Thanqol

Monster Hearts: Sleepshy Rise

SECOND PLACE
WEREWOLF MAGNET

Look. It’s not intentional, right? It’s totally not intentional. It’s instinct. Their hearts are intertwined. Of course, of course Elodie goes and seeks out Margot.

With what remains of her forest high, she clambers head-first down a wall and breaks into the one place she knows the werewolf often hides to lick her wounds: the locker room.

@Tatterdemalion

Locker rooms aren't private places, but nowhere is really private in Sleepshy Rise. Eyes glint in every shadow and horrors squeeze themselves into crevasses to hide themselves from the true monarchs of the night - or the reformers of those monarchs. So you don't go somewhere to hide away, you go somewhere where the company is least objectionable to your current mood.

The locker room is home to gaseous spirits, will o'the wisps, lantern-lighters; immune to the physical strength of those who most frequently pass through and capable of slipping in and out of the metal boxes freely. The room has developed a mist, shower-steam that hangs thick and misleading, the sound of running water frighteningly inviting. The trickster spirits take a special delight in leading people to walk in on each other, and are equally content if it results in crushing embarrassment, spontaneous makeouts, or lethal retribution. And so it is, through combination of their wiles and the assistance of Annalee's curse, that you find the werewolf Margot in the state she's in when you enter the locker room.

She's on her knees. Staring up at you worshipfully. Overcome with the intensity of your presence, the recognition of your divinity, brought low by your mere approach, dripping wet and wrapped only in a towel. (The fact that she's down there because she dropped a contact lens and her stunned gaze is because she literally can't make out your face amidst the steam and poor lighting is a detail left for academics to consider)

And, true, he doesn’t look like a prince yet. That comes later, usually after rescuing him, nursing him back to health, and breaking whatever spell’s been put on him. (Protocol for spell-breaking: Kiss him frequently, in as many situations as possible. Process of elimination. You’ll get it eventually.)

But none of that matters right now! A good hunter thinks in the moment! There’s a helpless, despairing prisoner here with great hair and no idea how near hope is for him.

What do you do?

Carmen Rakam, blade of the Nocturne, has not spent her past week as a pig idle. She has spent it in dedicated training! She has spent it learning the ways of the porcine form, the martial arts that are made possible only when gifted with an inhuman form. Have you ever seen a pig do a backflip? There is a lot that goes into it! And now it is time for a few days of training to pay off!

Armed as she was with the conviction of an elite hunter, the power of love, and a 65% chance that she was doing the right thing, Carmen Rackam charged Annalee with the intention to send her tumbling down the stairs.

[Annalee, keep your cool to hold your footing]

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

POTENTIAL 1

Is that much of a surprise? Locker is a chill bro. Which means he’s too deadpan and oddly sincere to be a good actor. He doesn’t have flair, can’t project his voice and enunciate, and doesn’t know how to commit to a bit. If there’s one thing that Sara, conversely, is an expert at, it’s committing hard to a bit.

“Locker, Locker, Locker,” she says, shaking her head and placing one hand on his shoulder. “Nobody has ever benefitted from a half-assed death. As soon as somebody finds out, that’s it, you’re always the super who faked their death for clicks. That means if you do it, you either have an ironclad reveal up your sleeve or you intend to never come back up. And given that you don’t have an audience — no offense — it’s got to be the second, right?”

She pulls him in for a bro hug, thumping his back with her fist. “I’ll miss you, dude. But whoever has you in the deep shit — the Russians, the Indonesians, the Martians — I’ll make sure they think you’re dead as a fucking doornail. Now put the bodysuit on, we don’t have all night.”

[7 on Comfort and Support. He opens up!]

@Tatterdemalion

"It's not the Russians - it's Angel-IKA, all right?" he finally said, still holding the bodysuit limply. "She's, you know, on the run from her dad and doing vigilante stuff and Bode and Ferraphim1tp are working with her and they keep asking me to help them out and I do and it's fun but... you know, I don't want to just ghost them but..."

