Atrophy

closed or whatever don't look at this

The sonic scream of the Apparition followed by Zoey’s cursing told Penny that her shot hadn’t been the deathblow. She gripped the freshly graffitied knives and looked up in time to see the Apparition barreling towards them. She stumbled to the side and was knocked off-balance as it tore past her without hesitation, landing with her elbows on the padded snow. Penny ignored the sharp flair up of pain as she fired a knife off wildly after the Apparition. The blade was swallowed in the chaos caused by the collapsing building: a total miss. She cursed and looked for a replacement, but the knife block had been blown away by the rushing Apparition.

"Shiiiiiiit!" Zoey said. "That thing has one helluva hard-on for Stacey. Hop on!"

“I want the record to show that I hate this idea,” said Penny as she looked at Zoey’s conjured snow mound with uncertainty. She hopped up to her feet, smacked the snow off of her cardigan, and grabbed Zoey’s hand. “Fucking shit! Get some gloves or something,” barked Penny as she recoiled and helped herself on to Zoey’s poor-man snowmobile. “If this thing kills me I’m going to haunt your a—”

The final word was ripped out of Penny’s mouth as Zoey’s snow mound rocketed off after the Apparition at a much faster speed than she had anticipated. She barely managed to wrap a hand around the other girl’s waist to keep herself from falling off. Penny pressed her face into Zoey’s back to protect it from the cold of the whipping wind and buried a roller coaster scream into her jacket. Why’d Zoey ever waste her time with walking when this was an option? Penny peeked one eye open and caught sight of the Apparition as it barreled into Odessa and sent her skipping like a stone down the street. Her chest tightened and released as the under dressed girl looked up from where she laid. Good, she wasn’t dead.

“We’re totally doing that again!” said Penny as she jumped off of Zoey’s ride so she was near Stacey. Her vision buzzed. If Zoey was right about tall, dark, and smoky wanting to jump Stacey’s bones then it’d have to go through her first. She snapped her remaining knife-cicle at the Apparition and followed up with a flurry of loose pocket change as she positioned herself between the Apparition and its haunt. She wiped a droplet of blood from her nose and smirked as she activated her enhanced vision again. All of this swapping was proving to be quite the mental workout. Still, she’d rip this thing apart way before it wore her down.

“If you’re going to start running, do it directly away from me. Don't fuck this up,” she said to Stacey more harshly than she intended. She knelt down and began to draw a large glyph in the snow. Her other hand fished around in her bag for anything. The plan was simple: get the Apparition to charge Stacey and she’d spring the trap to hit it with the largest spike of ice she could muster. She had no concern about reacting in time to pull it off; she just needed a few more heartbeats to finish the glyph.

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“Like hell! If you're gonna fight this thing, we're gonna do it together!” yelled Zoey as she blew the Apparition out of the room with a slurry of snow.

“Poor bastard doesn’t stand a chance then,” said Penny. She knew she shouldn’t be enjoying this, but she was beaming. The real thing was always better than slaying plastic bottles out in the woods. Stacey had managed to get away in time and thanks to Zoey’s assistance she was able to make it within arms reach of the bottle before the thing tore back into the room. Penny twisted out of the way so that the flying debris of the wall it broke through pelted her back and she cringed as she heard just about every bottle of expensive liquor in the place crash. So much for that plan.

She whipped her head around to check if Zoey was okay. She was more than okay; she was already moving. Penny followed after her, boots crunching over broken bottles as she made her way after the Apparition. She stopped momentarily as something in the kitchen caught her eye: a knife block. Without a hesitation she stole the block from the counter. If this place somehow did have an owner, she doubted the missing knives would be the first thing on the top of his list of concerns. She tucked the block under her arm and stepped outside through the other broken wall.

Zoey had trapped the Apparition in a whirlwind of snow, giving the others the much needed chance to beat feet as far away as possible. Penny set down the knife block, knelt next to it, and drew out the biggest blade, uncapping her marker in the other hand with her mouth. Time to get creative. Zoey’s snow seemed to be slowing down the Apparition, so she’d stick with that flavor. She began to draw a water glyph on the blade, carefully setting it down when she was finished as she picked up another one.

"Oh, illustrious leader!" Zoey said, "I can't keep this up forever! Shoot it or something with your magic bullets! I dunno! Something!"

“Magic missiles,” Penny uttered, mostly to herself. Her brother had insisted on referring to them as that, and now she couldn’t think of them in any other way. Her second knife was done now. Another simple water glyph, and one of the only ones of that type she could get right. She glanced up at the Apparition beating against its snowy prison. She didn’t have time to do another.

She snapped the lid back on the marker and, while grabbing the two knives and standing, kept it securely gritted between her teeth. Her vision pulsed and she felt a pressure behind her eyes. Short intervals normally weren’t so bad, but when the path of every single flake of Zoey’s snowstorm was being projected it was a bit too much to bear. Penny focused on the knives as she hefted them up and flung them forward. The moment they left her hands the blades snapped towards the Apparition like they had been fired from a cannon. They were followed by two pops cracking through the air as the glyphs erupted, encasing the knives in jagged spears of ice as they barreled toward the Apparition. Penny’s vision blurred ever so slightly as it returned to normal. No longer certain they’d hit, she was already dropping down to one knee and uncapping her marker to “reload” for her next salvo.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay

_{collab w/ @DeadDrop}

“You won that argument so hard that poorly-dressed lady went into cardiac arrest,” said Theresa jokingly. “Well done, ma’am!”

“Nonsense, dear. I would say that it’s arguable that there was even an argument, seeing as how I hardly bothered to acknowledge her presence myself, instead simply offering my assistance to the proper party present so they could preferably prevent any further perversions of the peace. Delegation,” said Lott with a nod, as if there was something profound about it. “Although you are quite right about her dreadful outfit.”

