Roman

Commencement: A Farewell to P.R.C.U. [COMPLETE]

G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D

_{Location: Ünterland}

Human #5.077 To Be Again

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

On and on they walked. Hornet fluttered behind Gil, her pride undercut by the gravity of Gil's conviction in their direction. The distant, ancient roars had faded but their echoes were no less unsettling for the rattling in their skulls; Hornet wished desperately to go somewhere, anywhere else than toward the source of that sound, but Gil would not be swayed, and she would not be rescued without Gil. So on and on they walked.

The scenery transformed ever-so-slowly around them, trudging through and out of the barren landscape Gil had awoken in into denser and denser clusters of petrified trees and crisp, browned vines sprawling across the ground. A grim reflection of forest, something he knew to be synonymous with life and verdancy perverted and brought low by the virile desolation of this horrid, aberrant realm. The sound of water, at first a far-off white-noise lullaby, grew and shifted and gained on them - how, Gil thought, there could ever be something as lively and natural as a lake or ocean in this wretched place, escaped him. As they crested the edge of the ossified treeline and came upon a cliff, he half-expected to see nothing more than sand lapping and tiding against the dark rock below - but no, there it was, an ocean as vast and encompassing as the wasteland they had left behind, stretching out endlessly beyond all visible horizon. What beasts lurked over that brink he dared not imagine, though he was sure they were seeking such a creature regardless. The ring hummed on his finger, urging him on. Whatever it was leading him to, it wasn't across the churning waters.

A squealing wail ran like ice through his core and he wheeled around; three pig-like beasts, twisted and deformed but made ever-more terrible for their passing resemblance to terrestrial fauna, bounded at them from out the thicket, fire in their eyes and foamy-mouthed. Hornet wasted no time; her wings beat and she lifted into the air, deftly avoiding the initial charge before darting away, drawing two of the beasts' attention with her nimble movements and a taunting screech of her own. Gil dived away from the cliff edge as the third and largest of the pack lunged toward him, claw and tusk seeking flesh in equal measure; he narrowly escaped being gouged, and quickly rolled to avoid being trampled as well as the creature pivoted and came at him again.

He was slow getting up - still unused to fielding his weight with only the one hand, the blade affixed to his stump unwieldy and not designed for hauling oneself out of the dirt. The beast was upon him far quicker than he'd have liked, and Gil swung wildly with the blade as he rolled away once more, cutting through fur and skin but only managing to enrage the monster further for the effort. On another pass, his hand caught the tusk that jutted up from its lower jaw and held firm, and he brought the other arm up across the snout - they locked together, Gil unable to let go lest he be subject to that terrible maw, and the beast unable to reach with the stubby pair of extra arms that tried to claw and snatch at Gil. His mind raced; how best to break this stalemate? The strength of the beast was ferocious, fueled by bestial instinct - his own was stunted, and fading besides. Slowly, carefully, he maneuvered his stumped arm and the knife attached, attempting to use the creature's own weight to spear it upon the blade.

The weight bore down and down on him until suddenly it was lifted entirely; the boar-thing squealed again before it was thrown through the air and impacted a tree trunk, the fossil-bark splintering and cracking beneath the blow. There was a wail, and then a wet, gurgling sound. Gil rolled over and hoisted himself up to see Hornet stood over the beast, her wings a-flutter and her chest heaving. Her taloned fingers dripped with that strange not-blood again, and he could see the throat of the thing had been rent asunder. Further into the trees, he could make out the lumpy, misshapen forms of two more dead boar-creatures.

Gil stood up. Hornet hissed quietly, scanning the forest for signs of more beasts, before determining the three had come alone and had died just the same. She turned back toward Gil, disdain clear on her face.
"How do you save-rescue that you have come here for, if you are dead?" She asked, impertinent and frustrated. "Slow. Weak. Ignorant how to wield-wave that sting. This one cannot protect you from everything. This one should not have to!"
Gil held his hand up, palm out to his companion, surrendering to her assault. There was no energy in him to argue.
"I wasn't supposed to end up alone - I came with others, we got separated. I don't know this place-"
"Then should not have come!" She spat back, brimming with anger. "This is not a place for weak-willed, soft-minded! You must be strong here. You must be vicious-violent. Else you will be food!"

