Palace of Greed, El Dorado (Library of Ruina)

[SoothingCoffee]

[] Kai – Mao and Mori walk ahead of you, and that leaves you back with Kai. She doesn't say anything – and compared to the chatterbox that was Mao, you find Kai both comforting, and unsettling. But if you're going to work with her, then you're gonna have get used to her. You're reminded to how she fought back then with Ran – maybe you could ask her about that?

[] Weapons – You like your crowbar. You don't think you'll be changing that, but that doesn't mean your crowbar has to stay as is. Just as there are augmentations to the body, there are also augmentations to the weapon. Kai's sword, for example, you know well could do something funny.

...​

As both Mao, and Mori take the lead ahead of you, standing side-by-side, you find yourself inevitably matching Kai's steps. There's an oddness to it that make you watch your own gait. Stiff, but not from fear. Calculated, and coordinated, each step no shorter, or longer than the last. It sends the hairs on the back of your neck standing. Distracting yourself with watching Mori, and Mao talking – Mao more than Mori – you think that Kai is unsettling as fuck. The way she walks, and the way she stares; almost lifeless, yet focused all the same. And the way she fought a couple days ago; a complicated dance that belies her stiffness – a certain intensity that was difficult to look away; a pressure that you realize you're lacking.

Kai is unsettling in a way that you've found Mao initially unsettling – but at least there's something familiar to Mao: her swagger, and cat-like smirks that looked more like a shark's. There's none of that in Kai.

… But you're going to be working together, you eventually come to that dreaded conclusion. At the very least, you should try to get used to her, right? – you almost snort at that. Fuck. Mao's to blame.

Unfortunately, that same snort is what catches Kai's full attention; pale-blue eye piercing deep. "Something funny?"

You blink, grimacing under her blank stare. "Uh. Nothing."

She looks back to the road. "I see."

"… Yeah."

What a great start. You look forward, just in time to catch Mao glancing back; her eye meeting you, curved into that punchable smirk. Fuck her. You growl under your breath, before forcing yourself to take a deep breath. "So," you start, and curses as Kai turns to you. "Uh. Hey," Kai stares at you, brows slightly furrowed. "Name's Lily."

She tilts her head, before nodding. "I know," she says. There's a pause. "My name is Kai."

"Yeah, I know."

She nods again. "Good."

And just like that, the conversation trails back into silence. Ugghh. You grimace. Fuck off. Fuck this. Fuck her. Why do you gotta be the one who starts the convo, huh? So what if you're bad at this – you never tried this shit, and at least you tried. What's her fucking excuse, huh? She's fucking horrendous, and that's not on you; that's not on her, so fucking whatever, aight? Fuck this bullshit, you're –

"You returned from your mission unharmed," you jump as Kai speaks. You blink, shooting her a look. Her brows are lightly furrowed. "How is that?"

You frown. "Didn't Mao already go through it?" at least, you think she did. Unharmed, the word latches like a parasite, and you gotta wonder about that. Pride is a privilege you don't got, you tell yourself, but it still fucking sucks shit. "She talked them out of it."

"I am aware," she nods, lips twisting into a frown. "But how, and why? She never explained it."

You recall back to the debriefing. "I guess she didn't," you admit, grumbling. You kinda glazed over her debriefing – like, what's the point, you were there, right? "I told them to fuck off. I fucked up. Mao followed it up, pointed how she's outta their league, and they fucked off."

She blinks. "You made the decision?"

"Huh?" you cock an eyebrow, before snorting. "Guess I did – though it's probably the same choice she'd make. Client didn't want to have her place covered in blood," you grumble, glaring the back of Mao's head. It's a very glare-able head belonging to a very glare-able face. "I did fuck all though, unlike you – "you cut yourself immediately. Fuck. Why did you say that? You grimace. You and your goddamn mouth. "Fuck. Forget I said that."

"No," Kai shakes her head, and you snap at her a look. She meets it dead-on with one eye. "Senior Mori underestimated his own contribution," Kai continues, and you blink. She turns her eye back to the road, point made. "It is true that I both uncovered, and found the candle, but it was Senior Mori who realized that something was wrong. Without his order to, I would not have bothered to look," she pauses, her fingers touching her bandaged eye. "More than that, the Distortion… it was strong. If not more Senior Mori, I would be dead – and even killing it resulted in damaging his arm."

You follow her stare down to Mori's prosthetic arm. It's slack, you now notice, hanging on by his side. Looks worse inside than outside, then. "You did something, at least," you point out, and inwardly, you wonder why you got mouth.

"Perchance, had I acted sooner, I would not have to," she responds quietly. She closes her eye, and quickly opens it back. "I was told, by my mother, that your first mission will never be perfect," Kai states, before sighing. "I wanted to disprove her, but it appears I have failed."

Guess you both fucked up then.

You frown, catching what she said. "… Mother?"

She blinks, her shoulders jumping, head twitching. That might be the first reaction you got from her. "… Yes," she responds, after a moment. "She's a Fixer of some Grade, experience, and renown."

Well, that's vague as shit. "Huh," you cast back to how she fights yesterday; her sword, seeming to emit cold fog, and her equipment, better quality than the bunch maybe excepting those two nest kids. "… Guess that'd explain it, then."

She tilts her head. "What does?"

"Your fancy sword," you tilt your head down to her hip. "Your equipment. And how you fought back at the exam. It ain't like nothing I've seen before."

For some reason, your words make her lips curl slightly. You didn't think she could do that. "My sword was a parting gift from her. A product from the Hans Atelier. It is cold, and each increasing stab makes it worse. But the way I fight… she does not approve."

You blink. "No? Shouldn't she –"

"It is not her style," she shakes her head. "It is mine. She does not like it. Too dangerous. Too inefficient. She might be right," she admits, and even you could hear the tinge of bitterness there. "But it is mine."

"I don't get it," you mutter. Your parents were… you couldn't even remember their faces, but you do remember what they did, however vaguely. But you got no teachers. At best, you could count Landlord Lin as one, but ultimately, you fight because you had to – and you learn how to fight from the fighting itself. You look down to your side, at the crowbar hanging by your side, feeling a grimace on your face. You got no 'style'. "But good for you, I guess?"

"… Thank you."

Your skin crawls at that. If you don't care about food, you might just vomit. "Sure, whatever."

The conversation dies pretty much after that. That's good enough for 'getting used to her', right? Your skin's not crawling anymore when you look at her, so probably. Yeah. You'll take it. Mao's words reach you, but the words are incoherent due to the distance. In comparison, Kai remains silent. Yeah, you'll take this over her any day of the week.

...​

Eventually, the Workshop Street comes into view, and the silence which you enjoyed is broken as both Mao, and Mori stop for you to catch up. You have never been in this part of the Backstreets, but it looks almost exactly as you pictured it. A long strip of road stretching beyond what your eyes could see; a series of neon signs promoting shops of all kinds, not just Workshops – all of those contained within the neighborhood. It's hard for you not to notice it, the divide between "inside" and "outside", the bustling road to the desolate outside. Rats stalking inside the dark alleys, looking on with a familiar hunger; lifeless people going to work, dragging their feet. Broken down shop signs with broken down street food vendors. It's a familiar sight.

And inside the Workshop Streets… hah. It's torture, ain't it? Fixers stand around by the 'entry', and they don't stop you as both Mao, and Mori lead you inside. People of all sorts come here – Fixers, ordinary people, and even Syndicates; those in the high, and those in the low flowing together, mixing as well as water and oil. Mouths move, and the words mixed so incoherently none of them ever match. Scents of food wafting into your nose; H Corp substituted skewered meats grilled in the open air, and bone-broth noodle soup that advertises itself as 'all natural, no T Corp tomfoolery' – and tellingly empty of customers – mixing with the stench of blood, and iron, and oh so many things.

"Try ta not get lost, kids," Mori remarks lightly, smiling lazily. "These aren't your ordinary streets. They'll shank you, but not with knives."

"But with honeyed words," Kai continues blandly, her eye drooping slightly. "They will lure you into their parlor, offer you offers you want not refuse, and put collars around your neck."

"Heard that from someone?" Mao ask, and you blink, watching her sidle up to Kai's side. Kai jumps slightly, eye widening. She nods, and Mao smirks. "Little Kai got it about right. Place might not look it, but it's in a constantly shifting war with itself," she tilts her head to the side, and you notice the Fixers standing outside each Workshop's entry. On their shoulders, or breasts are patches, or badges denoting the Workshop employing them. "One day a Workshop might be standing, but the next, another would replace its spot."

You snort, understanding what she's implying. Everybody wants a spot – and there's not enough of them. And in here, there are dozens, to hundreds of Landlord Lins, each preying for someone like you. It's fucked up.

It's the Backstreets.

"Yeah, I got it," you grunt.

"Yeah, so I'll be going to Santiago," Mori drawls out, gesturing at his limp arm. "He's gonna get fucking pissed, so if someone wants to look at body mods…" he trails off, eyeing both you, and Kai meaningfully.

You frown, shoving your hands into your pockets. "M'looking for weapons myself," your movement jostles your crowbar slightly.

"I will come," Kai steps forward. Mori blinks. "I am interested in augmentations."

"Great," Mori nods. "We can get someone look at our wounds together then – two birds and one stone."

"With one stone," Mao corrects, smirking.

Mori's shoulders sag. "Yeah, got it," he sighs, letting out a soft chuckle. "C'mon then, Kai. Meet at Sim's in 3?"

Mao responds with a lackadaisical thumbs up.

He leaves then, taking Kai with him, and leaving you with…

You groan. "And here I thought…" you trail off into a grumble.

"What," Mao throws her hand over your shoulders, lips stretching from ear-to-ear. "Think y'can get rid of me? You know better, Lily. I'm like rust. Even when you scrub the shit outta me, I'll get back one way or another eventually."

You open your mouth, trying to find a comeback, and close your mouth when you realize you got nothing other than – "Fuck."

Mao hums, shoulders shaking. "Well, we got 3 hours 'fore we rendezvous and get you, and Kai a new suit – so what're you looking for, Lil?"

"Lil," you scrunch your face, before scowling. "Really?"

Mao shrugs, grinning. "It's shorter."

You let out a hefty half-sigh, half-growl. "Name's Lily, not Lil, so stick with Lily."

"Okay," Mao nods, pulling you along the road. You blink at that. "Lily it is then."

You grumble under your breath.

"C'mon, tell me what you're lookin' for, and I'll find you it," she smiles, like last night. "It's my treat, like I promised."

"What did Kai say... Something about honeyed words?" you ask. Mao snorts, and despite yourself, you smirk. "Whatever. I'm lookin' for..."

Article:

So, What Types of Weapon Upgrades/Mods Are You Looking For? (Choose 1)

[] Symmetral Atelier specializes in 'living' weapons – as in, their creations are the sort that requires a link of sort to the wielder, making it literally a part of yourself. According to Mao, even the untalented would look like naturals – and if you're already a natural, then… you think you get the picture. [Gains "Living" Weapons (Bionic Weapons). Improves Skills.]

[] Goliath Workshop specializes in heavy weapons. Mao doesn't mean 'heavy' as in sledgehammers, or big-ass swords, though they do that too. No, she means heavy. Heavy to the point of explosive. Coincidentally, this is Burke's favorite, for obvious reasons. [Increases Damage Dealt]

[] BloodLetter Workhop specializes in, well, making your enemy bleed. Sharp stuff. There's more to it – something about the materials they use that make your wounds keep bleeding, though it's all secret. All in all, you and Mao could agree that bleeding kinda sucks. [Bleed. Inflicts Damage over Action]

[] Talos Workshop specializes in creating sturdy weapons. It's a bit boring, but they've been here for months for a good reason. Old dependable, Mao remarks. Her machete, for example, rarely used as it is, is a Talos product – and it has never cracked once under pressure. And since she only uses her machete during a pinch, it has been under a lot of pressure. [Defensive Boost]

[] Knock Workshop specializes in "Impact" Weapons. According to Mao, their "Impact" doesn't really make your weapon any less, or more damaging – other than, y'know, it'd hurt to get slammed into concrete. Regardless, their Weapons have an effect with 'knocking' people, each connective hit throwing them out of balance. [Debuff Effect: "Off Balance" -- Enemy inflicted with Off Balance will have their next action weakened (receives a negative modifier).]

 

[SoothingCoffee]

Spoiler

[] Knock Workshop specializes in "Impact" Weapons. According to Mao, their "Impact" doesn't really make your weapon any less, or more damaging – other than, y'know, it'd hurt to get slammed into concrete. Regardless, their Weapons have an effect with 'knocking' people, each connective hit throwing them out of balance. [Debuff Effect.]

Glancing down to your crowbar, it takes you a good couple minutes to decide where to go. All of them would give you a good leg-up, but Symmetral sounds complicated, and you're not exactly keen on getting blood all over either. You'd pick a shiv, not a crowbar, if that's the case. Talos sounds a bit wasted, considerin' the crowbar you got is sturdy enough, and while Goliath calls to you – that "fight" with Ran flashes onto the front of your mind. Yeah. "Knock Workshop," you eventually say, glancing to Mao. "Sounds like that's what I need."

Some oomph to keep your enemies stumbling, so you could smack them more.

Mao smirks that annoying cat-like smirk of her. "Yup, I hear you, Lily," she nods sagely, before throwing her arm around your shoulders. You grunt as she pulls you close – that smell of blood, iron, and papers returning; you don't think they'll ever go, even if she takes a shower – and leans her body down onto you. She's not heavy, not really, but it feels fucking awkward. You shrug her arm off, but it doesn't work.

There's a knowing glint in her eyes, and you grumble. "You gotta fucking stop this," you glare. "It's –" pride's a privilege you don't got, not yet. You can't afford shit like shame, right? But that don't mean "—this is embarrassing."

Fuck. You don't like how you sound right then.

Mao's smirk widens into a grin. "Wellll," she says, stretching out the word as she moves, forcing you to follow. "You coouuld try."

You narrow your eyes at her, and then – you shrug your arm off, hard. It doesn't budge. You might have ended up hurting yourself more. Growling, you put your hand over hers, and try to pry them off. You manage to get a finger off, but they're stiff as steel – and suddenly, you drop into a squat, only to squawk as her entire body weight falls on you. You almost plant your face to the ground – then you're lifted off the ground, and for a moment, you panic, your feet touching empty air, before you return back to earth.

