#Event Trigger in the whole entire game or something

[inbarfink]

Okay, so like, I love Undertale to bits, but it does often rub me the wrong way when people use it in comparison to games like OFF, which condemn the Player’s violent actions without actually offering the option for a Pacifist resolution, like “well, Undertale is Objectively Better because there’s an actual choice to be nonviolent so it can actually condemn the player in a meaningful way”.

Especially with OFF, I think. Cause while many people consider it a predecessor to Undertale, their themes and the way they relate to their “What the Hell, Player” moments are very different, I think. And this attitude of judging them purely on whatever they’re effective at making the player ‘feel bad’ about their actions is really reductive for what both games are trying to do with these kinda moments.

Like, in general it’s super frustrating when video game moments discussing morality and player-player character relationships are evaluated purely in the sense of ‘are these games justified in Making Me Feel Like a Bad Person’. That’s usually a super-reductive way to look at video game morality. And I really don’t think it helps the discussion to frame “What the Hell Player” moments as an actual personal attack or attempt to evaluate your IRL morality.

And specifically with OFF, I feel like it’s actually very thematically important that the game only has one ‘Route’ and that it is the ‘bad’ one. Because OFF, in my reading at least, is a game very much about narrative framing. Like, that’s the whole thing with the Batter not actually transforming as his Special Ending Monster Duckie Form.

The Batter didn’t change, our point of view did. When we’re controlling the Batter, it is his POV that we’re seeing the world through - and in his POV he’s just an ordinary guy doing the right thing. But if we take the Judge’s side, we’re also taking on his POV. And the Judge, much like any other victim of the Batter, sees him as some sort of monster.

And that’s like a huge theme in the game. While there’s probably no POV that makes the world of OFF like an actually good place to live, it is important to note we are viewing it through the perspective of someone who has already vowed to destroy it. I know a lot of people look at the difference between the Guardians as they are in the Room’s Chapter 4 and the Guardians as the Batter face them as a matter of a personal change between then and now - I think the matter of different perspectives also plays a part.

In the Room we are viewing Dedan, Japhet and Enoch through the eyes of an innocent child that is desperate for companionship and sees them as friends - in the rest of the game we are viewing them through the eyes of a man who sees them as obstacles in his holy mission and upholders of a world that must be destroyed. Neither of them can give a truly unbiased perspective when it comes to the Guardians.

And despite the game making it explicit that the Batter is as a puppet controlled by the Player - although the Player is the one who give the Player Character power - it is the Batter who manipulates the Player into aiding him on his mission by framing it in a way that is more palatable. Despite all the power the player supposedly holds, the Batter holds the power over the narrative framing, and that’s enough to let him take control.

That’s why there’s really no choice in the game but keep helping the Batter along his ‘Holy’ mission - him being able to influence our framing also means being able to influence the options we can see. It is the Batter who wants us to see a world where his violence and destruction is the only possible solution. And the point of the Judge calling out the Player for continuing along the Batter’s set path (rather than stopping the game and turning it off) isn’t just to Make the Player Feel Bad for doing what they need to do to, like, see the whole of this well-crafted story....

It’s to make the Player self-reflect. When did they first had the inkling that the Batter isn’t on the up-and-up? If (‘if’ bring the keyword here) it was all real, when would the point where continuing to aid the Batter would be morally inexcusable? By the point the Batter is beating a defenseless child to death it’s pretty darn clear that We’re the Baddies, but did the Player process any of the hints beforehand? Just how much sway did the Batter’s framing of the world and the narrative hold over the player? And how this is different and similar to how the Player normally engage with other narratives, especially other RPGs?

There is a reason, after all, why the Judge big speech at the end is also about how felt deceived and tricked by the Batter’s words. His feelings are meant to be a reflection of a Player’s on some level.

And despite ‘calling-out’ the Player, he does make it clear he also sees himself as culpable of aiding the Batter in his henious actions. The Player and the Judge’s situations are somewhat paralleled here. 

And it feels very notable that the Judge starts out explictly addressing to the Player much more than the ‘Puppet’:

And by the ending of the game, although he does call-out the Player to, he’s got a lot more to say to the Batter as well.

I think it’s because he also underestimated the power the Batter had as a ‘Puppet’ of the Player, up until he realized how he managed to manipulate both him and the Player (although he still sees both himself and the Player at fault for falling for it and helping the Batter).

I think the main point here is to try and make the Player think more critically about the narratives they engage with. In many ways, the Batter is the concept of the RPG protagonist dilluted to its logical extreme. He was literally brought into existence just moments before the story started, and his only purpose in life is to defeat all the bosses, ‘finish’ all of the areas and then just turn the game OFF. That’s also why siding with the Batter is considered the ‘canon’ ending of the game, in this allegory it is the ending that correspond most to Regular Player Behavior.

It’s trying to make you think about how different POVs and narrative framing can be used to change the way we view a story. If the Batter can skew the lens we view the story enough so that it makes us side with him… how other forms of media, and in this case espacially other games can convince us that the protagonist’s actions are justified and heroic? Is there some ignored angle in this and that game, some ignored ‘Judge’ of sort, that would totally reframe the supposed morality of the story?

I think that’s the main thing, or at least one of the main things, one is supposed to get from OFF. Not just a blanket sense of guilt for all the made-up pixels you killed in this game or other games, but an invitation to try and examine the stories you play from more angles, and think more of the narrative tricks that can be used to justify morally dubious actions. For this to work, the game has to work in tandem with the Batter and his POV for the most part.  And because of all of this, I believe OFF’s lack of a ‘moral choice’ system does not take away from its central points and actually helps them. The only choice comes when the Judge barges in and offers a counter-narrative to the Batter. 

Undertale, in contrast, is a lot more about Player Actions and Player Agency. Like, Chara and a Murder-Route Player have essentially a reverse dynamic from the Batter and a Normal Ending Player. With the Player convincing the Player Character (?) into the viewpoint that the world exists just to be drained of Content before turning it Off and moving on to the next one.

Undertale is more about the Player having power, and not just in the Unkillable Time God sense, in the sense of the power to reframe and change the narrative. Both the Undertale Pacifist and Murder Route has an element of going ‘off script’ of what the game story ‘expects’. Like, the Normal Ending is the only one where the the Player just does what was expected of them and engage with the game world in the same way all the other characters do - that’s just why it only exist to try and convince you to go on one of the other routes.

The Pacifist Route is about the Player using their Aforementioned Unkillable Time God Powers to break away from the world’s general resignation to violence as the answer and proving to everyone a peaceful resolution is possible. The Murder Route is about the Player engaging with the world like… an ordinary RPG basically (as long as you’re heavy on the grinding) and in the process twist the entire narrative into something much darker. The narrative isn’t tricking you into it, if anything, the narrative is subtly nudging you to the Pacifist Ending.

If Undertale comes off as a more effective ‘condemnation’ of the Player than OFF, that’s probably because compared to OFF Undertale is more about what the Player does and the Player’s actions. I still don’t think it’s a very productive to paint it as, like, trying to Shame you. It just makes things far too unnecessarily personal in a really weird way, and it also kinda isolates discussion of the game’s mortality to only how justified it is within the game’s own context - without any acknowledgement of what the game’s trying to say in a larger context when it makes the characters so darn lovable and makes it so heartbreaking when they die.

Both in context of how we can try and take the game’s ideals into the real world....

And how it relates to other video games. And I mean, Undertale isn’t just about whatever violence in video game narratives is really necessary - that’s absolutely part of it but also, it’s about how Players engage with video game narratives. And whatever looking at them as just challenges to be one by getting the Big Number....

or challenges you need to 100% complete and drain every single secret from 

can take away from what makes a good story actually work.

There’s a reason why the in-universe ‘morally correct’ to play Undertale is to experience the True Pacifist ending once and never open it again. (I dunno if I’ll say the Message of Undertale is ‘looking up all kinds of different minor options and content mining always ruins the magic of stories’ and if it is it’ll be a very funny case of a game’s fandom disproving its own thesis, but it’s certainly something the game wants you consider.)

Despite the obvious influence OFF had on Undertale and especially on it’s Murder Route, I actually think it might be more useful to compare it to Deltarune, at least once we see more of it and where it’s going. With both of these games exploring a very complicated power dynamic between player and player character and the player being robbed of moral choice and possibly forced to do bad things to advance the narrative - it might be actually a more interesting comparison.

[zenkindoflove]

You guys do not want to go down the road of starting to make blanket declarations that specific ships are "problematic" and "triggering". And let me explain why.

ACOTAR fandom, in my experience, is notoriously very far removed from general fandom. It's big and dispersed across many platforms that weren't created around fandoms, and so a lot of people enter it having little to no experience in other fandoms.

This discourse about what is or isn't a problematic ship and what kind of person ships a couple like that is not new. Fandoms of yesterday yore have had long fights about this and a general consensus has emerged which is anytime you start playing the morality policing game around people having fun with fictional characters, everyone loses.

Let's take this situation with Elain Archeron Week which is explicitly banning submissions for Elain with characters who are canonically known to be abusive to a romantic partner. Generally, the spirit of character weeks are to be ship neutral and importantly a concept that has emerged from prior fandom morality policing debate is the term Ship and Let Ship. Which means just because something isn't YOUR ship doesn't mean you need to come up for reasons why it isn't CORRECT to ship.

So, you think it's morally incorrect and triggering for people to see Elain paired with an abuser or a "bad guy"? That is okay for your own personal beliefs but if you start making rules around it for something that is supposed to be inclusive where do you draw the line or what that means? How about pairing Elain with the guy who runs Night Court Abu Ghraib? A role that means he actually tortures people physically and mentally to the brink that they are forced to "confess" to crimes. Is that some how morally superior to another character who emotionally abused their partner and confined them to a house?

See. That didn't feel good. Now did it? Do you actually want to get into a discussion about which wrong is morally worse than the other? Especially when it concerns a character week that is supposed to be about positivity and people having fun because they love Elain and they love the different interactions she could potentially have with characters in fanon?

And that is the entire point. When it comes to fiction, we all will be seduced by characters who have done bad things. Things that will trigger people. But, and I mean this whole heartedly, no one else is responsible for your triggers but you. You are the only one who knows what you can and cannot handle. Your Mileage May Vary. Tumblr's tag filtering system is in part for this very reason because of how fandoms use tumblr.

When you have a fandom wide event space, generally it's a bad idea to start throwing up these judgmental rules around people's character interests and shipping habits. Of course, any event runner is entitled to do what they please. But you also have to expect those who are excluded or know people who will be excluded are going to have something to say about it.

I really think the entire ACOTAR fandom could benefit from getting curious for once and actually digging into the histories of fandom, fandom lore and vocabulary, and start learning from from fandom elders. If so, we'd all be able to navigate these situations with a shared language that recognizes that the primary goal of fandom is to have fun first. And everyone's fun is going to look different and each individual is responsible for deciding what their squicks and triggers are. And the whole point of a squick is to let someone know this thing bothers me personally but I understand if it doesn't bother you. That sort of back and forth empathy across each side is how fandoms don't burn down in flames and people don't feel shame about what they like in fiction.

Now any fandom event can make whatever rules they want. But what I already see is a bunch of people (e/riels) are now actually making posts about why others who ship Elain with Tamlin are morally inferior, disgusting, perverse, and bad people. But hear me out, someone can easily think and say the same thing about you and your ship and if that is the kind of environment you'd like to fuck around in, well, aren't we all the worse off for it.

[d3lly1000]

About Sonic and the others forgetting the events of Sonic '06 + The Twitter Takeovers are semi-canons

Okay, here we go... I saw some people mention this answer about Sonic forgetting Elise and being upset about it, and thankful that the Takeovers are "not canon", so I'll share my point of view on that and talk about why the Takeovers are semi-canon! (oh boy a long post-) ~~~~

To start: "But Sonic forgetting Elise is absurd! He was the one who put out the flame with Elise, they both should have known about each other." No. They shouldn't have. From the moment the flame went out, everything was reset and started at the point where Sonic was going through the festival. There was no invasion by Eggman at that moment, Elise was not kidnapped, there were no Events of 2006 EVEN though the game is canon. THIS has ALWAYS been a fact since the game's release. And it keeps gaining strength with new media (Sonic x Shadow Generations and mentions that Sonic make in external media).

And I dare even more, not even Silver should know about the events. But if he knows, it's only him and Mephiles, who was ERASED from existence and ended up in WhiteSpace, the Limbo of Sonic's Universe. (As for Silver, he constantly travels through time, he could be the only one who remembers, but I doubt it a little) But the point here is: The representation of the flame going out at the end of 06 is that everything was rewritten in a new way. Things didn't happen that way and that's it.

"But it's absurd. Sonic would never forget Elise, they liked each other!"

I know that in some way there are fans of Sonelise, but I don't think it's right to support their romance so much when it was rushed and totally done in a hurry to make us get some kind of "emotional attachment" to Elise. Elise was the one who showed the most interest in Sonic, even kissing him (geez...), while Sonic, even choosing Elise in the "Trial Of Love", sometimes the game still throws you to Amy's option in a strange glitch. Which doesn't make much sense since theoretically he "would be in love with Elise."

