Sandworm [Worm OC- Sands of Time theme]

---

Tattletale leans closer - a Cheshire cat half in shadow, all green eyes and white teeth. "What has it got in its pocketses?"

My precious, you think. The Dagger of Time is too important to part with. You needs it.

Palms together, you ask, "May I have your boots?"

The Cheshire cat grin fades to a raised eyebrow. "Honey, you don't have the ass."

"My arse is perfection," you say. "Let me take the phone and the cage. I'll hack security."

"As if," Tattletale scoffs. "Come on, empty your pockets."

"I'd rather not."

"Come on!"

"Guys," Grue interjects, hand out to break eye contact. "Rostam, whatever your hiding, we need to know. Now."

You hide the ultimate power. But speed is your greatest strength, and too much stealth slows you down. Better show them.

You draw the broken Dagger of Time.

Lo and behold: the unmaker, eternity's edge, fate-ripper, throne-breaker, and doom-bringer for Ormazd and Ahriman alike.

"It's trash," Tattletale deadpans. She wouldn't know ultimate power if it stabbed her.

"It's important," you snap, surprising yourself. "It's part of my costume."

Grue sighs. "Tats, can he hack?"

"He thinks he can," Tattletale says. "You can't show the phone on camera, or touch the network from outside. Only safe place is the bathroom. I won't help in there."

"Fine by me," you reply.

"Fuck it." Tattletale twists in her chair, yanks her boot off - kicking Grue in the process - and throws the boot at you. "I want to see how he does it. If he can't? Plan B."

You catch the boot easily and ask "What's plan B?"

She smirks. "Improvise."

---

Tattletale shifts her shoulder bag to punch your arm. "Stop limping, you'll give us away."

"Stop whispering, it's weird," you whisper, steps heavy with sacrilege. The foil Faraday cage squishes underfoot from taxi to casino.

Ruby Dreams casino screams its name from the rooftops in dancing neon. Greens stretch from gables to ground, and reds outline false doors to fun and profit. A cement marquee thrusts the name out again - in case you missed it - above an entrance like a glass airlock.

"Lots of red and green for Empire territory," you note.

"It was just a rumor." Tattletale shrugs. "All casinos have gang ties."

"Yeah, right," you mutter, adjusting Regent's coat. Luckily, your good looks distract from the ill fit.

Warm recycled air tousles your hair as you walk in, just another couple on date night.

Two bouncers in sparkling red tuxedos leave their desk to greet you. The woman accessorizes with matching lipstick, and the man with a concealed holster.

He gestures you to stop and she asks for ID.

While Tattletale rifles through her bag, the man advances to you. He holds a wand - a handheld metal detector to double-check the silent alarm.

Goosebumps rise in waves as it scans down your back, then down your leg, then it beeps.

He scrutinizes your shoes. Metal aglets. The scan resumes up front.

You pass. He moves on.

"What does the T stand for?" The lipstick woman asks, offering you the ID Tattletale gave. It says you're twenty-one years old today and your name is Ali T Fakir. What took longer to find, the photo or the pun?

"Edgar," you mumble. She wishes you a happy birthday.

The wand beeps near Tattletale's pocket.

"Hold still please," the female bouncer says. "I need to check."

Tattletale raises her hands in sarcastic surrender. The woman pats her down and finds a lump in the trenchcoat. She reaches in; pulls out a flip phone.

"Oops," Tattletale says. "Forgot to declare it."

"No problem." The phone goes behind the desk, and the woman prints a ticket. "We have a strict electronics policy in the game room. Take this to reception before you go. Have fun, you lovebirds."

Tattletale's eye twitches, holding back a look that can't be disgust, because you're too handsome and charming to inspire that.

The glass airlock opens to a sensory assault.

Bells chime and chips rattle amidst human babble. Cigarettes and alcohol perfume a room embraced by slot machines - each singing out of sync, their hypnotic lights twinkling off camera lenses.

At the heart, a drinks bar encircles a colossal aquarium pillar, where rare fish glitter like gold coins and precious gems.

"What was that about?" You ask over the din.

"It's stranger if they don't find something." Tattletale scans the room, casino lights dancing on her eyes. "We have time for some fun. Want to poke at the poker table? Maybe crap on the craps table?"

"I prefer to crap in a toilet. Your friends are waiting."