Gil didn't say anything, letting Hornet breathe and calm herself. The wings on her back shuddered, a tell to her vexation. Finally, she sighed, and gestured on in the direction they'd been traveling.
"Go. Lead on. Hope this one is nimble-swift again."
Gil sputtered, beginning a retort, but Hornet's expression silenced him; he simply sighed in kind and did as instructed, already feeling the pull of the ring once more now the panic of the attack had subsided.

"I'm not used to defending myself alone." He finally said after many minutes of silent hiking. Hornet clicked and trilled in a peculiar mocking tone.
"What defending have you done? This one defends you for you. Once more, good fortune-luck this one found you."
"I mean, I know how to fight - self-defense, at least. Some minor weaponry training was mandatory at the university. I'm just not used to fighting alone. I'm used to making allies."
Hornet coughed out a low chuckle. "This one not first to keep you living, despite attempts, you mean?"
Gil rolled his eyes. "No- I mean, I make allies. Copies, of myself. I'm used to fighting as a team, because usually, I am my own team. But I can't in this place."

Hornet managed that peculiar curious expression again, her mandibles chattering.
"This one has never encountered such a thing. Not even in this place. What is the nature of this skill-talent?"
Gil took his turn to raise an eyebrow - Hornet had inferred she was not native to this realm, and had also mentioned an island on the mortal plane. To Gil, with Robert and Haven and countless others around the PRCU campus, it was plainly obvious what Hornet intrinsically had to be. Yet she seemed to be entirely oblivious to her own nature.
"I'm Hyper-human. Cloning's my thing. It took a while to understand it and a while longer to practice it, but I got pretty handy with it after I started working with WHAT, and PRCU helped me push it further. I can pop replicas out without thinking too hard these days. I just...don't like to..."
Gil stopped; he'd kept walking as he explained, but the footsteps beside him, light and stealthy as they were, had completely stopped. He turned. Several feet back, Hornet was stood stock-still, seemingly frozen mid-step. Not even her antenna twitched.
"Hornet?"

And then she started wailing.

MARVELS: Streets of New York

<Snipped quote by Roman>
serial killers,

@AndyC

alrighty then

MARVELS: Streets of New York

Remind me the details of that and I can let you know if it would be kosher or not.

@Retired

roleplayerguild.com/posts/5544918

TL;DR near-retirement senior agent in a still-early-stages SHIELD encounters Jubilee just starting her journey into vampirism and starts to reckon with the supernatural aspects of the world that were previously unknown to him or SHIELD, eventually starting the sub-division STAKE to deal with it.

MARVELS: Streets of New York

Might pick my STAKE sheet back up and carry on, depending on what's allowed within the parameters of the game. Otherwise I'll have a think around characters that fit the scope. But no guarantee.

Roman's Scrapbin

A group of accidental escapees/refugees wash up and are forced to band together to survive and outrun the forces pursuing them, while also being stalked by something altogether different.

Roman's Scrapbin

roleplayerguild.com/posts/4830970 - belle sheet
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4039580 - belle diary

On the night of her murder, Vanessa had unknowingly used her abilities to activate a Hyper-Gene in each of her friends who had been attending her birthday party, including her brother, that night. These teenagers would come together to solve Vanessa's murder and attracted the attention of Dr. Jonas Lehrer and Special Agent Yakob Kowalski.

Cliff-notes:

• Attended Vanessa Bordeaux's birthday party; unwittingly was subjected to virumosis via Vanessa's own hyper-human ability.
• Jonas inserted himself as a new teacher at Mather Memorial High in Crestwood Hollow, while Yakob worked behind the scenes using the resources of the fledging H.E.L.P. organisation as much as he could to help them.
• Autumn Miracle began stalking the hyper-humans inadvertently created by Vanessa, killing and dismembering them to understand their, and her own, new biology. She killed 5 students, before attempting to kill Summer Carlyle and being stopped by Aiden Roth and Viktor Bordeaux's timely intervention.
• Autumn was outed by Aiden and Viktor, and the ensuing events outed Jonas' study group for the Hyper-humans they had become to the public. H.E.L.P. and 3HA were forced to step in, arresting Autumn - though not without incident, which left Yakob wounded and Autumn herself comatose in H.E.L.P. custody.
• Unable to return to Mather Memorial, Jonas and Yakob founded PRCU for the 8 remaining study group members, and the rest is history.

