Quest: Magic Missile's Red Glare- The Dauntless Battalion
- Location
- Pennsylvania
You are Kitsune, one of several, and you have found yourself hiding in a dumpster again. It's been a few decades since the last time. In vulpine form once more as well. How history rhymes.
The possum, Marvin, scuttles up Balthazar's back, having triumphantly scavenged a half-chewed donut from the recesses of the container. You take a moment to watch the creature. You can see the imprints in his fur where Balthazar's magic connected it with steel, magnifying him into a greater construct.
The wizard hiding next to you does not complain aloud, but his furrowed brow says enough. Balthazar Blake is more than a bit damaged after his encounter with the Morganians, despite the best of both your efforts. Above you, the lid of the dumpster behind Robin's Roast Café creaks slightly as an entirely mundane rat scampers across.
Balthazar sighs, irritation palpable. "Really. A dumpster?"
"Of course!" Monogram's voice emanates from a broken soda bottle. "Think about it. Evil Wizard Guy is going to suspect something wizardly and magical, right? Like that street everyone looks past from that one episode of Dr. Zone. I've seen his type before. He'll never suspect the ol' dumpster trick but I bet you he's off casing all those weird creepy mansions right now."
You resist the base urge to lick your paw. You can shed the layer of filth when you shift your form, but at the moment you have little recourse for the unpleasantry around you.
Balthazar barely looks irritated at being surrounded by the remains of yesterday's dinner and an entire stand's worth of newspaper. He seems a touch more irritated at your companion. "Horvath has a tendency to overthink things." The man admits, in a manner just barely more nonchalant than it is begrudging.
"Exactly! See, we work together pretty well. You know what he's going to do, so we do the thing he's never going to suspect! Like hiding in a dumpster." Monogram speaks with a note of growing confidence. "You guys will be fine for a half hour or two, right? Garbage doesn't get taken out till 5 tomorrow. Agent Russ is fine for now, so I'm going to look for Creepy Girl. She broke off from them, and she's surely up to no good."
"Quite." You purr. Balthazar shifts his attention back to you. As Monogram leaves, the wizard finds himself trapped with two companions left in the dumpster with him: the odor, and the one who convinced him to climb in. The possum as well, but he wouldn't think to turn his ire on a simple rodent. Balthazar glares at the only target left. You smirk back.
"There is a meaning to this perch, dear magister." You point your snout to the alley's edge. On the street just outside your hiding spot, the van you had left behind lies vandalized from within. It is a bit of a shame, losing that. It must have cost the Doctor some measure of coin, however small.
The marsupial perched on his shoulder lets out a 'mep' as it shoves the last remnants of the doughnut into its mouth. Balthazar grunts. "I expected it to leave by now. I think it's getting attached."
He seems neutral on the development.
He looks at you, and that ever-present twitch of stress in his neck sees a little less pressure. You wonder when he last took a day to himself. You continue.
"From this place, you can scry upon the rodents in detail. What do you see?"
You know the response. Magic, wild and untamed, curling through cracks so much as braided smoke. The rats shed their essence with every breath, raw power wired between their many souls, linking them together. Perhaps once it was thinner, but enough time has passed since whatever errant chance formed them to create a thing greater than the sum.
One of them is sitting on the dashboard, staring out at passersby. It does not flinch as a normal rodent might, sitting upright on its hind legs as its eyes take in every detail. As of yet, it has not spotted you. Balthazar stares back, eyes seeming to glaze over as he lapses into concentration. After a long minute he blinks, and lowers the lid again.
"You worked with hiveminds before?" He asks, gruffly.
Once, long ago, you almost entered one, but you slunk away in the end. You know not what happened to those siblings, but you never heard of them again. "I have not."
He places his hands upon his hips. "It's been a long time since I've seen something like this. They're smarter than normal rats to start, and their minds are linked together. They can coordinate, probably distribute thoughts. It's dark magic." he muses, lingering on the last phrase as if he wished to elaborate.
"So they claimed." You agree, already well aware. It's like a dance, tracing the steps of a man's thoughts. Ideas have a tempo. "Can you work with that?"
"...It'll have to do."
"Come now." You bat a paw at the wizard's face. He dodges back, of course, but the sentiment follows all the same. You've received a tad too much of that attitude from grown men as of late, and the space you left the last one left him stranded. Intervention it is "Must you be so dour upon yourself? You have the mind and the means, yes?"
"Yes." He agrees quickly. "It'll be easier to work with them if they're willing. Right now, they seem…" A horrifying shriek issues from the van as thirteen rats, in unison, stare down a small passing pomeranian. "...Disagreeable."
"No more than you, one could argue."
The dog screams back, and immediately moves to mark its territory on the van. The creatures of dark magic, incensed in turn, beat their little rat fists on the glass, trying in vain to tip the vehicle on its side and crush the interloper.
Balthazar moves to rub his forehead, realizes his hands are caked in something unidentifiable, and stops. He pulls out a handkerchief instead, a half-formed cuss dying behind his lips.
You smile. "It is merely a matter of knowing what to say."
===
Against all odds, Major Monogram was not having a terrible day.