"Fine, do your business in the men's room. Sure you don't need help?"

"I'll manage. How about we bet on it?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Phrasing."

"I mean, I bet you can't get the password in six seconds."

Tattletale says "That's a very specific number."

One. You kick your shoe up and catch it.

Two, you push the smartphone at a surprised Tattletale. Three, she looks around. Four, five, six, she tappity-tap-taps on the screen.

Seven seconds, she rattles off an alphanumeric. "Better not have blown our-"

Nine. Dagger, phone and shoe fly together as time rewinds and the world forgets.

Tattletale says "That's a very specific number."

Your smile radiates satisfaction. "I win."

"Huh?"

You weave past slot machines towards the men's room.

Tattletale follows a step behind. "No, wait, what did you do?"

You open the door and pause. "Tats, please. A little privacy."

The bathroom door swings shut on her curses.

It's cooler and quieter here, the only place no one is watching. Pick a stall and take your shoe off. The Dagger of Time jumps out eagerly. You mutter an apology and hide it in your waistband.

Shake the Faraday pocket until the extra smart smartphone falls out, none the worse for being trod on. Light, tough, and flexible Tinker derived future tech. Must be worth a fortune. Now it smells of feet.

Tappity-tap-tap on the screen and enter Tattletale's password. You know enough about security suites to disables cameras and alarms, then change the admin password to 'Kākolūkīyam'. FInally, the smartphone's boosted antenna punches a message through the thick casino walls to Grue.

Simple as that. You are now a hacker. Remember to wash your hands.

---

To find Tattletale, just follow the screams.

A steel ball ricochets across the roulette wheel, and spectators clap and stomp. The crowd is wound up as the wheel spins down. The ball slows; the clap quickens; tension rises. Finally it stops. Thirty-two black. They snap into ecstatic screams.

You lock eyes with Tattletale and nod towards the bar. She rakes her winnings into a bucket and abandons the table to many a disappointed groan.

The bar is spaced with touchscreen menus, both to order drinks and to gamble online. You claim the emptiest section, and Tattletale joins you, her bucket rattling cheerfully.

You glance up at the aquarium, where light is bent to make an illusion of depth. "We're supposed to be discreet."

"I'm blending in," Tattletale replies, feeding chips to the bar. "Online betting for Aleph is disabled. Want a drink?"

"You're drawing attention."

"So what?" She waves at the ceiling. "Look, cameras are off."

You look. Camera lenses glitter overhead, as numerous and mysterious as the stars themselves. However astrology alone can't show if the hack worked. You'll have to trust in the smartphone - and Tattletale.

"Can't tell by looking?" Her tone turns icy. "Try stealing my power again."

"I didn't," you say. "It's still there. You checked."

"Copied, then. Or borrowed. Try it again? I'll tell everyone you're PRT."

Two glasses clink on the bar. Tattletale ordered for you.

You wait until the server moves along. "What proof-"

"Doesn't matter. What matters is, as a former trooper without protection? You'll burn." She smirks. "Literally, if Lung gets you first."

"You're breaking the rules."

"No one will know."

"Thanks to your rich Uncle Coil?"

She flinches, expression morphing from surprise, to suspicion, then settling on greed.

"Hold that thought," she says, and thrusts her bag at your chest.

---

A blast of utterdark kills the light. People scream and are silenced. The floor drops away, the bar moves beyond reach. You float in deep nothing.

With numb fingers, you fumble blindly in the bag for Rostam's costume. Good thing it's simple. Anything that falls out of touch - your shirt, coat, even warmth off your skin - falls into oblivion.

Two taps on your shoulder. A helper steers you through an invisible labyrinth.

You emerge to the sloshing of your own footsteps, a dim chemical light reflected eerily in floor puddles and wall mirrors. Like finding an air pocket undersea, you can breathe again.

Tattletale stumbles through the sheer wall, blinking. She spares you a glance. "Nice outfit. Really rocking that 'crap' aesthetic."

"Thanks Tats," you say. "So do you."

It's a weak lie. From her smirk, she knows it.

Tattletale's bodysuit is vibrant lavender banded in black. The half-mask does double duty, lightening her hair and angling her face. Knowing her, you look for what's hidden, and find eyes and initials - signs only visible when sought.