Commencement: A Farewell to P.R.C.U. [COMPLETE]

G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D

_{Location: Ünterland}

Human #5.062 It's Coming Closer

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

The mismatched pair trudged on for what felt like miles. Their surroundings were static; a dusty, dead landscape, only made ever-more uncanny by its passing resemblance to Gil's known reality. Every so often they'd pass by the crumbling ruin of something that used to be a building, co-opted for temporary shelter by some far-gone unknown, and Gil's insect companion would chitter quietly and seem to taste the air. Sometimes, she'd carry on at their steady pace; others, she'd hurry along, her wings flittering as she skipped forward at a clip, and Gil would scramble into a jog to catch up as they evaded whatever it was she fled from. Rarer was when she'd pause entirely, draw herself up to full height, splay her wings out full-width, and her clicking would escalate into an haunting screech, claws bared and mandibles quivering from the ferocity. Whatever it was her threat display was warding off never showed itself. Gil wasn't sure if that made him feel more or less safe.

He didn't often get the chance to study her; she held behind, bringing up the rear, ever-following. Were it not for her soft chitters, Gil might have forgotten she was there entirely. They did not speak; if Gil turned to look at her, her gaze shifted away, even if mere moments ago he had felt her eyes burning on his back. She was fearsome to look at, no doubt, and the hybrid biology of her form frightened Gil even beyond what he'd witnessed at PRCU - the conjured images of Haven and even the late Robert were still far more intrinsically human than his escort appeared to be in her form and mannerisms, and even her speech patterns were scattered, and suggested a difficulty with conversation that a native speaker of any earthly language would not possess.

All the while, the moon gleamed a brilliant and unnerving ruby above them, fixed in the sky as if hung upon a singular, immovable point. When Gil finally felt there was no more walking left in him to be done, his apparent guard seemed to sense it before he did; with a low-drone beating of wings, she scooped him up effortlessly with a firm grip hooked beneath his shoulders before carrying them both above the ossified treetops. She set down atop a strange stone tower, deteriorating but still intact. There were even ashen remnants of a long-dead fire against the parapet, an uneasy reminder that they were not alone. Gil sat down, leaning against the stone, rubbing his legs with his hand in an effort to soothe the ache.
"No fire," instructed his companion, "no beacon-light," and then as quick as she had flitted them up, she disappeared again, back down into the gloom; Gil suppressed the thought that perhaps she wouldn't come back, and he was stranded atop this ruin until he built the courage to attempt descent down its cragged and crumbling walls.

There was a sudden inhuman screech in the darkness, and Gil was glad to not be able to see its source, that cut out as sharply as it had begun. Long seconds passed, and then Gil could make out the droning buzz again, and she reappeared, fresh kill clutched between bloodied claws. He couldn't quite understand from the shape of it what it had been before she had set upon it; all the same, she began to tear into its side, jagged teeth ripping at flesh while the mandibles clicked and gnawed and passed snips of meat into her waiting maw. Deftly, one of her talon-tipped fingers ripped a neat seam around the ball joint of...some manner of limb, before tearing the appendage from the carcass entirely and proffering it to Gil. He did not take it.

"Eat. Time flows strange. Find yourself becoming hungry quick-soon." She said, bouncing her outstretched hand for emphasis, and Gil couldn't protest; it felt like probably only a few hours since he'd arrived in this bizarre place, but his stomach had begun the early pains of hunger all the same. He took the joint hesitantly, and inspected the meat. It was slick, but oddly blood-less, with a deep gray colour and a scent like dirt and clay. He decided to close his eyes before he sunk his teeth into the cold flesh.

It was...entirely neutral. Eating it cold was unpleasant, make no mistake, but there was no rancid taste or soured flavour like he expected from a creature that inhabited a place so fundamentally dead; he was hit with a potent aroma of soil in the back of his nose, but as he chewed only an earthy, aromatic palate spread throughout his mouth. Not wanting to explore the nuance, he quickly swallowed, and it was only then that the slickness of the beast made itself known - some sickly, all-encompassing oily substance, that coated his tongue and teeth and hit him with bitterness all the way in the back of his throat before sliding down his gullet with a revolting icy greasiness. Without warning Gil cast the meat aside and scrambled for the edge of the tower. He hung his head over the side of the stones and opened his stomach out onto the ground below.

