, rolling your eyes. You return to your meat. You reckon that without Sun manning the grill, you would've turned them into charcoals. As it is, everything is perfect. In the corner of your eyes, between grilling, Sun places a slice onto a piece of lettuce, as well as adding kimchi, before wrapping it together. She catches your look.

"Want one?"

"I can make them myself," you grumble. You can, but it turns into some sort of bloated monstrosity that you have to double the lettuce to keep it from breaking and eat it in one go to keep the content from spilling. An explosion of flavor. Fresh crunchiness of the lettuce, and the kimchi's spicy heat, cutting through the fattiness of the beef; a grilled chunk of garlic tying everything down. "Mphhm."

Sun laughs. "You look like a squirrel."

You roll your eyes, eventually working your way through it. "And you don't eat enough," you point out.

"Ah," she lowers her head slightly, cheeks pink. "We're built different – I can't eat a lot, and I would get fat."

"Bullshit," you roll your eyes. "Keeping in shape's important, and all, but you're thin as a rail, Sun."

"Y-you don't know that," she huffs, and you watch in slight horror as she bites into a piece of lettuce on its lonesome. She smirks at that. "I don't move a lot, and I have to taste test my own cakes, bread, and pastries and there's a lot of calories in them, so I can't get them all the way full, else I would get really sick. Seriously," she pouts. "There's a balance I'm keeping here."

"Uh-huh," you say, doubtful. It can't be all that bad. "Well, it's better being a little fat, than being thin. At least you're less likely to die from starvation, if shit goes wrong."

Sun pouts harder.

"I'm right, y'know."

She doesn't even deign you a response, instead flipping the grilled meat, and dumping them onto your plate – some on hers. Well, you're not 'xactly complaining. "So how's it like?" Sun says, breaking the momentary pause. She eyes you, idly munching on her food. "Being a Fixer, I mean."

You pause, your chopsticks hanging inches away from your mouth – several beef slices hanging off it. What else can you say? "It's alright, I guess," you shrug. "It pays well."

Pays really well.

Sun frowns. "Isn't it dangerous?"

You glance at her, cocking an eyebrow. "Isn't living dangerous?"

She nods at that. "But I'm not," she gestures with her hand. "Looking for danger."

"I'm not looking for trouble either," you roll your eyes. "Trouble comes to me. In forms of requests. It ain't safe, I give you that," you bob your head. "But it ain't like I got much options, yeah? I'm only good at fighting –"

"That's not true."

You decide to ignore that. "— So it's either this, or joinin' a Syndicate. And I rather die 'fore I got into a Syndicate."

She glances at you, something strange in her eyes. "… And if there's something better?"

You shove a pile of meat into your mouth. Chewing, closing your eyes. Your answer comes immediately, and you swallow down. "I'll probably keep being a Fixer," you catch the question in her eyes. "I ain't the sorta gal to half-ass shit. I ain't quittin'."

"Oh," there's a pause. "Sorry."

"Don't," you snort, smirking. There's a lapse of silence, and you realize it's your turn to say something. "So. Uh. How 'bout ya?"

"Huh?"

"Bein' a baker, I mean," you take a sip of your water. "How'd you become one? It ain't that common, is it?"

Sun blinks. "It's not?" you shrug. She giggles. "I guess it's not. Well, my parents were bakers, had their own bakery and everything, so I followed their footsteps."

"Wait," you blink. "You own your bakery?"

Her eyes widen, and she laughs, shaking her head. "No no no – that one went bankrupt," her smile weakens slightly. "There was some dispute, and my parents were killed. There's… well, I had to 'sell' it, in the end."

"Sounds rough."

She blinks, and then giggles. "It was, but everything works out in the end."

You look around you, at her apartment. "It does, huh."

"Mhm," she nods. "Le Petit Patisserie – that's the bakery I'm working at. Chief Vale – my chief – couldn't find an actual baker at the time, and I came just at the right moment. She's pretty strict, and strong," as if to prove her point, Sun pumps her arms at. They don't look impressive. She drops them quickly, giggling. "So I don't think what happened to my parents will happen again," she fidgets. "Hopefully. But I'm not kidding. She's really strong."