Like Challenger, her civilian outfit is her disguise. Her cape costume is her true self: bold, unfettered, and brimming with secrets.

Dark tendrils reach beyond the void and hold a plastic keycard between two fingers.

"A dog knocked over the fish tank." Grue's voice echos from nowhere and everywhere. There's no distinction between him and his abyssal black fog. He is king of the land he makes blind. "You guys need anything else?"

"Give me a second to pack." Tattletale takes the bag from you and extracts a thin backpack. Bag, trenchcoat, and your shirt - thanks Grue - are packed up and hidden inside.

Meanwhile, you look in the mirror and wonder. If Grue and Tattletale bare their souls in costume, what about Rostam?

Paradox was a hero. His eyes were wide open and honest, even if his face was a mystery. His costume carefully balanced opposites. Red and blue. Exotic and approachable. Strong and non-threatening.

Paradox had an image department. Rostam doesn't.

Rostam hides his eyes behind a domino mask, deep in the shadows of a white hood. Both nose and mouth are smothered by a long red scarf - a bloody violent trail. Sleeves ripped off at the shoulder bare strong arms, like Paradox, but the effect is not the same.

Rostam is a villain.

It's just a job. It's just for one night.

Rachel breaches the fog wall, hauling a thick steel chain over her shoulder. She's soaked, water dripping off her chin to the dime-store mask hanging from her neck - the mask of a sad Saint Bernard, the plastic warped into white scars.

The chain rides up and up until it dredges a giant one-eyed dog of bone and gristle. Rachel clicks her tongue. The dog drops a tangle of limbs at her feet.

"You missed one," Rachel tells Grue.

A torn red tuxedo blends too well with torn bleeding flesh. The door bouncer curls in a fetal position, alive and terrified.

Yeah buddy, you've been there.

The darkness swears and envelopes the bouncer, dragging him into its depths.

"Will he be alright?" You ask.

"Mild to moderate lacerations, no broken bones," Tattletale says loudly. "Grue knows first aid, so it's fine."

Rachel sniffs. "He shouldn't have run."

But run he did, and only Rachel averted disaster.

"Good catch," you say.

Rachel turns on you, chain whistling. You dart aside and it whip-cracks off the floor.

A line of smoke shoots between you. A line not to be crossed.

"Angelica," Rachel commands. "Outside."

Rachel glares at you until the chain tugs her through the smoke.

"What was that?" You ask. "Who goes psycho at random?"

"That means she likes you," Tattletale says, swinging her backpack over one shoulder.

She swipes the keycard through a hidden slot. The mirror swings open, exposing a door with a keypad over the handle. She enters a code that makes locks clatter like an empty machine gun.

"Come, meatshield." Tattletale opens the door to a shotgun blast.

She falls - hair and arms rising limp, head thrown back by the impact.

You reverse time and slam the door. The shotgun blast rattles it.

"Perhaps the meatshield go first," you suggest.

Tattletale closes her mouth. "Uh, yeah, sure." She gulps. "Fine, just some non-lethal rounds, so, yeah, okay, this is fine."

"Wait, non-lethal? Seriously?"

"Yeah, rubber buckshot." She folds her arms and forces a smirk. "It's a cowboy rent-a-cop on a smoke break, what do you expect?"

"Thirty-two gram lead slugs."

You open the door. The blast slams into your gut - eight solid rubber pellets of rib breaking force making you halt.

Then you keep going. You're accustomed to a deadlier caliber.

The man at the bottom of the stairs pulls back on the shotgun - the spent shell ejects with a tumble.

Dive and grab the forestock and push the barrel against his chest. The man stumbles back - a lit cigarette flying off his lip.

The spent shell tings off bare cement.

Press him, this heavyset man in a tan uniform. Pin him between the shotgun and the wall. Press harder, until his breath comes short and sharp.

He pushes back with both hands on the shotgun against your one. His face turns red with futile effort.

He doesn't get it.

"I don't want to hurt you," you say. "Please let go."

He kicks, but hits hard shin. He doesn't have the flexibility to kick higher or strength enough to really hurt.

He won't let go. He doesn't get it; refuses to accept it.

"I don't want to hurt you. Look." You slide the handguard down, then up, making that distinct ka-click of a pump action. "The muzzle is below your chin. There's a straight line of soft tissue to your brain. Please sir, let go, and avoid the trigger."