Oh sure, it was terrible to be trapped in some awful creepy mirror dimension. It was really weird to have everything backwards. Literally. The sun was starting to set in the east, all the street signs were backwards, and most creepy of all, the only sound came from his own voice or the occasional reflection. No wind, no bugs, and no birds.
And also sure, the evil wizards were planning on blowing up America using the Declaration. But all hope was not lost! For the first time in months, Monogram actually felt like he could do something that mattered. Agents D, R, and C were coordinating with him via their communication watches, all it had taken was a rousing speech to cheer them up after that cannon barrage.
It was kind of weird looking back on it all. Only a few years after Doofenshmirtz had 'won' and already the world seemed like it was changing more than anyone realized. Gone were the days where his agents could single-handedly wrangle all the chaos in Danville. Instead of mad scientists, nowadays there were cat mafias and other mafias and even some regular old crime too. OWCA had been restructured, and for the better, but Danville was different now. Even Doofenshmirtz was different! The times were changing, and if he didn't change with them he'd get left in the dust. He had actual responsibilities outside of LOVEMUFFIN now, a fact that astonished him. They had been… shockingly easy to defeat, once and for all, once they put their minds to it. And even with the government expecting actual… reports? On investigations? Already he was able to observe his agents with pride (and a bit of difficulty, considering the whole mirror thing) as they looked every bit the wandering pets, sniffing down streets and distracting people from reflective surfaces with their adorable antics.
Major Monogram didn't know the first thing about magic. The last couple missions (and the Mirror Debacle) taught him that as much as he enjoyed the chance to exercise his gymnast's skills, he really wasn't cut out for field work. But he had spent the last however many years managing the pettiest, whiniest mad scientists that Danville had to offer, so naturally that made him the perfect person to hunt down an evil witch child! Besides, if he didn't step up, no one else would! This wasn't like the assignments of the old days where he could count on the villain to be self-defeating. They already had one man (and multiple muppets) down, captured in enemy territory, and the actual fate of the world might be on the line.
They had never prepared him for this in The Academy.
Intrigue Check: Track down the witch!
DC 70
54% CoS, 96+ 5-
48+23=71
Bare Success
The conspiracy nut on So Weird had updated about five minutes ago that he was "sitting on something really big" that would expose the dark truth behind Gravesfield. If anyone could figure that out with a quick five minutes on the internet, then he was sure that would be the witch's next target! Balthazar said they would probably be focusing on damage control, and what could be more damaging than posting video evidence of the whole thing?
Now Monogram was just making assumptions on that last bit, but considering how much found footage was from that very same forest, it would stand to reason he might have a few cameras out there too! And while the nut didn't give out his home address, Monogram had an idea for tracking him down anyway. The witch girl, as it turned out, seemed to have a faint scent of brimstone trailing behind her that Agent D was able to pick up on quickly. He'd have to be extra careful here, knowing that if the witch girl spotted him, it was all over.
They had left Gravesfield's main street and were heading into the residential area, an upper-middle class sort of place by the looks of the houses. They were what most people would describe as quaint, New England style two-story structures that were just distinct enough from one another to avoid the identical suburbia look.
The house that she stopped in front of was a pale shade of green, slightly weathered by the elements, a cluster of ivy edging up the walls that bordered between 'charming' and 'neglected'. A slightly rusting Kludge pickup rested in a driveway with just a few weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. The rearview mirror made a perfect place to get a vantage point, and it would be tricky for the witch girl to see from the outside! Agents C and D were safe down the block, resting in some bushes and making sure none of the neighbors would get in the way, as Monogram waited for…
…the witch girl! Sure enough, she stalked down the street with a smirk on her face, looking like she was enjoying her day. Monogram frowned sharply as she walked up to the front door, clutched something around her neck, and proceeded to open it up like it wasn't even locked.
Well, that was kind of terrifying. And she wasn't even the most powerful wizard here. Making a split second decision, and privately being grateful for those acrobatics lessons, he shimmied up the drainpipe and pressed himself up against the wall. He could just barely hear the snippets of a conversation through the window's reflection, and held his breath despite himself. Could they hear something like that through the glass?
"- the hell did you get in my house?! Wait a second, you're the-!"
"Don't worry." The witch-girl smirked, "You won't remember a thing."
Monogram gritted his teeth. This was awful! He had to just stand by and let an innocent civilian get their head messed with, conspiracy nut or not he was still an American citizen and part of his responsibility! But what could he do? In the mirror realm he had no chance to do anything, if he got spotted then they lost the one advantage they had, and even if he warned the guy it was still just him against a witch!
His phone didn't have a signal but the surface was reflective enough to give him a shaking, shimmering view around the wall. The nut, a thirty-something with cropped brown hair and glasses, was holding onto a dagger while the girl made a gripping motion with her hand, and-
He blinked. "What- what happened again?"
"An accident." The girl recites, motioning for the man to turn around and face his desk. With a twirl of the fingers, the desktop erupts into a flurry of sparks and smoke. "Your computer…exploded because of a-" She pauses, pulling a small leather booklet from a pouch in her dress. She declares "-Power surge."