"Oh yeah? How strong?"

"Really strong!" her eyes sparkle, and she moves more animatedly. "There was this time a customer got handsy, and that time where someone ordered a cake, and got really mad when they turned out 'wrong', even though it was exactly like what they wanted. And Chief Vale just went bam," she swings her fist at empty air. It reminds you a particularly small animal. "They're out."

"Really?" you snort, smirking. "Even I can do that."

She pouts. "W-well, she's the head of the Neighborhood Watch too, and no Syndicates have been making trouble,"

Well, that sounds interesting. "Guess annoying customers are pretty universal, huh."

Her eyes widen. "You too?" she cringes almost immediately. "It's not me, is it?"

"No," you snort, smirking. "You're the least annoying," she pouts. "But like, a couple days ago, there's this client who wanted me to escort a dog – a dog of all things," you spit, grumbling. "And then…"

Sun listens to you, enraptured. She gasps when you told about the Index, and stares open-jawed when you didn't come into blow – which, thinking about it now, was something else. Hah. You're something else. Then you came to the client, and the collar, and the Fixer – Sun's enraptured, and this – whatever this is – this ain't a bad feeling.

Eventually though, it comes to an end. The meat's all gone, mostly inside your stomach, and it is actually getting late.

"See you again, um," standing by the threshold of her door, Sun hesitates. "N-next time?"

You pat at your stomach, slightly bulging, extremely satisfied. "Sure," you nod. "Next time."

Sun beams.

It's still too bright, but at least you don't have to look away.

Week 2 – Tapas

Night – with lowercase 'n' – in the Backstreets is completely different creature to a day in the Backstreets. Under daylight, a mask is worn; a thin veneer of civility, of camaraderie, and whatever it is that 'humanity' means. People start shit, but they don't start shit. A restaurant is just a restaurant. Before the counter, a man orders his food, and behind that, a clerk registers those orders down. They might not have nod, might not have smile, there might have been fear in the clerk's face, and anger in the man's face – a fight could break down anytime, and nobody would bat an eye. It would be normal. Unexpected, but normal. But the fight never starts. It's daylight. You don't know how it works, or why it works, it just does.

Without daylight, under the night, all bets are off. That 'mask' is torn off, and monsters stalk the streets, mauling, slaughtering, and mayheming. Nearby, you see shadows move, and you slide down into an alley. Long, and proud, and tall, reaching down the end of the streets. Syndicates, looking for a fight, thirsting for blood, laughing, and cackling with a swagger. They pass you eventually, as you crouch behind a garbage bin. There's a ruffle in edge of your ears, amongst the pile of trash-bags. Rats with a low 'r', or Rats with capital 'R'? Doesn't matter. You start moving.

In the distance, up North, down South, towards East, and back to West, you hear fighting. Sporadic, and chaotic. The clash of metal, against metal; a scream of pain, terror, and exhilaration. You hear music, so distant, yet so close, playing inside your brain. Your fingers move on their own, strumming at an instrument you do not have, or even recognize. Humming lodges itself at the back of your throat. Fuck and shit. Shit and fuck. You shut your mouth tight and double your pace.

In the very distance, way up above, without needing to hear them, or see them, people watch. Drinks, and snacks on their hands, laughter and grins in their lips. Men of the Skyscraping Apartment. Nest Dwellers, worse than the worst the Backstreets could offer, looking down on ya, watching and fucking and laughing and mocking like you're all some sort of toys, and shit. Sitting behind their glimmerin' windows, binoculars or telescopes in their hands, betting who lives and dies, laughing when they lose, cackling when they win, 'cause either way, the real losers are here, down here, in the Backstreets. You, and hundreds, and thousands of others. You, and Mao, and Sun, and Kai, and everybody else. Just a fucking show to them, some fucking dolls in a shitshow of a dollhouse.