You're breathing hard, heart beating fast. Your face feels uncomfortably warm. Mao laughs, and you groan covering your face with a hand. "One day, I fucking swear," you grumble, and that's a fucking promise. "You win for now."

"Heh," Mao snorts. She doesn't laugh, but her shoulders are shaking. "I'd like to see that," you mumble out a long string of curses at her. Mao giggles at that. "Well, onward to Knock Workshop then, Lily!"

…​

Knock Workshop sits comfortably on the edge of the Workshop Streets, in the quieter part of the complex. The building is a squat one-storied thing, and compared to the other Workshops you've passed, Knock Workshop sits somewhere in the middle of the road; neither large, nor small. A sign hangs on its front; the image of a door with a cracked center. On either side of the entry – an opaque glass door not unlike the one back at the Office – a pair of Fixers stand on guard. They wear a zipped-up brown jacket, both its collar, and the wrists of its sleeves lined with white fuzzy fluffs. On their chest, you notice a patch with the same image as the Workshop's sign. Fancy-looking sledgehammers the length of an arm hang loosely by their waist; its shaft carved, and the head an unblemished silver. They look strong, you think. They're well equipped – something that you suppose comes with being a Workshop Fixer. 8th​ – no, maybe 7th​ Grades at best.

They straighten at your approach, eyes narrow – and you stiffen reflexively, glaring, hackles rising. You've been here before, standing a little too close to places you're not supposed to be. Syndicate territories, and rat nests. Sometimes they let you go, or you let them go – sometimes they don't, and sometimes you got out on top, but most times you got beat up. That's that. This is now. You feel a pat on your shoulders, and you twitch, scowling at Mao.

She returns it with a relaxed smile. "Chill, you all. We're just here to get my junior a little something nice."

The Fixers sag quietly, leaning back to the wall. As Mao steps forward, the arm around your shoulders pulling you with her, the Fixers stop neither of you. The door lets out a beep, and you hear a hissing click as it swings open.

The moment you step inside, the smell of iron, oil, and smoke assault your nose. You're led into a small room, maybe a bit larger than your own apartment. Here, the walls, and floor are a featureless, and unpainted grey concrete, lit by the bright yellow lamps. A large counter cuts the room into half; thick glass case, and metal bars separating the two sides proper. There's another entry there, leading back into the Workshop. Three Fixers straighten their back slightly. Two of them sit on a chair, guarding the gated door leading to the back of the counter – meanwhile, another sits behind the counter.

"Knock knock," Mao says. The Fixers groan, and Mao laughs. "C'mon, you all are way too tense."

"Yeah, yeah," one of the Fixers behind t, moving to the back. "I'll go call the Meister. You two wait here."

That leaves you with two Fixers. They eye the both of you with half-lidded looks. There's a warning there – promises of consequences for certain acts.

You couldn't take them – but you could try.

You blink, scrunching your brows. You don't get it. "What's so funny?"

Mao blinks back, raising an eyebrow. "Really."

You turn your face, glaring at her. "What? Don't look at me like that – it's probably something fucking stupid ain't it."

"Well, I mean, it is stupid," Mao admits, chuckling. "But 'knock knock' jokes are pretty universal – were," she corrects. "Universal, I guess."

You roll your eyes. "… It's the noise you make when you knock at the door – yeah, I get that part. What's so funny about it?"

Mao sighs, and you grimace. "Okay, okay," she nods, after a moment. "I say 'knock knock', and you say, 'who's there?', got it? Knock knock."

You narrow your eyes. Mao returns it with that grin of hers. "… No, I'm not gonna do that."

"Boo," Mao shakes her head, chuckling. "Oh fine," and you blink as she takes her arm off you. "Guess we'll just wait for the Meister to come, then."

You roll your shoulders, looking around. "Is it supposed to be this empty?" you wonder aloud.

"Hmm?" Mao tilts her head, before blinking. "Oh. Well, Workshops aren't any run-of-the-mill stores to begin with – they work more like Offices than anything else," she explains, and you nod slowly. "Even got the Tres Association to act as their Hana – make sure they don't break the Head's rules, and all that jazz."

The Head. Even the mention of it makes you shiver. "Right," you mutter. "Guess that'd be bad."

"Worse than bad," someone grunts, and you look towards the counter. Wifebeater shirt drenched in sweat, and a pair of long rough-looking trousers. Curt jet black hair slick with oil, and narrow grey eyes behind a pair of square glasses; a thick beard that hides the entirety of his lower face. Instead of flesh, his arms are made from metal. They shine like bronze under the light, and as the man crosses them across his chest, you could hear something audible inside them. His fingers are segmented narrow thing, twitching stiffly like the recent dead. They tap against his elbow; trat-tap-tap, the noise echoes. "Breaking the rule might as well mean death to us," he continues, voice gruff, and heavy. "Sure, we got three strikes 'fore we're out – but even the first strike's fine is high enough you'd have to start from scratch. And if you can't pay that fine in time…" his eyes lower, darkening. "You're out."

You purse your lips, eyeing the man. "Sounds rough, man," you snort. You already know that. You've spent years learning it.

"Bah!" the man snorts, throwing his arms up. "Enough of that. I am Tor, Meister of this Workshop. What do you want?"

"Well, I –" Mao says, grinning. "Want to buy my junior something nice," and at that, she pats you on the back. "And what my junior wants is…" she trails off.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," stepping up to the counter, you're forced to look up to properly stare at the dude. "Mao told me that Knock Workshops specialize in making weapons with oomph," you say, placing your crowbar onto the counter. "I want get my crowbar modded with it."

"Oomph," Tor repeats, blankly. He inhales, and then exhales. "It's more than just oomph, girl. It's Impact. Impact," he stresses the word, before huffing. "If you paid me enough, I could make weapons that could send even a car flying," he grounds out. "My works aren't just art – they're practical, without being so overcompensating like that idiot at Goliath –" he cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. He glares. "Don't call it oomph."

"Alright, alright, whatever, man," you roll your eyes. "But can you though?"

For some reason, Mao lets out a snort. Taking another deep breath, Tor takes your crowbar. You really don't like how his arm dwarves your weapon. "Mass produced stuff, huh," he muses, eyeing it. "It's sturdy. Practical. That's Hana for you –" he snorts, his bushy beard twitching. "Sure, I could mod it easy, but at that point," he slides the crowbar back to you. You blink. "It'd just be better for me to build you a new one – not to let you down kid, but this is 9th​ Grade stuff."

"I am 9th​ Grade."

Tor shoots you a look.

You grimace. Okay, that sounds like shit. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," you grumble back. But shit, you're here to get your weapon modded – if you're requesting for a new weapon, that's gonna cost a whole lot more, and – and you're not the one paying. "How much does it cost?"

"And how long's it gonna take to make?" Mao chimes in, stepping to your side.

"Something like this?" Tor frowns. Or at least, you think he's frowning. "I could have it done by tomorrow, even, as long as you don't want anything fancy?"

"Yeah," you nod carefully. "Simple's better for now."

He grunts, nodding, almost approving. "See if you get used to it first," he says, before lowering his eyes. "It's gonna cost you two mills."

Your eyes bulge. "Two mills – " you nearly choke on your own spit. Twenty hundred thousand; that's two one million. That's fucking two followed up by five more zeroes That's nearly thrice your goddamn rent. "Like hell that's –"

"Finish it by tomorrow morning, and you got a deal."

You sputter.

"I'll get it done tonight," he nods, pulling out a piece of paper. He begins to fill it in. Fuck, he's ignoring you. "I'm not an idiot," he says, sliding the paper over.

"Good to know," Mao comments idly, looking over the paper – the contract, you realize, catching the title.

You turn to her. "You're insane."

"It ain't cheap," Mao admits. She takes out a pen from her pocket. Hana Fountain Pen, the same that you have. You glance down to the contract, and immediately give up reading it. The words might as well be fucking gibberish to you. "But Workshop products aren't supposed to be cheap, Lily. 'Sides, I meant what I said – I want to give something nice for my junior, and Mori's probably thinking the same thing too," there's a pause as she finishes reading the paper, signing it down. "Remember what I said last night?"

You open your mouth, and then closes it. Scarecrows have each other's back, you recall. "That's…" you trail off, looking away. "That's different."

"Aww," Mao giggles, and you stiffen. "Did I embarrass you too much, Lily?"

You growl under your breath. "Fuck off."

"If it makes you feel any better," Mao says, and in the corner of your eyes, you see her pull out a card from her wallet. Tor takes out a machine, and – beep. And the deed is done. You feel a knot form inside your throat. "Two million's a lot, but I've spent ten times more on my rifle here," she shrugs her shoulder at that, jostling the rifle slightly. "And triple that for the machete."

"It doesn't," you grumble, grimacing as Mao hands you your crowbar. "That's still way too much for me."

Mao frowns, before turning to Tor. "Tomorrow morning, then. Don't forget, Meister Tor," she says, waving her copy of the contract.

"Yes, of course," he grunts. "You can pick it up whenever tomorrow."

And just like that, the two of you leave the Workshop, stepping back into the Streets proper once again. There's a pause as Mao takes the lead. "That bothered you this much, huh," Mao eventually muses.

"Well yeah, no shit, Mao," you glare, shoving your hands to your pockets. "It's just. Fuck. I don't know," you grumble, trailing off. "That's a lot of money that you put into me, Mao."

"Ah," Mao intones. "You think what – that you can't meet my expectation?"

"No, nothing like that," you shake your head, grumbling. "I'm not that much of a loser to need you damn approval," Mao smirks at that. "It's just…" you want to say that it's the same as Landlord Lin, but that's not right either. It's similar. Landlord Lin housed you because he (apparently) owed your parents, but he also saw you as something of an investment. A tool to make his money back – you reckon that if he didn't, he would've kicked you out. But Mao? You don't know why Mao would put that much money into you. "I'll pay you back, alright?"

"You really don't have to."

"I know," you grumble. "But I gotta, or I'll feel weird about it."

Mao sighs, throwing her arm back around your shoulders. You grunt. "… If it makes you feel better, Lily."

"It does," you're forced to admit. Sighing, you shove your hands deep into your pockets, kicking an errant pebble aside. "I guess."

That's the end of that, and eventually, you step in the busier part of the streets – before crossing it to the less busy part of it, stopping in front of a nondescript-looking building. Peeled off paint, and cracked concrete – it looks run-down; practically desolate compared to the other shops around here. It's a "fashion statement" thing, or something stupid like that, Mao said. Karrion Bouquet, the sign says, hanging crookedly on the storefront, leading into a thick-looking wooden door – and ain't that a hell of a name. Regardless, it's where you're gonna be getting your new uniform. Considering what you're wearing right now, you don't have much hope. You'll live.

"Yo," you glance to the side, down to the streets. Mori, and Kai walk up to you, his hand raised in greetings, and – you blink. "You guys got here early, huh."

Mao snorts. "Well, you two sure took your time. So how did it go?"

Mori smiles slightly, shrugging his shoulders. "As well as it could, I suppose."

Your attention locks into Kai's face – more precisely, her eyes; previously bandaged, now a pearl-like metallic thing. "Your eye," you mutter, catching her blank attention. You shiver. "You replaced it."

Her hand raises but stops halfway through. "Yes," Kai responses, nodding. "It helps me see. So much. Too much," she adds quietly, and the fake eye twitches. "I would have to wear an eyepatch, but I am breaking it in," there's a pause, and pearl-like eye focuses on your face. Meanwhile, her other eye stares. "Is something wrong?"

Fuck. If Kai wasn't already unsettling before, she is now. "Nah," you grunt, shaking your head. "You just caught me off guard, is all."

She hums.

She's still staring. "… What?"

"Your weapon," she adds stiffly. "How did it go?"

You grimace, remembering the two million. How much did her eye cost, you wonder, and who paid for it? You reckon Kai got way more money than you ever had. "… I'm picking it up tomorrow," you answer.

Her real eye blinks – and you don't miss the twitches on her eyelid as she tries to blink the other one. "I see."

…​

Dark.

The impression echoes inside your head when you enter Karrion Bouquet – dark enough that you could only see the silhouette of your hand. The boards under your feet creak ever so slightly, and a familiar unpleasant smell lingers in the air, a floral scent clashing with that musty smell of wrongly dried laundry. You hear rapid skittering, and you snap your head forward – a small candle glows on a table, its flame tiny, but stable thing. Next to it, a pair of yellow glowing floating orbs – oh, they're eyes.

Wait, they're eyes.

You tense up –

"Scarecrows!" it – she? – exclaims, a buzzing quality to her voice, like speaking in doubles. The orbs then move; bobbing up and down, and closer, accompanied by sharp skittering against the floor. "Hmph. I had thought all of you have forgotten our appointment – I'm a busy girl, don't you see?!"

"Oh, I'm sure," Mori drawls out. " – But can you do something about the light first, Karrion?"

"Hmph!" the orbs halt suddenly, before turning elsewhere. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until now. If you use those eyes as indicator, she wouldn't be any taller than Sun. "I did not miss your little sarcastic insinuation, Scarecrow Mori, and I will not tolerate –" there's a pause, followed by a droning grumble. "… Where did I place that thing…"

"It's under the mannequin," you almost jump when Kai speaks up. Her eye glows a faint whitish-blue. "I believe."

"Oh?" the orbs swerve – and you blink, catching a silhouette of 'Karrion' as your eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. It does the opposite of relaxing you – the silhouette does no appear human. "Ohoh!" Karrion exclaims, skittering to a spot. "Quite the beautiful eye you have there, Scarecrow White! I swear, my customers are a bunch of sissies – it's not my fault the electricity bill is expensive, you hear me? And it's not as though I need them in the first place! Hmph!"

There's a click, and like that – bright light. You hiss as it hits your eyes. It emits from a round lamp device, the kind that was normally used for emergency. It floats off in the air, held by a pair of sharp bladed things. You blink again, and you could finally see Karrion.