Lott’s eyes glimmered as Theresa filled her cup with the perfect pour. At this rate, her young intern wasn’t just deserving of a simple gold star made out of cheap foil and weak glue—she was a star, deserving to be rocketed up into the sky where all could imagine to see her if not for the light pollution. The Space Force was a fitting aspiration for the intern after all assuming, of course, if she could hang. In the blink of her eye, which was more like a few seconds, Lott swapped her glass with the bottle of vodka and filled what was now Theresa’s glass to within a few millimeters of the brim. She clinked the bottle against the glass with the calculated expertise of a proper lush, for not even a single droplet splashed over the rim, and then pressed her lips to the bottle and drank deeply.

“Anway, forget that woman,” said Lott with a gasp for air. “You have most impressed me, Ms. Theresa, and I cannot wait to hear how things went with Mr. Faren.”

Naturally, if the girl had come back to her to share a victory drink then she must’ve completed her first assignment. Otherwise, she’d be drinking on the job and that’d be properly irresponsible. Lott took another sip of pure fire and looked around at the Swathe Street Square. It was still dense and busy with hanger-ons even though none of the candidates were shaking babies or kissing hands, but not busy enough that they were completely hidden in the crowd. She deftly tore the label off of the vodka with a practiced yank and pocketed the evidence, leaving just the hint of residue on the bottle of spring water. Extra fancy spring water, hence why it was a glass bottle and not something less prone to shattering into a hundred million pieces. Probably had a french name.

“So dear, do…” Lott’s eyes narrowed as she saw a familiar blur make its way through the crowd towards her. ”Do make yourself scarce, actually, or you might be eaten by a shark.”

She tapped Theresa on the shoulder as she walked away from her intern. Lott imagined herself a hero sergeant diving on a live grenade to save her squadron as she moved to block Theresa from the harmful aura of poison that radiated off of any lawyer, regardless of their intentions.

"My dearest Ms. Lott Ramana how are you doing?”” Johnny said approaching her like a law goon would. A mysterious cigarette was in his mouth as he took a drag, exhaling fumes of life onto the bleak existence that was the reclaim zone. "You caused a poor security guard to faint and almost caused a fight, I never took you an evil genius mastermind. I guess I was wrong in the end.” He said exhaling smoke away from her.

"Mr. Lovecraft, I thought you’re type still peddled the whole ‘innocent until proven’ nonsense,” said Lott, her voice its usual level of deadness. She wasn’t wholly unhappy to see the lawyer, which for a lawyer was saying a lot, although his accusation for her being evil, genius, or a mastermind were all wrong. She’d happily work for one, excel even, but she was the puppet, not the string puller.

"Anyway, I have never been better,” she said. Her body hurt, her eyes burned, whatever good her meds were doing were taken two steps back by the uppers and downers coursing through her veins. She wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry, but she had an intern to impress. Instead, she took a swig of that unmarked bottle. Just fancy water; it was the electrolytes that made her eyes squint. "Do you believe it’s wise to be seen consulting the enemy, considering your employer’s...spirited eccentricities?"

"You thought wrong, I’m just a law aficionado who can make or break cases with a flick of my wrist,” he said as he killed the synthetic tobacco with another breath causing the cigarette to wither and wiggle in his grasp as if it was trying to escape but to no avail. "The Pirate Queen did not include a fraternization clause in my contract, I can talk to or flirt with whom I’d like to. Speaking of drinks,” he said eyeing that saucy little unmarked bottle thing in her hand.

"I was going to buy you one but you ran scampered away so fast like a hit and run drone. Maybe I could get you one later?” he said, smiling at her before he dropped the cigarette ashing it under his heel. Snuffing it’s poor tobacco ridden life from existence within the reclaim, sending it to the king size pack in the sky.

"A generous offer considering it’s an open bar that happens to be stocked by my employer. Technically, we’d be buying you a drink to give me. Besides, I’m currently hydrating,”” she said as she waved the bottle in front of Johnny’s face, uncertain if there’d be any fumes just like she was uncertain about what he meant by later. "Don’t think I’d be done with this for a while.”

Johnny’s face just deadpanned, maybe it wasn't painfully obvious but Lott may have been drinking a Lott tonight. ”No, not at that sad excuse of a party. Perhaps the Duat where things are much more cyro, the music can take you into the edgezone and the patrons have a story to tell.” Did Johnny just quote Duat’s tagline, who knows?

"Stop being a sad little publicist for a moment and live on the edge or fall into futility.””

Lott stared past the man with a vacant look. There wasn’t anything little about her sadness. She would’ve very much like to go to Duat and let a little of that sadness out, maybe sashay her way up to the mic and let her anxieties spill out in the form of a slowed down cover of what was once a cheerful song. Yet, something else Johnny said cut her to the bone. Fall into futility? It was a funny thought. Futility was home to her. She’d been born there, raised there, learned how to drive there and how to drunkenly wrap a car around a post there. It was a warm, fuzzy blanket with a familiar smell she just wanted to wrap around herself.

"I can’t…” because she was working. She couldn’t because she didn’t know Johnny that well, which was probably the whole point of him asking her. She couldn’t because he could be spying for his boss. She couldn’t because she didn’t want to be recognized at Duat and have him spread word to his work buddies about how she got drunk, dressed up like an idiot, and sang power ballads. She couldn’t because this was obviously a trick, a prank, or some kind of joke, since nobody in their right mind would want to buy her a drink. Lott’s lip sucked in. It was the biggest sign of anger she could ever manage to muster.

“I can’t believe you. I might not be the brightest piece in the game, but I’m not utterly clueless to how it’s played. Did Petrukov put you up to this? Keep Gatch’s publicist busy while we run some kind of smear campaign, or did your gravediggers hit the bedrock and you went after some new dirt to dig up?” said Lott, crossing her arms.

