Sandworm [Worm OC- Sands of Time theme]

---

"I'm sorry," the other you says, raising the dagger. He sees the broken blade. "I guess it's working? I don't really know, it's just... I'm sorry, I can't say. We need the... the paradox."

He drags the ragged fingernail of time's blade from sternum to navel, ripping a hole in your belly large enough to push the dagger in, halfway up the hilt.

You feel it but, frozen in time, you can't even fold over in agony. You are statue still as it worms inside.

The sandstorm pulls closer, drawn to a dagger hungry for stolen time and lives unlived.

"Don't lose the dagger. It's the source of our power."

The swirling sands swallow the boy and the other you moves to follow, hesitates.

"Don't lose hope, or she wins."

All you see is golden sand as the storm devours you.

The sand enters the dagger - enters you - and your future becomes your past.

---

The world moves again. At last, you can scream.

You feel the dagger wiggle inside, feel its weight, feel it scrape spine, feel nerves tear on a jagged edge. Clenching stomach muscles pull the dagger deeper. Numb fingers pluck at the tapering hilt; you're in a tug of war against instinct.

Instinct wants you to curl up and die.

You force yourself to relax. Lie flat. One hand pulls the long cut wider; the other gropes gore; grasps the Dagger of Time.

The dagger squeezes out. The wound zips up. You fly back to your feet, lean against the wall, eyes snap shut.

Footsteps, rapid and approaching.

You open your eyes in time to see a bulky teenager shoulder check you. There's a long knife in his hands, a glass and gilt crime against sense, so curved and spiked it's a weapon more dangerous to the user.

Without thinking, you heel-spin and nudge. The boy slams into the wall, arm bent back, his broad cheek against rough brick.

You whisper in his ear. "Hey kid, do you want to know the future?"

The boy's one visible eye is wide with fright. His lips dribble word fragments.

You continue. "Inside two weeks, a very stupid kid will attack someone minding their own business. Maybe some minority, maybe not, doesn't really matter, does it? The kid's face will be inked 'E88.' Unless I stop you, here and now."

You pull his arm up; hear his shoulder creak. The boy whimpers.

Blink.

You hold down a beautiful woman in bunny pajamas. Her wide eyes glow with fire and fear. The Dagger of Time sinks smoothly into her eye socket.

Blink.

Time's broken blade is an inch from the boy's eye. You step back - spooked - and the boy runs back down the alley. Feral, young faces peek around the corner. Skinhead wannabes, plucking up courage to jump you with numbers.

You pull Sands of Time from the dagger. They wrap you in a death shroud. Sepia rags sway in dust devil haze. Your face decays into pale bone; your eyes into infinite blue sky.

You wear the Mask of the Sand Wraith.

The kids flee. The Wraith speeds away in directions tangent to reality. It stood still for less than a second. Time is not for you to hold, it's something you race.

If you're very lucky, fear will stop those skinhead wannabes from attacking random people of ambiguous skin tone. Anyone could be a cape.

The boy dropped his knife when he ran.

The Dagger of Time has an identical hilt that bears no resemblance. The dagger in your hand has profound meaning; it is a weapon made from the ultimate power, a singularity who's gravity draws destiny, the carving knife of fate, god's broken fingernail, eternity's jagged edge, it is time's broken blade.

This thing all things devours - slays king, ruins town.

The Dagger of Time is power incarnate.

The boy's knife is cheap shit.

You stomp it until the glass handle breaks into pebbles, leaving only a length of stainless steel and lumps of hard glue. Kick the blade into a storm drain. It can't hurt anyone.

The true Dagger of Time goes in your pocket. A snapped blade makes it easier to carry.

You step out the alley. The hospital looms to your left, several stories of suffering and decay stacked on top of each other. Your parents are in there, talking to doctors about false hope, sacrificing their future to save the present, and wondering where you are.

You turn right, towards downtown and the fortress compound of PRT-HQ.

Time burns. You can't comfort your family and cure cancer at the same time. You can't be in two places at once.

No man can change his fate.

---

Something grabs your thigh. You spin and strike empty air.

It's just your mobile phone, set to vibrate. One new message. Dad asking where you were. Again.

You try to compose a reply. Something comforting. You'll fix everything this time.

In the corner of your eye, a woman presses a long Remington shotgun barrel under her chin. She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls the trigger.

You look and see only your reflection in a shop window, face ghoulish in your phone's light. You pocket the phone and walk away.

Walk turns into run, then sprint, then a mad gallop down the streets of Brockton Bay, vaulting cars and swinging on lamp posts. No reason why. Nothing is chasing you. You checked. You just really need to run.

You barge through the double doors and skid into the PRT lobby. Faceless guards brace shotguns.

Nothing to worry about, lobby guards pack beanbags and tasers, non-lethal stuff. Still, reinforcements hide in pop-out turrets and behind closed security doors. Better act casual.