One day, you tell yourself over and over again, you're gonna be there, and – and then what?

You don't know. But you're gonna fuck them up.

Eventually, miraculously, you reach down the streets of your apartment. It's quiet in here, the sound of battle left behind you, as if you've stepped into an entirely different world. Landlord Lin owns this place – or rather, the Syndicate he used to be a member of, but still works for, owns this street. Protects it. The Murasaki Clan. Above the Burning Men, maybe even above the Hatchetmen. An old, and ancient thing, older than you. You have worked for them, not with much choice, under Landlord Lin's orders. Deliveries, for the most part. Go there, and drop this. Go here, and give that. Despite that, you don't think you've seen a hide of a Murasaki before.

You burst through the door, into the chemical-smelling, concrete-cracked, and dimly-lit hallways of your apartment building.

"You're late," Landlord Lin notes idly, standing in the middle of the hallway, a cane – his sword, his crowbar – in his hands, and a pipe between his lips. His purple kimono ripples slightly at the wind of your entry, and smoke trails off his pipe, smelling of purple. He raps his cane against the floor. Once. "I was getting worried, that you died," a beat, and a smirk. "That you ran."

Glaring, you let out a breath, and straighten up, stiff. Your heart's still racing. Fear, and excitement. You're not sure if you want to do that again, stalking under the night in the Backstreets. "Like fuck you are, and like fuck I will," you spit out, growling. "I already got your fucking money," you smirk at that. "You'll get it by the end of the month. Happy?" you don't wait for his answer. You barely glance at his face, and you're already walking past him. "Now I gotta sleep."

"What cheek you've grown, Lily," a click of his tongue, and you freeze in your spot. Cold sweat, like prickling needles, start. "I left you alone for a week, and this is what I get," he chuckles, low, and dry. "I wonder what'd happen if I left you work two weeks. A month? My, what a shitshow that would be, no?"

He's talking to you like an animal, you realize. No. Like a child. What is the difference?

"Yeah?" you growl, forcing a smirk into your voice. "Maybe you should."

"Mhm," he hums. "Tempting. But no. But you've been busy, haven't you? Working hard. Not surprising," he muses. "If anything, that is perhaps one of your most redeeming qualities."

"Qualities, huh," you retort, dryly. Stiffly, you turn around, glaring. His faded green eyes are curved alongside his lips. "… What the fuck do you want?"

"From you?" he cocks an eyebrow. "Your debt, of course. Nothing much. I am just doing my observation, listing off the things I have heard about you. I am, after all, your caretaker."

"Not anymore," you growl. "I can take care of myself, you old fuck."

He sniffs, rolling his eyes. "You know how it is."

You do, and you flinch, looking away.

"I received a noise complaint, a couple days ago, from your neighbor," there is a pause, and you narrow your eyes at the concrete wall. That fuck. "Neighbors," those fucks. "But they're gone now."

"… What?"

He hums, and there's something in there, in his voice. Something sharp, and whip-like. "Oh yes. People like them – they are the types to forget what they owe, who they owe. Debts are nothing to them, and promises something to be broken, and forgotten. They were being unreasonable, see, believing that just because they have grouped up, they think that they have power over me, to demand instead of ask," he shakes his head, the dim light casting a flickering, and inhumane shadow over you. "So, they are gone now. You may loot their rooms – I did not give them time to collect them all."

Your throat feels dry. "How many?"

"Eight, I believe."

Including you, there are nine people living on your floor.

That's all of them.

Landlord Lin has power.

"It's good to remember," Landlord Lin starts, voice heavy, yet light as a breeze. "Just as I owed your parents, you now owe me," he looks at you, piercing through you. "I have paid my debts off to them a long, long time ago, when I allowed you to stay here for years, practically free, when I offered you jobs, and money, and so much more – I own you, Lily," he stresses the word. He owns you. Ultimately, you know that. Everything you do, everything you are; being alive, having money, becoming a Fixer – it all can be traced down to him. Without Landlord Lin, you would not even be alive. You would be the corpse of a ten-year-old kid. "This debt is not something you can easily pay. If even you found a new place to live, I will still own you."