"I asked because you’re a cute saucy little thing, but your old lady vibe is cramping my generosity for a drink,” he said, frowning as he went to look up to the night sky, his face illuminated by Neon Lights from a advertisement nearby the light looked for some skin to dance upon and it happened to be Johnny’s. "Besides, my wage slaves do all the work and I’m off the clock. All I do is look pretty, give orders and talk to pretty ladies.” Johnny rolled out a shrug with his big shoulders.

Lott looked down at the smeared, ashy remains of Johnny’s slow death. If the Pirate paralegal was interested in talking to pretty ladies, then Lott couldn’t begin to fathom why he was even wasting his breath on her. She gave him the once over. His suit, to the untrained eye, was fine, but she knew a knock-off when she saw a knock-off, and his haircut was more aggro than appealing. The scars, she’d give him this, weren’t bad, but he just wasn’t her type. Not enough cash spent on chrome or cashmere. More importantly, she knew that she wasn’t his type, or at least for his sake she hoped she wasn’t. She only ever attracted sad, pathetic losers.

Most importantly, she was still on the clock—drunk, yes, but getting paid to get drunk. This was toeing the line of unprofessionalism. Beyond it, really.

"Then if I see any pretty ladies I’ll be sure to send them your way, Mr. Lovecraft,” said Lott. "Now, unless there was something else, this old lady actually does have a job to do that is a bit more involved than just speaking to pretty faces.”

"You’re no fun, maybe you can send your new attache over. She seems more fun,” he said huffing in fleshbag defeat. She was just playing hard to get, they’d have a drink day. "When the pirate queen wins this little election, I’ll host a party at the Duat and you can come. The only condition is you’ll have to leave your sass at the door.”

"Speaking of winning, I got a video of a Gatch goon beating up a poor decker at that function. That will be on the labyrinth soon, face it Lott, Gatch doesn't have a Lott of time left. You should come join the Pirate Queen’s team, she’s not touchy feely like the men you serve,” he said as he looked at the video still-image on his phone, damn this was so slick.

And there it was: the real reason one of the Pirate’s maties was hounding her down. Lott had seen through the cloak, so Johnny had sprung the dagger. She caught a glimpse of the image on his phone and her pointer finger subconsciously extended.

“Even if the Mayor was capable of losing the election, it’d never be to some fading influencer grasping at one final attempt to remain in the limelight before sequestering themselves off to a lifetime of singing and dancing competitions mass produced for reality TV. I know you enjoy working for such a pretty face, but perhaps you should reconsider the position you’re in, Mr. Lovecraft. You’re more capable of a lawyer than you let people believe, and surely are smart enough to know that most pretty faces are just heavy makeup, good lighting, and beauty augs.”

“Likewise, we both know what you have there is nothing,” said Lott, gesturing with the bottle towards his phone. “Your people say it’s one of Gatch’s rentals knocking down an innocent computer geek, we say it’s an independent contractor acting on their own accord hired who roughly handled a situation involving a potential security threat. It’s all hearsay. So don’t act like your full house of nines and tens is any good when we’re playing Euchre. Save yourself the time, throw in your hand, and just delete the video.

"The Pirate Queen is hot that’s a fact, you know if she wins you won’t be able to yell at those kids hosting loud parties anymore. You should consider this a fact of life now, your old lady ways are coming to a quick real-death. It’s known that security are contractors, duh but you guys still hired them. They represented the parties name, now when Wire Girl sues the city you’ll be tearing your hair out and looking for the last of the Shirley Temples at hand.”

He put his phone away in his Lovecraft pants. "It’s not a full house you’re right, but it's a wave to rock the ship so to speak. Besides you don’t care about this campaign, I’ve seen your look before. You can’t keep your eyes off Samsara, you’d wish you could sit in his lap but Gatch is all you could get. Not that you like Gatch like you do the Labryinth techno-god, but if that’s the case I guess a chumbag like me never had a chance with a cred-chasing minx like you after all.” Johnny removed another Kill-gore cigarette lighting it up with a sad Zippo before puffing out blue smoke. "I guess I was foolish to like you like that after all.” Johnny felt a little sad but in the end the woman of the Reclaim Center always have non-Johnny friendly motives after all.

Lott’s eyes narrowed. An actual look of annoyance, or a natural reaction to the puff of smoke? Johnny was a lot of talk, but his shotgun approach to speaking meant he sometimes hit the truth even when he was spitting out slander. He was right about her not caring about the campaign, but he was way off if he thought she didn’t care about her job. He wasn’t even in the same universe if he thought the reason why Lott idolized Samsara had anything to do with capital. Some cool could be bought, but not Samsara’s. That was natural. He wasn’t cool because he was rich, he was rich because he was cool.

"Johnny, let me tell you something,” said Lott. No more Mr. Lovecraft nonsense. Her voice was cool, but in the cold way, not the sunglasses way. It was ice. It threatened to give him frostbite. She stepped so close to him that he would be able to feel the chill on his neck. "You lost all chances with me the minute you turned your gun in for a lawbook. There’s no bite to your bark. Anyone can buy me a drink. Heck, Stella often gives me them for free. You know what I could really go for?”

There was something else Samsara had on Johnny (and frankly everyone) beside coolness, and it was the real reason Lott couldn’t look at anyone else.

“I want to be terrified,” she said, her voice almost an animalistic growl. Samsara? He could destroy the whole damn world if he wanted. The thought excited her. “And has-beens like you don’t scare me.”

"I think you’re sick Lott, the only thing that will terrify you is that you’ll die alone,” he said backing away from her before turning around and walking away from the PR Witch - damn she really was a bad one.