Blinking sweat out his eyes, he gets it, and lets go. You pull the gun away and turn with him, leading him to sag on the floor. You bind his wrists with his own belt and guide him up the stairs.

"God damn capes," he mutters and coughs. "Fucking bullet proof."

You push him into the abyss. Then empty the shotgun and toss it too.

The abyss beans you back with a wadded up napkin. Sorry Grue, didn't see you there.

Tattletale watches by the mirror door. "We got off on the wrong foot."

"You put your foot in your mouth."

She starts to retort, then clenches her teeth, grimacing from swallowing bitter words.

"Someone will check the noise," she says instead. "Lead the way, meatshield."

Below the stairs, a young man in tan is just coming through the door. He meets your eyes and tries to pull the door shut - vault the stairs and stab fingers into the gap before it closes.

You drag the door open and he is dragged with it.

You push him into the dark with his cowboy colleague. He doesn't resist. He gets it.

---

Beneath the ruby skin, fluorescent tubes bleach bare cement corridors to a pale bone-white.

Welcome to the underworld. Tread softly; the turns are cut sharp.

Tattletale leads you to the double doors of the vault access room, sealed shut by a keypad. She signals seven guards inside.

You nod.

She unlocks the door. You charge in, dagger high.

The first guard sees you and... kneels, hands raised in surrender. The others follow in turn. All seven giving up without a fight.

You lower the dagger in disappointment, unsure why.

"Welcome to normal." Tattletale chuckles, sauntering inside.

The room contains old desks, terminals, and one fearsome ferroconcrete wall. Its surface is patterned like dark marble, but rough as a saw. A massive steel blast door - modeled off Endbringer shelters - sits in the center.

Tattletale assesses it expertly. "Dual combination lock, manageable. Medium time delay, annoying. Remote lock already disabled." She knits her fingers together and stretches. "Knock those guys out, and I'll crack this vault like an egg."

You look over the kneeling guards - middle-aged rent-a-cops, none looking eager to fight a cape. Ironically, surrender makes incapacitation harder. Can't just punch them out. If they attacked, sure, that's asking for it.

You wish you had confoam.

"Everyone, line up and belts off," you command.

Tattletale massages her temples. "Don't tell me your parading them upstairs."

"Okay, I won't tell you."

"You can't be a Brute and a pacifist," she grumbles. "Just bust some heads already."

No. Paradox endangered everyone around him. Rostam has to be better, even as a villain.

"I'll leave them tied up," you compromise.

"Whatever."

At one end, you secure a guard's wrists with a triple belt loop. His short sleeve rides up, showing a tattoo - a skull.

At the opposite end, a guard draws a pistol hidden on his back. You reverse time, dash, and yank his arm up. His shoulder pops - a loud, wet sound - dislocated.

The first guard - his arms not yet bound - draws another hidden weapon. All of them do, all armed and coordinated, all waiting for this moment. They've trained together. They've picked targets.

Tattletale is caught in the crossfire. You grip the dagger and reverse time.

Throw the first guard off into the second, kick a gun out the hands of the third... Not fast enough. The rest draw and fire.

Time rewinds. You stand behind the first guard, a belt in hand. Too late; too slow.

Too many guards, too many guns, too spread out.

Not enough time; not enough speed.

You exhaust the hourglass. Draw forth the Sands of Time.

Your face decays to pale bone; your eyes to blue infinity. You wear the rags of a dead hero.

You wear the Mask of the Sand Wraith.

The world shudders. All is dust yet to fall.

---

Time is forever in motion, shapeless and unstoppable, as is the Sand Wraith.

Surge like a tempest, and let the vortex of your passing wrench men from the earth. Flow like a breeze, laying bare their secret weapons. Your fist humbles all lesser weapons.

In a world of dust, the eternal shines. Spy a diamond hiding in flesh. The [ Negotiator. ]

It sees you and knows fear. It sees [ my hunger. ]

Reach out and sink claws into - no. No more death. The Dahaka and you wrestle for control of time's avatar.

Reach out and sink claws into steel. As the mountain yields to eternity, so too must steel.

Time is forever in motion, leaving you behind, as is the Sand Wraith.

Men fall, metal pebbles drop, and ferroconcrete explodes into dust.