The face of a young woman – porcelain white, with a pair of unmoving yellow eyes. Red hair reaching down to her shoulders; a pair of buns tied above her head. Her lips frozen into a small smile, and a black dress covers her body – and that might be where the similarity to 'human' ends. Black jet – almost bluish under the light – sharp blade-like appendages poking out where the arms should be, and her torso seems to stretch to accommodate the dozens of sharp spider-like limbs replacing her legs.

Oh what the fuck –

You open your mouth, and then closes it. You've heard, of course, people who'd go far with augmenting their body – you've even encountered those schmucks who had to sell their whole body to settle their debt. But seeing is different, and this? This is on a whole 'nother level.

Karrion's eyes don't move, but her head does snap to your direction. "Oh my, darling," she chirps, and you realize, belatedly, that her lips do not move. "Is this the first time you see a body like this?" she twirls around, revealing that round thing that spider got on their butt. "Don't I look beautiful?"

"Uh –" you feel an elbow – two elbows nudging both your sides. Mori, and Mao. "Yeah. Very cool."

Karrion giggles, flapping her bladed arm around, before placing the lamp onto a table – illuminating the whole boutique. That's a lot of mannequins, you think quietly, dozens of them lined up against the wall, wearing similar style of outfits that the Scarecrow wears, if without the ratty quality. Rolls of cloth, and strings, and fabrics engulfing the tables, and almost exploding out of the cupboards. Glasses, metal, and a few mannequin heads rolling around the floor.

"Oh, I do always appreciate the lip service!"

"Girls, meet Karrion," Mao says, smiling. She waves at Karrion, and Karrion beams. "She's the great seamstress who made these amazing outfits," she gestures at herself.

Karrion titters. "It's true, these are amazing outfits – oh, Scarecrow Mao, how is Daniel doing? It has been a very long while since he visits."

"Boss is fine, Kar," Mao chuckles. "Think time really turned him lazy – we can talk about him later, aight?"

"Oh," Karrion pauses, tilting her head. Finally, she sighs, pressing a bladed limb against her cheek. "Alright then."

You frown, eyeing the two. Something about that doesn't feel right – the way Mao said it, and the way Karrion reacted. In the corner of your eyes, you catch Mori frown. There's a history here, about the Boss – something about the Boss – that you're not in on with.

But the way the way she responded… Is the Boss sick or something?

"Well, enough dilly-dallying," Karrion announces, her voice peaking. "You are here for a reason, and I am here to cater those reasons. You, Scarecrow Red," you straighten up as Karrion points a limb at you, before… curling it around. "Come to the back. I shall measure your size."

Reflexively, you turn to your side.

Mao smirks. "Karrion's not gonna bite, Lily."

You narrow your eyes at her, before moving after Karrion with a grumble. The seamstress leads you to the back of the shop, into a candle-lit box-like room; a large mirror hung against the wall. Behind you, Karrion steps in, and the door clicks shut behind her. You stiffen slightly. You know – you know that Karrion's not gonna attack you, and you're beginning to suspect that, now that you've become a Fixer, a being with her appearance is something that you're gonna have to get used to. But fuck, it's unsettling, alright? And now you're inside a tight room with her, and with the amount of mods she put her body in, you reckon you're not gonna go out on top.

Not that you wouldn't take her on –

"Now, spread your hands to the side, Scarecrow Red –"

"It's Lily," you shoot back, scowling as you do as she said. "My name's Lily."

"Scarecrow Lily then," there's a pause, and you shiver as you feel her bladed limbs press against your sides. Sharp, you think – and if she tries to dig 'em into flesh, you're definitely not gonna be having a fine time. "What a surprisingly beautiful name."

Your eye twitches. "It ain't beautiful," you bristle. "… Fuck is it with everybody thinking it's cute, or beautiful?"

"It's a compliment, darling."

You couldn't turn your head over to glare at her, but you could glower at her reflection just fine.

Karrion sniffs. "Honestly, is there something so wrong with being cute, and beautiful, Scarecrow Lily?" her limbs move from your side, and down to your legs. "They are fine qualities to have, no?"

"Being cute, and beautiful means you're weak – I sure as fuck ain't weak."

Karrion sighs. "I see no reason why they have to be diametrically opposed – Mao is beautiful, but she's also strong."

"Wrong," you shake your head. "Mao's strong – so she got to be beautiful."

There's a hum. "I would dare you say that in front of Mao's face, and see what happens."

You narrow your eyes. "… Maybe I will."

"Your funeral, darling," Karrion giggles, before stepping back. "I am done."

You blink, turning around – and face to face to Karrion. You almost step back, before you force yourself to step forward. "That's it?"

At that, as if on cue, Karrion perks up. "Of course, that's it!" she chirps. "My eyes, and my arms," she wiggles them around. "They have been augmented to be able to measure sizes within a second, and these legs," at that, they chitter against the floor. "I could put any beautiful, and gorgeous designs I have crafted in my mind into reality! With this body, I am practically the perfect seamstress!"

"… It's worth it, then?"

There's a glint in her eyes. "Of course," she straightens up, pressing a bladed limb over her chest. "It's my dream to create the most beautiful clothes, that even the Stars and Colors would come begging to my doorstep – if I would let my human body's limitation to drag me back, then I shouldn't have bothered with having such a dream."

If you're not willing to sacrifice yourself, then don't bother – you fidget slightly, before shrugging. "Makes sense, I guess," you say, quietly under your breath.

"It does? I mean," Karrion perks up. "Of course, it does! So, any design you have in mind, darling? Naturally," she scoffs, waving her bladed limb. "My vision triumphs all, but I am willing to consider such preferences. Additionally, what attribute to do you want your outfit to have?"

"Attribute?"

"Why yes," Karrion nods. "I'm not some run-of-the-mill seamstress, you hear me. I source all of my resources – especially the threads," for some reason, that makes you shiver. "Strong threads. Weak threads. Threads that make you strong. Threads that make you quick. Even threads that make you smart, and empathetic, or even charismatic. Of course, I will not give you the best threads – it would be a shame to waste them if you're gonna die immediately."

Huh.

Article:

New Outfit – this will grant you a +2 Armor. Of course, you get to choose with how it looks – this vote is optional, and if you prefer the current look, you can't vote so.

[] Write in Appearance

Special Attribute – these threads are special. One might argue they're not 'dead'. [Choose 1 Skill to Boost. Chosen Skill will receive a +1 as long as the outfit is worn]

[] Choose Skill (Melee, Insight, etc)

 

[SoothingCoffee]

It's already evening when you got back to the apartment building, and exhaustion settles deep into your bones the moment you laid eyes on it. It has been two days – the longest you've ever been without settling foot down here. It looms over you like a living, breathing monster. You'd rather die than to ever admit it, but there's something inside your core that warms up at its sight; you're its hostage for a good ten years, and you've come to grow used to it. It scares the living shit out of you, like chains locked around your limbs, holding you back, dragging you down. Eighteen. Fucking. Years. You want to go up, but this is all that you know – what if you're gonna be here for another ten years? A couple days ago, you thought you were moving up; now that you're a Fixer, you could leave this behind, you believed. But your first mission was a fucking joke, and your head is still spinning from today – Mao throwing two mills at you like they're chump change, and Kai, and Karrion –

What if you don't got what it takes?

Your head spins, eyes glancing down to your side, at the box of brownies in your hand, courtesy of Sun. How much would they cost? You've never set foot into a bakery, but you've passed by them a few times. Five-kay for a loaf of bread, twice for the fancy ones. A box filled with brownies; you're guessing gonna cost about thirty. Mao, and Mori treated you with chicken rice porridge earlier. It was fucking delicious. A flavorful broth possible only with the use of TimeTrack device, and whole fucking mountain of shredded chicken, and toppings; scallions, chopped-up you tiao, fried peanuts, tong cai, shrimp crackers, and a spoonful of chicken fat. Each bowl was fifteen thousand, and Mao and Mori grabbed seconds – and you think you're gonna get sick.

You shake your head.

Even though you know there's a good couple dozen people living here, the corridors of the apartment feel empty, and quiet as always. Unlike last time, Landlord Lin's not here to greet you. There's some relief there, and you get to your room without problem. You fumble for your key, and practically throw yourself inside, dropping to the familiar dusty floor of your room. It smells of you – blood, and that ever-present stench of filth, and poverty. You're more tired than you thought. Groaning, cursing under your breath, you drag yourself up to your feet – and freeze halfway through the process. There, on the floor, is a letter.

Suddenly, you're very much awake.

It's a normal looking thing. Rectangular. White. Something is written on it: your name. Full name – Lily, followed a word you've long forgotten, recalled only until now. Ice grips your heart as your eyes fall to the center of the letter. There's a stamp, and you immediately know who's the sender: The Head.

Your heart skips several beats. "S-shit," you mutter, looking over your shoulders. You throw your body, slamming the door shut with your shoulder, hastily locking it shut. "Shit shit shit," why? Why did they send a letter to you? You – you already paid your tax, didn't you? You made sure of it. You don't mess with the Head, so you make sure to be a good little girl, see, and you never missed a single month. You never got a strike, and they never sent you a letter – so why?

You scrabble to the letter. Your hands shake as you try and fail to open the letter. "Shit, come one!" you end up tearing the envelope – but that doesn't matter. The inside's what matters the most, and you carefully read each, and every word written there –

–noticed that–

–your Fixer yearly income is estimated –

–increased taxation –

–failure to pay will –

Oh.

The paper slips from your fingers, and you collapse down, staring at the ceiling. "Oh."

You slam your fist down to the floor.

"Oi!" a neighbor replies, punching at the wall. "Shut up –"

"Fuck off, or I'll beat your ass!" you shout – and you don't get any reply. "Fucking pussy," you mumble under your breath, closing your eyes. In. Out. You roll over to take another look at the paper, and exhale. "That's a lot."

[Goal: Pay Your Tax or Else – Pay 500,000 Ahn monthly. Failure to pay will induce penalty from the Head. Failure to pay three times, and the Head will visit you. This Goal will last as long as the Head exist.]

Your mind's already starting to run on how to plan your budget for the week.

Article:

You have 253,150 Ahn – that's a lot of money, but apparently not "a lot" enough. And here you thought you could live in relative luxury. Fucking shit.

Plan Meal for the Week (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 (35,000 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 (75,000 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).

…​

"Somebody didn't get a good sleep," Mori greets you, as you enter the Office. You stare at him, and he chuckles, leaning against his seat. "Though you're not the only one."

You look around the room – Burke's back, but he's asleep on his chair, head against the headrest, mouth slightly open in a surprisingly quiet snore. Kai sits on the sofa, her back against you – the immaculate white hair from yesterday now carries a few wild strands. She turns her head, and a black eyepatch covers her artificial eye, Scarecrow Office's insignia etched on them. It was something she had requested from Karrion yesterday, and she's also wearing her new uniform: a long faded-blue jacket that might have once been pristine sky-blue now covered in soot, its tattered seams visible. Underneath that is a buttoned up white shirt in similar wear-and-tear condition, with an incongruously intact blue tie. You're both surprised at that, but at the same time, not. Compared to what others wear, she stands out, but considering it looks similar to what she wore during the Fixer Exam, you guess she's just sticking to her guns.

As always, Boss sits on his desk – that crow with blood-red beady eyes perched on the rim of his hat. "Good morning," he drawls, the eyes behind his burlap sack locked with yours.

"Uh," you shuffle awkwardly to the sofa. "Morning."

He doesn't reply – and if anybody here finds that odd, he doesn't say.

"You too, huh," you start out awkwardly, as you sit next to Kai. On the table, you note, is your new crowbar – looking like any normal crowbar, except for Knock Workshop insignia etched just above the handle-grip, the change from red to silver-grey, and… some weird fancy looking lines carved on either ends of the crowbar, almost like tentacles; or root. Next to that is your new uniform, neatly folded inside a plastic wrap, though nothing about it appears 'neat'. It's a tuxedo, Karrion called it, and you grimace at the sight. You've grown used to it, but it still bothers you – a black long trousers, almost greyish, and tattered black jacket splitting into down into swallow's tail, becoming several tails more by the cuts and splits marring ends. Then there's the purple vest, a smudged, and faded, but somehow visible floral patterns sewn on them, followed by a plain white threadbare shirt, its seams about to come apart, and the collar buttons gone.

You'll get used to it, you suppose, and maybe you'll start to like it.

You snort.

Spoiler

You Lost Low Quality Fixer Uniform – +1 Armor

You Gain a Medium Quality Fixer Uniform (Karrion-Made) – Tattered black tailcoat and trousers. Faded purple vest covered in equally faded floral patterns (lily), and white threadbare shirt, its top buttons popped out. +1 Endurance, +2 Armor

You Gain Knock Crowbar (Knockbar) – +1 Damage. Applies Debuff: Off-Balance – On Hit, opponent receives -1 on their next move.

Besides you, Kai nods, her flat line of a lip turning downwards ever so slightly.

"That's rough, girls," Mori nods, sighing. "Nothing like a good scare than to go home and receiving a letter from the Head straight to your room, eh?" he shivers at that, staring off at the ceiling. "You're gonna have to get used to it, though. They jack up the tax every time you climb the ladder –" his lips curve slightly at that. "The Head really doesn't like parasites."

"… Do you get used to it?" Kai asks.

Mori grunts. "Hell nah. Even when I expected it, each letter scares the living shit out of me. Like," he glances down to both of you. "You never know with the Head, right?"

"Yeah," you nod, grumbling under your breath. Speaking of – "Where's Mao?"

"Her? Working."

"What –" your eyes widen. "She's already working?"

Mori grins, chuckling. With a grunt, he swings himself over, leaning forward. "Insane, right? Between you, and me, girls – and everybody in this room," he shrugs, smirking. There's something there in his eyes that make you grimace. "Mao's a damn monster. She's our rising star for a reason, yeah? I'm in this business longer than her, and she's already way ahead," he sighs, shaking his head. "But one moment, okay, she's buddy-buddy with the client, but the next, she treats 'em like strangers. We lost a client once," his face darkens at that. "And Mao was practically treating the client like a sister, but when the client died, she just sighed, and shrugged her shoulders."

You frown – and despite yourself, you also find yourself glaring. "Ain't that the point, though?" you ask. "Fixers or not, people die all the time – we can't get attached. Yer making it sound like she did somethin' wrong when she didn't."