He's right, you think. Leaving here would be removing a shackle, breaking down a chain – but there are dozens, hundreds of chains and shackles that he got on you.

"… How do I pay you back, then?" you croak out, beaten, and defeated.

"I do not ask much," Landlord Lin says, and is that… approval, you hear? Fuck. "In fact, do as what you do now."

"You didn't answer my question," you point out.

"Mhm," he hums, and the shadow flickers, snapping and crackling, as he nods. "It will be paid until I decide it is paid."

You laugh, but there's nothing funny about it. "So it's never."

A click of the tongue. "Do not look down on me, Lily. I honor my debts."

"Yeah, right," you mumble. "That all?"

"That's all."

You nod, dragging your feet towards the stairs –

"Oh, and I almost forgot: Scarecrow Office, wasn't it?" you stiffen. "A Protection Office, at that. Impressive. Keep up the good work, Lily."

That night, you do not sleep well.

Article:

You have 983,150 Ahn – more money than you ever could know how to use.

Diet Plan (Choose 1):

[] Extreme (0 Ahn): It's… well. It's not a living. Barely a living – but you just need something to fill your stomach. Water's free. You'll have to dumpster dive, and maybe see if there's some wild edible grass you could cook. Or mug some nearby Rats. That works too, though you don't expect much from them either. [Receive Status: Starving – -5 to Max Health, and Sanity Point for the Week. You Take 1.5 More Damage from Attacks. Receive Temporary -1 to one of your Favored Skills (1d3).]

[] Turtling (5000 Ahn): Your usual affair. Rice porridge seasoned with salt – and whatever else you can find on discount, and maybe scavenge out in the dump of some fancy neighborhood. It's not great, but you can live with it. [Receive Status: Hungry – You Take 0.5 More Damage from others]

[] Healthy, and Fulfilling (40,000 Ahn): Rice porridge, but this time with proper seasonings, and meats, and vegetables. Maybe not even porridge – maybe you can eat rice as is with a side-dish, without turning it into sludge. Wouldn't that be nice? [Receive Status: Ready – You Deal 0.5 More Damage to others]

[] Luxurious, and Nutritious (80,000 Ahn): You can… you can treat yourself a little, right? For once in your lifetime, and – fuck. You don't know. Eat whenever you're hungry. HamHamPangPang sandwiches, and that rice porridge Mao and Mori treated you to. Shit, maybe even pork belly? God. Please. [Receive Status: Energetic – +5 Max Health, and Sanity Points. Receive temporary +1 to one of your Favored Skills (1d3 Dice Roll).

"Whoa, someone didn't sleep well."

You snap out of your reverie, cursing under your breath. Blinking the sleep away, you realize somewhat belatedly, you've arrived to your Office. "Fuck," you mumble, squinting towards the speaker. Mao. Pony-tailed dark black-green hair, almost shimmering under the Office's dim light. There's the Boss, Mori, and Kai. Burke's not in yet – or maybe he's already in, and he's out instead. Who the fuck knows. You glance back to Mao, at the hat on her head, and the rifle poking out of her back. "… You're going out?"

"Yep," she smirks, bobbing her head. "Gotta do the hustle, you get me? Anyway, I've heard good stuffs from the others 'bout you," she giggles, throwing her arm around you. "Keep up the good work, Lily. But be careful, alright?" you blink at the sudden softness. Mao leans into you. "Don't push yourself too hard."

You blink, before shooting her a flat stare. "Really. You're telling me that?"

She grins, cat-like. Mao-like. "Well, I'm the Fifth Grade Fixer, and you're the Ninth Grade Fixer," she points out, and you grumble under your breath. "'Sides," she laughs. "I'm built different."

You scoff at that. "Fucking whatever."

"Good, keep your spirits up like that," Mao bobs her head. "Don't let anything break you, you hear that?" she whispers, and you blink. "You're strong, Lily – I've got an eye for this shit, yeah? Keep going, and you'll be where I am in no time."