Lott huffed as the lawyer walked away and a sneer cracked through the porcelain on her face. She had turned out to be Johnny Law’s type after all. How disappointing. He’d probably never even was a Scrapper, probably never even killed someone. And how could she possibly be scared of dying alone? APEX had already beaten the life out of her years ago. Her body just hadn’t noticed. She took another swig of the bottle. It’d catch on one of these days. Until then, she had an intern to corrupt into a model task rabbit.

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Penny gave Elron a doubtful look as he pulled a filibuster to stall her and Zoey from leaving by warning them about the unknown dangers of the world. Penny didn’t really know what an Eldritch Shifter was (she made a note to research it later) but she was fairly confident in her ability to be the one tearing instead of getting torn. Still, Elron didn’t need to know that, doubly so if his agency wasn’t actually some work of fiction. The last thing Penny needed was to have Uncle Sam breathing down her neck and men in black knocking at the door. She rolled her eyes at Zoey as he suggested that they all left together, as if that wasn’t basically what Zoey had said in the first place.

Penny folded her arms and said, “Did it really just take you all of that to say you—”

"Get away from the door!"

“—FUCK!”

Penny shouted as Zoey tackled into her, knocking the pair to the ground as the wall beside them burst open and peppered them with dust and debris. She covered her eyes and hacked out a cloud of dust as Zoey scrambled off of her, allowing Penny to prop herself up on her elbows. The moment she saw the gangly smoke monster she felt her vision pulse. Every moving mote of dust and falling chunk of debris had a calculated path, and she forced out the junk knowledge to focus on the Apparition. Her chest rose and fell in sync with its floating. Her hand tightened around the slip of paper, careful not to smudge the markings, as a voice of white noise being chopped to bits with ice in a blender filled the room. Penny grimaced at the sound.

Her hand extended almost immediately after the Apparition began to reach out towards Stacey. She slapped it against the ground and the paper blasted across the floor faster than anyone could slide it. In fact, it moved so fast that nobody would be able to see it under normal circumstances; it had just simply disappeared from her hand. However, Penny could see it as it skirted across the ground, her vision returning to normal as the glyph on the paper snapped and a small stone column erupted through the floor between Stacey and the Apparition. There was no way it’d stop it, but hopefully she’d bought Stacey a few precious seconds. She hopped to her feet.

“Haven’t you heard of consent, you spooky bitch?” shouted Penny, trying to distract the Apparition as her mind raced for any kind of plan. The second slip of paper was ruined, destroyed by the rubble, but the vodka bottle still had an active glyph. She took a half step back towards the counter. Elron shouted for everyone to follow him out the back. Good plan, as long as by everyone he meant everyone else. She’d buy them some time.

“I got this! Get to the back!” yelled Penny at the others. Still, she needed to give her eyes a few more seconds before they were ready to see what’s coming. She slipped her hand into a pocket. Screw the defensive then, time to attack. Penny removed her hand and slung a fistful of change out in front of her. She repulsed the change, and In the blink of an eye the parade of Lincolns, Jeffersons, and Roosevelts blasted away from her as if they were fired from a machine gun. She doubted it’d do more than annoy the smoke Apparition. She needed that bottle.

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“I know you’re all Extra-Normal beings like I am.”

Penny felt as if a shot of adrenaline had been spiked directly into her heart as she read that last part, her eyes widening in surprise as they betrayed her apparent calmness. She had anticipated as much, and Odessa’s little superpower joke hadn’t done anything to quell her suspicion, but she didn’t expect someone to just outright say it or, in Lilith’s case, write it. Zoey was quick to call bullshit while Odessa brushed the comment off as if it was no big deal. Penny eyed the room with a new brand of suspicion. Assuming Lilith wasn’t a nutjob (and Penny knew she was right for at least half the room), then what did that make everyone else?

Dangerous. Then again, so was she. Penny glanced down at a paper carryout menu. Odessa chided Lilith for not continuing the name game. She tore off a scrap of paper and drew on it as Guitar Guy spoke up. Stacey. She gave him a sorry look. If that was actually his name then it must’ve been a shit life in high school. She knew for certain that the old Penny would’ve made fun of him relentlessly. Hell, the new one was biting her tongue not to say shit. Stacey bounced the focus over to Beret. Penny sucked in her lip. Let’s see how she manages to deflect this.

"Wow."

Wow indeed. Beret Girl had managed to summon a dickhead in a cheap suit. No, wait, she’d uttered something at the same time. Mao? Anway, not the weirdest presence any longer. Penny adjusted her collar. Dickhead wasn’t Penny’s initial thought. She’d smiled at him when he entered, as if she was actually working the bar and had just seen a customer come in. However, the smile quickly faded as he blew smoke at Stacey’s face, eyefucked Zoey in front of the entire room, and, most damning, sacrificed a perfectly good coin to the jukebox. She made a note to bust it open later. Scarface—Penny frowned, the new guy seemed like the kind of loser who’d love that fucking movie for all the wrong reasons—leaned up against the jukebox.

“Maybe if you consider fuckery special,” muttered Penny under her breath. Even with Scarface’s disruptive entrance, she was still stressing about what Lilith had said. A bunch of Extra-Normal assholes all walk into a bar. Yeah, there was probably a reason they were all here, but it wasn’t special. Nothing good ever came when a bunch of people like them showed up in one area.

She ripped another piece of the menu. What had happened to the first? If anyone had been paying close attention to her instead of Scarface that would’ve seen her drop it at her feet right before she had adjusted her collar. However, it wasn’t there anymore. It was under the stairs now, resting against the wall that led outside. Kicked there somehow? Whatever happened, she clearly missed it because she was drawing the same design on this one as Odessa questioned the newcomer. Her sketching stopped at Scarface’s—Elron’s—mention of god being dead. Penny smirked. No, they couldn’t actually know that. It was just pretentious prattling, like Mao with her talk of the Void. Or was it? Did his agency actually exist, and had they monitored the events in Montana?