The bug-girl clicked irritably, watching him closely with those large, beaded black eyes as Gil slumped back down, back against the parapet. He did not try another bite.
"You are weak-pathetic thing. Cannot eat. Half-limbed. This one wonders how you came-arrived here."
Gil glared back, gaze defiant and unwavering. He didn't respond, only holding up his rune-scarred hand in reply. She made that clicking laugh again, clearly amused by his recalcitrant mood.
"This one wonders how you carve-cut one hand without the other."

Gil sighed and let his shoulders go slack, defeated.
"I wasn't supposed to arrive alone. I came with others...but we got separated, somehow."
"Many things...crooked, about this place. This one thinks, that when things here go as planned, that is most odd-strange thing of all."
Gil couldn't help his own chuckle bubbling up from his gut at that. She tossed what was left of the carcass over the edge; her mandibles dripped with an oily sheen from the meat. She looked at him for a long time, and there was an air of awkwardness about her that seemed very, very human, like she was trying to build the courage to do something that made her deeply uncomfortable.
"What is your..." she paused, shuffling, her mandibles clicking softly. She even averted her eyes. Gil found it all strangely endearing. "What is your name?"

Gil blinked.
"Gil."
"Gil."
"Yours?"

She paused again, and this time it wasn't awkwardness - it was profound rumination, giving way to a great sadness.
"This one has forgotten. Truth-name long-lost."
Her voice was small and ashamed.
"What would you like me to call you?"

She thought once more, before finally returning her gaze to Gil's.
"This one believes...on island...this one was labeled-termed Hornet. It will do."

---

It had taken Gil perhaps the better part of nearly two months to get to where he was now, but finally - with assistance from the Townsend patriarch - he was within reach of his goal. Alyssa's father had been the lynchpin, the final domino to fall, in Gil's global tour in search of the disappeared redhead; Gil had been quickly put in contact with the object of his quest and they had finally met just a few nights previous, finally able to discuss what had happened at the fateful night of the dance, finally able to put answers to questions that had otherwise burnt holes straight through Gil. Luce had remained steadfastly non-expressive the entire evening, sipping back-to-back lagers with nary a twitch of the eyebrow. Alyssa had seemed contrite, almost guilty, though in truth Gil couldn't find it in him to actually blame her. Instead, he just wanted to know what had actually happened, and how best to return Amma unharmed. Alyssa was happy to oblige.

A few empty pints later had Gil sufficiently drunk to assuage the growing existential dread from Alyssa's rabbit-hole explanation, tangents on tangents winding the conversation around Gil's mind until he finally decided to stop thinking, start drinking, and just accept everything he was being told at face value with no incredulity or skepticism or rolled eyes. When Alyssa had finally finished, Gil asked how he could get into Ünterland to rescue Amma. At that, Alyssa had shifted uncomfortably, concern and something approaching fear crossing her face.

It was Luce who said:
"You need to meet Ellara."

And then the arrangements were made.

---

Gil startled awake to a distant but powerful screeching and roaring. It was pure dread distilled into sound, shaking through him and leaving terror behind in the pit of his stomach. Frantic, he scrabbled to his feet, the movements clumsy and ill-practiced, made on half-asleep legs and without the support of his missing arm. His head snapped around but saw nothing, and as the roar faded it was once again only him and Hornet atop the tower, still bathed in the eerie glow of the crimson moon.

“Far-distant. Not to worry us, for now.” Hornet said, returning to her perch atop the parapet. She, too, was shaken, but her careful movements and bullish posture hid her fear. Gil understood she was prideful, and had adequate reason to be; but not for the first time, he remembered she was not native to this place either. “Still - this one has not heard beast such as that before. Tread light-careful.”
“How long was I out?” Gil said, pushing off the last of sleep’s lingering touch and looking over the edge of the tower. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
“Question silly-stupid. Time different meaning here. Not as this one remembers from island. You will come to learn-know.”
Gil rolled his eyes. He could see the remnants of his vomit splashed down the side of the tower and the stone was still slick and shiny in the moonlight. Can’t have been that long.
“We should get moving. We can’t waste any more t-”
He stopped, looking at Hornet. How was she managing a smirk, without lips to speak of? Mandibles couldn’t smirk, in as far as he knew. Yet, still, she was effectively and amusedly patronizing him nonetheless.
“We should get moving.”
“As you wish-want. This one anxious to be out-free too.”