Mori chuckles, shoulders rumbling. "Spoken like a true Fixer, eh? You're right, of course, but –"

The crow squawks suddenly. The Boss lets out a stiff grunt. "Stop. Gossip."

Mori freezes, a series of complicated emotions running through his face, before he lets out a sigh. Shrugging his shoulders, he leans back to his seat, that lazy smile back on his face. You eye him for a bit. "But yeah," he shrugs. "Mao's hard at work – took the job last night and went out to meet the client this morning. She doesn't look it, but she works hard."

The image of Mao as someone who works hard clashes against what you (admittedly little) know of her – at the same time, recalling her interaction with Sun, it's surprisingly easy to meld them together.

"Anywho, I got a few Jobs here that one – or two," he adds. "Of you could do. Canard to mid-level Myth – we're not gonna be sending you to death," he muses, smiling. "But don't underestimate them. Shit can always go wrong, and we Scarecrows always finish our job, yeah? Also, don't overwork yourself, got me? You're human, and there's a limit you can do."

You fidget slightly under his stare. "Right. Gotcha."

He hums, closing his eyes. "Cool. Cool. As long as you don't die out there."

Article:

Spoiler

Now we're in the Fixer Business proper! This is your First Week, and you have 6 AP. As a Fixer of the Scarecrow's Office, you need to at least take on Four Job Requests per month. This, of course, changes depending on the difficulty of the Job – but for Canards, or Urban Myths, you must do Four per Month. Jobs Take 2 APs, while other Side Activities will only cost you 1 AP.

About Reward: The Office Takes a 25% Cut from the Pay. While the 75% is for you to take – however, if you have another Fixer with you, you'd have to split those 75%, though how that's split is up to you, and them.

WARNING: If you take more than one Job in a Week, unless you bought special healing items, your Health and Sanity Points will only recover up to the threshold. (Example: If you're Wounded at 13 (Wounded), you will recover only up to 15 (Max Wounded) for the Next Job.)

NOTE: Regardless of Injuries, you will receive Full Recovery going into the Next Week.

You Have 6 APs!

Jobs Requests (2 AP Each):

Path to 8th​ Grade – 4 More Urban Myth Requests, or 8 Canards.

[] Rats Be Gone (Canard): In the Backstreets, people have their places. Syndicates normally dwell there, and Fixers dwell here. Before you got to be a Fixer, people would give you the stink eye when you step into a neighborhood that you obviously do not belong – and sometimes they would get violent. You can't even call them Syndicates. Just thieves, killers, and smugglers without any affiliation. Brian is the owner of a warehouse in the lower-grade corner of the Backstreets – and it appears that the Rats have gone up from the bridge they normally stay under, to squatting Brian's building. Brian wants you to "bodyguard" his warehouse. In terms of what Scarecrow does, the job is stretching the term "bodyguarding" or "protection", but it's one of those open job requests – and apparently kicking the shit out of Rats are something of a rite of passage. Who knew? Pay: 75,000 Ahn – After Cut.

[] It's a Doggy Dog World (Canard): People own pets. Somehow, that fact surprises you. There's a lot of people in the Backstreets, you suppose. Regardless, there's a dog – but the owner has died. However, the owner's family has decided to take the dog in before the owner's landlord kicks it out to the streets. Problem? The family lives in the other side of the Backstreets – five hours walk, to be exact. Ten hours, going back, and forth. But only six, from where you are, to picking up the dog, and then to the family. It checks out. Also, it can be dangerous, so there's that. Pay: 175,000 Ahn – After Cut.

[] 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)

[] Cursed Tourism (Urban Myth): Hailey is a Nest Dweller who, for some godforsaken reason, came down here into the Backstreets to "sightsee". Everything went smoothly until he accidentally gathered the ire of a minor Syndicate called "The Burning Men" – strong enough to be above the Rats, but not large enough to be considered dangerous. Hailey has contacted the Scarecrows to escort him back up to the Nest Barrier. Pay: 1,050,000 Ahn – After Cut, Before Split.
-[] Go with Kai? (Recommended)

Side Activities (1 AP Each):

[] Someone to Hang Out With?
-[] Kai. You catch Kai training(?) on the rooftop, and you can't help but watch. She doesn't seem to mind.
-[] Mao. If there is one that you know about Mao, it's that she likes food. Alcohol is apparently another thing she likes, and – well, this would be the first time you drink.
-[] 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.

[] 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.

[] Sun Dance – One day, you stumble in to find Sun fidgeting inside the Office alone with the Boss. Her face perks up when she sees you, and for a second, you thought she's here for a job. Then she asks if you're free, and – she's testing recipes, and she needs a taste tester. Well. Mao did say you gotta build rapport with your client, and – who are you to refuse free food?

Plan Voting Please!

[] Plan Example
-[] Plan Meal
-[] Job
-[] Job (if more than one)
-[] Side Activities
-[] Side Activities

 

[SoothingCoffee]

Your first official mission: escorting a damned Nest Dweller back to his home.

You snort quietly. Fucked up how this shit goes – here comes some spoiled rich fucker down from his throne up high for fuck knows what reason, and setting himself on danger by stepping over the wrong people's toes, and now here you are, hired to deal with the mess. Well, it's not like you can't complain about it. It's still a job, and this Hailey fuck pays a lot – even split evenly, that's more money than you could possibly collect before… this.

You glance down to your food, and the sour mood fades away. You grin, despite yourself, shoulders shaking. Your stomach rumbles. Deep, and wanting. Mao would say something, but she's not here, so fuck her. Still in its wrapper, you could smell HamHamPangPang's sandwich toasts penetrating through it. Crispy tonkatsu, plump and juicy, placed on a bed of fluffy toast – fresh lettuce, tomato, and those caramelized onion thing, before its covered with that hellish fiery sauce; sweet, sour, and spicy enough to leave your tongue stinging, and craving for more. And then, finally, it's closed with another slice of that fluffy butter-toasted bread. On its side, you have those real fancy fresh-from-the-tap strawberry soda, and a bunch of crispy, but fluffy fries.

Haah. You shiver, the smell overwhelming your senses, promising a slice of heaven. Your hands move on their own, unwrapping the toast sandwich. Steam rises, fresh from the kitchen, and you bite into it –

ah you could die now with a smile

– And when you next open your eyes, everything is gone. You lean back into your seat with groan, patting your full – fuck, it's full – belly. You feel amazing. Strong, even. Powerful, like you could just do about anything. Shit, if a Star comes over right now, you could probably take them on.

Probably.

Well. Not really.

[-75,000 Ahn. 178,150 Ahn Remaining.]

[Energetic Status Gained. +5 to Both Health, and Mental Points. +1 to One of Favored Skills (Melee). Lasts Until Week Ends]

[1d3 for which Skill gets boosted. You rolled 1. Melee gets boosted by 1 for the remaining Week.]

You could try, though.

"… That's something else, Lily," Mori says, and you open your eyes. He smiles, eyebrows slightly raised. "Got an appetite don't ya?"

You blink. Oh, right. You snap straight up, your back cracking in protest at the sudden whip. Burke's still asleep. The Boss stares straight at ya, the crow tilting its head hard. "Uh," shit, fuck. You leap up to your feet, turning to Kai. "So, uh. C'mon, we gotta meet the client."

Kai looks at you, her unpatched eye blank as ever. A blink. Her mouth hangs open, before they click shut. Nodding, expression flat, she rises to her feet. "Let's go."

Mori snorts. "Be careful you two."

"Take," the Boss starts, and the crow squawks. "Care."

Burke mumbles something in his sleep.

"Um," you duck your head slightly, stepping around the sofa, and towards the exit. Kai comes next to you, her steps creepily quiet. "Yeah. Sure," you say, raising a hand over your shoulder. "See ya."

Kai turns around to face the Office, and nods, before turning back again to the door.

…

​

"You guys sure took your time," your client sighs, stepping out from his hideout. Well, you say hideout, but it's a motel room he has apparently been staying here – and it figures it's one of those fancy schmancy ones, catering for people like him, or those from other Districts visiting in for one reason, or another. Then again, that's practically the only reason why motels, or inns exist. "Here I thought I'd have to look for 'nother Office."

"Do not do that," Kai chimes in, shaking her head. The client blinks, raising an eyebrow. "Without revoking it first, that would not end well for you."

He sniffs. "Noted."

You scowl, growling, splaying your hands open. "Well, we're here, aren't we?"

"Well, I suppose what's done is done," he raises his hands, shaking his head. "Well, let us not tarry then – much as I appreciate the quaintness of this Backstreets, it has rather worn out its sheen," he nods wistfully, before sighing. "… Though perhaps I will return here again one day. My food tour was rather cut short, you understand, and it was fun while it lasted."

You narrow your eyes. Hailey the Nest Tourist, you begin to dub him. Blonde side-swept hair, clear green eyes, and the whitest set of teeth you have ever seen. His face is a pale unblemished thing, covered lightly by a thinly shaven beard, and thin-curled moustache. Inwardly, you cast your mind back to those two Nest Dwellers in the exam. You forgot their name. Blue hair, and pink hair. Cheeks plump, and his belly pronounced ever so slightly against his clothes – white shirt, and black vest, golden patterns like clocks etched on the fabric. Plain black trousers, and a pair of shoes, shiny enough you could somewhat see your reflection. A bag hangs over his shoulder. A smell exudes from him. Sickly sweet perfume, and that bitter smell of coffee, and… you frown. Something there. Something familiar, at the tip of your tongue, yet so distant.

A sniff, and your client raises his eyebrow. "Did you find something interesting, Miss…?" he trails off.

You shake your head, scowling. "Lily," you click your tongue, glancing down at the street. "Just call me Lily."

People mill about, wearing fancier outfits than the usual occasion. You've never stepped into these higher-end neighborhoods before – can't, rather. It is its own village; a secluded little piece of Heaven in the Backstreets, almost disconnected by the rest of it. You imagine if this is what the Nest looks like – probably not even close, but fuck if it doesn't piss you off.

"Kai," Kai follows up. You glance to her. Hailey hums, tilting his head slightly. Kai doesn't say anything.

"Well," Hailey muses. "Hopefully, you know my name. Now, shall we depart?" he asks, rolling his shoulder-bag. "I would rather not tarry much longer, you see. I have planned to go return home a couple days ago, but these Burning Men foiled that plan quite well – I had hoped to spend at least a few days resting, see? But it appears I must immediately work on arrival."

Your eyebrows twitch, then nod. "I'll take the lead –"

"Before," Kai cuts you off, and you blink. Her face is blank as ever, but her eye focuses on the client. "How did you anger the Burning Men?"

You frown. "Kai –"

Hailey cuts you off. "How is this relevant in anyway at all?"

You growl under your breath. Shoving your hands down into your pockets, you side-eye Kai, tilting your head pointedly at her.

She frowns, eye narrowing. "It is relevant," Kai replies.

"I notice you did not explain why," Hailey chuckles. "Quite nosy, aren't you, Miss Kai? One wouldn't think to receive an interrogation from hired Fixers – but if you really must know, I simply visited a restaurant which happens to be owned by them. They specialize in grilled skewered meat, fittingly enough," he titters, shaking his head. It grates onto your ears. "Unfortunately, their cooking left something to be desired. I may have said something, or the other," he huffs, rolling his eyes. "And they seemed to take offense to that."

You frown in thought. Story seems to check out. Well. Checks out from what little you know of them, at least. The Burning Men – you've heard of them, but only in passing. They're a small-time Syndicate, independent not because they got the power for it, but the other way around. They're new-ish, kinda like the Loud Orchestra. They've raided a couple Fixer Offices before, but nothing too impressive. Dime in a dozen, really. They're better known for their extreme methods – their body covered in burns, arms wrapped in bandages and slathered in oil. Their burned alive victims, screaming until nothing but only charcoaled flesh remain. Hence, their name. Well, minor or not, they're still Syndicates after all, a step or two above the Rats, but there's a reason why this job's Urban Myth.

You shake your head. "That enough, Kai?"

Kai frowns, and you're not sure at who. "Yes."

"Then I'll take the lead, and you cover the back," that makes sense, right? Kai nods, and you let our a breath.

"And that means I'll be sandwiched between you two," Hailey nods, chuckling.

You make a face. "Shut up."

The tourist smirks. "My, you have quite the fuse," you shoot him glare, before turning down to the street, cursing under your breath. Fucking smug arrogant shithead. He's lucky he's paying you – else, you'd leave him behind to the sharks.

Taking a deep breath, closing to the end of the street, you begin to plan out your routes. The Backstreets is a mazelike, almost ever-shifting place filled with alleys, and narrow streets. They curve, and zigzag, going much farther than at first sight – larger than you could comprehend. You could walk down to the East for days, and you'd sooner collapse before you get a glimpse District 9's borders, and its ruined remains.

But for all its confusing, ever-stretching roads, and alleyways, there's a pattern to it – and the Nest is a towering mass of skyscrapers looking down on you. It's a beacon, and the Backstreets seem to cocoon around them, divided by those walls you've never gotten close to see. Every path, however eventually, leads down to them.

Now you just gotta pick which one.

Article:

Choose 1:

[] Direct Route. You can take the direct route straight to the Nest Barrier. It's quick, and straightforward. No fuss, no muss – of course, if the Burning Men are going after Hailey, this route would be the first place they would lurk over. There's gonna be a good number of them, probably. Well, let them come, they're gonna fucking regret it. Straight Route with no Complications, but Guaranteed Encounter with the Burning Men's Main Force.

[] Scenic Route. Safe, but long. Hailey'll wear your ears off with complains, and shit, but if Mao – damn it – is here, she'd take this one. Your job's, after all, isn't to get him back to Nest quick, but that he gets there at all. Course, you'd have to take stops since you reckon the Tourist can't walk for hours straight, there's no telling what you'd encounter on the way. You got a rich looking ass following you, after all. There's also a chance the Burning Men would still be there, but they're probably not gonna be the whole army. 25% Chance of Burning Men (Small Force), and 50% Chance of Random Encounters (Weak). Roll 3d100 Dice for Three Possible Encounters. Higher is Better.