"... and I don't think we're dead, I don't feel dead. Going off my hangover."

“Pretty sure you defied death too many times for it to come take you in your sleep. If either of us were actually dead I’d imagine we’d remember being hounded down by him,” said Penny. “But you’re right, Zoey, figuring this out is dumb. We should really just fucking go.”

Not to say that she didn’t want to learn more. She just wanted to do so when she knew they were safe. There was an easy enough way out. She reached for her phone—no signal, no wifi, no nothing. Figured. So much for the easy way. She sighed, and grabbed the bar phone. No dial tone. Cool.

“Let me guess, none of you have working phones?” she asked, not even bothering to wait for an answer to a question that’d only receive nos. Penny shot a look at Lilith and Elron, “She says we’re all extra-normal, and Special Agent Scientologist over there works for the Ghostbusters. Y’all wanna go ahead and magic us a quick way out of the city?” She scoffed. “Well, while you’re all making sure the summoning circle is properly salted and the candles are respecting mercury’s retrograde by only being placed in the proper quadrant, I’ll be walking.”

Penny stepped from behind the bar, the slip of paper still nestled between her fingers. They could ask questions until the sun came up, assuming that this city even had a sun, but hanging around would get them nowhere—and hanging around other extra-normals would get them nowhere good even faster. She took a few steps towards the door and then looked at Zoey expectantly.

“C’mon, stop pouting and start moving, girl. You know I’m not gonna put you on the back burner,” said Penny, winking. She glanced at the others. She didn’t trust them but the words were already coming out of her mouth, “Don’t be stupid and just hang here. Best case scenario the owner actually comes back and has you all arrested for trespassing. Let’s go, Zoey.”

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

Maysah had irked Arbiter with her probing, secretly pleased at her ability to get underneath his skin. Nevertheless, she took his advice and let the uncomfortable silence wrap around her like a blanket as she nodded off. When she awoke it was still dark out, although the cheap neon glow of the nearby nightclub made it hard to tell. Maysah leaned closer to the tinted glass and looked up beyond the club at the Steel Citadel that loomed over all of Denver as a constant reminder of who really owned the city. She clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. Envoy murdered fifty thousand people and was handed one of the biggest cities in the US. Maysah was framed for the accidental death of fifty people and had to spend over the last decade of her life in hiding. Should’ve been a villain. Damn her for having morals.

Envoy may have owned Denver, but her city still played by some of the rules. Big cities meant lots of cameras, lots of witnesses, and lots of police—not a great thing for a wanted criminal. It was unlikely that her face would instantly be recognized the moment she got out of the car, but it would come across a scan at some part and bring loads of unwanted attention to the trio. The fact that Shade had run off didn’t sit well with her either. It would’ve been smarter to wear her mask the whole time in Albuquerque. It definitely wasn’t an option here. Couldn’t let Envoy feel threatened. Couldn’t let Stardust just take her out sixteen years ago. Maysah grumbled under her breath and pulled out a discreet pouch.

Four glamours left.

“...this place is good for information. I found it on vacation. We're going to go in, ask a few unpointed questions, and see if anyone knows anyone who knows anyone useful. Questions?"

“Yes,” said Maysah to Arbiter, her voice raising as he left the car, “Who vacations here!?”

She sighed at her unanswered question, pulled a glamour out of the bag, and swallowed it dry. There was no cringing, no painful transformation, no pop, really no fanfare at all. Maysah glanced at the rearview mirror and another woman glanced back. Higher cheekbones, darker eyes, grayer hair, thinner nose, and a handful of other minute details that made Maysah no longer look like Maysah. Hopefully nobody in town was slinging around counterspells, if that was even a thing. She frowned in the mirror. Almost the last of the supply of Hex’s gift for a peaceful life, and she was squandering it at three in the morning to go talk to a bunch of drunk lowlifes.

“Don’t act surprised, and don’t call me anything other than Maria,” she said as she joined the two men. She wrinkled her nose at Arbiter’s civie uniform. “Well, at least I’m not going to be the worst-dressed person in the club.”

They entered. TONDE didn’t outright appear seedy, but any place that was open this late likely had a layer of filth buried beneath the glitzing lights and the pulse of music. Maysah right away didn’t like it, and it was clear from the way people moved when they entered that they didn’t like them. Maysah was thankful the Tower was there. Someone had known about them in Albuquerque, and if Shade had tipped people off about them heading to Denver then at least there’d be a shield to take the first bullet for her before she absorbed every cheap neon sign in this building and demolished the place thrice over. This had been a terrible idea. They should’ve split up.

She was about to turn to Arbiter and give him a piece of her mind when she caught sight of a man beckoning them over. Someone expecting them? Already her danger sense was tingling, unless the balding man stuffing his face had been a drinking buddy of Arbiter’s when he was on holiday. She glanced at her two compatriots and then moved towards the man. No point in running from him. She waltzed up to his table and gave him a quick once over. Wealthy, or at least dressed to convey wealth, but with a questionable taste in jewelry. Shady, but only because of his environment and the fact that he appeared to be eating...was that foie gras? She couldn’t stop the disapproving frown.

“What do you want?” she said, a sour hint of annoyance on her voice.

“More of what you want. A Union Jack, a soccer mom, and a cop just walked in,” said the man. His voice was surprisingly nasally yet refined. He gestured at them with his fork. “Unless you’re just drunk and lost, you’re here for information.” He took a bite of food and smiled. “Can help with that.”