"W-what?" you choke. She gins at you, laughing, but not at you. You look away. "W-whatever, just fuck off."

She giggles, giving your back one last pat, before letting you go. "Well, I'll be seeing you next week, Lily. Didn't have the chance to tell you last time, but I try to keep myself busy, see?" she knocks at her chest. "No rest for the wicked."

"Right," you mutter, eyeing her carefully.

She smirks, before slipping past you, towards the door –

"Wait."

Mao freezes. She turns around, and this time, she's not grinning. Smiling, yes, but it's small and filled with question.

Uhm.

"Uhm."

Then there's a snap of motion. "Aww," Mao squeals, and you squeak – grunt, really – as Mao throws herself at you, practically embracing you with one hand. She turns you around, back facing against the other Scarecrows. "Did you actually miss me that much, Lily?"

"She did keep staring at your empty armchair."

That fucker Mori!

"Fuck off, you narcissistic bitch! I didn't miss you shit, I just got some questions I gotta ask!" you hiss, struggling, and failing to escape from her grasp. Your cheeks feel uncomfortably warm. "Just go die in a fire, already. I'll fucking dance, and howl in laughter on your grave!"

If anything, that only makes her laugh more. "Aww, that's actually cute. Okay, okay," she nods, and – "Okay" – by the third 'okay', her face turns serious. "If you wanna hang out, just tell someone here, or just tell me straight up, 'kay? Fuck the jobs. I can always make time for my sweet little junior Lily."

"I ain't sweet," you grumble, glaring. "Or little."

"But you're my junior!" Mao sing-songs, and for the last time, she pats your back, and walks towards the door. "Bye, Lily!" she gives you a little wave, and just like that, as the door clicks, she's away.

…

You turn around.

Kai snaps her head immediately, down towards the piece of file she's reading. Mori looks up at the ceiling, whistling, a smirk on his face. The Boss stares, and the crow on the brim on his hat lets out an almost cackling caw.

You present them with a pair of birds. "Fuck all of you."

Article:

You Have 6 APs!

Jobs Requests (2 AP Each):

Path to 8th Grade – 3 More Urban Myth Requests, or 5 Canards.

[] Sitting the Baby! (Canard): AH YES. Last week, you've spent your Bodyguarding in a somewhat short term. Escort this guy, deliver that dog. Mostly in the span of one day. Less, really. But REAL Bodyguarding is LONG TERM. Days – sometimes weeks, to months! THIS IS WHERE THE REAL MONEY IS! Nevertheless, Tony and Mari are a pair of husband and wife, and they're planning for their long-awaited honeymoon anniversary. That means leaving their thirteen years old daughter, named Tori (because TOny, and MaRI, get it?) alone. That can't stand. That's where you come in. Three days. You're going in blind. What sayeth you? Pay: 225,000 Ahn – After Cut. Unlocks Long Term Bodyguarding jobs.

[] Neighbor(s) from Hell (Canard): Mister Toko has cottoned onto the fact that one of his neighbors – or neighbors – might be trying to kill him. Cause? Noise complaints. All of which goes ignored by the Landlord since Toko paid extra for his rent and does so always on time. Something that his neighbors do not always do. It appears that Toko is something of a musician – and people are… sensitive of musicians after the Pianist Incident. One day, Toko caught one of his neighbors stalking him to his work. It might be his paranoia, but regardless, he's willing to hire a Fixer in case he's right. Pay: 350,000 Ahn – After Cut.