He had heard enough. With the most obvious 'loose end' wrapped up, Balthazar would surely be her next target! "Come in, Agent D!" he barked into his watch after climbing down and vaulting over the fence. "Oh. Force of habit." Monogram muttered to himself as he searched for the reflection of Agent D's wrist in the underbrush. "Agent D! The witch girl is on the move! Return to the dumpster and let Balthazar know. We're counting on you!"
Hmmm. His odds weren't good, but he did have the advantage of two agents and a potential surprise attack. OWCA wasn't likely to completely take her down, but they could at least distract her till Balthazar was done confronting the other wizard. On the other hand, the mirror trap had turned into a tremendous advantage, and even if sending his agents to waylay her was unlikely to reveal him, he would still be risking his agents in a dangerous situation.
…what to do…
===
You've returned to your human form again. Young enough, red, curly hair, a half-worn burlap jacket stained by long nights of misuse. It's an art, even if you only ever dabbled over the centuries, crafting an image worth a thousand unspoken words. Convenient that your choice is familiar to the mark, something your detainees would recognize in form if not detail. A half-eaten sandwich dropped from sticky fingers, curses every evening in the wake of swollen bags of trash. The type to feed them, or perhaps to feed on, in peckish moments.
Or so you presume.
"Hello again." You tap politely on the car's side window.
The collective hisses, climbing up onto the dashboard and seats so they may stare at you as one. Dozens of pairs of glowing red eyes glare back at you as a mixed chorus of curses, epithets, and expletives emerges from behind the glass.
"Have you enjoyed yourselves?" A smile always helps. How it does so, you can always pick in the moment.
"WE HAVE ENJOYED NOTHING!" You glance upon the state of destruction within the vessel. Several rats continue to gnaw on what remains of the upholstery, picking at scratched plastic. Amusingly, that would make this easier, so long as you bridge this step well. If you failed, however, their escape would be swift. One thing at a time.
"Not a single song?" You make a show of surprise, polite and restrained. They like to talk, you noticed that originally. As long as you give them the space to.
"THEY LACK RHYTHM!"
"My condolences."
"MEANINGLESS!"
"Oh?" You trace a particularly vicious scratch line in the glass. "What would have meaning, then?"
The rats are not as unified in their responses but the meaning remains the same, as shouts of 'FREE US', 'FREEDOM', and in one case, 'REVENGE' can be heard. "ALLOW US TO RETURN, LIVING IN DARKNESS!"
"Freedom, in this nation?" You jest. "Unfortunately, my fellows would be most upset if you were to return to your alleyway unsupervised."
Tiny claws skitter over the remains of the dashboard, brushing up against glass, plastic, and fur, the rodents moving over top of and beneath one another with little care for personal space. The mass remains almost constantly in motion, flowing like water among the shreds of upholstery and the remains of plastic bags. "IT WAS THEY WHO DISTURBED US! WE WERE PERSISTING-"
"Is persisting enough?" You press on the window, and a spiderweb crack emerges underneath your clawed nail. A mistake, but no one needs to know that. Your gaze sharpens, and a sea of blinking red eyes snap to meet the blue of your own.
There is a low chittering of dissent, snatches of words cut half-formed from singular throats as the hive-mind considers your offer. "EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN!"
"Our purpose here has been waylaid. Our dear friend the agent-" You pause and let the rats mutter their conclusions as to who you refer to. "Has found himself detained much as you are."
You are greeted with the sight of a great many rodents standing up as one and rubbing their hands together. They applaud, barely audible past the glass, but the gesture is clear nonetheless. One of them throws a rat-sized newspaper Rizzo probably intended to finish at you. It bounces off the glass. How cute.
"In exchange for your aid in his rescue, I can grant you passage to a better home."
The chorus rises. Heads turn, the swarm stops its motion for a moment as members rise on their hind paws.
"LIES!" "YOU LIE!" "YOU ONLY SEEK OUR AID!" "OF WHAT WORTH IS YOUR WORD?!" "WE HAVE HEARD BEFORE LIES OF A BETTER HOME- THEREIN LIES ONLY DEATH!" "WHAT BETTER HOME CAN BE THAN DUMPSTER?!"
A thought, and a shroud of darkness falls on the many minds before you. To the world outside, you are merely a strange woman murmuring to her car. To the rats…
"WITCHERY!"
"Perhaps." You begin. "But I have no need to deceive you." A snap of your fingers, and the scene warps.
Danville, as you remember it. The rats scrabble together as the vehicle seems to sink into the earth, leaving them staring up at the seat of Doofenshmirtz's influence. Eclectic skyscrapers embed themselves in a firmament of purple-green smog in defiance of sense and gravity. Closer below, smaller buildings, no less discordant in style and color, press against one another. Lemon-lime-scented air blows through the rooftops while the streets mostly smell of roasting bratwurst and pine. Occasionally Normbots zip through the air, picking up old women and carrying them across the street, or sometimes picking up cats and putting them up in trees. There is a slight issue with the trash, specifically the lack of it, but highlighting some of the varied cuisines seems to do the trick. You take a moment to recall the scent of pizza, to clear and strong effect, as the rat collective raises their noses to the air, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
There is discord in the swarm, more than you have seen before. Perhaps one or two are immediately intrigued, the rest are divided in opinions ranging from outright dissent- "WE WILL NOT FALL FOR YOUR LIES-" to suspicion "-HOW SHALL WE KNOW THIS IS NOT MERELY A WITCH ILLUSION-" to confusion "-WHERE IS THE SUN?! EXPLAIN!"