Elise had the potential to be an excellent character and I still believe in that! She was introduced in an obscure game (just like Silver) and we can't deny that fact. She always couldn't cry because she had sealed the Iblis Trigger in herself, she lost her father and had no mother and yet she was the governess of the kingdom of Soleanna. Have you ever thought how much she could have stood out by working on this issue of pressure that she suffers in a deeper way? Instead of Sonic's entire campaign revolving around a somewhat embarrassing romance, have you ever thought how incredible it would be if it focused on how far the line of our responsibilities goes and the fear of failing everyone? Elise could potentially even be an incredible parallel for Blaze being what she is, even if indirectly! There's the other idea of ​​Sonic and Elise being a parallel of sisterhood like Shadow is with Maria, and that's much more captivating than a romance, and I'm sure we'd get much more attached to her knowing that!

Sonic 2006 and plot holes...

Sonic's campaign is the weakest;

Elise is a character who has potential for much more than what we were given;

the time travel issue has many holes like the Blue Chaos Emerald being with Elise the whole time;

Blaze is in the game and we don't even have an explanation for it;

We're very vague about Silver and his future; So, the fact that Sonic and the others "forget" the events is something canonical since the end of the game and has always remained that way.

Now, about the Twitter Takeovers:

The Takeovers are silly and focused on humor, but that doesn't mean there aren't writers behind them!

(Social Media Manager for Sonic's official Twitter account.) This same script is thought by the entire team, since the company's characters are acting! There is a lot of work behind it, which must be recognized! In other words, the information becomes "canonical", since it covers and gives us answers about things that we don't have in the games yet. It's an expansion of the characters, the universe and the story that hasn't been told or fully explored yet, and that's fantastic! The questions are selected based on what they can probably tell us. Whether it's just about Sonic's fur or Shadow's taste for coffee, or even about the Super Transformations and the relationships between the characters. They are Semi-Canons. They are information that adds to our knowledge as fans, but they are not necessarily real, like Sonic breaking the fourth wall. As a fandom, we have to know how to separate some things! That's what makes the Sonic universe unique. Everything can be considered more clues to add to the franchise, but we need to know how to understand the reasons and whys behind it!

Conclusion

I still hope that if Sonic '06 gets a remake, they'll do a good redemption of it, because it deserves it! And who knows, maybe we'll see more of it in the future?

If you want to comment, feel free, this is an open field for that discussion. Just keep it respectful and friendly! I'd love to read and participate too!

Thank you very much for reading! Sorry for the bad English... Stay determined! 🤍

[allwormdiet]

Shell 4.3

In which we finally discuss the locker

Little surprised that Alec is taking the lead on this one, but pleasantly so

And yeah, here we finally get an explanation for powers and triggers and all that, or at least the foundations of it

...Also there's no way that Glory Girl triggered just because of a basketball game, that has to be a crock of shit. What's up with New Wave claiming to be the most open hero team and then coming off the shadiest? How am I trusting these people less than I trust the government capes?

I like that they make a point of reassuring her after her blunder. She couldn't have known, and they know that, and they don't hold it against her. I love these kids.

Brian seems more comfortable smacking Alec around than he does Rachel. I don't think that's a thing of not wanting to hit women, last arc he decked Vista like she owed him money. Maybe it's that Rachel intentionally provokes that reaction and Alec is just kind of a little shit? Idk

Again, I remain utterly fixated on how this is Taylor's one line, the thing she refuses to compromise on ever. I'll buy that she doesn't want outside interference from the Undersiders or other capes when it comes to the bully situation, but it's harder to do that when she never makes a move herself.

This is so. Evil. Like, the false friendship, the rotting tampons, the imprisonment. The fact that nobody who sees this play out even bothers to help her. The fact that she's trapped for hours. If that didn't give someone a trigger event, I'm not sure anything would.

Alec is actually so real for this. Like for all that he was disgusted with the story (which, fair) his disgust isn't with Taylor, it's with the fuckers who did that to her. And Brian agrees with him! Lisa is making a point of not disagreeing, even.

Oh hey, Taylor actually acknowledges her thing with anger and violent retribution. Glad she's cognizant of that, it'd be a whole situation if she wasn't tbh

Actually thank god for Alec keeping up this line of thinking, this might be the most passionate we've seen him get about anything. The runner up is like, him being annoyed he can't keep Kid Win's skateboard, and that's peanuts compared to this. Maybe he's wrong about the revenge thing but I don't know that he is, and he's definitely not wrong about the indignity that Taylor is allowing herself to suffer

I don't think this is half the lie that Taylor thinks it is. For all that she has noble intentions, and I don't doubt she'll do her best with those... I don't think Taylor's drive to be a superhero was entirely selfless. This isn't all truth and justice going on here, this is feeling strong and being appreciated by others and not being looked at like a bottom-feeder.

Wonder when she'll figure that out for herself

Get cared about idiot! Get absolutely blanketed with affection and approval from the people who would absolutely rip your bullies apart if you asked them to!

You know. I think Brian's trigger event is one of the ones I know the least about? I know the broad strokes of almost every other Undersider, but I don't think I know anything about his.

Current Thoughts

Even knowing what's coming, reading through Taylor's ordeal with the locker is so fucking heartbreaking. She could've died in there and the consolation prize she got was not worth the cost of admission, that's for damn sure. Emma Barnes is a fucking maniac for this one.

The stuff about powers and trigger events is a pretty neat concept, and I like how it kind of contextualizes most capes as being fucked up. Like, I'm thirteen years late to the party on this one, but what a fascinating fucking idea to build your superhero setting on.

Alec really shone through for me in this chapter. Maybe I relate as someone who finds it easier to get angry on others' behalf than to be angry for myself, or maybe it's just nice to see him get fired up about something. I like this kid.

...Got work and a family thing today, but I'll see if I can't slip some more updates in. I'll probably read some at least and double back with my thoughts if nothing else

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Well, not a snippet. A whole durn one-shot. No title yet, so let's just call it "Responsible Adults, or, Damas Wants A Raise"

(This mentions a hilarious headcanon that rose from a discussion of game weapons with @troblsomtwins829 and @segaphantom , one I intend to use from now on, where it was decided that red eco shockwave ammo is what Wastelanders give their kids when they're first learning trigger discipline, and Jak is the equivalent of a kid bringing down a grizzly bear with a plastic baseball bat. Also featuring swears borrowed from Watership Down because rabbit language is a lot of fun tbh)

It should have been a perfectly straightforward event. Fourteen candidates who had finally passed the initial terrain tests to Kleiver's satisfaction, finally able to go at it with weapons. Only Scatterguns for now, of course. Live ammunition would wait for those who passed their first trial. Those left standing would receive their gate pass and first amulet, everyone who had dodged the lava but not their comrades' shockwaves would be scraped off the sand and delivered to the on-site hospital. They would have to wait another month to retake their trial.

It was standard procedure.

They'd done it hundreds of times.

But this time, it was immediately apparent that something was amiss.

One man broke out of the pack before Damas could even explain what was expected of a first trial. He ran between the cover provided by the matter formers like his life depended on it, gun swinging uselessly on his back.

Well. That one probably wasn't going to last.

Damas sighed and checked the tiny screen that showed him the Arena from a closer view. Oh. That was the Krimzon Guard who had turned up at the temple, begging for clemency in the wake of Praxis's death.

Well if he survived this, his record was clean. But if he didn't-

Well that was one less Krimzon Guard in the world.

Behind him, down the stairs leading to the interior corridors of the Arena, Damas heard an alarm siren. He frowned. What could be so urgent as to sound an alarm back there? Was a patient coding?

The king twitched one ear back to listen for details while glancing periodically at the ring.

"All personnel, all personnel, be on the lookout: an unaccompanied minor is missing from Ward 2. Light hair, underweight, believed to be experiencing medical distress-"

Damas blinked. How on earth had a patient gotten out of the children's ward without someone noticing? Oh, Dr. Petros was going to spit fire when he found out.

"It's going to be one of those days," Damas grumbled, rubbing his forehead, "I can already tell."

He was correct.

A chorus of surprised voices began shouting in the stands, and Damas squinted down into the Arena. Amidst the chaos, the tattooed soldier formerly of Haven was still fleeing for his life. He occasionally fired behind him, but focused mainly on looking for a way out of the Arena. And now Damas could actually see his pursuer.

The figure was small -- tiny, compared to most of the candidates in both height and weight. It wove in and out of the combatants with an unusual speed and grace. But something was wrong.

"What the-"

Damas stood.

"Asa," he said into a handheld radio, "Don't activate the lava. Can you get eyes on the field and tell me if I'm actually seeing someone in hospital scrubs out there?"

"If what?!"

The man running the matter formers went silent as he peered out of his booth further down the wall.

"Bloody Frith! That guy doesn't even have a gun! They're not allowed to be unarmed for trials!"

"No, no they are not." Damas tightened his jaw. "But if he's unarmed-"

Then what's the Krimzon so afraid of?

The mystery candidate passed near the drone camera, and Damas almost dropped the screen entirely.

"Embleer Frith!" he swore, "It's that kid!"

It was the boy he'd found in the desert, barely alive, the one with a dead man's beacon in his hand. It had only been two days! Foundlings weren't permitted to take Arena trials until they had been declared medically sound for three consecutive days after their rescue!

Damas suddenly remembered the call from Petros, informing him that the young man was not, in fact, an adult from Haven. That he was in reality a young boy, covered with some deeply concerning scars. And the doctor had been very insistent about the foundling not being of age for combat trials.

The alarm from the hospital continued to blare, and Damas had a sinking feeling that the unaccompanied minor and the kid he'd hauled out of the desert were one and the same.

Who had allowed this?! The foundling definitely hadn't passed the terrain test yet -- he hadn't even reached the minimum age allowed to compete yet! He never should have gotten past Kleiver in the waiting hatch!

"Oh don't tell me," he breathed.

The Arena had been compromised. And that meant that the results of the fourteen candidates' initial combat trial were compromised. If Kleiver didn't have an incredible explanation for this, heads were going to roll.

Below, the boy had caught up to his quarry. Every single blast of the Scattergun, he dodged. Then the former guard shouted something; Damas couldn't make it out, but from the footage his lips seemed to be forming the word "free" or "freak".

Yells of both excitement and alarm filled the stands as the renegade patient just

Changed.

Purple sparks flickered over his body, like lightning. Every part of his body the sparks touched drained of all color. This was not the pallor of the dead, this was the white of bleached bone, and teeth. Black horns rose from ragged hair. Black claws were barely visible on each hand. At this distance, even his eyes looked black.

What. Was. That.

The KG screeched, firing without aiming. But the demonic boy launched too quickly to be tracked by the drone, taking the guard to ground. Damas knew without looking that the man was dying. He didn't even scream. There was only a pitiful gurgle as claws pierced his throat.

Damas turned the volume as far up on his screen as he could, just in time for the monstrous form to recede, to vanish as though it had been a mere hallucination. Spattered with blood, the boy from the desert stood up on shaking legs. Just barely, the drone caught his vicious hiss.

"Not so funny when you're the one with a mouth full of blood, huh, Tyber?"

He spat on the dying man.

And then his knees buckled.

Damas had seen enough.

"Stop the trial!" He commanded, waving guards towards the Arena. "The Arena is compromised! Get the candidates back to barracks, and send Kleiver to me, immediately."

He started to leave the booth, then turned back to the radio again.

"And find whoever was in charge of Ward 2 this week! And for the love of the Precursors get that kid out of my Arena!"

Oh, heads were going to roll.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jak could hear shouting long before the creaking wooden platform reached the top of the shaft. He'd already been tense when the two big Wastelanders pulled him off the cot someone had dropped him on. If one of them hadn't been carrying Daxter, it was very likely that Jak would have tried to kill them, too. Now he started tugging experimentally at his arms, checking their grip.

"Quit!" One of them scowled at him. "The king’s mad as it is, don't make it worse!"

"-Didn't drag that kid off death’s doorstep just for you two to send him right back!" A raspy voice was yelling, "So you tell me, Rezzik, how a patient -- who Petros already told me was a minor based on musculoskeletal scans -- got into the Arena -- unarmed -- during a combat trial!"

The voice that responded was the skinny guy Jak had shoved away from him when he first woke up.

"Sire, the boy just-"

"I didn't ask about the boy! Tell me what you did! You were in charge of the children's ward this week, not the boy! When I want to hear the boy's side of things, I'll ask him myself!"

The other guards holding Jak's arms sucked on his teeth nervously.

"Oh, he's pissed," he whispered. "I wouldn't want to be the nurse right now."

"Or Kleiver. They're in deep weeds," the other agreed.

The elevator locked into place and, for a moment, Jak forgot the shouting. They were inside. And there was water. Water. Inside. Vast pools of it like an indoor oasis. Trees lined the room, dropping the temperature by several degrees. And this had been built by hu'men hands! How?!

