[center][h3][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QomYqn_BlAM]Taking Five[/url][/h3] [@Write][@Plank Sinatra][@FlitterFaux][/center] The epilogue, or maybe punchline to this story. Before I could even begin to make that cheeky string of words a tradition, I'd already rebelled against it. Whether or not I hold enough disdain for bookending my retelling with the same line over and over isn't something we need to dwell upon right now. Not in the face of an epilogue like this. Or even any "punchline" I looked for. Simply put, there really isn't one at all. I'm not saying this because there's no story to begin with, either; my third mission most definitely happened. In fact, I'd say there's way too much ground for me to cover if I were to make such a leap. Even if I'd be tripping over myself to tie the affair up with such a pithy turn of phrase, it'd still be less embarrassing than falling flat on my face with such an iniquitous lie. It's something we'll have to revisit in the future, but for now, I'm going to have to condense it a bit to move us into the "present". Though, that's the crux of my point to begin with. A denouement ties everything up neatly into the past. Matters are settled. Questions are answered. Things clear up. Even if all three did happen, there was hardly any finality in how they came about. Each question I had answered found another taking its place. Each time I wrapped something up, I found more thread beneath to work with. To tell the truth, I was struck much more by everything that [i]started[/i] rather than ended. Forget a capstone, epilogue, or even punchline. If anything, I was mid-transition in a story still going strong. We'll call it that, a transition piece. Or, if you'll indulge me: an intermission. We dropped in through the ceiling as planned, more or less. Jericho and Evangeline made for a particularly effective pair of distractions, but it was with good reason that we didn't go into the facility unarmed. Even with a chaingun's ruckus at the front gate, our dismantling team couldn't be spared from dealing with several of the higher level "executives". We dove headfirst into that battle, not hesitating in the slightest. If you'll recall, I made a point about doing so a while back— about removing the shackles of overthinking and paralyzing myself with doubt and fear. It wasn't the easiest thing, and I got myself into a fair bit of trouble trying to get out of that previous mindset. I was caught between overextending and overcorrecting from it. I got every bit of the field test I could ask for of Crow's Beak, and could tell one thing right off the jump: I have catching up to do. The weight was different from everything I knew, the tactics were different, and that didn't even begin to touch upon what I needed to learn to truly maximize its penetrative force. I even, despite my leaky sieve of a mind, managed to give Veronique Pressman my earnest thanks, right at the end. After the rush of discovering synthetic dust-fueled power armor, busting up would-be crime lords with a kitschy beat cop impression, and a series of impromptu field exams in what I had begun to learn in Dust Apps, I'd not blame anyone for thinking I'd lose sight of it in the mayhem. I certainly would have expected myself to forget the whole thing completely. But I didn't. And because of that, because I came through in the eleventh hour and put two and two together long after anyone would expect me to, I'd made a new friend. So in sum, my first steps were stumbles into uncharted territory— But I was doubtlessly moving forward. My whole paradigm was shifting. Inch by inch, Lucas Schwarz felt himself treading new ground. I couldn't possibly, in that light, call this any sort of epilogue. What a bad joke that would be. Nearly as bad as almost nodding off in a Waffle King after such an exciting morning. Night. I didn't really know by this point, having just come down from that whirlwind mission and really begun to feel the effects of the all-nighter I was pulling. Even an experienced gamer, an internet-addled fiend like me... We fell victim to such vices when we threw ourselves into such a taxing and high-tension affair. Even when we'd otherwise laugh it off and say we could grind out twelve more matches without even a blink. A soft weight settling itself upon my shoulder broke me out of my stupor, and returned me to the present. Propping my elbow upon the table like that and staring down at my plate of food for a moment was a mistake. I'd given my chin somewhere to rest. More than even a mountain of syrup-glazed and butter coated chocolate chip waffles, I guess my body wanted to stop doing much of anything for a while. [b]"Hn?"[/b] I slid my eyes somewhat placidly over to the side, in search of the culprit— [b]"!"[/b] And stifled a surprised recoil as my eyebrows made to pull the rest of my face up with them. I knew Bianca and I were teammates now, [i]friends[/i] now, but had we already bonded to the point of so casually leaning on eachother? Of taking advantage of the moments we let our guards down, and trading healthy shocks to the system? If I was moving through life with a shaky step forward at a time, then she was launching in full-force! This woman didn't hold any trepidation in her heart! How brazen! ...How cool. Honestly. [b]"Yeah."[/b] To think she looked ready to break only seven nights prior... and now here she was. Toasting in our gallant name as perhaps the proudest member of the wayward quartet that was JBLS. A broken bird, brought to earth and locked in an iron cage, the most pitiful figure I'd met in a long time. She was to never fly again. She was to never hunt again. She was to never chase dreams again. Her tale had tragically ended. Cut mercilessly short, with all but the final nail in its coffin. Even so, here she was now, soaring ahead as if it had never happened. If I had even half the strength, half that resilience, I probably wouldn't even be me anymore. There was no way I couldn't be impressed. No way I couldn't be heartened. [b]"I'm honored to call you guys my team."[/b] I said, smiling as I raised my glass in turn. [b]"It's been a bit of a revolving door lately, but I really do hope we can finally settle into a groove together, for what that's worth. Maybe we can start a few traditions of our own."[/b] From shambles to pride. From torment to contentment. From despair to determination. I had to smile. To hell with endings. If we really needed a punchline, I guess the joke's on me for even bringing it up. [b]"So, how'd the Stripes set that up, anyway? The special, I mean. Just always coming in?"[/b]