"Hidden." You start from the last question. "The lord of the land wished it so, and built a great many machines to make it as he wanted."
"THIS PLEASES US." "BUT WHAT OF DUMPSTER?!" "THERE IS NO GARBAGE, NO FOOD!" "THE MECHANICAL MEN HAVE TAKEN IT ALL!"
"Not in plain sight," You tut, and your vision whirls about, spinning and splitting into a multitude of moments. Red eyes split every which way, each taking in a different sight. You have wandered far and wide across Doofenshmirtz's erstwhile capital, and you have no lack of memories to draw upon. Workers chattering in cafeterias as machines quietly pack bag after bag of detritus down a chute, waterworn tunnels stretching beneath the city's aquifers, slick with moss and insects, and, for the most plaintive, a few dumpsters as well, some at rest, others on the move, shunted through that ponderous cycle that is a city's gastronomy and back again. The rats quiver, attention pulled by possibility.
You can see the moment the wonder breaks, a slow flinch rippling through the crowd as base instinct is subsumed by fear and reason both. The rats scrabble back and forth, pulling away from the illusion as they wrench their attention back upon you.
"THE AGENT!" "WHAT OF YOUR AGENT?!" "HE STRUCK UNPROVOKED!" "HE WISHED FOR OUR CAPTURE OR DEATH!"
"That was his choice." It does bemuse you, what Agent Russ will think of the deal you are striking. Most likely, he will simply be too exhausted to fight it, so long as you hold the pretense of control. "He feared your choices, in his own way, or perhaps your lack thereof."
The group starts to move again, nestling under one another and the assorted debris as they again come up to the edge of the glass, raising their bodies high, their noses sniffing at the cracked glass as if to assess you. A few of the rats are hanging upside down from the sun visors, heads and bodies contorting so you are always in their line of sight. "HE IS CORRECT TO! HE WAS BITTEN COLLECTIVELY THIRTEEN TIMES!"
"Fear is hardly my concern." You cut them off at the hilt. "All I ask of you in this is trust. A more precious currency, but so fragile. The agent fears he cannot trust you, that you will turn on the innocents in the streets, who fill your dumpsters, and will need putting down. I can lend my trust to you, in this."
Here lies the crux of the matter. The choice is theirs, however you may fool them. You pull the illusion back, the rats blinking at the return to normalcy. "Do you understand?"
Kitsune Diplomacy Check: Convince the Rats
DC 110
54% CoS, 96+, 5-
98+30+11+10 (Offering What You Want)+12 (Now You See Me)=161
Critical Success!
A score of rats turn from you to convene in their own writhing rat huddle. One begins to fastidiously gnaw on its tail as another pair begin to groom, muttering in furtive hisses that are a bit too faint to make out. There is a bit of disagreement, it seems, as a few of them begin to bite and wrestle, though the argument dies down, as one stream of babble triumphs over the other. "WE CANNOT MAKE OUR OWN PIZZA!" "THERE IS NO REASON TO DEVOUR MAN-FLESH WHEN PIZZA IS BEYOND OUR RECKONING!" the collective declares.
Your smile grows further, ever so slightly too long, too sharp. "As you wish."
"What do you think?" You step away from the glass, your smile upon the sorcerer as he steps out of the alley. He observes the hive, the gleam of intelligence in their eyes, the fibers of magic you can almost taste, so closely you stand. The van they remain encased within, that they've devoured from the inside.
"I have a few ideas."
===
Monogram has Agents C and R, both of which can pretend to be mundane animals, and the advantage of stealth. He could attempt to distract Abigail, or he could just play it safe and return to Balthazar. If successful, Abigail will be absent for any upcoming confrontations with the rest of the Morganians. So will your Agents, but that's an excellent trade. If unsuccessful, things may get difficult. Given his state, Monogram is unlikely to be injured, but he is very likely to be found out if unable to wrangle her successfully. The agents will be in danger, but that's par for the course with NOWCA.
[ ] Attempt to distract Abigail
[ ] Play it safe and keep watch
Kitsune has the attention of the rats, at least for a time. If you're to receive their help, they will need an earnest offer in return. She is confident that one of these will seem agreeable to them- and with minimal cost to you.
[ ] Offer to move them into DEI Headquarters. There will be a hive-mind of rats eating garbage in DEI headquarters. Employee morale will move laterally.
[ ] Offer to move them to a better dumpster with more pizza. The rats will be unleashed upon the Danville Underworld. You are capable of making sure they don't bother any of your citizens too much. Except Candace.
[ ] Offer to move them into the explicably extensive tunnels beneath Danville. Scott the Undergrounder will have company. Lizzy will have an inconvenience.