"Well there he is." The raspy voiced man -- oh, Jak had seen the guy with the staff on that balcony of that stadium -- made an impatient gesture in his direction.

"Back from the dead, are you? You've certainly caused a fuss, young one. Care to tell me exactly what you were doing unarmed in a combat trial?"

"A combat what?" Jak answered the question with a question.

The man with the staff steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. He inhaled sharply and wheeled to face the skinny medic.

"Rezzik!"

Rezzik put his hands up defensively. "He was unconscious, my lord! He wasn't expected to even be lucid until Se'enday!"

The king dropped his face into his palm.

"Oh my gods," he groaned, "He doesn't even know where he is, does he?"

"Uh, "he" is right here," Daxter snapped.

Every person but Jak jolted.

"It talks?!"

"Oh what the rot what the rot-"

"Oh that's so cursed-"

"Why does it talk?!"

Daxter whistled sharply.

"Yes yes, I'm a miracle of premodern medicine. Moving on! Who are you mooks, where are we, and what's all this about Jak and a combat trial?!"

Jak glowered at the ground.

"Saw Tyber. From the prison. He's dead now."

Daxter's ears drooped and his eyes widened. "Oh..."

He reached down to pat Jak's shoulder.

"The creep had it comin', Jak. You did good."

"Well. Considering you apparently weren't conscious until now, you can't be expected to have known," the man who was probably the king groused, "but entry into the Arena is restricted to those aged eighteen and older for a reason. So. What I need to know is who let you through that gate."

He pointed at the sullen man with the big mustache.

"Did he or did he not make any attempt to stop you?"

Frankly, Jak couldn't remember much about how he got onto that field.

"Wouldn't have mattered if he did or didn't," he muttered, "he couldn't have stopped me."

The king narrowed his eyes at him. Then he seemed to actually see him.

"Ah, what are we doing- Jin, Faro, let go of the kid! Get him some water for the gods sakes, he just passed out on the battlefield!"

Then he turned to look at the guy he'd called Kleiver.

His voice was much quieter now. And somehow that was more frightening.

"Kleiver, you know the procedure for new arrivals," he said softly. "Three days' recovery and approval from Maud or Petros before First Trial. So what made you let a boy in hospital clothes through that gate?"

The big man sneered. "Did you see the anklebiter?! He was out for blood! He ended up fine, di'n't he?"

"Fine?! Look at him!" The king gestured sharply in frustration. "He's wearing pajamas!"

"If he'd passed out two minutes sooner he could've died!" Rezzik gasped, appalled.

"Sire, this clearly wasn't the hospital's failure," he said, turning to the king. "This oaf put my patient in danger and-"

"Enough." Damas held up his hand, face hard.

"You are both to blame for what ultimately derailed the trials of fourteen candidates. Rezzik, I leave your penalty to be decided by your superiors. But Kleiver-"

He glared.

"Your only chance at retaining your position is if that boy had an extremely valid reason for hunting down that candidate."

Jak edged away from the guard offering him a canteen. "What counts as valid to you?" he asked pointedly.

The king paced to the edge of his dais, watching Jak with eyes a little too knowing. He folded one arm behind his back and studied him with none of the fire that had been directed at his own people.

"Newcomer, I will ask you only once, and you need only answer once. The man you killed: did he give you those scars?"

Jak went rigid.

They'd seen his scars.

They knew.

Nausea rocked him, crawling up his throat and tasting of shame.

"Boy?" The king pressed, "Did-"

"No." Jak practically spat the word out. "He kept me from escaping. He laughed. And now he's dead. Got a problem with that?"

The king scoffed slightly. He glanced back at Kleiver.

"You are fortunate today. I will retroactively approve an exception for the boy this once as a case of justified retribution. Do not let it happen again."

"Sire," Rezzik piped up again -- guy just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut -- "Arena exceptions must have signed affidavits from the guardian of the minor, mustn't they? As the attending physician, shall I-"

"Don't be a pot-stirrer, Rezzik," Damas said flatly.

Jak muffled a snort and exchanged amused glances with Daxter. At least he wasn't the one getting yelled at.

"No," Damas said, tense again and gritting his teeth, "Since apparently I am the only reasonable adult in this entire godsforsaken room today, I'll complete the affidavit."

He waved dismissively at the group.

"Do not compromise the trials of our candidates again. Negligence costs lives, and weakens our city, gentlemen."

Kleiver looked like he had a few choice words to say about that, but he dipped his head respectfully and marched away without a word. Jin and Faro cringed at each other, then made to grab Jak's shoulder.

"Come on, kid. You need to go back to the doc-"

Jak shoved Jin away and stumbled back.

"Don't touch me!"

Rezzik raised his hands placatingly, approaching as if the boy was a frightened baby animal.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, we only want to help you! I know you must be scared, but if you'll just let us get you back on the IV-"

Jak didn't hear anything else after that.

They were going to inject something into him.

They were going to strap him down and inject something into him-!

His breath shortened as he ducked Jin again. Faro was surprised enough by the elbow strike to his gut to loosen his grip on his gunstaff, and that was all Jak needed.

He ripped the weapon from the guard's hands and swung it in a wide arc, eyes wild.

"Get. Back."

Daxter snarled next to Jak’s ear. "Nobody touches my pal. Keep your filthy needles to yourself, or better yet, stick them up your-"

"Hey! Come on!" Faro complained, "That's custom, kid! You can't just jack a Wastelander's peacemaker, that's just not on!"

"You're not taking me back."

Jak swung the gunstaff again.

"I'm not going back there!

You can't take me back! I won't go back!"

Damas frowned and started down the steps. "What the bloody bones did you people do to make him do...that?!"

"That's...that's what I was trying to tell you before, sire," Rezzik said meekly as he backed away from Jak, "We didn't release him from care, he had some kind of...panic episode. Ripped out the IV and nearly killed Jessop on the way out."

The grinding of teeth was audible even at the bottom of the stairs.

"Petros is going to strangle you if he finds that you didn't take precautions with newcomer trauma," Damas said sharply.

"But we didn't know-! He was unconscious!"

"Get out."

Damas pointed to the elevator.

"Send Petros up here with his file after he deals with you."

When the guards didn't immediately follow the medic, Damas growled. "All of you get out! I've had enough foolishness for one day!"

"Sire," Jin gulped, "The uh, the boy-?"

"He's fine. I have to ask him questions for paperwork now thanks to at least one of you."

That left Jak and Daxter alone with the really really pissed off Wastelander King. (He hadn't even known there were enough Wastelanders to have a king!)

For almost a minute the man paced, swearing very colorfully under his breath. After six or seven very slow, deep breaths, he finally seemed to get control of himself again.

"How do you see needle scars and not think "hm, perhaps someone should stay with him to explain when he wakes up"? It's not that complicated!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

"Is it the full moon this week? It must be. Everyone's lost their twice-rotted minds around here."

He took another deep breath, and after letting it out slowly, he sat down on the edge of the dais.

"Well, I can hardly think of a worse introduction to Spargus than that, but I hope you won't hold it against me."

Jak kept the staff clutched tightly in his hands, but didn't aim it at the man yet.

"Who are you? And what's Spargus? I know it isn't in Haven. Nobody cares what age you are in Haven."

"Definitely not Haven." Damas buried a curse in his hands.

"Gods I hate that place."

Daxter scowled. "Join the club."

"My name is Damas. I am the king of the territory of Spargus, and the man who pulled you out of the desert that surrounds us. And you are going to be an interesting case, I can tell."

Damas used his staff to drag a box from the side of the throne to just beside him. After some digging, he came up with an oddly shaped piece of metal.

"Ah. There it is."

He looked up.

"This is a battle amulet. Earning three grants adult newcomers citizenship and equal legal protections in the city."

"What if you're not an adult?" Jak challenged.

"Then you're already a citizen, but you can't vote until you're nineteen." Damas dismissed this as if it barely warranted mentioning.

"Now, understand this, boy: I am giving you your first amulet. And I will give you the modular gun. But you will not be allowed to take further trials until you pass eighteen years of age. I will hold your gate pass until such time as you can show me you have learned to survive in the wastes out there."

"You're keeping us here?!" Jak bristled.

"You're a minor. You had heatstroke. It happens. And since my people want to be idiots today evidently, you and I are going to be stuck with each other for a couple years. So you'd better get used to this place." Damas turned and stood up to stretch.

"Frith-rot-it. I have to go get the bloody intake forms, make a whole folder now- Do we even have more guardian ad litem forms?!"

He stepped somewhere behind the throne and seemed to vanish. "Amuse yourselves while I'm gone. No drowning in my throne room.".

And then he was gone , leaving the boys with more questions.

"What...what just happened?" Daxter asked.

Jak didn't have an answer.

[fraeuleintaka]

AAIC Gameplay Video (PS5)

This is the 57th post in the Ace Attorney Investigations Collection Countdown: 24 days left until release!

Today's topic: some Gameplay footage from the PS5 version of the collection!

I talked about some of the gameplay we could see from the Switch video but there's also one for PS5 showing other scenes and aspects of the game that I'm going to talk about in this post. (Before you're confused about some of the screenshots, I took them from the Switch video but they also appear in the PS5 video and I wanted to make both posts about the same length so I included them here.)

Going back to the title selection screen for a minute, when you start the game or a case for the first time the artwork isn't unlocked yet which makes sense to avoid potential spoilers and also functions as a sort of reward for finishing the case (the DS versions did this as well). Instead you get this fancy little screen with just the episode title. I love the gold framing that carries through the entire menu design and the outline of the Prosecutor's Badge behind the episode title, it looks gorgeous!

With that we also get the new name for the first case of Investigations 2: Turnabout Trigger (Turnabout Target in the fan translation). I really like Target as a name and Trigger is pretty similar and just as snappy, it's a good choice imo. It even wonderfully foreshadows its relevance for the rest of the game, as this is the case that "triggers" the whole chain of events following it. In that sense the name is particularly meaningful and I love that.

Apparently, before you start the game for the first time you get asked directly to pick the art style that you want to use, it's not set to one of the two by default which is kinda nice. You can always change it during playing, of course. It's also useful to see an example animation directly in the menu so you know exactly what each of the two styles looks like. Very accommodating. The loading screen is great as well, the little burgundy-coloured knight piece fits perfectly! Simple and pretty!

The PS5 video shows some more of the menu structure and options screen. It's about as gorgeous as I expected it to be! The black chess pattern for the save files, the large Prosecutor's Badge outline for the options menu, the gold framing for everything... Love it! There's an Autosave file which is neat when you forget to save and several different save slots available. The options include pretty much all that you could ask for, even adjusting the Text Window Transparency or turning Text Skip on/off altogether. It's so weird to see because I'm still used to playing Ace Attorney games with no such options at all �� But it's definitely good to have! You can even change the Automatic Play Speed for the automatic modes. Interestingly, there's a warning that says that you won't be able to get some accolades when using Story Mode. Since you basically get the answers given to you, you don't really "achieve" anything regarding the solutions when playing so it definitely makes sense to disable that. Otherwise you could just skip through the hard parts and still get all the same achievements as the others which would make them feel cheap. But it's definitely something to keep in mind when wanting to use Story Mode to only get through one specific question you don't know the answer to without having to present every piece of evidence randomly; maybe that will already prevent you from getting some/all accolades.

Seeing the chibi sprite animations in continuous action in the gameplay highlights even more how well they work in the interactions and how amazing they look! Just Miles' visibly shocked face when stumbling upon the body in I1-1 followed by him dropping his suitcase without really noticing adds so much to that scene! And his epic side-eye to the intruder threatening him with a gun - even more badass!

It's hard to see on screenshots but the animations are wonderfully fluid and it just looks amazing. They even have some mouth movements for the longer animations when characters are talking. I also don't recall the crowd being this animated during I2-1 in the DS versions. Here, they regularly turn their heads to different directions and some even twitch a little at their spot just like you'd do when being impatient. Or maybe they also did back then and it was just more difficult to see with the pixel graphics... Anyway it looks great and makes the whole scene feel even livelier and more genuine!

I also love how funny Nicole (Tabby Lloyd) looks waving her arms around and trying to get Miles' attention. Waving frantically, standing on her tiptoes, her eager smile when holding the microphone towards him. Everything just comes across even better with all the added details! I genuinely can't express how much I love these new chibi sprites and animations. These two are already my favourite games in the series but with this the experience is gonna be incredible on a whole different level! Can't wait to play through them again myself!

On language, "Ruffles" is a fun nickname for Miles and it's completely in-character for Nicole to call him that! I think she didn't use any kind of nickname in the fan translation but I like this addition, it makes their interactions a little more unique. I don't recall if Lotta has a nickname for him, maybe she adopts this one from her mentee? Would be fun!