She stood to her full height and her wings wafted lazily for a few moments before beginning to beat in earnest, and quickly they were a blur, lifting her effortlessly off the floor. She swooped quickly behind Gil and hooked him under the arms once again, and then they were off the tower and moving with a fierce purpose back toward the ground proper; Gil marvelled at the subtle strength of his companion, how she lifted them both through the air without exertion or complaint. How much did she weigh, he wondered? How thick was her chitinous shell, and were there muscles beneath or some other biological mechanism? He recalled early school biology lessons, factoids about insect hydraulics. Despite her exterior, Gil observed more often than not the human in Hornet - who had she been before all of this? Had there been a before?

“Hornet-” he asked, speaking aloud over the drone of her wings, “you talk about an island. About wanting rescue. Which island do you mean? Where did you come from?”
The question hung in the air. Gil wasn’t sure she’d heard him, and was poised to either repeat or discard his question, when she suddenly clicked her mandibles and opened her mouth to reply.

The answer never came; at first, Gil thought it had been her screech, her roar, that he had unearthed some ungodly pain or anger within her - but suddenly they were crashing to the ground, rolling and tumbling, and the roar was still going. It reverberated all around them and rattled Gil’s bones, at once both distant and all-encompassing. A deep, primal fear burst up within him, and as he pulled himself to his feet once again, he could see Hornet writhing in the dust and dirt, her antenna twisting, hands pushed fast against the small holes on either side of her head that were once ears. She was shrieking in pain and terror herself, but the noise was paled and muted against the sheer power of the roar that surrounded them. It clattered through Gil to the back of his teeth and up his spine, and the longer it lasted the more Gil felt a pressure simultaneously closing in around him and building up within him. It all pushed toward a crescendo, a climax, a denouement that he was sure would pop him like a blister and burst his insides against the dirt.

There was a sharp heat against Gil's leg that he could barely register above the undulating roar. Instinctively, his hand swatted and groped at the pain-point, pushed into his pocket and found the source: the ring given to him on the beach, all those weeks ago. It was vibrating, subtle but intense, and it seemed to throb and glow with an imperceptible aura but for a low pulsing shockwave around it. Gil looked closer. The centred ruby seemed as if something swirled and writhed within it. Gil had a clear feeling that it was looking back.

Against his better judgement, he was suddenly compelled to slip the ring over the middle finger on his remaining hand, a dextrous but no-less-awkward movement. All at once, the roar ceased, and Gil stood up. Hornet's shrieks petered out, and she shuddered against the ground, breathing heavily.

Gil raised his arm, pointing with a preternatural assurity to some invisible destination. Hornet slowly drew herself to all fours, and then to her knees, her antenna still twitching and her hands trembling. She looked to Gil, then followed his gesture with her gaze into the deep, black unknown.
"We must go that way."
She was afraid; but she didn't argue.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Bounce>
We've tried to run a Indie Comics game (and thats far more focused than such a idea) a few times and we always end up with these issues, I agree. The only one who really feels inspired is whoever gobbles up the TMNT or Hellboy, I find.

@mickilennial

Commencement: A Farewell to P.R.C.U. [COMPLETE]

I feel like I am piecing together a jigsaw puzzle.

You always start with the edges, don't you? Or at least that's what they say, what the general recommendation is. Find a corner piece, build out the frame from there, then slowly start filling in the middle towards the centre. Works great for a pretty picture. Little different when you're rebuilding a person.

Still, I didn't have anywhere better to start, so edges it was. Round out the general shape. Let people see a frame of what I should be, something they can identify as a person, even structurally fragile as it is. But that leaves the middle, doesn't it? And then you're just rifling through the box, a tile in one hand, selected for no better reason than proximity, running your other through piles of cut cardboard hoping that by the sheer grace of God you'd scoop a matching piece. And then you'd get to repeat the process. Sometimes, you might build a little island, a small collection of connecting tiles, but you wouldn't know where it goes, how it connects to everything else - so it just floats in the middle, waiting for context, purpose. Meaningless without either.