---

You double over, retching, feeling you sprinted a marathon with a bus on each arm. How long did you wear the Mask? Three seconds? Do seconds even apply outside time? It felt eternal, and it drained you to the core.

Reach out, try to stand, and find a ladder of twisted metal bars. The remains of the vault lock - massive steel cylinders once set in ferroconcrete - now bent and broken. The Sand Wraith tore it like paper.

Take a deep breath, cough, and try breathing through your scarf. Dizziness ebbs, but fatigue lingers. You can't wear the Mask again without rest, can't even try.

In the chaos of flying dust and falling debris, find Tattletale trembling under a desk. Her eyes are wide and roaming, her pupils dilated to iris edge.

She spits a word that makes your brain throb. "[Aberration.]"

"I-" You cough, and start over. "Are you alright?"

"No!" She peers at you through her fingers, her pupils back to normal. "My power was screaming in my head. You were like... like Archimedes' lever. Infinitely over there jumping on an infinitely long lever."

"Outside time?"

"Outside Earth Bet!"

"Excuse me, do you need a moment?" A new voice interrupts, rough as scotch whiskey. "I heard a knocking."

As the dust settles, the scene unfolds.

Security guards lie scattered but intact, their weapons reduced to metal beads. The vault stands open, revealing rows of safe deposit boxes and riches untold.

And blocking the doubledoor exit is a ribcage. The sternum grows from the ground, and rib bones stab the doorframe. Through the gaps in the cage, you see a man with long, gray-streaked hair.

"The proprietor is an old friend of mine," he says. "So I'm obliged to care. A man takes care of old friends. But I'm fair. You have one minute to tell me who sent you."

"A friend sent us," Tattletale interjects. "With a gift, from the new boss to the old boss."

"The new boss?" The man's brow furrows. "Let's see."

"It's a phone. Contact information. An ally in the city."

Gaps in the ribcage widen as the man beckons.

Tattletale whirls to you. "Give him the phone."

You hesitate. "Why? Who is this guy?"

She shoots a glare that makes even you doubt your intelligence.

"Forgive me, I'm not dressed." The man's forehead bulges, then separates as an ivory blade grows from under his skin. From hairline to chin, it descends, gaining detail. Teeth, eye holes, and a nasal cavity.

A skull. One you've seen before. First in a mural on the side of a shipping container. Then a tattoo on the security guard. Marks of ownership.

"Is this better?" Asks the Marquis of old Brockton Bay. Teeth flex like lips and click like bone.

"Give him the phone, Rostam." Tattletale pleads. "So he won't kill us."

"No, just the one." Marquis extends his mask into a full suit of bone armour. "I'm a man of principle."

No women no kids, the mural said. His creed.

"No, wait." Tattletale spins to Marquis. "You need Rostam for Amy Dallon."

What?

"My Amelia? Explain."

"He has an appointment with Panacea," Tattletale hurriedly explains. "An exact time and place where she'll be in a hospital ward. You can walk in, easy. But Rostam needs to be alive for it to happen."

This feels wrong. Tattletale plays roulette in a gamble for your life, but her chip is the world's greatest healer - someone your mother needs.

If it's a bluff, it works. The rib cage over the door widens further. You have a clear shot to run, or to attack.

"A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man," Marquis muses. "Fine, it's a bargain. We'll discuss details over the phone."

Take the phone out and look at it. What does this mean?

Coil. Of course. Brockton Bay is a series of levers all tied to Coil or Calvert - the snake with two heads and too many strings. This alliance is Tattletale's secret side mission.

This phone is an alliance between two crime lords. The old boss and the new.

Look to the other hand, at the dagger. What does it mean?

Everything.

The Dahaka enabled this. Nikos sacrificed Dragon in the last iteration, and you reset time. Dragon and Narwhal are now alive but unpowered, as seen on PHO. So the Birdcage breaks open and the Marquis returns.

The dagger is regret. But also hope. A chance to run from mistakes. Or towards them.

Especially within ten seconds.

You dive through the ribcage, towards Marquis. Ribs close over your leg and you chip it with the broken dagger. A chunk of living bone crumbles to sand, just enough to slip out.

A hand of charcoal touches you and the world becomes fire and ash. Time rewinds on its own.