[] "Safe" Route. Well, if the Burning Men are going after Hailey, then the easiest way to avoid them would be going through… a stronger Syndicate's territory. It's super risky, but the route's a straight shot to the Nest Barrier. Since nobody here got beef for Hailey, they're less likely to go after him – of course, he's still a rich looking ass, and you're still Fixers. It'd look like easy picking on them. No Chance of Encountering Burning Men. 40% Chance of Gathering the Local Syndicate's Interest. Roll 1d100. Higher is Better.

 

[SoothingCoffee]

[] Scenic Route. Safe, but long. Hailey'll wear your ears off with complains, and shit, but if Mao – damn it – is here, she'd take this one. Your job's, after all, isn't to get him back to Nest quick, but that he gets there at all. Course, you'd have to take stops since you reckon the Tourist can't walk for hours straight, there's no telling what you'd encounter on the way. You got a rich looking ass following you, after all. There's also a chance the Burning Men would still be there, but they're probably not gonna be the whole army. 25% Chance of Burning Men (Small Force), and 50% Chance of Random Encounters (Weak). Roll 3d100 Dice for Three Possible Encounters. Higher is Better.

...​

[First Encounter Roll: 92]


You consider the routes you have, and with each passing second, your shoulders become lower, and lower. When it comes down to it, your job here is to escort Hailey, and much as you want it otherwise, keep him in one piece. That means avoiding the Burning Men – you could take 'em, 'course, whole army and shit – or just avoiding threats in general. Easier fucking said than done. "No threat" doesn't exist in the Backstreets. Maybe if it's just you, and Kai walking around, nobody's gonna bother, but with this rich-looking fuck in your tow? Ya might as well be a dangling bait.

That means you gotta take the "around" route. Going through the less, and unoccupied streets, and alleys, avoiding Syndicate territories, or skirting at their fringes. It'll take nearly half-a-day to get to the Nest Barrier, and you're already regretting it the longer you think about it. It ain't gonna be free from danger, but the worst you'll see is small groupings of Burning Men if they're expecting anybody to take the route, and if you kill them first, they ain't gonna be able to call reinforcements.

Still, half-a-fucking-day doing this job. At least Sun was ni – tolerable, but Hailey sure as shit ain't.

You're proven almost immediately.

"Why did I even hire you?" he languishes, shaking his head, after you told him the plan. "It's bad enough that I've spent the last couple days doing nothing, now I might not even get a day's off before work – "

"I'm getting you to Nest Barrier in one piece. That's why you hired us," you growled, settling your hand onto your crowbar. You grip tightens. "I don't give a rat's ass if you're late to your damn job, tourist, I'm doing mine, so don't complain, and fucking shut up."

He huffs. "I will not!" he exclaims loudly, shaking his head. Your eyes twitch, violent urge threatening to spill from your body as you force yourself to keep your focus down to the road. "Honestly, this is what I get from hiring you low-level Fixers like you – no care for customer service at all. Typical," he grumbles. "If you're a restaurant, I would've rated you zero-out-of-ten, you hear me?"

"What a fucking shame then," you spit out. "Maybe you should've paid more."

"Maybe," Hailey sighs. "Then perchance I would have gotten that Mao Fixer instead – she, at least, seemed cultured," there's something there in his voice that you can't quite discern, that raises the hairs on the back of your neck, bristling. Deep, almost guttural. "But we take what we get, do we not?"

You roll your eyes, snorting. "Tough fucking luck, Nest Dweller."

"You do not even know the last of it, Lily," the man continues. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you're a Fixer, not some Syndicate punk. And if you wanna stay Fixer at Scarecrow, then you can't beat the crap of Hailey without good reason. "Ack, the tongue lashing my Chief will give me – he's quite the taskmaster, you hear me? For your information –"

"I don't need –"

"—I work for a shipping company, and these recent events have made the business boom. Good for our company, not good for my health," he sighs, long and deep. "Here I graduated with flying colors from my university, expecting at least only mentally exerting desk-jobs, but this Chief of mine has to add 'physically exerting' onto the list. Hauling heavy boxes by myself when we have people on the ground to do that – I never signed for this," he groans. "Here I had hoped that these little vacation hours I've saved up would allow me to prepare for the grueling days to come, but noooo, I've wasted them instead."

You bite your tongue from pointing that maybe shouldn't have gone to the fucking Backstreets, the dumbass. That's only gonna make it worse – not that you need to, un-fucking-fortunately. Hailey continues, and on, and on. Complains, and grouses. His job, his boss, his landlord. It never. Fucking. Ends.

You glance over your shoulders, meeting Kai's cold blank eye. You don't even know what you're trying to tell her – but her eyelid lowers, her head tilting downwards ever so slightly.

Turning your focus back down to the streets, your shoulders sag.

[- 0.5 Sanity Point]

...​

Two hours in, and Hailey finally stops. Your shoulders lower in relief, silence lingering more than a couple seconds where the damned tourist would take a breath, before continuing. You look over your shoulders, slowing down when you realize the client's not following you. You let out a harsh breath, following his eyes – a lone food cart on the side of the streets. Pork, and beef meatballs, you eye the 'menu'; words painted on the side of the carriage. A man stands behind it, plain blue tee, and black trousers. His eyes focus on you, lips frowning in worry. You turn back your attention back to the client, catching Kai in the corner of your periphery, back stiff, and eye straight. She's so fucking creepy.

"Fucking tired already?" you ask, because you are – not in body, but in sanity. If you spend another hour forced to listen his babbling, you might just risk it all, and maul him to death. "I'm not surprised."

He glances at you, and sniff. "Hardly," your eye twitches. "But that does seem delicious," he muses, licking his lips. "So, let's say that I am tired, and take a pause, shall we?"

Rolling your eyes, you shove your hands deep into your pockets. "Whatever you say, Nest Dweller," you spit out.

"You say it like an insult," he sighs deeply. Shaking his head, he plods towards the food cart. Kai silently moves to your side. "Ah, but I will not argue about it, especially in front of food – Master," he raises his hand towards the vendor. He raises an eyebrow, eye never quite leaving you and Kai. "Give me two bowls. Mixed."

The vendor nods carefully. You recognize that look in his eyes. "That be twenty thousand," he says.

You shoot him a flat look.

"Trying to scam me, are you?" Hailey muses, and the vendor grimaces, chuckling awkwardly. "Ah, but food is priceless, are they not? Here," he pulls out twenty thousand from his wallet. You blink. The vendor blinks. "Ten thousand per bowl. If they are delicious, I might even double it."

"Uh," the vendor mutters, before nodding haltingly, eyes finally moving away from you, dead-focused on the bills offered to me. He takes it. "Y-yeah. Sure. Two bowls, coming right up!"

You glance to Kai, and she catches your eye. She doesn't say anything. Well, you're not sure what to even expect from Kai. She's the opposite of Mao. Quiet, but speaks when she gotta. You should be taking that as a blessing, but as both of you stand guard over Hailey, attacking the two bowls filled with meatballs, wontons, fried tofus, and noodles, all swimming in a steaming clear broth, you only find Kai's quiet unsettling instead of calming.

After Mao, this is like getting shocked by an ice shower. They prickle; a thousand icy needles stabbing at your skin. Fucking Mao, you curse inwardly. Damn it.

You'll get used to this. You hafta.

…

​

[Second Encounter Roll: 32]


With the client's belly full – it got to, with how many extra bowls the man ordered – and satisfied, the walk becomes blessedly silent. Well, almost silent. Tap-tap-tap, the noise reaches your ears, his hand patting his stomach, its size stretching slightly against his shirt, his jacket and vest popped open. He hums, and in the corner of your eyes, you catch him eyeing the 'countryside', scanning the rare occasional carts, and shops that don't much catch his interests.

[Instinct Roll. Hard Difficulty. Need 7. Rolls 10 + 2 = 12. Pass.]

There's something about him, you can't help but muse. He ain't normal, and well, no shit. Anyone who came down from their throne up high on the Nest for a fucking vacation ain't gonna be normal. But it's the way he carries himself, one hand in his pocket, the other calmly resting on his belly, shoulders slumped, unworried. It's the way his eyes roam around, an uncaring smile on his lips. Either he's that ignorant of the dangers in the Backstreets, or… your lips flatten.

You only have those two Nest Dwellers as comparison, but with blue head's gun, and pink head's big-ass-knife, plus their fancy clothing, they stood out. Even without them fancy shit, they stood out. If you were to see them in the streets, they'd be like a pair of sore thumbs. People would eat them alive. Blue told you he came from the Backstreets, but if he was telling the truth, then that stench of desperation and poverty had been rubbed off him. Hailey, you realize quietly, feeling an unpleasant drop inside your stomach, got the opposite problem to those two.

Not my business, you tell yourself, forcing your attention back down to the streets, grimacing when in the corner of your eyes, you caught him caught you. Not my goddamn business.

"Oh, well that's interesting," Hailey muses aloud, and you look over your shoulders, before following his sightline. It's an open side-street snack shop; counters, and shelves filled with potato chip pouches, crackers, and even H Corp certified meat stick. A whiteboard sign hangs over the counter. Cold noodle with spicy-sour soup. An old wrinkled woman sits behind, the eyes behind her glasses dull and grey, a familiar tired expression on her face. With how quiet this part of the street is, you wonder how she has remained in business.

You click your tongue. Last time, you took it with relief. This time, not so much. "Another break?"

"I am not tired, if that is what you're asking," he glances at you, before settling back to the shop, licking his lips. "But yes, let's take a break."

You grimace, rolling your shoulders. "Here I thought you wanted to get home quickly."

He sighs, rolling his eyes. "Please. If I am forced to take the longer route, then I will have to enjoy whatever I can get. I am still on vacation, after all," he grouses.

"… Right."

[Instinct Check. Easy Difficulty. Need 2. Roll 7+2 = 9. Pass.]

You don't follow him into the shop.

"We're being followed," Kai says, sidling up to your side, her eye going down the road.

"Yeah, I know," you snort, following her sight. You catch them, huddling together, and at the head, the woman stiffens as your eyes connect. Your hand settles atop your knockbar. You might get the chance to test it out for real. "They're not really hiding themselves."

You feel, rather than see, Kai's eye focusing on you. You glance to her, raising an eyebrow. "… What?"

She nods. Your eyebrow only rises higher. "I will ensure the client stays unharmed."

"Sure," you shrug, never breaking sight from the group. You know that they know that you caught them. With a swagger, they approach you. Hands shoved inside their pockets, weapons dangling over their waist, their body hunched ever-so-slightly. At the same time, Kai moves to the side, closer to Hailey. Her eye never leaves you. "I can take care of 'em," you mutter, more to yourself than anybody else.

There's eight of 'em, you count, as they come to a stop a good distance away from you. They're all wearing armors – not the same type of armor that you're wearing, but armors. Actual plates covering a good chunk of their body. Out in their hands, there are weapons. A couple of pipes, and a crowbar. Slightly more impressive are the spears two of them got, though that calling 'em spears might be too much. They look like someone got an iron rod, and stuck a blade on the tip – which, you suppose, that's what a spear is, but they don't look all that impressive is all what you're getting at. One carries a knife – no, two knives, and at finally at the head is probably the leader.

She doesn't look that much older than you – maybe even younger, for once. Short green hair, and dark blue eyes; a smiling sneer plays on her lips. Her armor's in a better condition compared to the others – more shine on the plates, and less damages. On her hand is a sword – a broad thing compared to Kai's narrow, and sharp blade. It's covered in scratches, and it got chips on the blade. It also happens to be almost as tall, and half-as-wide as its owner, which is to say that the sword's humongous, and the owner's average.

You cock an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And who're you all supposed to be?"

She scowls, sneering. Behind her, the men and women laugh, shark-like grins on their mug. "We're the Iron Plate Gang, bitch," she spits out. "And you're in our fucking street."

Iron Plate. Iron Plate. Iron Plate… you've never heard of them, and ah –

"Pfft," you cheeks balloon up, and you explode in laughter. "Ha! Hahaha!"

Sometimes, very rarely, Rats would gather over, and boldly form their own Syndicate instead of trying to join one. These things don't really happen, practically unheard of, but… The Loud Orchestra has shown that it's possible; the One-Strike Gang their model proof of concept. They're all composed of maniacs, you think, not Rats. Not that it mattered. The line can be thin. More and more of these Syndicates have been cropping up as result, trying to fill in the holes from the sudden missing of various more-established Syndicates. Most failed, hunted down by Fixers, or culled by other Syndicates, some even fading into obscurity, never grabbing a proper foothold, their value the same as when they were rats. But some did succeed.

And that's good enough for them.

"… You think you're in a funny situation, bitch?" the lead snarls, her hand tightening 'round her sword. "You're gonna fucking regret this – we're gonna cut you up to pieces alive."

You stop laughing, but you keep your smile. After Landlord Lin, after Mao, after those fuckers back at Sun's, after Kai, after Scarecrows, after Karrion – it finally feels like you're in somewhere familiar. "Iron Plate Gang – I reckon Rust Gang would fit better – wait, no," you shake your head. "How about Scrapyard Gang? Fits better, huh?"

They all glare, and the lead looks like she's about to launch yourself at ya.

"Y'say this is your street, huh," you continue, looking down at the street. Abandoned. This place probably belonged to another Syndicate, until it didn't. "So what, you're looking for a toll?"

"And if you got a brain there, you'll pay," she hisses. "Eight against three – no," the lead chuckles, snorting. "Eight against two. We'll make it painful."

"… How much?"

"Everything in your wallets."

You stop smiling.

Article:

​

Current Status: 30/30 Health, 24.5/25 Sanity.

Kai's Status: 20/20 Health, 25/25 Sanity.