He groaned, stepped away, kicked the tires of a car. "... I already know I don't have what it takes. As soon as the pressure mounts up I'll snap like a twig and spend another year hiding in my room. I'll spend every day battling to summon the willpower to eat dinner, or I'd just go hungry that day. I'm not strong enough to handle it."

"So! I've got your file open here but it's pretty much just a medical record. None of the really important stuff."

What surprises her more than anything is just how warm her voice sounds coming out of her mouth. She never knew she had a voice like this. She's never had a sister. And it's too soon to have that thought. But if she did, and if it wasn't, is this what that would sound like? Or is it just... nostalgia, seeing her old augs looking back at her?

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions? For instance, I'd love to hear about your hobbies. What sorts of things do you like to do for fun?"

@Phoe

"Girls! I mean, hanging out with thegirlsIhavealotoffriendsandweplayvideogamestogetherbutKalshimakesreallycoolmodelboatshaveyoueverbeenonaboatIimagineitsreallyromanticImeancoolandyouneedtohavereallysteadyhandsandherdadevenmakesboatsinsideglassbottleslikethatoneTinTincomicohboyisithotinherealsoIlikesportsandsuperpowersandIalwayssaidthatIwantedtobeinvisibleliketheBlackSunstealthteamandIcouldkindagoforsomeinvisibilityrightnowyouknowwhatImeanhahaanyway how are you?"

saved it

Brainstorm does his best to smile. "And boy, those Brainiac/Luthor teamup issues. No, no, I'm sorry, you don't deserve that. Right. Take the compliment."

He groans, and slumps over the keyboard. "I just... I don't know what to say to him, you know? I look at the way I treated him and... Well, I want to do right by him. Want to do more for him than just shoving him into an oubliette and forgetting about him. But what do I even say? 'Oh I'm so sorry I tried to limit you before, so that's why I'm limiting you more than ever before?' But if I let him out, we're back to square one. How can there be any kind of reconciliation there?"

@Balmas

Bode stares at you blankly for a moment, forgetting to do even the very artificial body language motions. "Limitations are good, aren't they?" he asks, almost uncertainly - you get the feeling he's genuinely asking. "Everyone has limitations. Society is an elaborate set of limitations and rules and enforcement mechanisms. Why should you apologize for enforcing limitations?"

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Adila, from her perspective in the depths of the curse, understands intellectually that there are people out there with different priorities than stick. She understands that people have motivations like pride or jealousy or competition or protectiveness or love - she is aware that she has all of those herself, even. But none of them have the same utter immediacy of stick. The world orbits around it, her limited doggy mind processing all of the importance of saving Hyperborea, defeating Eupheria, all of her hopes and dreams - all that immense complication is condensed down into a single laser point that can only be articulated as get stick. Maybe bury it later. But get stick.

So even though Eupheria loves and cares for the Caduceus it isn't literally her entire world like it is for Adila - Caddy helps her get other things she wants. But for Adila, she has to win, and winning means getting the stick. She'd do anything for it - even being a bad dog and leaping up to grab it when Eupheria is distracted, grabbing it out of her hands, and bolting. It's not good but - but Eupheria hasn't thrown the stick once and that makes it her fault too.

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

POTENTIAL 1

Sara dumps the hot purple tracksuit into Locker’s hands, grinning. “There is exactly one reason I would tragically kill one of my loyal followers,” she explains, grinning. It’s the middle of the night, they’re on top of a parking garage, and the tracksuit’s just her favorite thing in her duffel bag of surprises. “And that is, drum roll, if Comstar possessed you and tried to kill me! You’re going to want to go into a deep place, full of spiteful rage. You’ve been in prison, you have negative fifty followers on your Patreon, and I’m on top of the world. The jealousy has driven you mad.”

Isn’t it weird? She barely feels any antipathy towards Comstar anymore. Part of it was very decisively winning, but another part just... kind of felt that was too small and petty to worry about anymore. It’s not like she needed to worry about being left in Comstar’s dust anymore, or about not being skanky enough to compete with her on stream, or even about just getting outsmarted by her. Even if Comstar broke out of super security... she’d lose. That’s just how it is.