There is a twenty-four hour moratorium on voting. Vote for individual options, not in plan format.
The possum, Marvin, scuttles up Balthazar's back, having triumphantly scavenged a half-chewed donut from the recesses of the container. You take a moment to watch the creature. You can see the imprints in his fur where Balthazar's magic connected it with steel, magnifying him into a greater construct.
The wizard hiding next to you does not complain aloud, but his furrowed brow says enough. Balthazar Blake is more than a bit damaged after his encounter with the Morganians, despite the best of both your efforts. Above you, the lid of the dumpster behind Robin's Roast Café creaks slightly as an entirely mundane rat scampers across.
Balthazar sighs, irritation palpable. "Really. A dumpster?"
"Of course!" Monogram's voice emanates from a broken soda bottle. "Think about it. Evil Wizard Guy is going to suspect something wizardly and magical, right? Like that street everyone looks past from that one episode of Dr. Zone. I've seen his type before. He'll never suspect the ol' dumpster trick but I bet you he's off casing all those weird creepy mansions right now."
You resist the base urge to lick your paw. You can shed the layer of filth when you shift your form, but at the moment you have little recourse for the unpleasantry around you.
Balthazar barely looks irritated at being surrounded by the remains of yesterday's dinner and an entire stand's worth of newspaper. He seems a touch more irritated at your companion. "Horvath has a tendency to overthink things." The man admits, in a manner just barely more nonchalant than it is begrudging.
"Exactly! See, we work together pretty well. You know what he's going to do, so we do the thing he's never going to suspect! Like hiding in a dumpster." Monogram speaks with a note of growing confidence. "You guys will be fine for a half hour or two, right? Garbage doesn't get taken out till 5 tomorrow. Agent Russ is fine for now, so I'm going to look for Creepy Girl. She broke off from them, and she's surely up to no good."
"Quite." You purr. Balthazar shifts his attention back to you. As Monogram leaves, the wizard finds himself trapped with two companions left in the dumpster with him: the odor, and the one who convinced him to climb in. The possum as well, but he wouldn't think to turn his ire on a simple rodent. Balthazar glares at the only target left. You smirk back.
"There is a meaning to this perch, dear magister." You point your snout to the alley's edge. On the street just outside your hiding spot, the van you had left behind lies vandalized from within. It is a bit of a shame, losing that. It must have cost the Doctor some measure of coin, however small.
The marsupial perched on his shoulder lets out a 'mep' as it shoves the last remnants of the doughnut into its mouth. Balthazar grunts. "I expected it to leave by now. I think it's getting attached."
He seems neutral on the development.
He looks at you, and that ever-present twitch of stress in his neck sees a little less pressure. You wonder when he last took a day to himself. You continue.
"From this place, you can scry upon the rodents in detail. What do you see?"
You know the response. Magic, wild and untamed, curling through cracks so much as braided smoke. The rats shed their essence with every breath, raw power wired between their many souls, linking them together. Perhaps once it was thinner, but enough time has passed since whatever errant chance formed them to create a thing greater than the sum.
One of them is sitting on the dashboard, staring out at passersby. It does not flinch as a normal rodent might, sitting upright on its hind legs as its eyes take in every detail. As of yet, it has not spotted you. Balthazar stares back, eyes seeming to glaze over as he lapses into concentration. After a long minute he blinks, and lowers the lid again.
"You worked with hiveminds before?" He asks, gruffly.
Once, long ago, you almost entered one, but you slunk away in the end. You know not what happened to those siblings, but you never heard of them again. "I have not."
He places his hands upon his hips. "It's been a long time since I've seen something like this. They're smarter than normal rats to start, and their minds are linked together. They can coordinate, probably distribute thoughts. It's dark magic." he muses, lingering on the last phrase as if he wished to elaborate.
"So they claimed." You agree, already well aware. It's like a dance, tracing the steps of a man's thoughts. Ideas have a tempo. "Can you work with that?"
"...It'll have to do."
"Come now." You bat a paw at the wizard's face. He dodges back, of course, but the sentiment follows all the same. You've received a tad too much of that attitude from grown men as of late, and the space you left the last one left him stranded. Intervention it is "Must you be so dour upon yourself? You have the mind and the means, yes?"
"Yes." He agrees quickly. "It'll be easier to work with them if they're willing. Right now, they seem…" A horrifying shriek issues from the van as thirteen rats, in unison, stare down a small passing pomeranian. "...Disagreeable."
"No more than you, one could argue."
The dog screams back, and immediately moves to mark its territory on the van. The creatures of dark magic, incensed in turn, beat their little rat fists on the glass, trying in vain to tip the vehicle on its side and crush the interloper.
Balthazar moves to rub his forehead, realizes his hands are caked in something unidentifiable, and stops. He pulls out a handkerchief instead, a half-formed cuss dying behind his lips.
You smile. "It is merely a matter of knowing what to say."
===
Against all odds, Major Monogram was not having a terrible day.