[] Attack. Eight against one – technically two, if Kai steps in. A few days ago, you might be feelin' a tad more cautious, but yer a new gal now. A bonafide Fixer with bonafide weapon, and armor. You can take them. Maybe not without some cuts, but you could. You want this. You need this. [Fight Seven Iron Plate Member. Each has 15 Health, and 15 Sanity. Iron Plate Leader has 20 Health, and 20 Sanity. They have +1 Armor, 0 Mental Resist, and +1 Weapon Damage. Iron Plate Leader has +2 Weapon Damage. I will roll a 1d7+1 to decide how gangs up on Lily, and how many got the bright idea to go after Hailey – those, Kai will deal with.]
-[] Crush their Body (Melee)
--[] Priority: Agressive (Attack Until They're Dead), Defensive (Block and Strike), Cautious (Hit and Dodge)
-[] Break their Spirit (Repression)
--[] Priority: Agressive (Attack Until They're Dead), Defensive (Block and Strike), Cautious (Hit and Dodge)

[] Negotiate. Eight against one. Well, two, if Kai steps in. The leader's right about numbers – you can deal with them, but you're not 'xactly going to leave this without maybe some cuts, and bruises in. But you can deal with them. But, if Mao's here, she'd probably try to talk them down, and she's like, the resident expert on this stuff you guess. Of course, you're not fucking Mao, and she's not fucking here. You don't fucking like this, but you suppose you could give it a try. [Requires two Hard Negotiation Checks. The Iron Plate Gang got more stakes on this compared to the Victor's Office. No Failsafe by Mao. Kai's not much better than you at talking. Failure leads to battle, and the Iron Plate Gang will have the initiative (they'll hit first).]

[] Pay the toll. Lose All Your Mone -- No.

 

[SoothingCoffee]

Spoiler

[] Attack.
-[] Crush their Body (Melee)
--[] Priority: Agressive (Attack Until They're Dead)

Status:

Spoiler

Health (30/30):

000000
000000
000000
000000
000000

Sanity (24.5/25):

00000
00000
00000
00000
00000

...

You stop smiling.

"That´s not a funny joke, y'know," you say, unlatching your knockbar from its hold. You swing it around, and you watch them tense, their eyes following the sways of your weapon as you twist your wrist. Just as the one the Hana provided, the knockbar feels just right in your hand. "Asking money like that… that's serious business."

The girl lead sneers. "Good thing it's not a joke then," she spits.

"Yeah," you roll your shoulders. "That's what I figured."

Palm pressed against the side of your neck, you crack it – a satisfying crunch echoing in the silent, barely occupied street. They said they own it, and you don't doubt that; not because they're strong, but because there's nobody to contest them. Syndicates have been disappearing, you think quietly.

You move in.

Her eyes widen. "Get –" the leader shouts, but by then, you're already in front of her. You swing for her head – only for it to meet the flat of her blade. Your muscles scream, and hiding behind the slab of iron, you catch the familiar smug relief in your foe's eyes. It vanishes immediately as Tor's Impact works its magic, sending her stumbling back, reeling. "Get the target!" she screams.

Four – no, five of them sprint pass you. That leaves you behind with three. Hopefully Kai could take care of them – a roar cuts your thought, and a shadow falls over you. He stands a good half-a-head above you, an iron baton in his hand. Slow, you think, watching his baton descend onto you, ready to cave your head in. You swing – a metallic crack – and the baton never reaches its target. He glances down to his shoulder. Iron collapses against your crowbar, forcing flesh and bones deep into the sockets – from its cracks, blood leaks out. Tor's Impact cuts off his scream, throwing him down to the floor.

Next, you think, turning to the third – she's a thin looking thing who can't be a few years older than you, and in her hands, a sorry excuse of a spear primed at your side. She stops suddenly, and you see the fear in her eyes, a thief caught in action.

You step inside and grabs the shaft of her spear. She tugs, but you don't budge. She stares. "Wait –" you swing, and the iron protecting her side crumples like sheets of papers. Her body bends, jerking violently to the side – an audible snap of bones, muffled underneath her armor, and she only falls when you let go of her spear.

"G-get off her, you – !"

You whirl around, and holy shit – that's a big sword. Logically, you know that already – it's literally as tall as its wielder, for fuck's sake, but it doesn't register into your head until the gang leader lifts up towards the sky, its shadows swallowing you whole. That's huge. You swing your crowbar – but it's too late. She doesn't swing the thing down – she doesn't have to. She drops it, and it bites into your shoulder. Your legs buckle under its weight, and you let out a pained scream. Your bones protest, and squeal, shifting under the blade's grinding pressure. Your arm is a numb thing, a searing burning pain chewing through your flesh, and for a short moment, you couldn't feel your hand. For a short, dreaded moment, you think your arm's been cut off.

The blade stops. It doesn't break flesh – Karrion's tattered black jacket shredded under the blade's chipped teeth, but it keeps it from biting through, away from your flesh.

She stares. "How the fuck –"

"That the best you could do?" you ask, growling. You step forward, and she steps back. The blade grinds at your shoulder. "You Rats just never learn. You should know better. It don't matter how you dress yourselves up, but a Rat is still a –"

She glares. "Fuck you," her eyes glance up –

You curse under your breath, snapping your leg out. She grunts, stumbling backwards, and you turn around. Arm free from the case of his armor, bones sticking out at an angle, hanging on sinews, and drowning in blood. Dark eyes brimming with intent. With a roar, he throws his entire body at you – and stops, as your claw bites atop his skull. There's a crack – a crunch as you pull it out, and you swing again. Once. He falls. Twice. Thrice.

Dead.

You look down on his corpse – an oaf of a Rat, his body flat on the ground, skull cracked open. Blood, and giblets, and gore. You turn to the Gang Leader, eyeing her. She stares back, stiff. Your lungs inflate, and then deflate, burning with fire, and your muscles screech.

You're not one of those psychos who got their jollies off from killing people, but – this, this is what you're best at. You're no talker, or some bullshit, and for once, after the last few days, things are making sense again. Kill or be killed, that's the Law of the Backstreets – no, that's the Law of the City. Winner takes all, and – as you face her, eyes wide in terror – you are winning.

"Come on then," you grin. "You want my money, don't cha? My armor, my loot, even my fucking client – well, come on, take it!"

"Fuck off! Fuck off! You fucking – goddamn monster!" screaming, she throws herself at you. Her blade grinds against the earth, leaving behind narrow gouges; flaming sparks that blind your eyes. With a grit, she heaves the thing upwards – but you're already here, right in front of her, not there where she's aiming to cut you. You swing, and your crowbar bites through armor, and into the flesh of her legs. She screams, and falls, feet thrown off from the ground. She stares up, her breathing coming in gasps, and you stare down. "… Please," she chokes out. "Not like this. I don't wanna die. I'm just – we just –"

You snort. "Just what," you ask, scowling. You roll your shoulder. Fuck, it hurts. "Just want money? Just wanna eat? Just wanna live?" you scoff. "Well, you're shit out of luck then, 'cause I also want those things. So –" you roll your shoulder again, bringing your crowbar up. "Here's for my shoulder!"

"We were told!" she screams. "They came and –"

Pain.

You blink, looking down at your side. A blade digs into your side, and it's attached to an iron pole, and that's in the hands off – "You're alive?"

Barely, you realize, her eyes cloudy – a pool of blood forming underneath her feet, leaking from the cracks of her armor.

"Ah," the thin girl startles, stepping back. You grimace, feeling an awkward pull. You stare at the point of her spear. There's no blood. She notices it too. "Shit."

"Uh-huh," you intone, feeling the stab wound. It stings, but it doesn't look like it actually breaks through Karrion's armor. You turn to face her. She steps back. You step forward. You swing your crowbar down, and you blink as she steps forward, twisting her spear. It's an awkward movement, closer to a stumble, but her spear catches your swing by the shaft. You glance down, and turn around, just in time to catch the gang leader trying to thrust her sword right through your back; wide pinpricked eyes staring at you.

You knock her blade away with a swing of your crowbar, and her eyes widen. "Ah –" whatever words she's about to say never leaves her throat as the claw of your crowbar bites deep into her neck. Blood, and muscles follow as you wrench it out. She lets out a breath and drops to her knees; her blank eyes stare off into the distance, her hands moving blindly towards her neck – before she eventually stops.

You turn around, and see the thin girl walking towards you, her spear propped for your stomach. You recognize the look in her eyes, and a swing gets the job done.

You look around you, at the trio of corpses, you nod in satisfaction. Shit like this always ends out in a fizzle, no other ways around it. You take a deep breath and let it all out. You need this, more than you realize. You don't get off from killing people, but all the same, this feels good. Reaffirming. Reassuring. Some few days ago, you wouldn't be able to handle this – well, you could, but you're not gonna come out well, and this is proof, is what you're getting at.

Proof that that you're going somewhere, and your direction is up.

You're smiling.

Spoiler

Health (21/30):

000000
000000
000000
000000
000000

Sanity (24.5/25):

00000
00000
00000
00000
00000

And the smile slips off your face the moment you turn around, just in time to catch Kai sheathing her sword. Surrounding her are frozen statues – four human frozen statues, terror etched on their face. "Wait," you mumble under your breath. "Four – oh," you glance down to her feet, chunks of frozen flesh scattered around. "… 'Sup," you call out, approaching her.

"I am unharmed," Kai returns blankly. She stares at you, and you stare. Her eye falls down to your shoulder. "How are you?"

"… I'll be fine," you roll your shoulder to prove your point. By the way Kai's eye narrows ever so slightly, it might have done the opposite. "I've been in worse."

She hums. "I see."

"Bravo, bravo," Hailey calls out from the distance, clapping his hands. You scowl. Oh yeah, you're here for a reason. "That was quite the show, ladies – perfect with the meal, I'll say."

"It's not a fucking show," you growl, before you turn around. "Wait here. I wanna see something," you mutter, approaching the Gang Leader's corpse – specifically, her sword.

… Well, it looks like a normal sword. As normal as a sword this size could be. You bend over, and grunt slightly as you pick it up. It's weighty, as you expected, but not as much as you initially thought. You could swing it around with two hands. It's a hefty thing, a bit on the unwieldy side, compared to your crowbars. Chipped, and damaged – you could get someone to repair it, though you're not exactly swimming with money, or you could sell it, if nothing else. Probably won't sell much.

You could just leave it. It's not like you actually need it, though it does feel a little wasteful to leave it behind like this.

Article:

Loot?

[] Take it. What's the harm in it, right? If nothing else, you could just sell it. [Damaged Big Sword (???): A sword that looks more like a slab of iron than a blade. It has seen better days, and whoever wielded it before either had no care for it or didn't know how. Knowing Rats, it could be both. You don't know how she got this, but you're guessing they took it off some rotting corpses, or some scrapyard. +2 Damage. ???. Will Break. Appraisal is Required.]

[] Leave it behind. You got no use for it, so there's no point in pick it up… right? [???]

Spoiler: Rolls

/r 1d7+1. Rolled 3 <2> # How Many Will Fight [ID: 189638]

Lily takes initiative, and swings for the Lead. 1d10+3. Rolls 7. Gang Lead scrambles to defend. /r1d10. Rolls 7. She blocks just in time, but Knockbar's Off-Balance Debuff procs. Iron Plate 1 Attacks from side. Rolls 3. Lily attacks back, and rolls 10 (7+3). Iron Plate 1 Loses 10 (10+1-1) Health. 5/15 Remaining. Iron Plate 2 Attacks in frenzy. Rolls Nat 10. Lily Rolls 12 (9+3), and Deals 12 (12+1-1) Damage. Iron Plate 2 has 2/15 Health. Lead strikes for vengeance. Rolls 7 (8-1). Lily tries to pummel. Rolls 6 (3+3). Lead Hits for 6 Damage (7+2-3). Lead Loses Off-Balance Debuff. 24/30 Health Remains. Lightly Wounded. Iron Plate 1 Tries to Capitalize! Rolls 9 (10-1). Lily Rolls 12 (9+3). Iron Plate 1 Fucking Dies.

Watching their "friend" brutalized, Gang Lead and Iron Plate 2 Loses Sanity. -3 to Lead, and -5 to Iron Plate 2. Lead is Nervous. Iron Plate 2 is Horrified.

Lead Goes All In. Rolls 1. Lily Rolls 6 (3+3). Lead loses 6 Health. 14/20 Remaining. Iron Plate Goes to Stealth. His Stealth vs. Lily's Instinct. 9 vs 8 (6+2). Lead Attacks rolls 9. Lily rolls 11 (8+3). Deals 11 Damage. Lead has 3/20 Health Remaining. At the same time, IP 2 strikes from behind. Rolls 5. Stealth Attack is One-Sided. Lily suffers 3 Damage (5+1-3). 21/30 Health Remaining.

Lily takes vengeance. Rolls 4 (1+3). IP2 Blocks Desperately. Rolls 8. Damage negated. Lead Strikes. Rolls 9. Lily snaps back with 11(8+3). Deals 11 Damage. Lead is Dead. IP 2 Goes into Panic. Lily rolls 12 (9+3) and finishes the job.

Kai's Side. She wins, but:

How is Kai? 1d100+30 (Well Equipped, and Experienced). 103 (73+30)

How did the other 5 fare? 1d100+20 (Outnumbers Kai 1-to-5). 30 (10+20)

Kai decimates, and comes out unharmed.

Spoiler: an

aaa this update was super hard to write, and it doesn't feel up to snuff

 

[SoothingCoffee]

Incidentally @SoothingCoffee , was this a relatively 'hard' non-Burning Men encounter due to how low the roll was?

Click to shrink...

They're a relatively hard "weak" encounter. Like you said, they're slightly well-equipped Rats. The Gang Leader might be a bit stronger, but that is that, and this is this. Just as Lily has pointed out, if this was before she got her Fixer's License, she would be the one getting her shit pushed in.

And finally... is the white bar underneath our sanity just a copying error, or does it represent something else?

Click to shrink...

That's a formatting error. Should be fixed now.

I do kind of wonder how things would have gone if she won the Negotiation checks. Maybe telling the Iron Plate Gang they're messing with the wrong Office? Or maybe offer them a scrap of legitimacy if they let Hailey go?

Click to shrink...

First one, basically. It would have been difficult, not just because Lily's not particularly good at it, but because the Iron Plate Gang got stakes in this. They just formed their own Gang, and claimed a Street as their territory. It used to be owned by a larger Syndicate, but it's gone, and nobody cares enough to contest their claims. They attacked you for the same reason why Syndicates raid Offices -- Infamy. Fame. Reputation. Legitimacy. As it is, they're just hobo-punks squatting over the place. Of course, they're also serious about the money, and you could try to argue which one's more important to them, but they're dead now so /shrug

Such are the challenges of forming a new Syndicate.