Anyway. You see where I'm going with this. All edges, no middle. Nothing meaty, nothing confirmed. Trying to piece myself back together after the last few months and coming up empty. Moving forward with single-minded determination, but no plan for what to do when I get to the other side. If I get to the other side. Who am I now? I was an actor, but it was all I was, and it ate up anyone else I could have been - and now I've killed it, but too late to extricate anything from its corpse. So, what, I've replaced it with a girl? The girl, potentially, but is that emotion talking, or desperation for a sense of purpose? Either way, building myself around another person is a poor substitute. Wasn't that the whole problem in the first place? Too deep into acting that there wasn't a 'me' in there, and in my efforts to find that long-lost self, I've just put another person there instead. It's not fair, on me or her. I deserve to be able to know myself, to be my own person, to understand what I want and my potential. She deserves to not bear the burden of another person on her back, with all the baggage and obligation and responsibility that brings.

But right now, what else do I have?

G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D
G I L E M O R Y G A L A H A D

_{Location: England, California, Somewhere Else Entirely}

Human #5.057 Where Am I Now?

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

When Rosemarie opened the door to her son, the first thing she looked at were his eyes; those baby blues, once lightning-bright and sharp, were now just weary and dulled, and her heart broke. When she saw the stump of his arm, she pulled him into a tight embrace, and began to weep.

Several hours later, Gil sat across from his parents, the three of them huddled close with wine and a fire roaring to their side, both working in tandem to push heat into Gil's bones. The journey home had been mostly inconsequential; his un-tended hair and beard were a long way from his image in the public eye, and the amputation dissuaded anyone who'd double-took. The flight was smooth, the train was quick. It felt surreal to be back here, his childhood home, an only child and his parents. There were red-carpet photos framed and hung on the wall, a much younger and happier (or was he?) Gil beaming out from beneath the glass. He'd noticed a couple of Artie's business cards on the hallway cabinet as he'd come in, and had taken the opportunity to surreptitiously pocket them to be discarded later. One conversation at a time, he thought.

His mother's eyes were watery and bloodshot, supping her wine out of what felt like...politeness? Like this evening really was nothing more than a small family sharing a bottle to welcome their beloved son home. Her sips were small and infrequent and there was still a subtle shake to her hands as she raised the glass to her lips, emotions still frayed, nerves still raw. His father was stone-faced, but whatever stoicism he tried to muster was betrayed by his sunken gaze and heavy hand wrapped around his wife's; the deep pain he felt was clear, to see his only son maimed and beaten and halfway-dismembered. He'd drunk his first glass quicker than any of them, but had declined a second.

The explanation had been broad-strokes and filled with half-truths. Gil elected to leave out the Foundation's involvement, the sabotaged Trial, the entire abduction and existence of Daedalus; these were things he need not burden his parents with, lest they fear ever letting Gil out of their sight again - he knew already that his plans to leave would wound them further than his return already had. Why magnify that pain needlessly? No. Instead, he wove tales of another attack, lingering followers of Hyperion making a final stand, the academy being valiantly defended by staff and students alike but not without collateral; PRCU electing to close their doors until they could once again guarantee safe harbour for those they were founded to protect; the Foundation graciously accepting any who wished to transfer. It was a far more optimistic telling of what he'd truly experienced these past few short months, and artfully constructed of select bits of truths. Gil himself - he was seeking another, a girl (to which his mother had, despite herself, perked up at the mention of), who had gone missing in the calamity, unaccounted for.

Which lead back neatly as to why he had returned home at all - England was a long way from the west coast of Canada, and in coming back to these shores he'd achieved little else than trading one small island for another. The truth of the matter was difficult to understand and harder to explain, so Gil elected to lie by omission: the girl he was looking for was last seen in the company of another (in a roundabout sort of way, Gil reasoned to himself), and that girl had a father who was a partner in the very same law firm that Andrew Galahad worked accountancy for - the best lead Gil had gotten from his after-hours excursion into the ex-academy's basement and his sub-par computer literacy. So it was with wringing hands and a heart heavier than he had ever known that he came to his father, to ask him to give up information that could cost the Galahads what remained of their livelihood.