Oh sure, it was terrible to be trapped in some awful creepy mirror dimension. It was really weird to have everything backwards. Literally. The sun was starting to set in the east, all the street signs were backwards, and most creepy of all, the only sound came from his own voice or the occasional reflection. No wind, no bugs, and no birds.
And also sure, the evil wizards were planning on blowing up America using the Declaration. But all hope was not lost! For the first time in months, Monogram actually felt like he could do something that mattered. Agents D, R, and C were coordinating with him via their communication watches, all it had taken was a rousing speech to cheer them up after that cannon barrage.
It was kind of weird looking back on it all. Only a few years after Doofenshmirtz had 'won' and already the world seemed like it was changing more than anyone realized. Gone were the days where his agents could single-handedly wrangle all the chaos in Danville. Instead of mad scientists, nowadays there were cat mafias and other mafias and even some regular old crime too. OWCA had been restructured, and for the better, but Danville was different now. Even Doofenshmirtz was different! The times were changing, and if he didn't change with them he'd get left in the dust. He had actual responsibilities outside of LOVEMUFFIN now, a fact that astonished him. They had been… shockingly easy to defeat, once and for all, once they put their minds to it. And even with the government expecting actual… reports? On investigations? Already he was able to observe his agents with pride (and a bit of difficulty, considering the whole mirror thing) as they looked every bit the wandering pets, sniffing down streets and distracting people from reflective surfaces with their adorable antics.
Major Monogram didn't know the first thing about magic. The last couple missions (and the Mirror Debacle) taught him that as much as he enjoyed the chance to exercise his gymnast's skills, he really wasn't cut out for field work. But he had spent the last however many years managing the pettiest, whiniest mad scientists that Danville had to offer, so naturally that made him the perfect person to hunt down an evil witch child! Besides, if he didn't step up, no one else would! This wasn't like the assignments of the old days where he could count on the villain to be self-defeating. They already had one man (and multiple muppets) down, captured in enemy territory, and the actual fate of the world might be on the line.
They had never prepared him for this in The Academy.
Intrigue Check: Track down the witch!
DC 70
54% CoS, 96+ 5-
48+23=71
Bare Success
The conspiracy nut on So Weird had updated about five minutes ago that he was "sitting on something really big" that would expose the dark truth behind Gravesfield. If anyone could figure that out with a quick five minutes on the internet, then he was sure that would be the witch's next target! Balthazar said they would probably be focusing on damage control, and what could be more damaging than posting video evidence of the whole thing?
Now Monogram was just making assumptions on that last bit, but considering how much found footage was from that very same forest, it would stand to reason he might have a few cameras out there too! And while the nut didn't give out his home address, Monogram had an idea for tracking him down anyway. The witch girl, as it turned out, seemed to have a faint scent of brimstone trailing behind her that Agent D was able to pick up on quickly. He'd have to be extra careful here, knowing that if the witch girl spotted him, it was all over.
They had left Gravesfield's main street and were heading into the residential area, an upper-middle class sort of place by the looks of the houses. They were what most people would describe as quaint, New England style two-story structures that were just distinct enough from one another to avoid the identical suburbia look.
The house that she stopped in front of was a pale shade of green, slightly weathered by the elements, a cluster of ivy edging up the walls that bordered between 'charming' and 'neglected'. A slightly rusting Kludge pickup rested in a driveway with just a few weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. The rearview mirror made a perfect place to get a vantage point, and it would be tricky for the witch girl to see from the outside! Agents C and D were safe down the block, resting in some bushes and making sure none of the neighbors would get in the way, as Monogram waited for…
…the witch girl! Sure enough, she stalked down the street with a smirk on her face, looking like she was enjoying her day. Monogram frowned sharply as she walked up to the front door, clutched something around her neck, and proceeded to open it up like it wasn't even locked.
Well, that was kind of terrifying. And she wasn't even the most powerful wizard here. Making a split second decision, and privately being grateful for those acrobatics lessons, he shimmied up the drainpipe and pressed himself up against the wall. He could just barely hear the snippets of a conversation through the window's reflection, and held his breath despite himself. Could they hear something like that through the glass?
"- the hell did you get in my house?! Wait a second, you're the-!"
"Don't worry." The witch-girl smirked, "You won't remember a thing."
Monogram gritted his teeth. This was awful! He had to just stand by and let an innocent civilian get their head messed with, conspiracy nut or not he was still an American citizen and part of his responsibility! But what could he do? In the mirror realm he had no chance to do anything, if he got spotted then they lost the one advantage they had, and even if he warned the guy it was still just him against a witch!
His phone didn't have a signal but the surface was reflective enough to give him a shaking, shimmering view around the wall. The nut, a thirty-something with cropped brown hair and glasses, was holding onto a dagger while the girl made a gripping motion with her hand, and-
He blinked. "What- what happened again?"
"An accident." The girl recites, motioning for the man to turn around and face his desk. With a twirl of the fingers, the desktop erupts into a flurry of sparks and smoke. "Your computer…exploded because of a-" She pauses, pulling a small leather booklet from a pouch in her dress. She declares "-Power surge."