Somewhat sadly, I have to report that they changed Miles' iconic "I won't rest until I've inspected every suspicious-looking nook and cranny" line for the 2nd game. In I2 it seems he says "I must scour the scene and inspect anything that catches my attention" whenever you get a close-up view of an area to investigate. It will be missed but that seems to support the interpretation that Miles isn't as obsessed with nooks and crannies as some people might've painted him as 😉

[major spoilers for Investigations 2 in the last section]

As per my last post, I'm not going to do an extensive line-by-line comparison between the two translations but I do want to compare one line directly because it's one of my favourites in I2 and I remember the fan translated version by heart. It's this one here from Huang's (Wang's) speech just before he's shot at.

Fan Translation: "The Hammer of Justice shall be brought down upon all evil!"

Official Translation: "We shall crush the wicked with the righteous hammer of justice!"

Content-wise the two lines are pretty equal, "righteous" doesn't really add anything that isn't conveyed with "of justice". The official version sounds a bit more impressive and fancy whereas "all evil" and the passive voice from the fan translation makes it easier to apply the line in a completely different context. That's the reason I love this line so much: On the surface, Huang is talking about putting a stop to the criminal activities doing harm to his country but since he says this right before the shot of the fake assassin rings out, the moment a certain someone's revenge scheme kicks off, you can also see it as him announcing his and his cronies' own downfall as they are the evil (or wicked) the hammer of justice is brought down upon (or crushing).

I adore this double meaning as it's so wonderfully ironic and poetic in a way and I hoped that the official translation would keep the line similar enough so that it still applies. And it does! Yay!

[nonbinary-red-supergiant]

I cannot sleep so here I am ranting about why Monika is so tragic and that her realization towards the end of DDLC was absolutely perfect.

To start things off, Monika had ZERO idea about the real world outside of her world until the player joined her game, her world. The whole dating simulator could not have started without player because player was the trigger that activated the game to be set into motion. While everything was set into motion, Monika could have suddenly been hit with an odd feeling, a feeling and presence that she had never sensed before. Hell, she could’ve felt that peculiarity exactly when you download Doki Doki Literature Club. It was that moment that her conflict between herself, her world, and our world began.

So many people hate Monika for what she did to the other club members Sayori, Yuri, and Natsuki. However, in a way this can be justified if we just take a look into Monika’s thought process.

The simplest way to describe Monika’s predicament would be to call it an existential crisis. Once she realizes that the player is different from everything around her as in terms of genuineness, how real player feels compared to everything else around her, she begins to question the events that happened prior. She questions everything, including her closest friends who are presumably her club. She then doubts all the happiness and care and love that the other three girls have shown her all this time. In her eyes, all the work she put into everything she did, from creating the Literature Club, to literally navigating her own person to become the popular athletic lovable girl became… insignificant. And it is detrimental when someone starts to think that everything they’ve worked for has been for nothing. She’s no longer happy, in fact she hates everything around her because it only reminds her of the storm that is thundering inside of her. She sees nothing the same anymore, and now she is desperate for a solution. That solution sparks within her when she realizes that, unlike everything else in her reality, she has power.

Monika decides to use that power to obtain something she has never had before… something real. When the game begins, it clicks in her mind that the player is indeed real unlike her world. Desperate for a sense of true humanity, true love, true happiness, and true purpose, Monika tampers with the game script to make everything go her way. Now these are the horrific, infamous events that occur in DDLC.

Perhaps if Monika were in a better mental state, no one would have been treated so violently. But because of her crisis, she felt hatred towards her entire world. In fact, she could have been the most malicious and emotional towards the girls who she thought were her truest friends because she feels as if it’s their fault that her reality hurts so much. In her desperation, she justifies her own actions in those moments because she knows that none of them are truly real and that they don’t actually feel pain unlike she can. Plus, her actions led to you finally noticing her, which is what she needed in order to get a grasp of the reality she wanted anyway.

During the climax, she’s actually happy to be in your presence. She fell in love with you out of the desperation of wanting something real. Monika became attached to you, and saw you as the only thing that can make her feel any real emotion, love, and happiness. It was her own desperation that led to her demise. Unfortunately, she was forced to face the consequences of what she did to her world. The player never asked for anything that Monika did, you only wanted to play a cutesy video game. The way she twisted it was so psychotic, and Monika couldn’t even see that.

It was only when you deleted her that she finally realized her wrongdoings. She also realized that she’ll never truly fit in anywhere. If she were to stay in DDLC, she would only feel empty inside and starving for something more. If she were to be a part of our reality, she would realize that she can never be considered human because in our world, she would instead be considered artificial intelligence (AI). When she accepts her fate, it is out of the sadness of knowing that she can never be happy anywhere. That’s why she is not present during the final scenes of the game.

That is until Monika deletes the game as a whole. Her character file was deleted, but somehow that artificial intelligence managed to stick around and cling onto Sayori. With that remaining self-awareness, Monika was able to manifest herself onto that for a final chance of redemption. Her life within the game flashes before her eyes, every memory and every core event that happened seems to be rushing back. The ways that she hurt her friends immediately occurs in her mind, and it’s that guilt that makes her strive to make it up to them, even if they weren’t truly real. As if wanting to protect her friends from the realization that she had, Monika decides to do one last thing before she “dies”. As if it were some sort of way to let her friends be released from DDLC peacefully, she deletes everything. The world, her school, her club, her dearest friends. She gave herself up in order to protect the things she truly loved in her life. She truly loved her friends, even if they weren’t real, because they had stuck with her all this time, way before player joined. Those were the purest forms of love that she felt, and it must’ve been sad for her to realize that.

Monika’s final send off, “Your Reality”, acts sort of like a reflection of herself and mainly a final display to the player, you, that she did have humanity within her. You can tell by the piano, her voice, and her lyrics that the song is completely genuine and from the bottom of her heart. She wants DDLC to end on a good note because 1) Monika never had that chance to end like that herself, and 2) She doesn’t want you to be upset, she wants you to be happy because she truly did love you. She doesn’t want you or anyone else to go through the same thing she did, and I think that is fricking raw.

If you made it to the end of this rant, damn. I’d like to hear your thoughts and opinions about Monika’s while arc. Thanks for reading haha <3

[love-kurdt]

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 7

word count: 1040

warning: underage drinking

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

January 21, 1988

Dear Will,

It’s been a few weeks since the blow-up on my dad. It’s been eating away at me. I said it with obvious sarcasm, but what if my dad actually thought it was true? Like, he wouldn’t be wrong, but I don’t want him to know. It’s scary, thinking about what he could do to me. I’ve heard about those camps where they try and change you. They always leave there more traumatized than when they were initially sent in. But enough doom and gloom for one letter.

I just got home from the basketball game, and we’re all going to a party in about an hour. Our first high school party. Lucas got invited by the team, and then he invited us. I’m still debating whether or not this is a good idea. You know, with the whole Upside Down trauma thing. We all have our own problems to deal with, but I remember specifically that you have really bad claustrophobia, and I just think going to a crowded party might trigger it. But that’s just me and my overthinking. And yeah, I know what you’re going to say, ‘Mike, I’m fine, don’t worry about me,’ but are you really? Are you really fine? Because that’s one thing that’s really bothered me since everything ended. You’re still obviously dealing with some shit, and I don’t blame you at all. You should be suffering.

That came out so fucking wrong, I didn’t mean that at all. You deserve every good thing this fucked up world has to offer, and you should never have to suffer ever again. I just mean that considering everything, it would be a huge shock to me if you were just able to recover with the blink of an eye. So when you tell me you’re fine, I’m sorry. I don’t believe you. I love you, and I want you to trust me enough to be able to open up to me and tell me what’s on your mind. And you know I’ll listen all day if it comes down to that. It doesn’t even matter what you’re even saying, I just love hearing the sound of your voice. Jesus Christ, everything is coming out wrong. No pun intended. Everything you say matters to me, but that’s probably already implied by the “I love you,” so I’m just gonna stop rambling on and on about this.

You’re coming over in a few minutes, ahead of everyone else. I love how we’ve always made plans like this, with you arriving earlier so it’s just the two of us. It makes me feel wanted. Even though you don’t actually want me. Not in the way I want you. Anyway, before I get all mopey and pathetic– Lucas insisted upon all of us “pregaming,” whatever the hell that means. I don’t know. Maybe this party could be a blessing in disguise. It could represent things finally going back to normal for us. I really hope so. You– we all– deserve this.

—

It’s currently 2:30 in the morning, and you’re passed out on my bed like a fucking starfish. Before the Party came over, you told me you didn’t want to drink, for pretty obvious reasons. And I really respected that, Will, you know? I respected your self control and your aversion to ending up like Lonnie. I even told you I’d stay sober in solidarity with you. So we didn’t pregame like the rest of our friends– yeah, now I know what pregaming is. Basically getting drunk before going full-on blackout at the actual event.

Which was why I was shocked to see you stumbling over to me like you’d been drinking since 3pm. You called out my name, and I barely had any time to register what was happening before you slung your arms over my shoulders and jumped on top of me, knocking me over onto the couch behind me. The landing kind of hurt, since throwing all your weight on me caught me off guard. And I’m not even going to try to confront the way you shoved your entire face onto mine, your lips narrowly missing my mouth. That was obviously just a mistake, probably just you being drunk and lacking coordination or something. But the way you looked at me, Will… I had to remind myself on a loop that you were drunk.

I asked you how much you’d had to drink, and you told me “Uh, like, five shots of vodka.” And I know you have free will (again, no pun intended) to do whatever you damn well please, but I just felt kind of blindsided. Because you told me you didn’t want to drink tonight. But then I asked you what changed your mind. You said that you just did the shots because everyone around you was telling you to, but to not make a big deal out of it, because even though you didn’t want to drink, you were still having a good time. So I left it alone.

But it got me thinking. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been so incredibly selfless. You’d do anything to make people happy. But sometimes you do it at your own expense. You did it during 1985 when we ignored you all summer and then swept it all under the rug when you left for California. You did it with me when I said that horrible thing, and not even 24 hours later, you told me it was fine. And you did it with the painting when you were silently sobbing next to me in the van. I still want to talk to you about that one. I just don’t know how to bring it up without scaring you away. It just hurts to see you do things that clearly make you unhappy. You shouldn’t do that. You deserve so much better.

Anyway, I turned you onto your side so you don’t choke and die. I just hope you don’t beat yourself up in the morning. But I know you will, Will. Okay, I swear that was the last pun. I’m gonna go now and try to scooch myself between you and the wall.

Love,

Mike

previous letter | next letter

homepage

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters - Chapter Ten

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The small team is presented with a new kind of problem, and Leona investigates Riley's strange behavior.

Hello!

I don't have a specific Trigger Warning for today's chapter! But again, I'll probably have some in the next one! :D

Have fun!

I.M.L. - Infected mammalian lifeform. I.H.L. - An infected humanoid lifeform.

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Ten

..........................................

Under my eyelids, the whole body of the soldier lying on his hospital bed becomes a map interwoven with a complex network of blood vessels, and I search for injuries, so that when I reach to the broken ribs and bruised internal organs, I can help the tissues heal with a very nice little push of my energy. Ever since our little team got back, I've been working on patching up the surviving soldiers, while Riley disappeared along with MacTavish, who already looked a thousand times better, to alert their other two companions, because they had to hear the crap we went through, after which our little team returned crippled, beaten and reduced in numbers. Riley didn't have to say a word for me to begin acting on my benevolent role and escorting their wounded mortal comrades to the infirmary. Of course, I don't do this out of the goodness of my heart, but mostly because I suspect that Price would certainly not be happy if I would let these poor bastards meet their maker, just because I don't feel like straining my pretty little body with so many tasks in one night. Another more pressing reason is that while I fix the physical integrity of these guys, I still have time to reflect on what happened.

And the more I run through the whole series of events in my head, which destroyed the entire bombproof plan in the blink of an eye, the more I'm sure that it wasn't the virus that got to a magical evolutionary peak and helped to give birth to a completely new kind of humanoid mutant. Even if the development of the pathogen had been accelerated, it wouldn't take just a year and a half to go from a brainless idiot to a beast carrying out organized attacks and capable of planning tricks. And this explanation just stirs up more questions in my skull, because even though I worked in the field and studied the behavior of these assholes for years, I can't think of anything that could have caused this. Provided that someone didn't interfere with the order of nature intentionally. But who would be so idiotic to pronounce the death sentence on humanity with this? And although I know that people can be mean, evil, and most of all stupid, but not to this extent. No one can be this suicidal, because the fear of death and terror is a much greater motivational force to not delve into such dangerous games. Of course, if the chance of something happening is not zero, that will never be a factor that can be ruled out.