Andrew saw in Gil's eyes the same spark that had driven him, many years ago, to throw himself full-bodied at Rosemarie, and he couldn't find it in him to be a good accountant over being a good dad. Gil got an address; Andrew got away with it; and a few days later, with more tears from Rose, Gil was back on a plane bound for California.

---

^{| A few weeks from now.}
All twisted. Cracked reflection, a splintered spider-web landscape, an imitation of known reality built by someone who looked at the world crooked and didn't quite understand how a straight line was supposed to go anyway, or how it was supposed to connect to another. It gave Gil a headache to look at, like he was concentrating too hard on one of those magic-eye pictures, convinced that if he unfocused his eyes just right, squinted the perfect amount, it might all sync up and make sense. A fool's gambit, perhaps, but no one could say Gil's recent behaviour was anything approaching sensible.

He was woozy from the fall. Had he fallen? It had certainly felt so; his remaining hand throbbed and for a moment a deep fear seized him in his bones, until he risked a glance and realized it wasn't broken, battered, maimed beyond redemption - it was just sore from the scarring he'd undertaken to get here in the first place. With considerable effort, he rolled over onto his back, cradling his aching hand against his chest.

The sky was wrong. A swirling maelstrom on the horizon, shrouded in darkness and everything bathed in a deeply unsettling crimson, beaming down from a moon too large and too full and far, far too red.
_{^{“The moon in Ünterland is always red.”}}
Alyssa echoed in his ears and he whipped his head around from his supine position, but the redhead was nowhere to be seen. Of course not - she'd not joined them, stayed behind with Luce, the pair of them posted at the ritual site. Luce had no choice - the scarring required to get in wouldn't last long enough under her hype-gene to guarantee a way back out - and Alyssa, well, maybe she couldn't bear to leave Luce, maybe she was simply doing as instructed. Either way, she wasn't here, but her words - what little Gil understood, anyway - resonated within him still.

For that matter, no one else was here either. They entered four-strong, but Gil was distinctly alone, and as the realization settled upon him he was struck by a pervasive dread that he could not shake. This was the most uncharted of territories, land that couldn't even be relied upon to remain consistent or play by the rules of Gil's understood reality. Alone here, he knew, meant death, and he might not even see it coming. He might not even feel it as it happened. As far as he knew, he could put a foot wrong, and simply cease to be. Carefully - slowly - every movement calculated and assessed and then made cautiously - he rose to a knelt position, trying to make some sense of his immediate surroundings and seize hold of some bearings.

And then he heard the chittering.

---

Dad came through. I don't know when I became miserable or cynical enough to doubt even my own father, but for a day or two there I did. I hadn't even recognized it in myself, but the relief - the elation - when he handed me an address made me realize I'd not had faith in him to begin with. How have I fallen this low, that I treat my own parents with skepticism and distrust?

I'm in California now, in Santa Ana. It feels ironic - once again I'm a stone's throw from L.A. and Hollywood, yet giving it all up is what spurred me on this quest in the first place. I left Los Angeles for Dundas Island - then gave up on my apartment to go back to England, and what was my next step? Straight back to California. Preordained almost. It'd be funny if it wasn't so irritating.

All I need now is an excuse to get into Alyssa's estate - estate, by the way, I never would have expected roots like this from such a humble girl - and then I can just talk to her, get her to send me wherever she sent Amma. Use another stone or cast another spell or whatever the hell it is she and that blonde girl get up to, and then I can find her and be done with this whole mess. Put the academy behind us, flee to some corner of the world that the Foundation or Daedalus will never find, and just live in peace. Or I just free her, and let her carry on after her revenge. If that's the case, I'll go home again, catch up on the years in England I missed, forget about Gil Galahad and just be no one instead. Mum would be happy to have the company again, at least.

---

Thick fog, rocky debris, dead foliage and petrified trees did much to obscure whatever clicked in the distance.