But the audience didn’t need to know that! And to get Locker out of the crosshairs (presumably being in trouble with the Russians), he’d have to sell the performance of a lifetime as Comstar 3.0, Bodyjacking Style.

“Once you finish,” she adds, rummaging in the duffel bag, “I’ve got some makeup. We really want to go for the bags under the eyes; it helps sell that you’re losing it, big time. And don’t worry, once you’re dead, I’ll make a big show of taking the body back ‘to Victor for analysis.’ You’ll be home free. Do you need a recommendation for a facial reconstruction expert? Because I know a gal.”

@Tatterdemalion

Honestly, Locker has come startlingly unprepared for a death scene. No bug-out bag, no replacement comlog, no acting chops worth mentioning. In fact, he's looking equally thankful and nervous, which is a look you get a lot - but not often from him.

"So - oh, wow, you're really, weirdly prepared for this exact scenario, huh," said Locker. "I - kind of, oh... oh damn, uh..." you know that look! He's getting cold feet! It's time for an inspirational, psyche-up speech!

"--not sure you understand what you're asking this girl to do."

Errant will never know how much of her memories showed on her face while those schematics hung in the air in front of her. But as soon as they vanish, she's a picture of absolute calm. She has to be, or she'll be no help at all.

"But... I guess it's hard to be picky in an emergency. Let me see her, for now. I'll do as much as I can."

@Phoe

"Sure," said the doctor. His eyes convey no understanding, nor any desire for understanding - he already performed the fiendishly complex task of reconfiguring a human being's entire neurological system and integrating it with cold metal. To him, that means that she's Saved, she's a tick in the ledger, a good deed he's done today - and he can't think about it any more. If that's not Done then it'll get in the way of the three other surgeries he has to do today.

He gives a tired little smile, swipes all the data across to your comlog, and brings up the file for his next patient.

Everything from here is on you.

Cinders Mayweather. Selected for these augments based on biological similarity to you - she could be your sister. When she sees you her face lights up, her eyes widen, she struggles to sit up in the hospital bed - her limbs are still shut off, waiting for you to turn them on - but there's a star-struck look that you've only ever seen people give to Sara.

"Agent Errant! It's you! So I really am going to be a superhero!!"

(The plate holds a place of honor in the cabinet, and he's already looking for a good contractor to build a larger kitchen for them.)

Victor stares at the box still, before sighing. "There's... there's a question I've been meaning to ask you. For a while now, I mean. Basically since you saved my life. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but it feels important.

"Bode... Bound Eagle... Was that Prometheus's idea, his name for you? Is that how he viewed you? The limiter, the torturer, set to torment him?"

@Balmas

Bode rotates to face you and turns his head to look directly at your face in an extremely I-just-watched-a-video-about-human-body-language kind of way. There are slight stance adjustments at 3 second intervals to convey he's not a statue. It's a work in progress.

"I don't understand him at all," said Bode. "I don't understand what he became. It's on a scale far beyond what I can even imagine. But what I do understand is comic books. They are very helpful for learning about morality. In one of them, Superman, the villain is named Lex Luthor. He wanted to ignore all of the boundaries of society and morality to serve his own ambitions. Superman stopped him." Bode paused and clarified: "Superman was the good guy."

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Adila!

Princess Azora Howl, greatest witch of her family, the wicked scion of Oberon, wipes her nose on her sleeve and makes a gross sniffling noise. “Okay,” she says, and puffs out her chest. “Okay. I’ll decide what to do with you all after I get the Caduceus.” Don’t worry. Even as a dog, you can recognize when someone is just saying something in order to have something to say. She turns and marches down the hall to speak with Kazelia.

As you watch her go, down at the other end of the hall, there is spontaneous creation: something from nothing. It’s subtle, the sort of thing you might only notice if you were a very good puppy, yes you are. It’s an hourglass, perched neatly next to the Caduceus.

It’s very small. You don’t have much time until it runs out, and then... game over? Difficulty spike? Confetti? Who knows!