As before, so again.

One hand holds a bargain for the bone lord. The other holds the Dagger of Time.

Which will you choose?

---

Sit Rep

• You successfully infiltrated the casino and disabled security
• There were problems on the main floor. Rachel covered it without killing anyone.
• The Sand Wraith incapacitated the guards and opened the vault. It needs rest now.
• Rostam is leaning towards being the good kind of villain.
• Rostam and Tattletale have a working relationship. She probably thinks she can use Rostam against Coil.
• Ruby Dreams casino was a Marquis safehouse. He's here with some other Birdcage escapees.
• Marquis wants Panacea and Brockton Bay, in that order.
• Prince learned how to keep his head down and eyes open. Gain a Subterfuge skill

Tattletale's Tactical Tips

• Marquis is a Shaker/Changer 6 who can morph his own bones and break any exposed bone he can see. He made his reputation by carefully picking fights and will run if he might lose.
• Cinderhands, just out of sight, is a Blaster/Striker 5. He makes things burn. He won't run.
• Upstairs is a third Birdcage escapee, Whimper a Stranger/Trump 5. Not really a fighter, but good at escaping notice.
• Tattletale is an excellent Thinker 7 who would prefer not to die. She can help in combat by exposing weakness and talking smack.
• You, Rostam, are a Brute/Thinker 5 with bit of Mover. You reroll all rolls. Your Breaker state is taking a nap.

Choices

One hand holds a bargain for the bone lord.

[] Give the phone and help Marquis.
- Tattletale's bargain.
- Enable an alliance between two crime lords.
- The generous old boss gives you 100K and Panacea healing.
- Possibly results in the kidnaping of Panacea and the enmity of New Wave.
- The Coil / Marquis block promises upheaval for the city.

[] Give the phone and betray Marquis.
- Warn New Wave, his old nemesis.
- Do not warn the PRT. Coil will know.
- [] And persuade the Undersiders to help.
-- Which will warn Coil if you fail
- [] Without the Undersiders.

[] Attack Tattletale, and give the phone to Marquis.
- "Thanks for saving my life, Tats. You really shouldn't have."
- Marquis doesn't need her. Just you. Although there are sayings about traitors.
- Undersiders won't like you.
- Easy Sand perk.
- Dahaka is pleased.
- Rather dark and ruthless.


The other holds the Dagger of Time.

[] Attack Marquis.
- Cinderhands is the least likely to escape.
- Marquis will escape if there's a draw. He prefers fights he wins.
- Whimper will likely escape, barring extreme rolls.
- Dahaka will be pleased. Each death you cause is a Sand perk.
- Tattletale will help by hiding in the vault and talking smack, reducing your roll Target to 4.
- Failure leads to injury penalty and a character death. People tend to die around you.

[] Attack Everyone.
- All of the above, but you start by killing Tattletale (she will not help).
- You will have at least 1 unit of Sand to buy a perk, potentially a Grand Rewind
- Dahaka is pleased.
- Quite dark and psychotic.
- OOC: the optional perk Tattletale enables is the Eye of Entropy: see how things die, both fives and sixes explode if they are a success.

[] Escape Marquis.
- Just run past and trigger a lockdown on your way out.
- Marquis and Coil will not like this.
- You're the only Mover and it's generally easier to run than fight, so Target is 4.
- [] With Tattletale over your shoulder.
- [] With money over your shoulder.
-- increases Target for rolls by 1 each up to 6.
- [] Without Tattletale.
- [] Without money.

[] Write in.



Personal note: I cut this thing too much at the start.

Edits:
Marquis... break any bone in sight -> Marquis ... break any exposed bone in he can see (for clarity: he needs to strip the skin off first)

"I didn't." -> "I didn't," you say. "It's still there. You checked." (to clear up a motivation)
Tattletale's Top Tips -> Tattletale's Tactical Tips (for accuracy)

A ribcage blocks the doubledoor exit. It grows from the ground and anchors in the wall, leaving gaps to see though. Behind it stands a man with long, grey-streaked hair. -> And blocking the doubledoor exit is a ribcage. The sternum grows from the ground, and rib bones stab the doorframe. Through the gaps in the cage, you see a man with long, gray-streaked hair. (ugh, so much to fix. Terrible flow. Why can't I see these things before I post?)