You strut to the reception desk, belying your red face and sweaty pits. Katlyn - the pretty night time receptionist behind a mesh reinforced screen - reaches under her desk and asks how she can help.

You hold up a finger - one moment, to catch your breath. "Sign me up as a hero."

"Can you safely display your parahuman ability for me?"

You shrug.

You could say her name is Katlyn, she's twenty seven, her three year old is in the PRT daycare, and if she's worried her kid has autism she should really see a doctor. You could mention she vents her worries to you in the cafeteria a week from now. You could say her boyfriend sounds like a douche. You could tell her secrets of time and space, of Endbringers and capes, of places outside time and between instants.

Or you could slip on the Mask of the Sand Wraith.

A beanbag round is snatched out the air. The Wraith rejoins the flow of time. You raise an eyebrow at Officer Hartford. He tends to be a bit quick on the trigger. You suspect his commander wants an excuse to fire him, so he's often given non-lethal ammo and put next to tourists.

Katlyn calls Garry.

---

You're led to an office and given a sticky disposable face mask. You scrunch it up and throw it in a waste basket. "I need Panacea."

Garry Simpson call me Garry stops in the middle of laying out forms. "Are you injured?"

"No, my mother is dying, right now, of my... of cancer. I need Panacea to fix everything. The cancer."

"No problem! Let's process your application as quickly as possible." Garry puts the form down and sits. "For the record, I'm Special Agent Garry Simpson, call me Garry, this interview may be recorded. Now, are you in immediate-"

You snatch the form, tick off the standard questions, and slap it on the desk.

"Panacea, now."

Garry glances at the form and steeples his fingers. "While we will happily negotiate with New Wave on your behalf, please note that New Wave is an affiliate organisation outside our direct purview. Negotiations will take an uncertain amount of time-"

"Time!" You rub your palms into your eyes. They snap open as dead women appear in the dark. "We don't have time. None of us do. Time has us and it's hungry."

Behind you, in the corner, the soft clatter of equipment. Without turning, you know the guard has one hand on a chest mounted radio to call backup, one hand on a holstered sidearm to use lethal or disabling force, and he's ready to jump on Garry to act as a human shield.

He may do all three, if provoked. Ben is a good trooper. He gives tips to new guys at the gun range in about three weeks.

What are you saying? You sound insane. They suspect something. Try again.

"Please, just get Panacea tonight and I'll be the best hero, the best asset you can imagine. I know things you won't believe. I've done things," you gulp, "you also won't believe. Just get Panacea and I'll sign my soul away."

Garry smiles. It's wide and brittle. "We don't ask for souls, that's for the PR department. New Wave will be contacted immediately after this interview. Now-"

"Promise me. Promise Panacea will cure my mother immediately as a pre-condition of employment."

Garry's eyes don't know where to look. He glances to the guard, to the forms, to his steepled hands. Anywhere but at you. He's careful not to point at you either, and definitely doesn't make eye contact.

"I see this is a very important and distressing. Thank you for your patience. The PRT will do everything it can. I don't personally have the authority to promise immediate parahuman healing, but I can consult my superiors, if that's okay with you? My cellphone is in my pocket here."

Garry isn't asking for permission to call, he's asking for permission to reach into his pocket. It's deescalation speech. This is how the PRT talks to parahumans about to snap.

Fresh parahumans often snap. You might be called a 'refreshed' parahuman. You triggered minutes ago. And a month ago. Time is confusing.

You nod.

Garry taps a contact, then says mostly yes or no or nothing at all. You guess the call is being passed around, the recordings reviewed.

You squirm - restless - in an office chair. The room feels small. Tight.

In the waste basket, a crumpled white domino mask glares at you. Eyes blink in the eye holes - green and blue and rich brown, all burning. There was no other choice. You had to. They were cancer.

Garry offers you the phone.

You take it, fingers tingling. "Hello?"

"Hello," a rich baritone from the other side. Well spoken and precise. "I am Agent Calvert and I will manage negotiations with..."

You hear nothing after Calvert. Blood fills your ears. The world narrows to a pinprick. A circle of light traps you with a tall, stark, white snake.

Calvert. Coil. Everything snaps into place.

Your last iteration - the PRT dragged its feet, Panacea took over two week to arrive. Too long; too late.

It wasn't the PRT dragging. It was Coil. It was all Coil.

The Endbringer - the Triumvirate passed word down, well over Coil's head. Only then did Panacea get to work.

Maybe Panacea and New Wave didn't even know about the deal until the last minute? Coil could just throw the paperwork into the jaws of bureaucracy, draw negotiations out, make motions without meaning, go in endless circles.

Coil made himself the only cure and waited for you to break. It's his way to sliver in the background and rig the game in his favour.

Calvert coiled around you, and you had no idea.

The snake hisses. You will use your power. When I say. How I say.