The Missing Syndicates of District Eight

Just like Fixer Offices, Syndicates come and go. There's always this metaphorical "bar of entry" for both Fixers, and Syndicates where you got be this tall to pass. Most couldn't meet that bar. So Syndicates straight up getting destroyed, sometimes even without anybody noticing it, is not something new.

But this is different. Ever since the Pianist Incident, Syndicates have been missing left, and right -- and were they be minor Syndicates, people wouldn't bat an eye. But these also include long-staying Syndicates, old major Syndicates that have been occupying the territories of District 8 for years. Even the Fingers aren't left alone; the Middle's influence growing quiet, and the Index vanishing out of thin air, their white robes can sometimes be seen on the street, covered in dirt, and blood. And from their ashes, come new Syndicates, and they are, if not as bad, then worse. The Loud Orchestra, a "Syndicate" of maniacs who worshipped the Pianist, turning people into instruments in hopes of recreating the Pianist' discordant sound, their numbers rising to a speculated dozens. There are the Dreamers, mysterious unknown cannibals who kidnap people into their factories, processing them down until "they're down to their essence". One-Stroke Gang, a group of Rats turned into roaming Bandits who kill anything that meets their eyes, leaving behind a trail of blood behind them.

And it's like a dam has been broken -- more, and more, newer Syndicates begin to form. They're an inspiration, so to speak, for these newly formed Syndicates. Most of them died quick enough, but some stayed, and they stayed.

 

[SoothingCoffee]

You consider the sword. Testing its weight, its heft, swinging it around; each strike at the empty air pulling you forward, forcing you to take in a wider stance to properly wield it. Planting it down to the ground, you purse your lips. You're drawing a blank. Well, you're not exactly a weapons expert, are you? Much less on swords. You know that it could do a lot of damage – gravity did most of the damage behind your shoulder, and now that the battle's dying down, you can feel it beginning to throb. It's damaged, obviously; not quite rusty, but chipped and scratched. There is a feeling in your guts telling you that it's not going to last super long.

You lick your lips, finding your hazy reflection on the blade's marked surface. On both your hips, you become even more aware of your crowbars – and you want it. There, you fucking said it. You want the fucking sword. Like sure, it's not gonna see much use, you reckon. Fixing it would cost too much, and selling it would be a pain in the ass but… there's something about it, y'know? Like a – a trophy. Like proof, that you fought here, and fucking decimated these bitches. So you'd wake up every morning, stare at it, and then you'd be like 'fuck yeah', 'cause you're not the same gal who'd get beat up by these assholes anymore; proof that you're above them.

Fuck, now you sound like one of those psychos. You shiver, eyes straying to the gang-leader's kneeling corpse, her pale face trapped in an expression of pain, and despair; disbelief etched in her dead eyes. She said something about "being told"? With all the excitement, you don't recall much – not like she said much about it either. But there's a pit forming inside your gut; a thrown pebble that never reaches the bottom. Did the Burning Men sent her – no, that doesn't make sense. Something else. The equipment: their armors – the sword itself, damaged as it is, it would still take chunks out of your (including this mission's reward) wallet.

So what, someone's backing them up? Gave them armors, and weapons –

"How long are we going to dawdle here?" the familiar, grating voice of Hailey pierces your thought. You scowl. Your mood sours immediately. "Hey, girl, are you there – perhaps you should check your leader, quiet girl – if you truly have a thing for ogling corpses, surely there is a better time?"

"… Lily?"

"I'm fine," you growl, letting go of the sword. It teeters, before falling flat on the ground, and when the resulting cloud of dust disappears, it settles right before the gang-lead's corpse. You snort, rolling your eyes. "I'm not into fucking corpses, asshole," you spit, glaring at the Nest Dweller. He meets it with a huff, rolling his eyes. "I was thinking."

"Ah, yes, thinking," he smirks, crossing his arms together. "I am sure you are thinking something, alright."

Your eye twitches, and you stomp after him. "You motherfuck –" you stop, letting out a hiss. Shit, you raised your arm wrong. Kai takes a step, and you growl under your breath. She stops. "I'm fine," you roll your shoulders to keep a point. It fucking hurts, but it doesn't show on your face. You have dealt with worse. Kai looks at you, and this time, you don't break contact. She takes a step back, and you shake your head, taking the lead. "Let's get a move on."

"It is fine, you know," Hailey starts, idly. "People have their proclivities – and there are worser proclivities out there, as you know. Corpses are not even close to the bottom of the barrel, and I suspect you will not be running out of them anytime soon."

You're feeling a headache coming. It's similar to the headache that Mao gives you, but also different – less tolerable. More hair rising. You turn over your shoulders to give him a pointed glare. "I'm not into corpses, you fucking creep."

He raises an eyebrow, and then purses his lips. "Perhaps not," he hums, and you roll your eyes. Grunting, you turn your attention down to the street. "But – ah, I can not believe I am doing this in my vacation time – but if you any of you are, then –"

"Then what," you cut in, and you smirk at his disgruntled look. "Your little shipping company gonna box us a little corpse?"

"Something like that – though not necessarily all that."

Your smirk slides away, and you turn back down to the street. God-fucking-damnit. Nest freaks, and creepers, all of them. A shiver runs down through your spine. Well, there is that little surprise out of the goddamn box – not that you expected less; nobody's normal gonna go down from the Nest into the Backstreets for a vacation. Shady – super emphasis on 'shady' – shipping company fits the bill.

"Warren's Courier Service," the Nest Dweller suddenly says, and you close your eyes. He lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I doubt you Fixers have the money, but I suppose there is nothing bad to spread the name around."

Freaks, all of them, and it feels like you're the only sane one.

---​

Rolled: 72.

You eventually come to a stop. Fortunately, not because another food stall, or shop caught your client's eyes. Unfortunately, it's caused by the group of Rats blocking your path. Unfortunate for them, that is. Four of them, standing ahead the narrow street, garbed in those tattered heavy jackets to fend off the cold, and layers of whatever clothes they could find. Knives, and sticks, and brass-knuckles. At the head, the leader of the Rat group shoots you a sickly smirk; eyes shaking, hands continuously twirling his butterfly knife.

Beyond, just an hour or two away from your destination. You feel a vein threatening to pop.

"You Rats are getting bold, huh," you say, after a moment. Rats attack in swarms – emphasis in swarms, outnumbering their victim. Normally they target people like you, scavenging on their hunting grounds. A stray; easy prey in their eyes. Most times, it's the normal people, dragged off from the streets into the dark alleys. "Five-on-two might make things seem in your favor, but we're Fixers, y'know that, right? There's a gang back there," you gesture your head back. "Called themselves Iron Plate Gang. They're dead now."

"Never heard of 'em," the leader snorts, but you don't miss the way his twirling knife goes faster. "But bold, eh? We'll take that as compliment."

"It's not."

"We gotta take our chances, right?" he continues, and the question's not aimed at you. Behind him, four heads nod. "Can't be Rats forever. Can't wait for some Syndicates shithead to pick us up," he licks his lips. "Gotta venture out. Gotta be bold. Gotta be brave. Tia and her gang did that, and now they're called the One-Stroke Bandits."

One-Stroke Bandits. Or Clan. Or Gang. Whichever. They're one of those Syndicates – a bunch of maniacs who kills anything that steps in front of their directionless path. They leave behind a trail of blood behind them, and those smart enough usually steer clear. They were former Rats, striking out on their own.

You roll your eyes. "If you think you're gonna be like them…" you scoff. "You're fucking delusional."

"If we die, we die!" he snarls, hunching over, whipping out his knife; the blade surprisingly sharp. "But if we live, then we thrive!"

"Well," you drawl, pulling out your knockbar. "If it's death you guys want –" a hand blocks your path. You blink, tracing the arm to Kai. "… Fuck are you doing?"

"You are wounded," you open your mouth, but she is already unsheathing her sword. A clean, and clear song of metal. Her sword's a sharp thin thing that emits a cold fog, the exact opposite of the Iron Plate Gang Leader's sword. "I am not," she steps forward. "I will take care of them."

"Now, wait a goddamn moment," you follow after her, only to stop when she stops, regarding you with a look. You furrow your eyebrows. "I don't fucking listen to you –"

"Neither do I," and your mouth shuts with a click. She meets you with a blank look, and you glare back. "I followed you. My turn. Guard the client."

You look over your shoulders, catching your client's amused smirk. Fucking asshole. "Fine. Fucking fine," you bite out, grumbling under your breath. She got a point, though you could deal with the hurt, and you'd rather be on the front. It's what you're best at, but – ugh. You take a step back. "We talk later," Kai's already approaching them. You shrug. "Mess 'em up, I guess."

A deep sigh sends your hair rising. "You two are perhaps the most adorable Fixers I have seen," Hailey titters.

You cringe, glaring at him – one eye kept at him, while the other towards Kai. "I ain't – we ain't adorable, you cumstain."

He makes a face. "Really."

"It fits."

He sighs, shaking his head. "How juvenile, but I expected as much."

Your head boils. You wanna drag him down from his porcelain throne, and rip him into pieces. You can't, you know that, and that's the fucking problem. Not just 'cause he's a client, but also 'cause everything in your body screams not to. Shady shipping company, work at desk, occasional groundworks. There's too many of those words-that-mean-other-words.

You clench your jaws tight, and ignore him. Your hand rests atop your knockbar. The leader shouts, screaming murder and his fellows follow him – a reckless charge, an attempt to overwhelm Kai. They're nuts. You open your mouth, and click it shut as Kai responds. A step to the left, and the Leader stabs empty air; a second Rat follows in before Kai could take the advantage, and she twirls around him, standing behind the Rat's stumbling body. Number three slams a pipe down, and she flows, her feet barely touching the ground. Tap, tap, taptap, she goes, ducking under the fourth's horizontal swing. Her eye, glinting cold blue – you see a flash of white, and she lashes out. Number Four does not so much try to dodge as much as he throws himself to the ground, and Kai's blade skewers him. He opens his mouth. A scream, high-pitched like the hiss of a steaming pot, and you realize that it is not the Rat who screams, but the blade. Layers of white, of frost, form where her blade pierces. Once, twice, and three times, and each time she pulls her blade away, there is no blood to be seen.

Blood becomes as ice, and flesh turns solid black.

"Quite graceful, is she not," you jump, your grip on your weapon tightening. You spare him an eye. There is a look about him that makes your skin crawl, more than usual. "It is to be expected from that Fixer's blood."

From behind her, Number 3 jumps at Kai with a roar, swinging his pipe for her neck, and Kai vanishes – leaving behind a groaning, inaudibly screaming Rat on the ground. He scrambles up to his feet. Tries to, and his left arm shatters like glass. A flash of her blade. A loud tinkling echoes in the air. They got lucky. You try to keep up with Kai and fail and succeed at the same time.

"… You know her mom?" Kai doesn't move like a blur. She's fast, but not that fast, but her feet, her legs; her limbs, they move with the flow, and complicatedness of a thousand entangled cable wires. Graceful, you idly recall what Hailey just said. That's the word. It's unlike anything you've seen. Unlike anything you've done. Your jaws clench tighter.

"Know of. She is well above me, see."

"She famous or something?"

A hum. "Suppose she is famous in certain circles," you catch him smirk. "She's called the Wonderland – Winter Wonderland, she was going to be called," a Color, you think. "But her activities suddenly dropped, and the announcement was never announced," he sighs, giggling, fat jowls jiggling. "It appears I have found the reason. Quite the small world we live in, don't you think?"

The Rat leader charges, screaming panic, and Kai merely twirls around him. A flash of white, and he falls to the floor, layers of frost forming on his leg. Number two, and three runs after her at the same time, and she simply flows around their strikes. A swing for her head whiffs, and a stab to her back meets empty air. Flashes of white, and they let out a pained cry, tumbling to the floor. A wide step forward, and another, towards the fallen Four. She twists, airborne for a good second, and her blade pierces through Four's eye as she touches ground. Flesh turns black, and the ice crawls. His hand, reaching out, moments before his death becomes as still as statue alongside his entire body, covered from head to toe in frost.

Your shoulder screams at you, and you taste iron in your mouth. Wonderland, Hailey said. "Why's she called that?"

"Because of what she leaves behind," he murmurs, and Red Mist comes to mind. Nobody doesn't know her. Tales of supposed heroics, until she vanishes suddenly. Red Mist, she's called, because that's what she leaves behind. Kai spins, her foot lifted to her thigh, before it stomps down, stopping her, facing the remaining Rats. "Entire terrain transformed into plains of ice, and beds of snow, inhabited by the alabaster sculptures of her enemies, frozen completely down into their marrows. A silent, brewing storm of snowflakes; sharp enough to cut skin – the expression of a Color; a glimpse into such an otherworldly heart," he sighs, knuckling his chin.

"You're disgusting."

Part of you wants to vomit. A larger part refuses to pull away from Kai. Her head bobs down, once, and she takes a step. Once. Twice – and that turns into a leap. The Rats laugh, and scream, and charge. The Leader reaches her – no, Kai reaches him first, and her sword pierces through his neck. He gurgled, cut immediately as she pulls away. His hands scrabble wildly as ice encases his head. He falls to the ground, and his head shatters apart into shards of brain matter, and head-organs. Number two follows his leader as Kai twists over his strike, and digs her blade into his side, down-to-up, her blade sticking out of his other shoulder. He drops to his knees, expression fearful as he freezes over, still as a statue, and you're reminded of the Iron Plate's Gang Leader.

Kai stares at the corpse, unblinking. Number three – you open your mouth, and Kai whirls around. Too late, you think, and his pipe slams over her shoulder. An audible crack echoes, and Kai tumbles through the dirt. You blink, tasting blood in your mouth, and feeling the throbbing pain in your shoulders, stiff against your neck. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding.

"… I'm disgusting, you said," Hailey chuckles, and you shoot him a glare. He smirks. "Perchance you should find a mirror, girl."

Number three gasps, breathing hoarse, hunched over. "Hah," he chokes out, blinking. "Hahah!" he throws his head out, laughing. "Hahaha –"

He stops suddenly, eyes wide as dinner plates. Kai climbs up to her feet, lone eye unblinking. Her shoulder, the one the Rat struck, bent awkwardly. Dislocated, you muse, and the Rat turns. He runs, towards you. You don't recognize the look in his eyes. Gone, you think. You ready your knockbar – only for Rat to suddenly stop, back arching, and falls forward. Stuck on his back, Kai's sword. She approaches it quietly; a loud crack echoing as she settles her bone back in, before she pulls her sword out. The Rat's corpse becomes as still as statue.