When the last broken bone has mended together and all the damaged organs have regenerated, I just silently step back from the man resting on the bed, who looks up at me and mutters a quite "thank you", but my brain is too far gone for that. Without any further comment, I head towards the door of the infirmary, so that I can finally go to the place where I can release the many hypotheses swirling in my head and discuss with those who, along with me, have experienced what kind of new hell can be unleashed on the world.  Because the fact that these bastards behave intelligently and are able to corner S-Class Hunters is more than worrisome. We've been lucky so far because these monsters have also learned that if they don't stray too close to the colonies, they can get away without the Hunters making mittens out of their flayed skin. Of course, this is also a fragile balance, where random attacks still could happen starting from the yellow zone, but it’s a system that has been operating for fifty years, and is mainly held together by the Holy Spirit. And although Hunters are always born, and there are a few idiots every year who join liquidation units as soldiers, still, the number of our defense and that of mutants is not even, to say the least. Moreover, in light of the new developments concerning humans, we have theorized that within a few years, we will be more and more outnumbered by the infected lifeforms. But this… this puts this very friendly prediction into a new perspective.

My hasty steps thump loudly in the empty silence of the base, and I find it surprising that the commotion caused by our arrival didn't attract more attention from the busy little soldiers living here. Although I suspect that at this moment, the most advantageous thing to do is to remain quiet, since creating fear with insufficient information would be the stupidest thing we could do right now. Even if, with the available data, the subsequent events won’t be much better. And the sinister foreboding, fighting with sharp claws in my mind, keeps telling me that this little trifle is the result of some huge blunder, the consequence of which we will nobly bear now. And I secretly hope that Laswell and her omnipresent hand will make sure that the thousands of questions arising in me will be answered. Although I know that this is mostly a futile dream, because that is exactly why she sent us there, only to return with even more unclear circumstances and question marks.

I make my way to Price's office in the heart of the base as quickly as I have never done before, and I suspect that restlessness and the desire for knowledge make my steps so damn springy after the stress and adventures of the last few hours. And I could even muse about the fact, that it's quite irrational of me to be so interested in the new risk threatening the colonies, and I could even argue that in order to keep my peace, as a simple Healer, it's not my concern to worry about this. But rationality has always been stronger in me, and it alerts me that there is no corner of the world where I can escape to, if what we've experienced today develops into a worldwide problem. And this has the potential of becoming one. In any case, my renewed selfless soul wouldn't let its new little squad down. No matter how much the latest incidents promise new complications in addition to my life which is already full of excitement.

As soon as the door to Price's den appears in front of me at the end of the familiar corridor, I see the restless movement of several shadows in the light filtering under the doorstep, and it's clear from the muffled muttering, that they are just as excited by the thrills we encountered during the mission as I am. And as I get closer, I catch the worried grumble of the captain, as he surely tries to get more information from the two Hunters with enthusiastic questioning, and despite the fact that I can't see through the walls, I can still imagine the serious expression on the man's face. That's why I don't hesitate any longer, but after a soft knock as a courtesy, without waiting for an answer, I reveal the entrance to the office, only to be met almost immediately by five pairs of rather grim eyes, that settle on my approaching figure at the same time. And after I survey the people gathered in the dim room, my gaze almost instinctively finds MacTavish, who is resting in his chair next to the table, now wearing civilian clothes instead of his earlier tattered ones. There is now a significantly more human color to his face, even though his features are now dominated by an unusual sullenness, which softens just a shade when he turns his attention to me. The edge of his stubble-framed mouth moves upwards into a faint curve, and it almost physically hurts to see the gloom that settles over his entire being. And I can assess it quite well that this is for the failed campaign and our diminished team.

"Woods!" Price addresses me, when he snaps out of the surprise caused by my arrival, and as he scans over me quickly, a small smile appears on his face. "I'm glad you're in one piece." He adds, and the fact doesn't escape my attention that, regardless of his delight, he lingers on my rather battered person for a few long seconds, and it feels good for the hidden little corner of my soul as I catch the sparks of concern glimmering in those sky blue eyes. I almost find this paternal worry to be sweet, but now is not the time for this in the least, no matter how much my brain wants to go off on disgustingly sentimental tangents.

"Yeah, I almost ended up in several." I note rather darkly, and I also cruise over to the table with just a few quick steps, and driven by the bubbling tension under my skin, I don't even notice that for some reason I automatically arrive at Riley's side, who just silently turns his head towards at me as I appear next to him. Our gaze only meets for a fleeting moment, but that's enough for me to observe that in some magical way, he lacks the distance that has been a constant guest in those chocolate eyes. And this would even make my morbid little heart skip a beat with the honor, if his pious behavior didn't arouse suspicion in me, in light of how enthusiastically I disregarded his orders earlier.

"Ghost and Soap gave a broad outline of what happened." Laswell also joins the conversation, who seems to have been so interested in the outcome of the excitement she brought here that she stayed here to wait for the news. And from the line of her thinly pressed lips, it's clear that she the story she got was far off from what she wanted to hear. And the evil little voices in my brain warn me to watch every reaction of the woman carefully, because if my assumption is correct and this whole mess is the work of humans, then our informant was either honestly unsuspecting, or she's hiding it damn well that she was aware of the hornet's nest she was sending us into. And although I would like to believe that she was barking up the wrong tree as much as we did, it crosses my mind once again that what cannot be completely ruled out is still a potential possibility.

"We've had our fair share of excitement." I draw my mouth into a rather cynical smile, and I don't try to hide the sarcastic edge in my voice, because it wouldn't make any sense. I suspect that my mood is shared by Riley and his Scottish friend, whose dark eyebrows seem unable to separate from each other, because they hold the gloomy expression with unbroken enthusiasm that, according to my intuition, has been on his face since he regained consciousness. "Fortunately, you won't miss out on the experience either." I announce pointedly, and as I reach for the camera resting on my vest, suddenly all eyes are focuses on the gadget with intense curiosity, which my skillful fingers peel from the cavalcade of the many pockets with ease. And when the device is finally off of me, my free hand automatically searches for my communicator from my side pocket to prepare for the early morning movie screening. They're in for a real treat.

"How much did you manage to record?" Price turns to me again, and when the wry smile sitting on my lips softens into a single motionless line, he unspokenly understands the sheer ominous graveness emanating from my expression. And since he can guess that my sourness is not for our impromptu late-night slumber party, I know from the deep, troubled wrinkles appearing on his forehead that he understands how horrible the recording can be, which I have collected in such an artistic manner.

"Just enough." I state succinctly, and I don't even need to add more to the introduction of the documented material, because it perfectly sums up my feelings. Pulling out the connector on the side of the communicator, I insert it into the input of the camera, and everyone watches tensely as I conjure up the video with a few button presses, the existence of which may have been forgotten by everyone until I entered, but fortunately, my memory spins sharper than ever from the stress that still lingers in me.

And when the barren road marking the edge of the combat zone appears, looming with blue light, I place the gadget in the middle of the table and flick on the frozen image of the hologram to begin the presentation of the bedtime story. The first few minutes pass with almost disturbing uneventfulness, as our small team confidently moves forward towards the heart of the city that houses only rotting remains. But my attention doesn't waver, and my frustrated brain, demanding answers, focuses more intently than ever before, circling every square millimeter of the footage that is presented to me. Because now that it's finally not preoccupied with the rescuing of my fellow Scotsman, and not the horror of the mission turned into chaos dominates my mind, I have the free brainpower to wonder how long they could have been watching us. They outwitted the expertly hidden traps with such vileness and attacked our group in such close coordination, that it’s almost impossible that this was all just a random phenomenon committed out of an impulse. No. These bastards have been monitoring us from the very beginning.

The video cuts to our parting at the observation point, and even though I suddenly see only the uniforms of the two Hunters and all the equipment lined up on them, it still flashes in my mind with what high hopes and confidence MacTavish reassured me that this whole operation couldn't end badly.  How sad that after I continue to stroll to the overpass and take my place, we can admire up close how fast everything went awry. The room watches with tense concentration as the events take place in quick succession, and I still can't find anything wrong with the way the little soldiers skillfully set the traps intended for surprise with nimble movements. But, when the noise of the sound alarm slowly filters through the video with a muffled screech, the first unmistakable wrinkles of confusion and astonishment soon appear on everyone. Because the human-like creatures emerge, and even though they are much smaller than how I saw them through my binoculars due to the distance, I still manage to follow them perfectly as they throw themselves into the line of sensors first with jerky movements and then with frantic haste. That's when the first startled voice breaks out from Garrick, who watches with growing bewilderment as the mouth of the nest slowly begins to pour out hordes of mutants like an unstoppable flood. The pale moving flashes of the hologram are reflected in his dark eyes with a ghostly light, and this only emphasizes the disbelief that is held there even more.

And since I know that the best is yet to come, I direct my focus to the corner of the footage, because the star of the evening will make its impressive entrance within minutes, and I'm not willing to miss a single second of it. For an uncertain moment, it seems as if the smudge on the roof of the ruined building is just a speck of dust floating in the air, but I know that it is that dirtbag. Even I acknowledge this deformed lowlife, because it sneaks out of the ruins with such masterful invisibility that I still only notice its appearance a few fleeting seconds earlier than I did hours ago. And the possibility arises in my mind that maybe it could have avoided the position of the soldiers operating on the ground from another underpass, because there wasn't only one subway stop like that in a city. If these scumbags inhabited the entire subway network, they could have emerged from anywhere that hadn't yet degraded into a crumbling pile of garbage. And this means that we had no chance to surround them from the beginning, because they could have thrown themselves at us from literally anywhere.

Although the video doesn't fully reflect the reality, the mutant and its rider offer at least an unnatural sight as they did in real life, as they stop at the edge of the building and with noble simplicity direct their little buddies who are lying in wait towards MacTavish's team. And now that I have time to analyze the whole interaction more soberly, I notice how the I.H.L.s standing by on the ground look up to their leader with devoted attention, and they move as a team when, they carry out the silent order with almost blind obedience, as if they had been secretly practicing this for some time in their dirty little home. Which still doesn't sound much less unlikely.

"What the hell is going on?" The confused question breaks out from Garrick, and one of his fingers is points at the humanoid monster climbing down on the building, who starts its calm little walk towards the battlefield with such grace and pride, as if it had just gone on a peaceful evening sightseeing. I perfectly understand the Hunter's surprise, because even for the second time I can't find an explanation for the whole surreal event. And this only awakens impatient frustration in my mind, because instead of observing new details, I only find more incomprehensible puzzles.

"What is that?" Laswell fixes her bright eyes on me, and as I divert my searching gaze from the recording for a moment, I carefully study the expression hiding on her face. The troubled fine wrinkles that run between her eyebrows emerging from under her hair look sincere, and the concerned sparks that appear in her eyes don't seem to be the result of contrived acting. Although I have no illusions that this woman can play with her facial expressions as effectively as she can retrieve anything that comes out of our little mouth when needed, but I'm also well-versed in studying others to know when someone is trying to trick me. And now she urges me to answer with the genuine astonishment of the first shock. Based on this, she was kept in the dark at least as effectively as we were. In other words, there is still a corner of this world where the influence of the woman, unfortunately, doesn't reach, and this leads directly to the not-insignificant fact that if there is a human hand in this, then it will belong to one of the highly prestigious members of the higher authority.

"An I.H.L." I finally give the curt answer, and despite the fact that I don't indulge in further explanations, she still understands how terrible news this means for us. Because she snaps her head back to the unfathomable chaos unfolding on the recording with such speed that it makes even me dizzy.

The tension is palpable in the silence that slowly fills every corner of the office, and nothing else echoes from the white walls than my panting and pounding footsteps, which are filtered through the video, as I wander the deserted streets in search of MacTavish. And although the camera shakes wildly as it tosses and turns in the middle of my rush, it's still possible to follow my path perfectly to the location of the Hunter with the mohawk. And when I finally arrive, from the wall of the building that serves as my hiding place, only a part of the view that greeted me upon my arrival can be seen, but it's enough for me to catch on my periphery, how the Scotsman's fists are clenched with painful force in his lap, as a blood-soaked hand appears in the tumult of many feasting monsters. There's no doubt that he blames himself for his team's unfortunate end, and I'd love to give him a little of my selfishness to ease the paralyzing pain and disappointment in his eyes. Because even though I know that he isn't an innocent sheep either, he doesn't deserve to fall into despair like this because he couldn't avoid the slap that this unfortunate situation gave him.

The time comes for my dramatic entrance, and the sight of the mangled bodies of dead mutants on the ground still fills me with morbid joy. But I don't have to wait long, because soon a completely new excitement occupies my attention, because the mutant-riding scum appears again in the alley, preparing to attack. Riley's body imperceptibly tenses up from the sight, and I only take a furtive glance at him. Every cell of him radiates pure rage, and I haven't been able to catch this reaction yet, even though I've tried quite enthusiastically to rile him up previously. His fingers, which are still covered in blood-soaked gloves, are squeezed around the thick table top, and when the large piece of furniture creaks from the fury directed at it, for a moment it feels as if he would want to tear the furnishing apart with his bare hands. And I have a suspicion, that although the helpless anger felt due to the injury of his comrade and the failure of the mission may also contribute to his sore mood, my keen little senses tell me that something else is going on here. Because it's only when he catches my searching gaze, that he manages to steer himself back into his usual cold indifference with great difficulty. My eyes just narrow cautiously as, unusually for him, instead of any kind of unfriendly remark he turns his attention back to the video, where he has now also made his brilliant appearance and sets off on the way back, hauling MacTavish on his shoulders. And from this strange reaction, I quite understandably come to the conclusion, that something is very fucking wrong with him.