Now you step in Coil's snare. Again.

He's waiting for an answer. What did he say? Something about the Youth Guard, waking minors on a school night, request policy, affiliates and proper channels. Bureaucratic shit.

He wants to know what makes you worth the expense of effort, cash and political capital.

You have one advantage. You know him and he knows nothing about you. Not yet.

Coil has an advantage too. You might be having a panic attack.

---

Sit Rep

• Prince is in the PRT HQ, Lord's street, downtown Brockton Bay. Where the weather is nice and spandex friendly, even on an early November night.
• Prince is on the phone to Agent Thomas Calvert, a PRT consultant and troubleshooter who has taken over his case. Also known as Coil, evil mastermind of Brockton Bay's underworld.
• Prince is kinda messed up in the head and might be haunted. Or is it normal PTSD?
• The PRT has no idea who Prince is. Good thing he showed up with both hands and no bullet wounds.
• Prince has a flashy power now and has fun scaring people with it.
• Coil rolls 6 dice. He's skilled in conspiracy and tactics. His power can force Disadvantage on people (reroll, use worst roll). Disadvantage can be cancelled out by Reverse the Glass.

Choices
Now that Coil is on the board, you need to decide what to do with the power he wants.

Do you use the power to rewind time? Or hide it as long as you can?
[][Reverse] Use Reverse the Glass.
- reroll all rolls and keep 2 Thinker dice
- roll 5 dice in combat.
- Coil can detect when you use this power. It interacts with his somehow.
- But does he always know? What is his power? Under what conditions do they interact?
- The Mask of the Sand Wraith stops you from rolling less than 3 successes.

[][Reverse] Hide Reverse the Glass.
- Don't use the power unless you have to.
- Make a single roll of 3 dice in combat.
- You will be forced to Reverse the Glass if you die. The reroll will use 5 dice. Hope Coil doesn't notice.
- The Mask of the Sand Wraith stops you from rolling less than 3 successes.


You step in Coil's snare. Calvert is on the phone. He's waiting for an answer.

What is a hero worth?
[][PRT] Escape.
- [] Optional write in. Where next? Do crime? Go to New Wave? E88?
- You can just put the phone down and walk away. Or run.
- The PRT have no grounds to hold you, but they can tempt you.
- Technically they know your face the moment you walked in, but you are protected under dual identity laws until you do something worth waiving them. Such as becoming a terrorist crime lord.
- "Can I use your bathroom?"

[][PRT] Unmask Calvert as Coil.
- Agent Calvert's word is worth more than yours.
- Rory said Calvert can fool regular MRI scans somehow, probably with money.
- Prince sounds like a crazy person at the moment.
- If this fails, you'll have to escape in a more aggressive fashion.
- Even if it fails, it might spark some investigation.


[][PRT] Calm down and negotiate. What do you tell them?
- The more you sweeten the pot, the better the odds of getting Panacea, sooner.
- The more you say, the more Coil knows.
- Afterwards, fate proceeds. You patrol with Armsmaster and Velocity. Maybe get shot.
- Approval voting recommended. Any sub options with a 2 or 3 vote gap below the vote count is ignored.

-[] Tell them nothing.
- - You are a Brute with a Breaker state. That is all.
- - Essentially, you sign up under the old deal. They negotiate, you wait.
- - If Coil isn't interested in you, maybe, just maybe, he won't sabotage the New Wave negotiation.
- - "Me Brute. Me Breaker stuff. Ugh. What Coil? It taste good? Me dumb brick. Please pity."

-[] Tell them about Behemoth attacking Mexico.
- - It's well known that Endbringers can't be predicted by powers.
- - Anything you say must go through the Watch Dog Think Tank, which is a delay.
- - The Mexico crisis is two weeks away. A butterfly might ruin your prediction.

-[] Tell them about your Thinker power.
- - It's what Coil wants.
- - Combat Thinkers are rare and valuable, PRT-ENE has none (Challenger's Thinker subrating barely counts).

-[] Tell them you can sacrifice parahumans for new powers.
- - This is either Birdcage or Triumvirate worthy.
- - What would Coil do with this power?
- - How do you explain your current powers?
- - Prince is fresh from the Canada crisis. This subject is raw.

-[] Reveal all your powers. Time travel, Endbringers and sacrifices for power.
- - It's a lot to take in.
- - Even by cape standards, it's weird and mixed with mythology.
- - Prince is fresh from the Canada crisis. These subjects are raw.

-[] Write in. What do you have that they want? Can you compromise?


A/N: Thank you for reading.
Edits: Grammar and word choice. All done now.
Late edit: "it's just... I'm sorry. We need the... the paradox."-> " it's just... I'm sorry, I can't say. We need the... the paradox."
Later edits: "Don't lose hope." -> "Don't lose hope or she wins."
A beanbag round bounces off your shoulder. -> A beanbag round is snatched out the air.