He had heard enough. With the most obvious 'loose end' wrapped up, Balthazar would surely be her next target! "Come in, Agent D!" he barked into his watch after climbing down and vaulting over the fence. "Oh. Force of habit." Monogram muttered to himself as he searched for the reflection of Agent D's wrist in the underbrush. "Agent D! The witch girl is on the move! Return to the dumpster and let Balthazar know. We're counting on you!"
Hmmm. His odds weren't good, but he did have the advantage of two agents and a potential surprise attack. OWCA wasn't likely to completely take her down, but they could at least distract her till Balthazar was done confronting the other wizard. On the other hand, the mirror trap had turned into a tremendous advantage, and even if sending his agents to waylay her was unlikely to reveal him, he would still be risking his agents in a dangerous situation.
…what to do…
===
You've returned to your human form again. Young enough, red, curly hair, a half-worn burlap jacket stained by long nights of misuse. It's an art, even if you only ever dabbled over the centuries, crafting an image worth a thousand unspoken words. Convenient that your choice is familiar to the mark, something your detainees would recognize in form if not detail. A half-eaten sandwich dropped from sticky fingers, curses every evening in the wake of swollen bags of trash. The type to feed them, or perhaps to feed on, in peckish moments.
Or so you presume.
"Hello again." You tap politely on the car's side window.
The collective hisses, climbing up onto the dashboard and seats so they may stare at you as one. Dozens of pairs of glowing red eyes glare back at you as a mixed chorus of curses, epithets, and expletives emerges from behind the glass.
"Have you enjoyed yourselves?" A smile always helps. How it does so, you can always pick in the moment.
"WE HAVE ENJOYED NOTHING!" You glance upon the state of destruction within the vessel. Several rats continue to gnaw on what remains of the upholstery, picking at scratched plastic. Amusingly, that would make this easier, so long as you bridge this step well. If you failed, however, their escape would be swift. One thing at a time.
"Not a single song?" You make a show of surprise, polite and restrained. They like to talk, you noticed that originally. As long as you give them the space to.
"THEY LACK RHYTHM!"
"My condolences."
"MEANINGLESS!"
"Oh?" You trace a particularly vicious scratch line in the glass. "What would have meaning, then?"
The rats are not as unified in their responses but the meaning remains the same, as shouts of 'FREE US', 'FREEDOM', and in one case, 'REVENGE' can be heard. "ALLOW US TO RETURN, LIVING IN DARKNESS!"
"Freedom, in this nation?" You jest. "Unfortunately, my fellows would be most upset if you were to return to your alleyway unsupervised."
Tiny claws skitter over the remains of the dashboard, brushing up against glass, plastic, and fur, the rodents moving over top of and beneath one another with little care for personal space. The mass remains almost constantly in motion, flowing like water among the shreds of upholstery and the remains of plastic bags. "IT WAS THEY WHO DISTURBED US! WE WERE PERSISTING-"
"Is persisting enough?" You press on the window, and a spiderweb crack emerges underneath your clawed nail. A mistake, but no one needs to know that. Your gaze sharpens, and a sea of blinking red eyes snap to meet the blue of your own.
There is a low chittering of dissent, snatches of words cut half-formed from singular throats as the hive-mind considers your offer. "EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN!"
"Our purpose here has been waylaid. Our dear friend the agent-" You pause and let the rats mutter their conclusions as to who you refer to. "Has found himself detained much as you are."
You are greeted with the sight of a great many rodents standing up as one and rubbing their hands together. They applaud, barely audible past the glass, but the gesture is clear nonetheless. One of them throws a rat-sized newspaper Rizzo probably intended to finish at you. It bounces off the glass. How cute.
"In exchange for your aid in his rescue, I can grant you passage to a better home."
The chorus rises. Heads turn, the swarm stops its motion for a moment as members rise on their hind paws.
"LIES!" "YOU LIE!" "YOU ONLY SEEK OUR AID!" "OF WHAT WORTH IS YOUR WORD?!" "WE HAVE HEARD BEFORE LIES OF A BETTER HOME- THEREIN LIES ONLY DEATH!" "WHAT BETTER HOME CAN BE THAN DUMPSTER?!"
A thought, and a shroud of darkness falls on the many minds before you. To the world outside, you are merely a strange woman murmuring to her car. To the rats…
"WITCHERY!"
"Perhaps." You begin. "But I have no need to deceive you." A snap of your fingers, and the scene warps.
Danville, as you remember it. The rats scrabble together as the vehicle seems to sink into the earth, leaving them staring up at the seat of Doofenshmirtz's influence. Eclectic skyscrapers embed themselves in a firmament of purple-green smog in defiance of sense and gravity. Closer below, smaller buildings, no less discordant in style and color, press against one another. Lemon-lime-scented air blows through the rooftops while the streets mostly smell of roasting bratwurst and pine. Occasionally Normbots zip through the air, picking up old women and carrying them across the street, or sometimes picking up cats and putting them up in trees. There is a slight issue with the trash, specifically the lack of it, but highlighting some of the varied cuisines seems to do the trick. You take a moment to recall the scent of pizza, to clear and strong effect, as the rat collective raises their noses to the air, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
There is discord in the swarm, more than you have seen before. Perhaps one or two are immediately intrigued, the rest are divided in opinions ranging from outright dissent- "WE WILL NOT FALL FOR YOUR LIES-" to suspicion "-HOW SHALL WE KNOW THIS IS NOT MERELY A WITCH ILLUSION-" to confusion "-WHERE IS THE SUN?! EXPLAIN!"