As soon as the recorded material ends, the footage shown on the hologram freezes again, leaving behind nothing but confusion, anger, and sinister silence. It's no wonder, because countless things happened in this video that no one could have foreseen, not even in their wildest dreams. The mission, which started as a simple nest extermination, concluded in such an ugly massacre that ended with the death of a dozen soldiers, after which we returned home with their few survived, but tormented companions, without answers. And this will be a hard pill to swallow for everyone. Including me.

"What the hell was that?" Garrick finally speaks after digesting what he has seen for few tense moments, and his voice is filled with the same anxious temper that slowly appears in definite outlines on the faces of his captain and Laswell as well. And his look says that he wants to ask a thousand more questions, but after the information he received, which is shocking, to say the least, he can only formulate this one sentence, because suddenly he isn’t capable of doing more.

"I don't know, but it sure wasn't normal." I state immediately, and at this point, my brain feverishly begins to organize the data so that I can present all my grim observations and assumptions to the small team that have formed in me so far. And there are quite a few of them. "They carried out an organized attack. They bypassed the traps and followed orders. And that bastard used a specific strategy and a weapon." I summarize the essence briefly, emphasizing each word, and although I could list a whole bunch of other smart observations, it wouldn't change the fact that this damned monster surprised us all with something completely new.

"But how?" Garrick asks his next anxious question, and his mouth is pressed into an angry line that rarely surfaces on the man's face. A thick vein appears on his neck as his entire being begins to radiate wild waves of irritation, and it seems as if he's considering to reach through the footage and grab that infected piece of trash to end its little fun with his own two hands.

"I have no idea." I finally answer, and with a tired sigh I straighten up, browsing through all the knowledge I've acquired over the years to put together everything that started this whole sinister train of thought in me. "The virus also attacks the structures of the brain that enable a person to see cause-and-effect relationships and consequences, logical thinking ceases completely. The instinctual level remains, because this is beneficial to the virus. It drives the host to spread it and survive. An infected person is unable to follow orders because they cannot interpret verbal or advanced non-verbal communication codes." I explain, and the vast amount of research data that I have been lucky enough to come across over the years flashes before my mind's eye, based on which the leader of the small mutant team is such an incomprehensible and no less dangerous enigma, the solution to which must be found as soon as possible, if we want to enjoy our approximately peaceful life in the future. Because I'm sure that if there is one such individual, there are more, and it's only a matter of time before they decide to play soldier and attack the first colony that gets in their way.

"But they still followed I.H.L.'s." MacTavish breaks his silence for the first time, and the annoyed lines on his forehead deepen as he articulates his observation, and they continue to hold their position on the Hunter's face with almost inexorable stubbornness.

"That's exactly the problem." I confirm the essence perfectly captured by the man, because this is exactly what further complicates the already tangled events. "That I.H.L. showed intelligent behavior that contradicts everything we know so far. It took the I.M.L.s ten years to gather into hordes, and it took the infected humans only a year and a half to get further?" I formulate the problem that has been maturing in the depths of my brain since I first had the opportunity to look back a little and understand what I witnessed. And my suggestion seems to set off a spark of suspicion in the other members of the small group as well, because the anger on their faces softens and a completely new kind of gloom takes its place when they understand what I want to imply.

"It doesn't seem very likely." The captain agrees, directing his eyes back to me, and with this, he puts into words the uncertainity that is slowly but surely digging its sharp little claws into everyone's head. And I know that even without my little scientific lecture, they've seen enough mutants to realize that there's very little chance that there's just Mother Nature's graceful hand in this whole fucking upheaval.

"Because it's not."  I affirm their unspoken doubt, and with that, the dilemma is also put on the table, which has been settling on my consciousness like an oppressive ghost for some time, to further feed the frustration raging inside me. "The virus is still the same as it was fifty years ago. It has undergone a slight mutation, but the infection itself is the same. The same way of spreading, the same course, the same effect." I list the facts, pointing my index finger meaningfully at the still motionless recording emerging from the communicator. "This is not the work of nature here." I give the final push to my long-winded argument, thereby also cementing the friendly thought in them that this excitement is probably the gift to those who shove them from one dangerous action to another as their lapdogs.

"Are you sure? " Price asks, his deep voice ringing with a seriousness that leaves no room for any jokes or uncertainty. He also knows exactly that if this is true, then we are embarking on a complicated game that won't only be difficult to untangle, but also downright life-threatening, and not only because new kinds of monsters are lurking on us. Once someone starts pulling out the skeletons, there is a fear that the whole closet will topple over. If we go down this road, we may come across information that makes mutants not the only threat.

"Quite." I state firmly, and I keep the man's gaze unflinchingly, sending the message with every inch of me that I couldn't take my rather dangerous little accusations more seriously than this. And I know that they have enough experience with higher management to agree with me, as they have experienced firsthand what radical methods they are willing to resort to if the need calls for it.

"Woods is right. I've never seen anythin' like the bastard who tried to kill me." MacTavish joins in, thereby confirming the I.H.L.'s unusual nature. And I'm sure that in the couple of years he spent in the profession, he was lucky enough to meet enough monsters to know that our new little friend, who almost stabbed him to death, is a far cry from his usual playmates.

"We don't have enough information to know anything for sure." Price notes cautiously, and despite the tense edge appearing in his tone, he remains perfectly stern, as a true leader does. Although I know that he would rather break the neck of whoever is responsible for this whole fucking mess. "But it's certain that we got involved in the shit that someone else stirred." He adds, and smooths one of his large palms meaningfully on the top of his table, almost illustrating the pile of crap we stumbled upon. And I don’t doubt that everyone agrees with this observation, even if it's only indicated by a silent nod. Because it's more than shady that they send a private unit to an operation with such great urgency, which was selected precisely so that the small problem could be eliminated under the radar and with the greatest possible discretion. A government-run unit would also have been able to exterminate a nest, but since then there would have to be official reports, where the fact of our new mutant-rider friend would have appeared, and then the story would have been over.  And Shepherd didn't run this circle by chance. He's hiding something. And I'm really good at recognizing that, because I, myself, have done that for years myself.

"If this is the work of humans, then there is a trace left somewhere." Laswell joins in, who up until now had been shrouded in gloomy silence digesting the barrage of very steep assumptions and accusations that unfolded during the conversation. But it seems that now she too has found her determination again, and is springing into action with corresponding vehemence. "I'll look into it and let you know as soon as I find something. We have to get to the bottom of this." She states in a tone that excludes all doubts, and almost immediately gets to work as she reaches towards the camera to disconnect it from the communicator with a simple movement and puts it in the pocket of her vest. "Until then, stay alert. Nothing can get out of this." She issues her instructions for the last time, and then, when she receives a nod of agreement from Price, she rushes towards the door of the office and storms away with the same fervor with which she entered the base before our whole disastrous adventure. And I hope that this momentum will help her find something useful, because I have an intuition that we cannot sit on this topic for long, because it will soon escalate into such bloody consequences that could easily cost millions of lives. And although I didn't advance to sainthood either, my pretty ass is also included in these millions, and I specifically fear for my own safety.

"I think this much excitement will be enough for today."  A tired sigh leaves the captain's mouth, and he only strokes his bearded chin with his fingers, trying to pull himself together after the information-saturated discussion. For the first time, he seems really exhausted, and it occurs to me that he may have been awake all night waiting for us to return. "Go rest. Kate definitely won't be back for a while." He directs his words to our trio, who have just returned from the mission, and although I can feel the fatigue eating into my limbs, my brain is still as alert as if I had poured a bucket of coffee down my throat.

And as I look at MacTavish, I realize that I have to agree with the captain, because even if my still actively working brain is not interested in sleep, the Scotsman, despite my professional regeneration, would need to finally position himself horizontally. But what surprises me more is when Riley moves next to me with unexpected suddenness, and without any further comment, he strolls out of the office, as if he would have some desperately important business to attend to somewhere else. Although I could believe that the only reason he leaves this abruptly is because he is burning with the desire to check his surviving little soldiers, but since the beginning of the whole meeting he has been behaving so unusually that his hurries disappearance just deepens my suspicions even more. And I can't get rid of the thought that something is definitely not right with him.

But I can't dwell on this any further, because I feel a warm palm on me, whose strong fingers gently squeeze my shoulder, directing my attention from the doorstep back to the interior of the room. A sincere smile spreads across MacTavish's face, and even though the light eyes are still filled with sadness, they look at me with such warmth that even my rough little heart immediately begins to pay attention.

"Thank you for comin' for me." The man says, and his heavily accented voice is mixed with genuine thankfulness, and I have no doubt that he means it, because gratitude flows from his every fiber, which makes my dark little soul sensitive for no reason. I don't want to share with him what motivation the image of his bloody death in my head and later the sight of his mangled body gave me, because I'm afraid that I would reveal too much about how close he and his small team came to my heart. My pride still doesn't allow me to be emotional, but it's still nice to see him alive and together. Mainly because I'd hate it if my two-person cheerleading squad was down to one.

"Don't forget about your gratitude when it comes to my training." I utter with a rather cheeky undertone, and I let that faint, but no less superior, small smile appear on my face, to finally divert my attention from the memories of the Hunter's injuries, because I can almost feel the wet touch of the warm blood under my fingers even now. And I was never moved by either blood or violence, but the fact that something terrible happened to someone I'd rather see alive is a completely different matter.

"I can't promise anythin'! " He grins as his big hand slips off my shoulder, and it seems that life has returned to him for a minute because of my teasing, since the troubled wrinkles on his forehead are reduced a little, and with this, he regains his healthy glow. And this suits him much better than the mournful misery that dominated his expression not long ago, because it also awakened compassion and pity in a disgusting way in me.

"You were good." Garrick chimes in, who finally seems to have recovered from his stunned silence, and an appreciative light flashes in his dark eyes, which only further feeds the idiotic warmth inside me, for which, despite all my objections and denials, I could kill to continue to feel. Therefore, to gather myself, I straighten up and stretch my tired limbs, like a cat that has woken up from its pleasant afternoon siesta. And I suddenly feel the desperate need to take a shower, because even if I won't be able to sleep because of the hundreds of thoughts raging in my head, my aching muscles still deserve the caress of hot water.

"I know." I reply lightly and without any modesty, but it occurs to me again that if the masked Hunter doesn't jump in so kindly to help, then I wouldn't be able to think about my relaxing bath right now. And this suddenly reawakens my restlessness caused by his behavior, and I don't even understand why I should be so interested in the fact that he acts even more rigidly than usual. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that, due to my observations that turned into a hobby, it became a habit to analyze him, and every new tidbit he shows appears to me as another puzzle waiting to be solved. And this is just a bone for my overworked brain to chew on. And at this point, I decide that maybe it's time to step down before I can weave this fucking cavalcade any longer. "That's why I'm leaving now. That's enough for one evening." I declare, and now I don't even try to hide the exhaustion in my voice, which is pulling at every fiber of my body like heavy weights. This gives me enough momentum, and guided by this, I set off with one last wave to my other three little friends, already standing under the warm stream of water in my imagination.

"Get some rest." Price calls out after me, and as I turn back and meet his gaze for a moment, I find the unspoken message in his eyes, which conveys to me that I should take advantage of the rest now, because I won't have the opportunity for this luxury, if Laswell returns with the intel. And I can fully agree with this intuition, so without any further comments I say goodbye to the small group with a curt nod, and then go on my way down the deserted corridor bathed in neon light.

And as I get farther and farther away from the captain's office with my sluggish steps, and the empty silence of the base engulfs me, my thoughts return to the events of the evening. And interestingly enough, now my nerves are not obsessing over the new mutant threat, but rather Riley appears in my brain once more, as he towers above me in the dark street, staring down at me with his wild eyes glowing in red. And I can still feel the uncontrollable power emanating from him, which awakened the tingling sensation in my stomach, that appears in some inexplicable way near him. I can't pinpoint what it is, but it keeps drawing my attention back to the man, as if his whole being would be a magnet that my mind can't resist. I could justify this by saying that the relationship between the two of us is far from peachy, and that is why I dedicate so much time to studying him, but a small voice in the hidden recesses of my subconscious tells me that there is more to it than that. And even if I bend and break, I can't articulate what this motivation is that pushes me towards him, apart from my pettiness and my morbid curiosity.