“We could just be here to get to the point of becoming drunk and lost,” said Maysah, sliding into a seat. “I’ll settle for information, but let me know who we’re talking to first. I take it you’re one of Envoy’s envoys?” she asked, pronouncing the name differently than the word and smiling at her own cleverness.

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Penny’s eyes flicked over to Zoey and Beret Girl at the mention of black magic and stayed to linger on the cigarette. She forced herself to breakaway and return her attention to Guitar Guy, but she couldn’t escape the disgustingly delicious smell of a slow death. She didn’t even realize that the pen had made its way back into her mouth. A smoke would definitely take the edge off right now, and despite how she presented herself she was on edge—she just didn’t show it like the guy in front of her. He was clearly (and rightfully) disturbed by the situation; he had practically frozen in place when she had asked him a question.

“Just a water, please,” he said.

She figured he’d be a water guy. She couldn’t help the curl of her lip as she turned to Zoey. Penny figured that if the girl was going to raid the bar, she might as well play bartender. She was about to holler for two waters when the door opened. Penny’s head snapped towards the entrance as her left hand shot into her pocket, the initial look of pure hostility softening as an ill-dressed tattooed girl entered the bar. For a moment it almost looked like the stranger was shocked to see Penny, but it must’ve been in reaction to the murderous look Penny had thrown her way.

Something was off about the tattooed girl who asked the question that all of them should be asking, but then a blue-haired girl came in out of the snow. “Oh dear God no, there’s two of her,” muttered Penny to nobody. Penny wondered how Zoey would feel to another girl copping her style. Penny responded to the wave and written down “hi” with a lazy peace sign and chuckled at the added note. Could she not talk? Well, in Penny’s mind that put the new Zoey a few pegs above the old Zoey. She had heard that crime dog comment. She’d go to blows about McGruff later. For now they needed to figure out what was going on.

“So helpful,” said Penny curtly to Guitar Guy before looking back at Tattooed Girl, “but, honestly, yeah. Nope. Only ran into these kids because Zoey”—she jerked her thumb at the girl—”opened her big mouth.” She gave a look towards the Beret Girl as she continued, “Perhaps if we all actually said where we were before we woke up here instead of speaking in riddles then we could actually begin to figure things out.”

Penny paused. Come to think of it, she was the only one who ever mentioned waking up in the strange city. Maybe the whole thing about the void wasn’t some nonsense word salad but straight up earnesty. She looked at Beret Girl more intently than she had done before, as if she was going to unearth some secrets just by staring her down. No, this was pointless. The girl wore a beret. Girls who wore berets were inherently unfathomable, because if Penny could ever actually relate with a girl who wore a beret it meant she’d have to kill herself for being a poser. But there was something else. Penny’s eyes narrowed. It was like she was looking at a doll.

Fucking creep.

“Anyway,” she continued after the pause that was too long not for everyone to notice, “as I was saying: I think it’ll be smart if we all shared a little about ourselves.”

Beret Girl wasn’t the only one with something off about her.

“Since it was my idea, I guess I’ll start,” she said cheerfully as she stood up.

Looking at the new girls, she couldn’t help but notice how the Newer, Bluer Zoey still had some snow on her while the other girl didn’t.

“My name is Penny,” she said as she began to walk down the stairs. Her tone was casual as she made her way toward the bar. She continued, “I’m from Montana, but I was travelling to New York. I closed my eyes while waiting for my flight in Chicago and I woke up on some park bench.”

Of the people she knew, why one from that time? Why Zoey fucking Gray?

“This actually isn’t the first time something like this has happened to me,” said Penny, as if that in itself was no big deal. She uncapped the pen from her mouth, lowered her eyes, and began to draw on Zoey’s abandoned bottle of vodka. “Not the whole being teleported from an airport and waking up in some strange city with a bunch of confused strangers, actually, that part is new, but weird things?” She grinned and looked up from her graffiti. Her eyes weren’t smiling. “I can handle weird things.”

She didn’t trust these people.

No, it’s not that...

She didn’t trust that these were people.

“So, that’s me. Who’s next?” She had made certain that her back was to nobody as she set the vodka down and spun the bottle. It hadn’t stopped before she pointed a finger at Tattooed Girl. “You're it. Who are you, where are you from, how’d you get here, and how in the fuck aren’t you freezing right now?”

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She

The girl with the knowing smile nodded at the suggestion to go inside, “Yeah, this is no place to catch up.”

She’d refuse to acknowledge it, but she was definitely freezing her ass out here. With a shrug at the other two, she stepped towards the bar to see it was literally just called Bar. She did a double take and, no, that was actually the name. Probably some pretentious ass hipster joint like the ones her brother would take her to with forty beers that were all IPAs and tables made from locally sourced trees and glasses hand blown by their hobbyist bartender. She paused before going in. It truly was a quiet city. Even her small hometown had the occasional junker backfire or dog bark at a raccoon. She exhaled a cloud of air and glared down the street. The Guitar Guy looked like he was sick but before she could call out he gathered himself and quickly shot past her into the bar.

She looked up at the Beret Girl and met her empty eyes, and then turned to look back down the street. She had an eerie sensation that there was something else out there. Her vision blurred and then sharpened as she analyzed her surroundings, her blue eyes moving from building to building. Nothing but paranoia. She blinked and massaged her temple. The only movement she detected was of the soft little flurries of snow as they drifted down lazily. Things seemed okay. Well, okay, things weren’t okay, considering she woke up in a place she didn’t recognize, but they were okay in comparison to what else could have happened.

She entered the bar. It wasn’t some craft brewery like she had been fearing, but a well-stocked sushi bar. Her stomach grumbled. Maybe there was something she could snack on. Of course, there was nobody to pay and stealing didn’t sit well with her. The place was so well maintained that clearly there had to be an owner. She pictured some old wizened Japanese dude, crafting perfect cuts of sashimi while his granddaughter pours cups of sake and chats with the customers. Could he be upstairs asleep? The girl with blue streaks in her hair seemed to have no such concerns about helping herself. Already, she was behind the bar and helping herself to a drink.