"Hidden." You start from the last question. "The lord of the land wished it so, and built a great many machines to make it as he wanted."
"THIS PLEASES US." "BUT WHAT OF DUMPSTER?!" "THERE IS NO GARBAGE, NO FOOD!" "THE MECHANICAL MEN HAVE TAKEN IT ALL!"
"Not in plain sight," You tut, and your vision whirls about, spinning and splitting into a multitude of moments. Red eyes split every which way, each taking in a different sight. You have wandered far and wide across Doofenshmirtz's erstwhile capital, and you have no lack of memories to draw upon. Workers chattering in cafeterias as machines quietly pack bag after bag of detritus down a chute, waterworn tunnels stretching beneath the city's aquifers, slick with moss and insects, and, for the most plaintive, a few dumpsters as well, some at rest, others on the move, shunted through that ponderous cycle that is a city's gastronomy and back again. The rats quiver, attention pulled by possibility.
You can see the moment the wonder breaks, a slow flinch rippling through the crowd as base instinct is subsumed by fear and reason both. The rats scrabble back and forth, pulling away from the illusion as they wrench their attention back upon you.
"THE AGENT!" "WHAT OF YOUR AGENT?!" "HE STRUCK UNPROVOKED!" "HE WISHED FOR OUR CAPTURE OR DEATH!"
"That was his choice." It does bemuse you, what Agent Russ will think of the deal you are striking. Most likely, he will simply be too exhausted to fight it, so long as you hold the pretense of control. "He feared your choices, in his own way, or perhaps your lack thereof."
The group starts to move again, nestling under one another and the assorted debris as they again come up to the edge of the glass, raising their bodies high, their noses sniffing at the cracked glass as if to assess you. A few of the rats are hanging upside down from the sun visors, heads and bodies contorting so you are always in their line of sight. "HE IS CORRECT TO! HE WAS BITTEN COLLECTIVELY THIRTEEN TIMES!"
"Fear is hardly my concern." You cut them off at the hilt. "All I ask of you in this is trust. A more precious currency, but so fragile. The agent fears he cannot trust you, that you will turn on the innocents in the streets, who fill your dumpsters, and will need putting down. I can lend my trust to you, in this."
Here lies the crux of the matter. The choice is theirs, however you may fool them. You pull the illusion back, the rats blinking at the return to normalcy. "Do you understand?"
Kitsune Diplomacy Check: Convince the Rats
DC 110
54% CoS, 96+, 5-
98+30+11+10 (Offering What You Want)+12 (Now You See Me)=161
Critical Success!
A score of rats turn from you to convene in their own writhing rat huddle. One begins to fastidiously gnaw on its tail as another pair begin to groom, muttering in furtive hisses that are a bit too faint to make out. There is a bit of disagreement, it seems, as a few of them begin to bite and wrestle, though the argument dies down, as one stream of babble triumphs over the other. "WE CANNOT MAKE OUR OWN PIZZA!" "THERE IS NO REASON TO DEVOUR MAN-FLESH WHEN PIZZA IS BEYOND OUR RECKONING!" the collective declares.
Your smile grows further, ever so slightly too long, too sharp. "As you wish."
"What do you think?" You step away from the glass, your smile upon the sorcerer as he steps out of the alley. He observes the hive, the gleam of intelligence in their eyes, the fibers of magic you can almost taste, so closely you stand. The van they remain encased within, that they've devoured from the inside.
"I have a few ideas."
===
Monogram has Agents C and R, both of which can pretend to be mundane animals, and the advantage of stealth. He could attempt to distract Abigail, or he could just play it safe and return to Balthazar. If successful, Abigail will be absent for any upcoming confrontations with the rest of the Morganians. So will your Agents, but that's an excellent trade. If unsuccessful, things may get difficult. Given his state, Monogram is unlikely to be injured, but he is very likely to be found out if unable to wrangle her successfully. The agents will be in danger, but that's par for the course with NOWCA.
[ ] Attempt to distract Abigail
[ ] Play it safe and keep watch
Kitsune has the attention of the rats, at least for a time. If you're to receive their help, they will need an earnest offer in return. She is confident that one of these will seem agreeable to them- and with minimal cost to you.
[ ] Offer to move them into DEI Headquarters. There will be a hive-mind of rats eating garbage in DEI headquarters. Employee morale will move laterally.
[ ] Offer to move them to a better dumpster with more pizza. The rats will be unleashed upon the Danville Underworld. You are capable of making sure they don't bother any of your citizens too much. Except Candace.
[ ] Offer to move them into the explicably extensive tunnels beneath Danville. Scott the Undergrounder will have company. Lizzy will have an inconvenience.
There is a twenty-four hour moratorium on voting. Vote for individual options, not in plan format.