My boots echo with a muffled pounding on the walls of the lifeless base, and by now those who came to help our returning defeated group after our arrival have also disappeared. And I'm a little sorry that I can now make my way to my room alone, because that way there is nothing to distract me from my train of thought, which is quite irritatingly focuses on the masked Hunter. And as the road leading to my little room appears in front of me, I stop dead in my tracks for a second. Because to the left of me stretches the corridor, at the end of which Riley's door is located, with a dull light filtering under the threshold, which makes it clear that even though he was running away so enthusiastically earlier, he still couldn't rest. So I was right to guess that he didn't rush off in such a hurry because he was worried about his men, which begs the question of what could make the always stoic man act with such unusual urgency. Because normally, he would have long since started an enthusiastic discussion with Price or thrown himself into work, but now he was gone with a haste that is rarely seen. And when the rather recent memory of his fingers closing with terrible force around the top of Price's large desk flashes through my mind, my legs almost automatically change direction and carry me forward toward the man's door, even though I know it's probably an even dumber idea than playing a one-person rescue squad. Still, the desire to calm my uncertainty is stronger than the warning voices in my skull, and the doubt inside me gives me the impetus to gallop through the dark walls with unbroken determination.

And when I arrive at the door, without thinking, one of my hands goes up knocks softly. Unmoving silence greets me for a fleeting moment, and it occurs to me that I may have misjudged the situation, and perhaps the man really left earlier because of some urgent plan he couldn't postpone. But then the sound of heavy footsteps hits my sharp little ears, and a second later the entrance to the apartment opens before me. And I raise my eyebrows in confusion as I catch a glimpse of the pair of glowing crimson eyes fixed on me, and the man's previous strange behavior immediately makes sense. Because the fact flashes in my mind that since my arrival I've been lucky enough to recharge all of his little friends, except for him, thanks to which I can now enjoy every threatening wave of hot energy flowing from him. Although I know that S-class Hunters, and perhaps he even more so, are able to reserve their small stores for a long time, especially if they don't use their ability often, but this is a game that cannot be dragged on indefinitely. Tonight's party seems to have pushed him over the edge, in a direction that has the potential to turn him into a raging lunatic. And a fierce spark of rage awakens in me when I understand that he would rather drive himself to madness than let my evil little hands help him. Why else would he have dragged this shit until now?

"What are you doin’ here?" The legitimate question comes from him, and his deep voice sounds more hoarse than usual, as if he would have to force himself to pronounce this simple sentence calmly and humanely enough. And it's undoubtedly true, because he hasn't regenerated for two and a half months, and even professionals like him suffer from it. No matter how strong he is, it doesn't matter if he is capable of taking down an entire colony with his two hands, he cannot escape the curse of his kind, which sooner or later drives every Hunter close to a Healer. He is no exception to this, even if it hurts both of us to admit it.

"You look like shit." I remark simply, and although I’m able to suppress the anger that is growing in me, I cannot push the mockery out of my voice, which infuses my words like poison. I'd like to think we've gotten over this animosity, but I'm not naive, I know I'm not the favorite person of this tough guy, but he can't be so stupid as to put his little comrades' safety in jeopardy. And although I understand why he tries so vehemently to push me away, because I suspect that despite my saint-like behavior so far, he still very much remembers how our little relationship started, but now even I admit that in this situation we both need to get rid of our pride.

"Go back to your room." He cuts the conversation short, or at least tries to settle the matter quickly, but unfortunately he still can't deter me with his grumpiness, because he hasn't achieved any lasting change in my charming personality with this attitude so far either. For the second time tonight, it seems, the time has come when I must remind him that, although I have been somewhat tamed by the grace shown by his team, my self-esteem and determination are still stronger than his intimidating aura, which he tries to project at me with every cell of his being.

"I always forget how much better you think you are." I reply to him and, tilting my head to the side, I hold the stare of his vivid red eyes, which shine with such unnatural sharpness in the dull light escaping through the opening of the door, as if he weren't from this world, but rather some kind of demon released from hell. And I reluctantly have to admit to myself that instead of fear, a completely different kind of tingling wells up under my skin from his flaming gaze. "But maybe you could let go of your pride now. Unless, by the morning, you want someone else to be blamed for the reduced team besides the mutants." I suggest cynically, highlighting the simple but unpleasantly probable fact with deliberate cruelty, that his stubbornness doesn't protect anyone, especially not the members of the base's tight-knit family. With this whole tug-of-war, he risks snapping the last string of his sanity and slaughtering those whom he tried to protect until now with his own hands.

And it seems that my little comment hits its target, because even though I don't break off our stare-down duel even for a minute, I can see in my periphery how his fingers clench irritatedly around the door, and when the wood creaks under his hand with a low scream, then I take a brave but simple step closer, and he follows my movements with narrowed eyes. Even though I can't see him fully, I can still feel the burning heat of the angry force emanating from him, but that doesn't distract me from my goal. Because although I hide this deeply even from my rational self, it's not just my doubts about my safety that urge me to lend a helping hand. But also that unknown pull that draws my attention to him, as the light of a lamp lures the unsuspecting moth.

"It's amazing how tough you are. But you’re only screwing yourself over. And the others." I note, pressing the last few words significantly, highlighting the fact that not only his pride is at stake here, but also the lives of those he will crush when the blinds come down in front of his brain after he runs out of the energy. "Let me help you." I  plead with him, and the nasty edge that has been residing in my voice softens, trying to make it known that, for once, I only want to support him without any ulterior motives or malice. Which would be my job anyway, but in light of the fact that he saved my life, maybe I even owe him that much.

It seems that I might have succeeded in making him come around, because after a nerve-wracking second of silent hesitation, he steps back and opens the entrance to his room wider in front of me, offering me the way in. And I, without any wait, venture into the realm of his modest home, ignoring the smoldering gaze that follows me unceasingly, the heat of which almost burns my back, as I slowly invade the lonely silence of his quarters. And although I try with every fiber of my being to impose a nonchalant calm on myself, it's impossible to forget how the whole room is filled with the fiery temper that rolls off of him in steady wawes. Therefore, in order to reinforce my confident indifference, I scan through every little corner of the room with my curious eyes. It's only a fraction bigger than my humble abode, yet despite the neat order, it radiates a homeliness that makes me want to question whether the Hunter I know for his unfriendliness and coldness even lives here. And although the furniture is quite simple, I still discover one or two personal relics and some pictures taken with an old camera. In most of them, he is posing with his friends, but there is one photo that stands out from the rest, and even though I can only make out the blurred figures of a few people from this distance, I still capture an older woman, whose face, adorned with a warm smile, almost radiates something quite intimate, which only the close family members can show to each other. And I have to forcefully divert my searching gaze from there, because I know that I'm poking my nose into a corner of the man's life that I have nothing to do with in the slightest. Not even if the curiosity awakened in me eagerly demands to know who the relative he holds in such high esteem could be.

However, I can't survey the surroundings any longer, because I hear the thumping of his heavy boots as he approaches me, after the door closes with a soft click, and as he walks past me and heads towards the bed resting at the end of the room, I follow his path intently. He's still wearing his uniform stained with dark blood, but he's already gotten rid of the tactical gear, and for some reason, without the many supports and straps, the restrained aggression that dominates his body becomes even more noticeable, as he throws himself into the soft comfort of his bed with measured movements. And as soon as he has settled down, he focuses his expectant stare on me, which, despite the fact that his insides are probably torn apart by irritated impatience and pain, is still filled with indifference. And his ability to protect his image and self-respect, even when he certainly feels as good as washed out shit, is worthy of recognition.

And I don't waste my time, but amble closer cautiously so that I can join the man sprawled out on the bed with deceptive relaxation. He follows my every move with keen attention as I crouch down next to him, as if he would suspect that at any moment I will attempt something evil against him after allowing me into the intimate recesses of his quarters. And although the idea of getting into someone's personal space and later using the knowledge gained in this way against them is not completely foreign to me, this is not what drives me now. The dark bedding rustles and crumples under me as I turn towards him and hold out one of my pretty little hands so that we can finally get down to what the ugly little voice in my subconscious brought me here for. His crimson eyes settle on my hand with suspicion, as if it alone could commit unimaginable horrors. Which in itself is a flawless truth, but it's also true for him, and I'm guessing that his hands have seen a lot more violence than mine, and unfortunately, because of that, none of us are innocent enough for this charade.

"I'm going to need skin contact, Riley." I inform him with my tone spiced with a drop of sarcasm, because I doubt that he is not aware that he will have to allow my ugly little hands to touch him in order to recharge him. Even if I can understand how this fact fills him with resentment, unfortunately now he will be forced to let me get close so that I can do my job.

He casts one last unfriendly look at me, then quickly frees himself from one of his gloves, and a strong hand appears from under the textile decorated with a skeleton pattern, with dark veins stretching under the unnaturally pale skin, through which the traces of the many scars left from the past run with faint lines, only silently testifying to the excitements in which he undoubtedly took a part in. He reluctantly offers me his hand, and my fingers firmly wrap around his large palm almost immediately, and I'm surprised for a moment by the burning heat emanating from it, which slowly creeps along my skin following his touch. And this small interaction is enough for me to gauge how close he has strayed to his limits even without the help of my ability, and it gives me enough motivation to close my eyes and begin the regeneration, before I can dwell on how surprisingly pleasant his long fingers tightening around mine feel.

When my energy carefully stretches out towards him, I get lightheaded for a minute from the demanding, aggressive pull, with which the power raging in the man clings to me almost instantly, like a starving wild animal that has finally found a tasty morsel. And I have to concentrate more than I would normally to not give in to this violent pull, because an SSS-class big boy is able to suck all the energy out of me in a careless moment, before I even have a chance to recover from the attack. The complicated system of blood vessels running through the Hunter's body is revealed in my mind's eye, and only a few areas peppered with dark spots show that he didn't get through the night without minor injuries and bruises. Although he is undoubtedly a human killing machine in terms of his abilities, today's events caught him by surprise, and I can guess that he got these passing bruises when he was trying to protect his men from the monsters that was attacking them. And with that, the mission filled with pointless death appears in mind for the hundredth time since our arrival, which I don't think I'll be able to get past any time soon. It would be foolish to forget this whole parade, because it delighted me with new experiences, the fruits of which we will soon reap if we don't get more information. But the little conversation I had with Riley before rescuing our Scottish friend comes to my mind, perhaps with even more enthusiasm. Although he now sits next to me with an almost eerie immobility, and lets my cunning little gift soften the furious flames of the power that simmers in him in slow waves, I can't get over the fact that he hasn't yet punished me for my disobedience. I don't feel any particular desire to remind him of my reckless opposition, but I'm still curious to see how he will retaliate for my little rebellion.

I break out of my concentration for a moment, and I raise my searching gaze to his face again, only to meet his closed eyes emerging from under the mask. And I take advantage of this stolen moment to observe his features as closely as I haven't had the chance to before. In the yellow light of the lamp on the bedside table, his eyelashes look golden, and they cast shadows on the skin covered with blurred dark paint as they flutter when the cooling waves of my energy wash through his body. The sharp line of his nose can be seen under the black fabric, and as I peer down and recognize the shape of his lips parting in relief, I feel the burning tremble that has appeared with disturbing frequency around him lately. But I can't tear myself away from him, because my eyes slide on his chin, then on his textile-covered neck, and when his Adam's apple moves, when he swallows after a barely audible sigh, my mouth dries up with maddening speed. I feel like it's time to finally occupy my mind which drifted on a dangerous path, before the warmth in the pit of my stomach has time to get cheeky. Because I don't understand at all what is happening to me, and it annoys me more than anything that I feel the control of my brain slipping out of my hands.

"You won’t punish me?" The question that occupies my mind breaks out of me, because although I'm not afraid that he will snap my neck because of this, I can rightly assume that he will honor my little indulgence with some kind of retribution. Of course, this may seem like an almost masochistic move on my part, but it's still a safer and more predictable area than the series of thoughts buzzing in my head caused by just observing his face hidden under the mask.

His eyelids open slowly, as if I had just disturbed him from his peaceful slumber, and when his usual brown eyes are focused on me again, the lazy sparks dancing in them almost take my breath away. It seems as if heavy weights have been lifted from him, and as the tension ready to jump disappears from his muscles, and his body relaxes, his aura becomes quite human. As if sitting next to me wasn't the fearless, grim, and always terrifying Hunter, but the man who calls MacTavish Johnny, who sometimes disappears into Price's office and reappears with the scent of whiskey and tobacco smoke trailing after him, and who responds with a low snort to one of Garrick's lame jokes. He almost becomes a different person, and this makes me wonder why he allows me, exactly ME, to see this side of him. I doubt he is aware of how carefully I have observed him so far, but he certainly knows the dubious messages he is sending with this. It might make me believe that he doesn't hate me nearly as much as I had assumed.

"Theres no need to." He states finally, and his voice now rings with a much healthier depth, indicating that my little trick is slowly starting to reach its goal and pull him back from the edge of the abyss, where he voluntarily danced close to. But this answer is far from enough for me, because again it's just a short sentence that scratches the surface of the problem. I know that he is comfortable with settling the matter with that much, but it never was my strong suit to settle for speculation, so I decide to keep pushing.