“Zoey, seriously?” she said with an annoyed huff as she made her way to the curtained doorway and poked her head inside to see an empty kitchen. She turned and made her way to the stairs as she chided the girl behind the bar, “If you’re going to be a thief then at least be a smart one.”

The upstairs was just a storage area, stuffed with boxes of dry goods and dry booze. No old sushi artist, no young granddaughter, no tiny table with that heated blanket thingy they could warm their legs under that really sounded like the best thing in the world to have to forget about the outside chill right now. She came back downstairs, took a seat on a step around the midway point, and said, “Okay, we’re alone.”

“Hey dude,” she said to the Guitar Guy, her voice hushed. He looked like an alarmed cat ready to dart at any moment. “I saw what happened out there. Are you feeling okay?” she asked as Zoey questioned the other girl. The pen twirled and twirled and twirled in her hand. “Want something to drink?”

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She

She caught her head in a downward drift, blue eyes flashing open to fight off sleep’s approach. It was late, late enough that some people would start calling it early, but not early enough for the coffee stand to roll its shutters up so she could buy a matcha latte and a croissant. Her stomach growled. Poor planning on her part, taking an overnight layover without having the money to book a nearby hotel and too full of burning pride and cold fury to call up Dad for an assist. He had disapproved of her plan to travel to NYC, especially when it was to meet with some stranger from the Internet. She tried explaining it to him, but she couldn’t tell him the whole story. In the end, she had just gotten her brother to drive her to the airport.

That downward drift again. This time she snapped her head back so fast it hurt. The terminal was empty, but she didn’t trust falling asleep in it. There were enough cameras around that she felt certain that nobody would do anything, but there was nobody else around to guarantee that something would do nothing. It was hard enough sleeping at home. Here? It’d be damn near impossible. Maybe on the plane, maybe, but while alone? Not happening. Her stomach rumbled again. Her eyes drifted to the vending machine. If not a croissant, then maybe some stale animal crackers. She had enough change for it, but she needed her change. She couldn’t spare a single penny. Did it take card?

Down, down, down her head drifted.

She bolted up from her seat and whipped around frantically with a fistful of quarters. The terminal had shifted. The vending machine was gone, replaced by an empty, street lit trash can. The uncomfortable chair with the broken cushion was gone, swapped into a metal bench with an advertisement on the back. The faint smell of toilet cleaner and sweaty businessmen had, thankfully, disappeared too, replaced with a crisp, clean air. It was the kind of air country people liked to take a big old sniff of and brag about before striking up their twelfth cigarette that hour. It kind of smelled like home. Her original home, not the new place they were all staying. There was one problem with that sentiment: she was over a thousand miles from home. The terminal hadn’t shifted. The terminal had vanished, or rather, she had vanished from the terminal.

A dream? She looked to the sky. Normal, black sky, only orange coming from the sleeve of her sweater as she focused on the palms of her hands. She took a quarter from her pocket, flipped it, and studied the result. Tails, commemorative state one for Virginia, black speck on the right most flag. She looked away, and then back to the quarter: tails, commemorative state for Virginia, black speck on the right most flag. She flipped it again, turned it over to the back, and studied it one more time. Same result. Reality, then.

She was in a courtyard. She looked up at the building around her. They were New York-ish, but she imagined any buildings taller than five stories to be New York-ish. She looked at the ad on the bench she’d woken up on. There was the face of a smiling, bronze woman next to a slogan that said “Welcome to Paradise”. She smiled in response. Paradise, is it? She’d always imagined it to be sandy beaches or fluffy clouds, but skyscrapers and empty streets would do. She continued to smirk as she wondered how long the advert would be up before it got removed for copyright infringement. Well, if it’s Paradise, then maybe there were no more lawyers.

She left the courtyard and wandered out into the street. There was a noticeable drop in temperature and she pulled her cardigan tight around herself as her boots went from clacking on concrete to crunching through snow. Weird. The street was empty except for the glow of streetlight. It was lined with office buildings and bodegas, every single window dark. Not a single car was parked on the side of the street, not a single bum was sleeping on a stoop, not a single footprint was in the snow aside from her own. There was nobody else around. That was even weirder, but not an entirely unwelcome life change.

"Yooooooooo!” Fuck, nevermind then. “Anybody here?!"

Another traveller who had completely missed their flight, perhaps? The voice came from the t-junction down the way. She moved slowly to the intersection, slipping one hand into her pocket and the other to rest on her bag. She peered around the corner. A block away stood a girl facing the other way, looking towards a boy in a white sweater as he approached her. Was that a guitar case on his back? She scoffed. The most she had learned from college was that at every party there was always the asshole who showed up with an acoustic guitar. Apparently, this weird Paradise was no exception. Above the two, perched on the edge of a low roof like a black cat, was a girl in a black beret, whose less than cat-like-reflexes saved herself from falling. She stifled a laugh as she watched the girl recover.

“Well, it ain’t nearly as empty as it first seemed,” she said, announcing her presence to the others, pushing her words past the pen hanging from her lips. Ain’t? What was it about being in a big city that drew the repressed country twang out? Would she spit on the ground next and thumb her belt buckle? She brushed a loose strand of blonde hair out of her eye and continued, “The rest of y’all fall asleep in the airport, too, or am I outing myself for...”

She stopped as the girl with blue streaks in her hair turned and she saw her face for the first time. Blue’s face was an unexpected, but not unwelcome, sight. The blonde relaxed her shoulders, jutted out her hip, and plucked the pen from her mouth. A sly smile wormed its way across her face.