[] Dreaming of You (Urban Myth): Miss Ann has been having nightmares since… well, since a few months ago. That's nothing new, of course, and she did ignore it at first. However, it has gotten worse ever since to the point that she couldn't do her work – a teacher, of all things! – properly. Recently, she has woken up with cuts, and bruises on her body, and she has requested the Scarecrows to guard her from… whatever's causing this. Perhaps even from herself. Pay: 800,000 Ahn – After Cut, Before Split.
-[] Go with Kai? (Recommended)

[] A Nest of Rats (Urban Myth): The client, Brian, is slightly worried. Apparently, Fixers have been sent to clean the Rats off his building – except, the 9th​ Grade Fixers that were sent there never returned. It appears that the Rats there have consolidated their power, working together – and not in threes, or fours, but in tens and maybe more. Everybody sees it for what it is: a new Syndicate forming. Honestly, this is none of your business. Calling it a Protection Job is really stretching it, bur Rats are Rats, and in a way, you could call it Protecting the Backstreets from having another Syndicate. Pay: 900,000 Ahn – After Cut, Before Split.
-[] Go with Kai? (Recommended)

[] Deal with Devils (Urban Myth): Wu, your client, is a local business owner in the Backstreets. Textile, for the most part, though not the 'special' sort of textile. He is, at the very least, savvy, and successful enough to make a living with a family of two; a wife, and a daughter. He even managed to pay tuition to get her daughter into school. One day, however, his daughter did not return from school – matter of fact, when he came to pick up the daughter, all that he found was a slip of a note. A location, a name, and a number. It's a ransom note. Raizer Jugglers, they are called. A Proper Syndicate, not unlike the Burning Men. They're known to be erratic, "random", and a tendency to go back on their words, etc, etc. You know the sort. There's really nothing that says that the daughter isn't already dead, but it's not like Mr. Wu got much choice. You'll be there to accompany him; your job is to obviously protect him, but that's not your first priority. Your real top priority, Wu has requested personally, is to make sure his daughter lives through this. Don't fuck this up. Pay: 1,350,000 Ahn – After Cut, Before Split.
-[] Go with Kai? (Recommended)


Side Activities (1 AP Each):

[] Someone to Hang Out With?
-[] Kai. During a lull, you notice Kai moving up to the roof. Thinking about it, you've never seen her eat before, and well, one thing leads to another, and now you're standing in line together for HamHamPangPang.
-[] Mao. "Fuck the jobs," that's what she said, and… well, you don't think she actually meant that. Regardless, she is making time for you. So you suppose that means something.
-[] Mori. Mori's weird. Not weird like Mao, and not weird in a way that you don't get. Still, you catch him tinkering in the Office with his arm, and you can't help but watch.
-[] Burke. Of all the three, Burke is the least you know about, though that's not saying much. He likes reading, as it happens, when you walk into the Office with him, and the Boss.
-[] Boss. Stepping into the Office, you realize that everyone is out – and the only one here is the Boss. Well. Shit.


[] Shopping Time – last time you went into the Market District, it was with the gang, and there's a sorta time-restraint then. Now, you have the time to look around a bit. You have money. You don't really know if it's enough for much of anything, but well… why not, right? You can also bring someone else with you, if you want.
-[] Who to bring? (Choose 1: Mao, Mori, Sun, Kai, etc. Boss Excluded. You can pick none.)
-[] What do you want to buy? (Choose 1: Weapons, Body Mods, General Items, Gadgets, Accesories, etc. Specify what type of weapons, body mods, or general items you're looking for. Specify Price Range, if you want.)


[] Burning Curiosity – For the first time in years, you've heard something about your parents – and that comes from Landlord Lin. You've already forgotten their face, their voice, and even their names. It doesn't bother you, no, but staring at the crumpled-up doodling of them… loathe as you are to approach him, you gotta know.

[] Back to your Roots – Simply to prove his point, eight people have been evicted from the apartment. Just like that. And they weren't even allowed to get their stuffs too. Technically, you don't have to – this isn't your job, anymore. But Landlord Lin's more than willing to lend you the keys, and – who knows, maybe you'll find something. (a part of knows that this is going to be awful; it's never fun).

[] Corpse Party – Karrion is the "official" tailor of the Scarecrow Office. Technically, she has other customers, but the Scarecrow is her main customer. Regardless, she's apparently in need of a model – specifically female model, and this is something she has been severely lacking. There's Mao, of course, but Mao's built differently. You and Kai, on the other claw…

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