You approach her, raising an eyebrow. "Ya cool?"

Kai turns to you. "I –" she pauses, glancing to her shoulder. Then at your shoulder. "I am cool."

You nod, turning around, catch the wide grin sketched over the client's face, and grimace. "Let's go."

…​

"Well, I can't say it was a pleasure," Hailey muses, glancing behind him, then down at his watch. Behind him, the Nest Barrier looms. A stretch of pink energy field, so opaque it denies even a glimpse of what stands behind. You see something fly – a bird – over it, and it sizzles. Simply gone. The Hello Tower stands far away inside the Nest, yet it scrapes the sky regardless, and its pink highlighted "H" symbol stares down at you. There is a post down there, for entry, guarded by five men, fully covered from head to toe with pink armor. Hanging off their shoulders, you spot guns, and hanging by their belt, briefcases. It taunts you. Everything about it, about them; the barrier, and the H symbol, and the entry outpost. They all taunt you.

"But at least it has been enlightening," Hailey laughs, pulling a thick envelope from his bag. Your eyes lock into it. "Here's your payment, and split it fairly, would you not?" he winks. "Hopefully, there will be no next time."

"My advice is to never step back here."

"My advice is find a mirror," your eyes twitch, and you consider punching him. Technically, you've done your job. You feel Kai's eye on you, focusing pointedly. "But perhaps next time I should visit District 13 instead – they've also quite the culinary scene, though perhaps slightly different than in here. Well," he rolls his shoulders, waving his hand. "Ta-ta."

You turn around almost immediately. What's the fucking point in watching the process? You'll get there eventually, sure, but not today. You look up at the sky; orange evening, nearing dark. "Guess we should hurry," you mutter, staring down at the heft envelope, slipping it down into jacket's inner pocket.

Kai nods.

You work your jaws out, and start walking. Kai walks right next to you, quiet. Graceful, the word comes back.

Two hours in, and she hasn't asked about the money. "Look," you groan out, patting at the bulge in your jacket. "How we gonna split the reward?"

Kai stares at you, pursing her lips. "Sixty-forty," you sigh. Well, you expected that. "To your favor."

You flinch, scowling at her. "Fucking what?"

She meets it head-on with an eye. "I take forty, you take –"

"I fucking heard you the first time," you snap, and she blinks. "Fucking why?" you grouse. Graceful, you think again, and your jaws tighten. "You took out most of the guys."

"I do not need –"

You spit. "And I do?"

"Yes."

It feels as though you might crush yourself with how tight you are clenching your teeth.

Pride, you know well, is a privilege that only the powerful could afford.

You are not.

Thus, you could not.

Article:

How do you split the money?

[] Sixty-Forty In Your Favor. Kai doesn't mind, she said. You do. Reward: 630,000 Ahn.

[] Fifty-Fifty Fair. Fair. It's not, really. But it's as decided. It'll do. Reward: 525,000 Ahn.

[] Forty-Sixty In Her Favor. She doesn't need it. You do. You'll deal with it. Reward: 420,000 Ahn.

For Finishing your First (Technically Second) Urban Myth Mission, You Are Rewarded With: 650 XP! Vote in Plans for XP Allocation!

Additionall, You Have Recovered from 21/30 Health back to 24/30 - Lightly Injured!

 

[SoothingCoffee]

[] Sixty-Forty In Your Favor. Kai doesn't mind, she said. You do. Reward: 630,000 Ahn.

Staring at your lunch, your stomach grumbles. A mound of steamed white rice, glistening with savory yellow duck fat, its aroma rich and overwhelming; a hint of something sweet, and nutty brushing at the back of your senses. Your mouth waters. Two cuts of duck meat lay besides the mound: thigh, and breast. They're not just simply deep-fried, you could tell; marinated, and boiled in spices for hours to ensure every nook and cranny is penetrated with flavors. The skin crisp, almost crumbling at the touch of your chopstick, and shining with juice, and oil. There's a spicy sauce; chili, garlic, shallots, and fermented shrimp paste, lying in a bed of raw cabbages, cucumbers, and herbs.

Twenty thousand Ahn, this costs you. It's funny. Fucked up, really. Less than a week ago, you couldn't have afforded this – well, you could, but you wouldn't. Not without sacrificing other stuffs you need. Now look at you, splurging more in one day what you would have in a month – your meal budget this week dwarfing entire months'. You're in one fucking wild ride, and you don't want it to stop.

You shift in your seat and feel a weight inside your pocket. Your wallet, six-hundred-and-thirty thousand Ahn heavier. It's only your first mission, and you're already there for your rent payment. Sixty-forty in your favor. Kai stood in before you, taking her cut. "You need it, I don't," and she's right. You do. You feel it burn through your wallet, through your pocket – a knot inside your throat, and a bitter churn in your stomach.

Pride's not something you could have. You're not powerful. You're not able. Kai is. You saw her fight, her blade flashing, cutting, and piercing flesh. And – and fuck. You don't – can't have pride, but it's still fucking humiliating. To be looked down, to be pitied, given charity. You never begged before, never asked, never given. You take. Steal. Kill. Trade. What's her angle then? Mao gave you two mil just like that with a snap of her fingers, and – and you don't know what she wanted. Just for you to work well. Complete mission. There's something else, but at least it's not out of pity. It's not out of charity. She's too… too Mao to pull that.

You snort, glancing at the empty seat. You haven't seen her yet this week – you thought Mori was joking about her being a workaholic, but it looks like he wasn't. You glance back down at your meal, grimacing. Kai took a Canard job, and Mori's away. There's Burke, a steamed bun on one hand, and a piece of paper on a flipboard in the other. Boss sits in his desk, still as ever, the only sign he's not dead the slight movement on his chest. The crow nestles comfortably in the center of his hat.

What's Kai's angle, then? She did most of the job, she's not your superior like Mao, and she… she gave you a larger cut just like that. Her mom's a fucking Color. Or at least, supposed to be a Color. On the level of a fucking Color. 1st​ Grade, then. She's rich then, probably. Her weapon was something else, and… and fuck. She pities you. Thinks you some weak miserable sod you could baby around, throw money out like some fucking pet. Pride's the privilege of the powerful, and Kai got that in spades. You don't. You're in her debt. She holds the power, holds the leash like Landlord Lin does, and now you gotta listen to her. Fuck. Fuck you for being a miserable piece of shit. And fuck her for – just fuck her.

Staring back at your meal, you feel your appetite going away. You still eat. You've paid for it. But it tastes bland to your tongue.

Your thought stews and churns.

…​

The window of the apartment slides open, and something flies out. It's light-brown, fluffy, and shaped like a ball. Your eyes widen as it unfurls. "Oh shit," you curse, throwing your body aside, the soles of your shoes burning as you skid through the ground. You spread your arms out, and the white thing lands rightly on your palms. You grimace at the ache in your shoulder. Large brown eyes stare at you, pink tongue lapping at air. You lower the thing down, and glare at the window. "Oi, you fuck! I'll beat your ass –"

The window snaps shuts, cutting your words off.

"Fucking ass," you grumble, looking back at the brown fluffy thing. It's a dog, alright. There's a collar 'round its neck, a square metal plate strapped on it: Pop, it says. "Guess that's you," you mutter, and the dog lets out a bark. Arf, it goes. You cringe. Its stubby feet waddle in the empty air, trying and failing to get to you. You snort, despite yourself. "Nice try, dumb little shit. Maybe if you're not so tiny, huh," you muse, before shaking your head. Fuck you're doing. Lugging it to your side with one arm, you shoot the apartment another glare, and spit at the ground, before you walk away. "Can't believe I'm risking my life for you," you mutter.

"Arf."

"Aren't you the luckiest piece of shit," you grumble. "Protection my ass. This is just fucking delivery," clicking your tongue, you shoot the dog a sneer. It tilts its head at you, dumb mindless brown eyes blinking. Around, people stare, but not for long. You huff, eyes back to the road. "Can you imagine this shit? At least it's not looking for some lost cats," you scoff. You've heard Fixers take those jobs too. Well, Fixers take all kinds of job. No point in being picky. It's either this, or dealing with a nest of Rats – which, you got no problems with, but fuck the pay – or dealing with another annoying piece of shit client.

"Mmarf."

You eye the brown thing. "They'd probably eat you," you muse, eyes back again on the road. "Some other wild animals, or maybe some sharp-eyed people. You're considered delicious in some parts 'round here. Hey, meat is meat, right?" you shrug. "… Then again, you're so tiny, they might not even bother," you laugh under your breath.

"Arrrf."

You roll your eyes. "Just what kinda shithead gets a pet anyway?" you ask to nobody. You image it. "Musta been someone with loads of time in their hands. Middle-aged. Lonely. Rich. Or maybe not rich, just desperate," you recall the job file. "Ring a bell, dog? Fits Miss Marie, huh?"

At that, it whimpers.

You blink, lifting the dog up to your eye level. Large brow eyes turning downward. "Huh," you mutter, before cradling it up to your chest. "There's nothing about how your owner died in the file," you say. "She probably cares a lot for ya, huh," you take a blind guess. "And then you wake up, one day, and suddenly realizin' that you're on your lonesome," you try to pull up a pair of faces. They're blurry. You don't remember them anymore. Their voice, their names, their face. You remember only faint impressions. Sitting together on a table. Sandwiched between them. One day sittin', waitin', until Landlord Lin knocked at the door. "… you'll get used to it."

"Mrrraf," it responds, quietly. You feel something wet running across your hand. A tongue. "Mrrf."

You grimace. "… Fuck am I even doing?" you shake your head, focusing back on the road. It's gonna be a long walk to your destination. You're not worried about the walk there – you are worried about the walk back. You'll be cutting it close. Night at the Backstreets is not a time, and place you want to be in, and that's before the Sweepers start sweeping.

[Encounter. Roll 1d100. Result: 2.]

"Excuse me," the voice is low, but not heavy. Each word spoken clearly. It comes directly besides you. A looming shadow; a cut of white fabrics. You tense up, stepping away, lashing out with your knockbar – and freeze as you see the speaker. Black suit. A white cloak around the neck, over the shoulders. Eyes, blindfolded. By his side, a sword in its scabbard. Black hair, and brown-tanned skin. A knot forms inside your throat, everything in your body screaming to fight, or flight. On his lips, a small smile. "If I may have a bit of your time, miss?" he tilts his head.

The dog lets out a whimper.

You don't know if he could see you, but you nod regardless. "… Sure," you say, gathering your composure. "Yeah. I got time."

His smile widens, and his shoulders slump slightly. "As you can see, I'm with the Index," he tilts his head slightly. "Just a Proselyte. I'm new, you see."

Where is he going with this? "I see."

He sighs in relief. "Well, I would like to as a couple questions. First, is that dog yours?"

You glance down at the brown furry thing. Is it worth risking your life? Sometimes things go wrong, you remember that night with Mao, memories flashing in your head. We Scarecrows protect our client, even if it means death. Hah. This how those Victor dudes feel when they stumbled on you and (mostly) Mao? Fuck. Unfortunately, unlike them, you really don't got a choice on the matter. "Nah."

He hums. "It's adorable," he says, and you blink. A gloved hand reaches out to the dog, and it nuzzles into the Proselyte's hand. "Now, onto my second question: might I have the dog?"

You open your mouth to answer – but the answer refuses to come out. Stuck. You're not scared. You're being cautious.

"… I don't think so," you mutter, taking a step away. Distance. Just a little bit.

"Ah, that's unfortunate," he muses, his smile weakening. "But you said you are not its owner, correct? Would you mind if I tag in?"

Yes, you would. You very much would mind.

Article:

A Wild Index Proselyte Appears! 30/30 Health. ?/? Sanity. +2 Armor. +2 Damage.

Behavior: Will Always Attack.

Special Perk: Blind Fanatic – Receives Modifier When Following the Prescript. Does Not Receive Debuff from Low Health until Heavily Injured.

What do?

[] A Strange Companion. Sure, he could tag in. He seems… well, he doesn't seem like he's going to attack you. But who knows with the Index, right? Uh. Haha. What could go wrong? [???]

[] When You Say Run. They say discretion is the better part of valor. Well, not they. Mao said that. So uh. You'll just run. And hope that you'll lose him. Somehow. Yeah. [Instinct and Endurance Contest. Very Hard. Requires Only 1 Check to Win.]

[] Can't Stop From Crossing Fate. You'll stand your ground. You'll fight. You'll win. [Fight.]
-[] Specify Tactic (Write-In One Line. Example: Hit and Dodge, Just Attack, etc.)

 

[SoothingCoffee]

Oh yeah, since I was reminded of it, I never really specified on how Dodging works. I'll add that in the "Combat Mechanic" on the front page. But --

So, Attack is Attack. You deal damage with it. And Block is Block. It reduces damage if you lose, and negate it entirely when you win. Simple enough. But how does Dodge work?

Dodge works by doing a "Best of X" roll, where "X" is the level of your Instinct Skill -- and I pick the highest result, and put it against all the other attacks. It's a high-risk high-reward type of thing. For Example:

Lily has 2 Instinct, so if she were to dodge she would roll 2 1d10+2 (Modifier from Instinct). So say she rolls an 8 (6), and a 7 (5), then I will pick the 8, and compare it against the enemy rolls. Say, in this case, you are being attacked by 3 Rats. They roll (3, 7, 5)-- this means that none of their attack will hit you. Of course, if say one of them roll a 9, this mean they'll get to attack you head on. So say the 3 Rats attack, and roll (3, 9, 2). You dodge the first attack, but get hit by the second, and then dodge the third attack.

Edit: Additionally, Succesfully Dodging an Attack will Give you a 1 Temp HP. Temp HP fills up your Health Pool, but will Fade Away once Battle is Over.

At high enough Dodge-skill, this makes Dodging really effective, though it is also high-risk.

Or at least, that's the idea of it. This mechanic's still rough around the edges, ultimately, so I would like to hear tips, and tweaks to make Dodge work better (more rewarding, etc).