She knew this one.

“Hey stranger. Been a minute. Anyway...” she dragged the word out as she gestured with her pen between the two actual strangers. "What is the deal with the two of you?"

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay

“Excuse me, shill.”

Lott would’ve shuddered at that word if her body was capable of such convulsion, turning from the low performing cop to the over performing gnat. Instead of a shudder the ever microscopic narrowing of the eyes would do the job as it showed her disgust at being called a shill. She was no shill: she was an active representative, she was a face, she was a somebody, oh God, what idiot made her a somebody? There was no time for such anxiety inducing questions; she stored it away for later, something to cry about in the shower while she washed her mask of cool uncaring away. Besides, she had to deal with something more important. Way, way, way more important. In fact, it was a matter of life or death.

Delilah had just drawn on her.

Lott stared down the barrel of the business gun. In the hands of an expert it was the most dangerous weapon known to man, money grubbing gunslingers shooting down kindhearted idiots in boardrooms across the nation for the sake of a few more dollars. This woman was no such cowboy. The form was all wrong, the flourish was too much, and, Lott huffed, the safety was still on. Lott didn’t even blink, a secret smile line forming at the corner of her glazed eyes. Delilah hadn’t even realized that she’d already lost the duel. Lott’s one hand was busy holding the phone up like a ticking time bomb, but her other hand was where the magic was happening. The moment Delilah had even started to press her fingers together it was already over. The moment Delilah even began developing fingers in the womb it was already over. The moment a fish crawled out of the ocean and its fins developed into tiny, little, useless hands it was already over.

”Make that two counts of threatening a candidate’s life,” said Lott.

Not that it mattered. There was no way to arrest the woman, because Delilah was already dead, blown away by the cocked thumb and smoking forefinger that had shot through the pocket of Lott’s suit jacket. She wouldn’t even have to argue that the murder was in self-defense. Drawing a business gun on a professional office drone like Lott was an act of suicide.

The shots hit, why else would the woman’s jacket blow open like that as she pulled out her last line of defense? Lott took a reflexive step back, the animal inside of her still capable of keeping itself alive even if the woman wasn’t, and watched with an inner horror at the sight of Delilah jacking in. No, actually, the horror came when Samsara dived to stop the other woman from falling. He should be falling for Lott, not falling for these pedestrian theatrics. Lott’s phone started buzzing. Like, it really started to buzz. It was going to blow, the metaphorical timebomb turning into a real one. Lott let it drop from her hand, a month’s paycheck ruined as the phone cracked on the ground, and it didn’t even explode. What an uncool way to destroy one of the most important things in her life.

What was even more uncool was faking a heart attack to get out of a losing battle, but not as infinitely uncool as wrapping around the leg of Samsara Washington who, clearly, was so desperately trying to get away. Thankfully, even the cop—and cops were inherently uncool— was aware of how uncool the other woman was being. As Glory moved to put a bullet in a rabid dog, Lott gave one more double tap and then holstered her finger gun. Stone cold. Totally cool. Cooler than Antarctica or whatever that fictional place was called. She should say something smart, something that’d make Delilah have a real heart attack, but she couldn’t think of a thing. Fortunately, her trusted crony appeared beside her, sensing that she was in need of some assistance.

”Ah, Ms. Ramana?” said Theresa. ”Perhaps we should leave her for the authorities.”

Lott reminded herself to give the girl a gold star. First, the girl would have to go buy some gold stars. It was a beautiful assist, a wonderful setup that Lott was about to spike down with something cool like I am the Law before the cop turned and said something that made Lott speechless.

”That phone is also now considered evidence, it will be examined by our technical staff for details about what exactly has happened and then returned to you when the investigation is concluded.”

The color would’ve drained from Lott’s face if there was any. Instead, she settled for swallowing. Confiscate her phone? It should be given a proper pharaoh’s burial, complete with the sacrifice of all the other phones in the area, or at the very least taken into the shop for some cheap repairs until she could afford a new one. Surely it must’ve been the drinks settling in and she had misheard Glory.

She went to speak, and was cut dead once again: ““I’m going to request that everyone in any area between the main entrance and the refreshments area please move out of the way as well so that medical can get in quickly. Thank you for your cooperation. That meant the both of you, too. I’m required to stay here as security, but you two are not, and are thus required to leave. Also, Lott, I'll be taking your phone as evidence. Sorry.”

She had turned the rules on her. It was a beautiful parry and counterthrust, and one Lott had to respect even if the blow had struck her in the kidney. She slid her phone over to Glory with her foot, saying a silent prayer for her fallen comrade while clutching her gut. How the woman knew her name Lott had no idea, but her recording was running. She’d scan her face later. Find answers, find her phone. For now, she had to respect her demands. With one longing look at Samsara, she turned to the bar, snatched a bottle of vodka and a glass(it wasn’t stealing if her people had funded the event), and handed the bottle to Theresa (it definitely wasn’t stealing if it wasn’t in her hands).

“Come, dear Theresa. We should leave her to the authorities,” said Lott, echoing her intern intentionally. It was a lesson. All good ideas came from above, never below. Rule one of business. She picked an invisible piece of lint off of her lapel and headed for the exit, certain that Theresa would be on her tail.

Outside, the plaza buzzed with activity. Lott reached for her phone, her heart aching as she realized it was no longer of this earth, and unleashed her tablet instead. She clutched the old tech to her chest like a newborn babe and powered it on. Maybe Gatch needed her. Even better, maybe Gatch didn’t need her and she could go somewhere a bit more lively. She could use another drink. Speaking of which...she flicked the glass in the air with a flourish like the way Stella did, catching it in a much stiffer, definitely-almost-nearly dropped it kind of manner, and held it out expectantly to Theresa. It was time to see how long this intern would last.