Gil had been walking for...he didn't know. No way to keep track here, the sanguine celestial body that hung above him never moved, his watch was cracked from where he'd fallen (he still wasn't sure that he had, but the timepiece was broken either way), and they'd left behind their phones. There was no sign of Ellara, Lorcán, or Aurora; Gil just hoped they'd landed together, so at least someone would be able to find Amma and rescue her. Gil was resigned to his end. A small, awful part of him welcomed it.

The clicks moved from one side to the other, and Gil paused. He wasn't sure how it had crossed over from his right to his left, but it had, and yet he'd seen nothing ahead, nor heard nothing behind. But he was absolutely being followed, observed; the clicking was regular, rhythmic, keeping pace and never drifting closer or farther. Frustrated, exhausted, scared, he leaned against a tree, and looked up at the blood moon again. The soft red glow bathed everything in unearthly light, and details were easily lost in the dark. He'd strain his eyes before he caught a glimpse of his stalker, and he could only assume that if it had meant to kill him, it would have done so already. He took a long, measured breath, steadying his nerve.

"Come out." He announced in the direction of the soft clicks, receiving only a few rapid-pace chits in return. Gil pushed himself off the tree and pointed. "Show yourself. I know you're there."

"This one wants you to know she is here."

The blood in Gil's veins ran ice-cold.

"Come out!" He demanded, doing his utmost to sound brave. The mounted blade Ellara had insisted he wore on his stubbed arm felt inconsequential. "Or I shall force you out."

"Tck-tck-tck-tck-tck..." the chattering response sounded like rattling laughter. "You are...brave, for one so weak, wounded. Would have been killed-slain many times over, were this one not watching..."

There was a long pause; Gil wasn't sure whether to parse the statement as a threat, or if he was simply being condescended to by his invisible prowler.
"So you're protecting me, is that it? Or just guarding your next meal?

The chittering moved softly, circling in on Gil, and he did his best to follow it.
"You are scrawny meat. Would not sate this one's belly-hunger. No, you came here looking-searching. To rescue someone. Noble... foolish."
"I've been called worse." Gil said, the chittering getting ever-closer, but its source still unseen.
"Tck-tck-tck-tck-tck...yes, this one believes you. This one would help."

There was the faintest outline of something...humanoid. The fog parted around a feminine shape, but something wasn't quite right; the carmine light of the moon glittered off of iridescent wings, and Gil realized that while this figure had been human at some point, that must have been a very long time ago. She came further and further into view, and Gil studied her with a morbid curiosity.

Large black eyes sat beneath a pair of twitching antenna that sprung from the bridge of a human nose, and dominated the face that proceeded to split open at the jaw into paired mandibles, clicking and chattering over a maw of molars and canines and a tongue. Shapely curves were encased beneath a mottled-gray carapace that slotted and parted neatly at the joints, intersecting tidily without giving up an inch of vulnerability across the entire exo-skeleton. Hands and feet ended in chitinous claws rather than the keratin nails Gil possessed, but there was dexterity there that belied the vicious points. And of course, those glittering, translucent wings, bursting elegantly from slits in her back, paper-thin and segmented like stained glass, flickering and twitching in the scarlet moonlight. She was magnificent and terrifying and alien and human all at once; Gil was petrified as she approached, cautious, wary, but deliberately presenting herself as decidedly not a threat.
"W...why?"

Her mouth curled into an awkward smile, the mandibles pulling back to show lips and teeth and gums.
"This one wants-needs rescue too."

---

She's not there. Her father knew I was coming, though - I dared not ask how. Undoubtedly he knows about my dad's help, but it does neither me nor him any favours to admit it aloud, so it will remain unspoken.

I asked him where I could find Alyssa, but he just deflected. Said she wasn't anywhere she could be found, whatever that means, but asked why I was looking for her. A fair question - looking out for his daughter. But I don't know what overcame me. I told him everything. The whole of it, nothing omitted, nothing undersold. The straight truth, from the start of the semester up to the Chernobog attack. And he just...listened. No disbelief, no incredulity, not even a single question. He just sat there, and I spoke, and he believed me. And then he told me where to start looking - where to start looking properly, he said.

What the fuck is a Jäger?

Roman's Scrapbin

Salary growth
Learning and development
Career pathway
Process and tools
Work life balance, workload, support framework
OKRs and performance metrics