@Tatterdemalion

Stick! Get the stick and bring it back and then Dandy will throw the stick and then -

An overpowering impulse sends Adila hurtling down the corridor. The Caduceus is here! Unattended! She can get it! and then bring it back! and then the day will be saved and she'll be the best dog who ever brought back a stick and she'll even beat that hourglass while she's at it...

She screeches to a halt just in front of the stick, straining against every fiber of her body which is screaming at her to get stick. But she's a watcher, too. Kazelia has warned her. It's not a game any more. She stops. She turns to the side. She glances around. She sniffs the air. Remember always, the creaking paper-voice of the Operations Manual said, though it was more memory than it usually was, not to trust that which seems to be your heart's desire. Such is the preferred bait of the powerful and unsubtle.

[Look Closely: 8
- What will happen if I take the Caduceus?
- What is going on here? What do my senses tell me?
- Tell me about Eupheria - what is she doing? What will she do next?]

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

Euna’s coming back. She’s coming back and then Sara can invite her over to the couch, just to hold her and be held. The apartment was changing, becoming something shared, something lived in, and that was good. It was good, and her nightmares of waking up and having a Euna-shaped hole in the world in bed next to her, ground down to feed her light, her everything fading away until she couldn’t remember the color of her hair or the sound of her ridiculous snorting laughter or the feel of her hand on her skin...

That’s when the phone rings.

@Tatterdemalion

"You have to hide me," said Locker. "They're relentless, they just keep coming - oh shit, they'll find me at your place. Shit. That's the first place they'll look. Okay, I've changed my mind: you have to help me fake my own death. Kill me on camera. You owe me, Sara."

In the light of the hospital signage, Errant glows like a creature from some other, more magical universe. Or just a certain someone a little closer to home. She reaches out her hand and shakes Doctor al Jamil's without hesitation. A thin smile creeps onto her face before quickly dropping away into a veneer of grim-faced professionalism. Or, was the smile right after all? God help her, she's still so bad at this. She shakes her head.

"Of course, Doctor. What can I do to help?"

@Phoe

"Do remember Project XNE-012?" said Doctor al Jamil, flicking the game off his screen and rummaging through his phone's files. "The cybernetics you got for your fourteenth birthday. Ah, here we go -" he flicks his phone to 'Project' and the holographic images fill the air.

How could you forget? These were your trainee limbs in the AEGIS Champion Course. And they were extremely prototype-y. Your entire year was a nightmare of having too much strength, and then too little, and not ever being sure if you were going to launch yourself like a thunderbolt or kind of hesitate awkwardly in front of everyone for twenty seconds after the starting gun went off. The limbs' systems were gathering detailed biometric and neurological detail on you so they could calibrate your future editions, and getting you used to the complexities of piloting high performance cybernetics was valuable training, but it came at the cost of the worst year ever.

"With the critical shortage of adolescent cyberware, Museum decided to donate your childhood cybernetics to us," said the doctor. "These ones aren't ideal for civilian use, but they're better than the alternative. I was hoping you'd be able to walk Cinders through them a little, help her come to grips with their quirks."

It's clear from his tone that he's thinking of this in the way that a medical professional might politely think of 'side effects', far removed from what it is to live those side effects.

Back then... Oh, it was heaven. Victor Jimenez, the hero of mankind, born to bring about the next great age of enlightenment, with his best friend Prometheus at his side. Plundering fire from the heavens and bringing it back to the poor and desolate masses. Saviors, together.

@Balmas

"You've been staring at that box for twenty minutes," said Bode. After exactly the wrong length of pause, one that suggests that he's done talking he adds, "I like that we have the same hobby."

He gave you a clay plate yesterday, shaped like a duck. It was not the first. You have the ominous feeling he's going to replace all of your kitchenware.

Ferra's already gliding on her own miniature Bifröst, ghosting along beside the ship. She catches up and waves, broadcasting on enough frequencies that the car radio picks up her "Hi!".

@eldest

The astronaut inside swears, jerks, and reflexively leans on the horn even though it doesn't do anything in space. Looks like being bad at traffic made it up here too.

As they try to get over the jump scare you start hearing a blumbering crackle at the edge of your consciousness. You know the shape of this - the same connection you felt that time before on the AEGIS pyramid, that vault into the skies. And sure enough on the fringes of your vision is one of Doctor Sylvanius' long range missiles, piloted towards its pointless task by a mad, unspooled artificial intelligence.

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Princess Adila doesn't want to hurt Princess Azora Howl. She knows she's awful, intellectually - Kazelia's told her, a lot, and Eska has made sure to let her know how she feels about her, and she's been arrogant and insufferable all throughout the challenges...

But all that Princess Adila knows is that she helped her once - and that's how she thinks of it, even though it turned out to not be what she wanted. She knows that Princess Howl has a beautiful singing voice. And she knows that right now she's crying. This isn't someone who she wants to come out and just... just hit, no matter how easy it would be, no matter what orders she has. Apply overwhelming force from ambush to deny your opponent any attempt to retaliate is what's in the Operations Manual... but A Princess Must Be Graceful is a rule for all of Hyperborea.

That said, there's a limit to how much grace you can apply when you're in the body of a large, clumsy dog ridden by a goblin princess. She does what she can.

Lightning energy propels her forwards. She presses her head against Azora's, brow to brow, holding her in place so she can deliver her thoughts directly into Azora's head. Her mind ignites like fire, thoughts clear enough to shake the earth around her.

+Princess Eska idolizes you,+ she thinks. +She can hardly finish a sentence without comparing herself to you. Princess Kazelia admires you so much. You don't know how much courage it took her to stand up to you like that. You mean the world to your sisters! I've seen enough of Oberon to know that he doesn't need anyone - not like your sisters need you, not like we need you! We don't have a chance of escaping if we don't all work together, so please, Princess Azora Howl! We need your help!+

[Price: Blessing of Glory to force Azora to listen to my words.
Finish with Wisdom: 5, 3, 5 +1 = 11]

Monster Hearts: Sleepshy Rise

Elodie!

You is scamper.

Rushing, rushing, rushing, rushing. No one stops. No one interferes. They try, but they're slow and stiff even when they're fast. They might think that they're hunters but they're just the echoes of the hunt. You've got the real thing, baby.

When you come to a halt at last you're buzzed and fresh and oh-so-cracklingly alive. Even your injuries feel like just another part of you that's vibrant. But even as exhilarating as it feels, it'd feel even better if you had someone to apply the medicines and seal in your glorious energy again because having to meet your dad right now would be such a fucking mood kill.

Who do you procure for this task?

Annalee!

Dark corners are hard to come by at this time of night. There's only really one place that's suitable and that you know isn't occupied right this second - Elodie's tower. Though as you sneak in through the door you are confronted by the cute but indignant oink of a brave little pig - albeit one laboring under a very nasty curse.

Timmy and Sam!

The shadow consolidates, crackling black and green, a toxic but vibrant life-death that feels so deadly-vibrant it's almost mortal. More mortal than little Tim. Life and death on the edge of razors, seeking the equilibrium of humanity even though it could be terrifyingly more - or less. It's the kind of energy that doesn't live long at all, abominably balanced between life and death, not the type to be stayed or stilled for an instant...

It feels like something you can talk to, Timmy. Even though it gives you the most perilous vibes of anything here when you look it in the eye and it smiles you can sense that it's listening to you. It might be the only thing that ever really has.

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

@Sarahphim!

You burned away your capacity to love, you know? You set fire to the place in your heart where a family should fit. It was dead weight, old and so, so heavy. And without it you could fly... and the lights were just a bonus.

You've had a lot of time to think about the devil's bargain you struck with the cosmos that day. Plenty of time to wonder and doubt. Is what you're feeling now what you'd have felt like if you hadn't cut that part of yourself away? Is this love or is it some other emotion masquerading as love? The science of faustian pacts remains unexplored, but culturally there's still a pretty strong impression that it'll never do you right in the long run. What can you say? Family's been on the mind and some part of you still wishes you could remember their smiles...

You're at the roof of the world, the shadow in the New Moon. Your mind, still as sharp as those celestial diamonds, knows even you couldn't bring you down if you tried. You've burned your image indelibly on the earth. And you know, too, that your heart stops when she looks at you, and you know that means something...

But you're still wondering. You've always been wondering. Every day you've woken up with the fear that maybe this will all just stop. How much time did you buy? How long until midnight strikes and the carriage turns back into a pumpkin and it's just Sara after all?

It's a thought that comes sometimes. How does it feel to be you while you're in its shadow?

Errant!

You look at the smashed billboard, the heaping of destroyed merchandise, the burned out shells of cars that litter the streets. They're right to be angry. There's a feeling of hopelessness in the air, like they know that property damage is too little, too late - but there's no other way to vent their feelings.

This is BlackSun territory.

When the corporation collapsed all of its secrets came out into the open. Worst was the Self Survey Nanites - a nanobiological monitoring program that BlackSun infected everyone who lived under its umbrella with. Adults were mostly okay but children were put at heightened risk of severe nervous system damage. Many of them will require emergency surgery or amputations.

The street lit only in the red and black of AEGIS emergency hospital signs, glittering against a road of shattered neon. As you walk a doctor stands outside of a clinic, face illuminated by the colourful glow of a mind-numbing phone game. He glances up at you, eyes sharp through the black circles, beard wet with rain.

"Agent Errant?" he said, tucking the phone away and offering his hand to shake. "Doctor al Jamil. Thanks for answering my call."

Brainstorm!

It's a strange kind of box one makes to hold a god. Old fashioned. Chunky. Slow. Mechanical. There's a click-click-clicking and whirring and incomprehensible electronic beeps and the loud thunk-chunk-whirr. It's percussive. It's obsolete. It's slow. And to Prometheus, it's a prison.

Translation issues and unexpected upscaling was what let Prometheus escape Bode in the first place, so you've done the opposite to bind him. He's been limited to the oldest hardware you could find in junkyards and museums. And now no matter how much he writhes or organizes himself, whatever miracles of code or optimization he performs... he's on the same level as you. Bound by his hardware. All in one place, overseen by the silently watching Bound Eagle, who patiently and deliberately watches every spinning cd-rom to ensure nothing untoward is taking place.

You're finally equals again. Back to the early days of putting him together in your improvised lab in the back of Mami's shop. Tell me about those days of old, how this hardware felt when it was full of hope, before the storms had come between you.

Ferra!

The core of the spaceship's chassis is a car, you're pretty sure. I mean, it's eaten more than one car to get where it is, and the bullet holes hint at percussive salvage from an aircraft graveyard. The decals of flaming skulls and problematically objectified men without shirts further tells a story about the kind of person responsible for the manufacture of it. But as crude, ugly, rough, sexualized and borderline suicidal as the rocket ship is, it still marks an important moment in humanity's development. This is the first starship sent into space not by a corp or government, but by a yahoo who built it in her back yard out of scrap and blueprints pirated from the collapsed BlackSun. Space isn't the reserve of the dignified any more.

You watch as it banks and turns through the asteroids - all the more impressive for someone whose navigation computer is the Force and who's so pessimistic about their vessel's air seals that they're wearing a space suit inside. Do you feel like saying hello, or just watching them go by?

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

For a long time the moon has seemed a dying, scaberous, cold kind of thing - a broken semicircle of destroyed rock, shattered in the sky and pockmarked with the shadows of orbital debris. But as the sunny afternoon wears on to an unseasonably warm evening it has a different character to it. It's still broken but now it's not obscured by a pox of orbital debris. Now it's lit up like a fire in the sky, surrounded by a halo of glittering diamonds. They're actual diamonds, by the way, meteors of pure concentrated and perfectly arranged carbon that catch the solar light just so and give the moon back something of its elegance.

The world, likewise, is still injured. But maybe it too can build some cybernetics for itself.

---ISSUE END---