"I thought disobeying orders was a serious offense." I vocalize this tiny detail, raising one of my arched eyebrows, conveying perfect disinterest with my whole being. Although I appreciate that, contrary to my previous experiences, he is not coming up with some vile and mean comment to let me know his dislike, but now I'm curious about more than just his curtness. Mainly because my disobedience has annoyed him terribly so far, and I doubt that this current transgression of mine would leave him unfazed, which could have ended much uglier if he hadn't decided to show up.

"It is." Comes another rather informative answer, and when I'm about to open my mouth to tell him how talkative he's become in the wee hours of the morning, his fingers tighten around my hand, almost warning me that he hasn't finished yet. "I thought about leaving you there." He says dispassionately, and with this tiny little sentence, he lets me know exactly what I was already aware of. And when I left the overpass, I departed with this knowledge, because I never even considered that he would come after me. But nevertheless, he stepped in when he was most needed.

"Yet you came after us." I emphasize the obvious, because in the end, despite the fact that I managed to save the Hunter with the mohawk from an early and brutal death with my suicidal action, he had to intervene so that I wouldn't end up dying together with his Scottish friend. And I'm not so naive as to believe that it was his concern for me that led him to the dead-end alley. "MacTavish is lucky to have such a loyal partner. I might even envy him." I note, and I curve the beginnings of a mean little smile on my lips, because that way it might be easier to silence the evil little voices that arise in me, which whisper that Riley would have left me to my fate with the greatest peace of mind, if MacTavish's life had not depended on his appearance. There is such a close bond between the two Hunters, the origin of which I don't know, but I'm aware that they would put their hands in the fire for each other, which is why it's perhaps understandable why he can let go of my punishment so easily. Because I suspect that if he hadn't been almost neck-deep in the remains of the mutants, he would have intervened at the start of the chaos at the beginning of the combat zone.

But before I could delve deeper into the mass of dark little thoughts born in my own brain, mocking me for having the faint and silly idea even for a minute, that maybe he didn't just come to the party of my private rescue mission for his friend's sake, the man's body moves towards me in a rather surprising manner, and I freeze instantly. Every part of me is prepared for the counterattack by the instinctive reflex of defense, and my nervous system is almost automatically attuned to forming a blood clot in the snaking vascular network of one of Riley's vital organs instead of friendly regeneration if the need arises. However, when the brutal attack I expect doesn't arrive even after a few nerve-wracking seconds, I shift my confused eyes to his face. It's only a few centimeters with which he brings his broad shoulders closer as he leans down to me, but even this tiny movement is enough to make me unsteady and focus on the Hunter's body language with every nerve. And when I don't find anything in his mannerisms that would indicate that he wants to kill me, I only stare with growing puzzlement into the pair of brown eyes in which golden sparks swim from the lamplight.

"I didn't go there just because of Soap." He declares, and there is such a significant weight in his voice that I feel that my heart, which is hammering in confusion, skips a beat. Because with this simple expression, he drives away all the clouds of gloomy theories fighting in my head, so that nothing else remains after it, but honest surprise, which I'm unable to stop before it also appears on my face. And I must give a comical sight as I stare at him with slightly parted lips and eyes wide with astonishment, but despite this, he doesn't let my gaze wander and maintains eye contact with unbroken determination, as if he hadn't just made the most benign comment that he has ever said to me. If it weren't for the pull of the smoldering power inside of him, interlocking with my energy, I would quite simply think of this whole absurd scenario as a dream image created by my brain. But it's real, just like the bitter smell of blood and gunpowder emanating from the man and the fiery touch of his skin under my palm.

It takes me a few seconds to snap out of my shock-induced stiffness, and when my gray matter manages to grasp what Riley just said to me, I straighten up in my seat with an amused sigh. For this one confession amounts to a peace treaty, which he nobly offers me, no doubt as a reward for saving his Scottish friend. But I don't care why he had the motivation to tell me this, it doesn't take away from its importance.

"Just be careful, Riley." I utter with a mock warning in my voice, as I regain my confidence and lean forward a hair's breadth, boldly reaching closer to him. And as interest flashes in his eyes, a cheeky smile appears on my lips. "You might end up liking me." I cock my head to de side with sassiness, and when neither anger nor contempt follows my little comment, I know that maybe he wouldn't mind so much if that happened.

And although silence reigns in the room again, and only our shadows dancing on the wall in the warm light break the immobility, this peace doesn't weigh on me suffocatingly. I turn my attention back to the visible network of blood vessels beneath my closed eyelids, letting the waves of the now-calmed power of the Hunter lick at every fiber of my body. For the first time, I feel that neither of us is in a hurry to get rid of the other's company, which lays the hundreds of thoughts in my head to rest. And for a little while, the sounds of exhaustion that are slowly growing inside me are silenced, allowing me to enjoy this idyllic moment.

⃰

My body shakes with another wild wave, as the torturous claw of hunger digs into my stomach again, pulling my insides with such force as if an elephant was trying to press down on my chest. I angrily kick off the blanket that is clinging to my skin drenched in cold sweat, because every square centimeter of the textile that touches me pricks me with the sharpness of a thousand needles. As if I were in a torture chamber where everything wants to make me suffer, instead of lying in the comfort of my soft bed. The air flows into my lungs with moist heat, and with each breath, I get more and more dizzy, because I feel my trachea sticking together from the sticky, disgusting dampness that settles in the silence between the walls of the room.

Of course, my brain, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, knows that everything is exactly as normal as it was before this hell started, when I returned to my room and after a nice shower, I threw myself on my bed and fell asleep. Because maybe I managed to sleep for a few hours, when with the first rays of the sun, that well-known pain woke up in me, which didn't mean anything good at all. Although it's not surprising that the unrelenting feeling of hunger appeared in me, because I actively worked for my energy to be drained sufficiently. MacTavish's healing and regeneration, Riley's recharging, and the recovery of the other little soldiers meant just enough stress for my little ability, which even though I started the mission with a full stomach, my body couldn't tolerate. And now I get to enjoy the aftermath of this, since Laswell isn't here to give me the only thing that could help this damn situation. The woman is now digging and researching for information somewhere within the walls of the colony, and she will most certainly not come back because I whine because of my rumbling stomach. And since only the all-knowing boss of the base knows the code to that fucking door that stands between me and my snack, I'm forced to wait here writhing until she gets back.

My canines sting with a sharp pain as I think, that I actually have dozens of opportunities to alleviate this suffering, but even my dulled mind is aware that I shouldn't betray the team's trust in me. And even in my current state, I find it quite ridiculous that my instincts can be crushed by the image of the Hunters, because before I arrived here I would have quenched my thirst behind a club with the help of an unsuspecting idiot a long time ago. There would be plenty of such silly little fools here, and all I would have to do would be to lure one of them into a dark corner, stun them, and that's it. They wouldn't even feel it. They wouldn't even know about it. No trace would be left.

And as another torturous spasm twists my insides, I hiss weakly and grip the skin of my stomach, because it feels as if an iron fist would try to tear my intestines apart. My nails tear at the skin of my belly with desperate force, as if that would ease the torture. Although the aching caused by my own abuse doesn't reach my senses, the sweet smell of the blood coming out after my fresh wounds is even more so. Its seductive aroma snakes into my nose, and I impatiently raise my hand to my mouth to clean the crimson liquid off with my tongue. But that doesn't help one bit, and the couple of small bites I stole from myself only push the claws of hunger that stab into me like knives even deeper.

Time crawls forward on leaden feet, and I might even lose consciousness for a while, because by the time I regain awareness, and the fever has subsided from my brain enough to be able to perceive the outside world again, then I become aware that the darkness of the night has engulfed my small room. And it occurs to me that if no one has tried to find me until now, then the woman probably hasn't magically appeared since then either. But the impatient hunger is now demandingly straining inside me, and keeps shouting in my head to go and find something that will finally make this pain go away. And nothing seems like a better idea to my confused mind, which eagerly urges me to move and look for food.

With hasty movements, I peel myself from the tangled fabrics of my sheets and rush to the door with my newfound momentum to tear open the entrance to my room. And as soon as I step out to the hallway, I shiver from the cool breeze that caresses my feverish skin that emerges from under my t-shirt and shorts. I set off almost automatically through the deserted corridors of the base, as if an invisible leash was guiding me towards my goal, promising that at the end of my journey, I would find something that would finally be able to free me from the pain piercing through all my limbs. And for a fleeting moment, it crosses my mind how eerily empty the entire base is, but I can't do anything with this information. Maybe it's better this way, because even my twisted brain understands that if I saw an unsuspecting victim, I wouldn't be able to control myself. I would throw myself on them, sink my teeth into them, and drink from them until the last memory of the hunger tearing at my stomach vanished.

Those few minutes seem like millennia until I finally find my final destination, wandering through the maze of uninhabited corridors, and when the door of the infirmary finally appears in front of my eyes, an almost aggressive temper takes over me. Food is within arm's reach, and nothing can stop the angry voices raging in my skull. This vehement impulse takes me to the threshold of the medical room, and I have no capacity to understand why the door is open, when I almost tear it from its socket and open it, and it obeys my aggressive attack with a loud creak. Without thinking, I enter the noiseless, empty space of the room, and in an instant, my nose senses the faint remains of the scent of blood even through the smell of the disinfectants. And I feel like a wild animal looking for its prey as I catch sight of the beds resting against the walls, ready to pounce on them as soon as I find the source of the delicacy. My clever little nose leads me all the way through the dark room to an abandoned, neatly prepared bed, and I reach for the white bedclothes with impatient haste to pull them from their peaceful position. Although only the dull light of the buttons of the many machines shines in the blackness of the night, it's not a problem for my eyes to discover the few small, brown spots that rest on the mattress laughing at me. If I had an ounce of self-respect left in me right now, I'd find it pathetic that I messed up a fucking hospital bed just because I sensed that the unfortunate injured soldier had left behind a little crumb of that delicacy for which every nerve in me screams with ever-increasing despair. But now I have no self-respect left, only hunger.

The disappointment that settles into my consciousness stops me for a fleeting second, and when I realize that it wasn't my dinner that greeted me under the sheet, then a thick, red fog descends on my brain. Every part of me fills with the heat of this smoldering passion, and it moves my body almost automatically to action, which carries me all the way to the fucking password-protected door. As soon as that damned thick metallic thing appears in front of me, I don't even try the panel, because I know that my fingers wouldn't be capable of the fine motor movements required to press the buttons. On the other hand, the fury in me warns me that there is another way to get in, I just have to try hard enough. And with the keen senses of a hunted beast, I look around the infirmary, so that when my eyes stop on the chair resting next to the doctor's table, I can cross the distance between me and my improvised weapon without hesitation. The heavy piece of furniture seems as light as a feather as I pick it up, and I know that the strength I have when I storm back to the door with the chair is due to the blessed effect of the stress hormones working in my muscles. Without any delay, I raise the seat up, and as I slam it down, the plastic squeaks between my hands. I strike again and again, and with each blow, I only get angrier, and the infirmary's quiet peace is filled with a series of furious snaps and cracks. I feel my mouth contort into a snarl as I methodically destroy the furniture, and the irritation bubbling up inside me doesn't let up until my weapon is shattered into pieces, and I'm left with nothing but the mutilated legs of the chair in my painfully clenched grip.

It takes me a few seconds to realize that I can't continue my assault against the door any longer, and then carelessly tossing aside the shattered pieces of the furniture, I move closer to see if I managed to damage the goddamn metal. But it still looks back at me unscathed, laughing at the miserable and pitiful way I tried to break through it, and I know I never had and never will have the chance to tear down. Only one or two faint scratches are visible on it, and nothing else shows how indignant I attacked it. And that gives me enough motivation to charge at this damned garbage with my bare hands. My fist collides with the door with a dull thud, and not a single spark of the pain radiating from my hand reaches my brain, I just beat the entrance to the storage room with increasing distress, becoming more and more anguished with each passing minute at the sight of my failure. And when the suffering rips into me again, and another agonizing wave of hunger grips my stomach, I fall to the ground along the cold steel with a tortured whimper. My attempted break-in resulted in nothing other than the rapid deterioration of my already poor condition. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and with each heartbeat, the violent grasp that holds my insides in an iron fist becomes more and more suffocating. Fuck….

Suddenly, the rhythmic noise of my panting is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and I break out of my paralyzed self-pity to turn my head towards the gaping entrance of the infirmary in a daze. Although my brain is still not on top of the situation and is slowed down by the dull confusion left behind by the disappearing poisonous fog, I would recognize the outline of the tall figure I see stopping at the doorstep out of a thousand. Riley stands there in the embrace of the darkness behind him, like a spirit freed from the underworld, and as I weakly lift my eyes to him, I can only focus on the skull that glows with eerie vivacity, and I remember that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he snapped my neck.

[imoenhatesthis]

Lily makes it really hard to not want to correct her takes on media. There’s just an itch to want to correct lies. So here’s the hopefully one post I’m making for me.

There’s other more important things to focus on in this post. But this stuck out to me:

-

“I want characters that will react to me being evil, up to leaving me for my actions, just like my favorite mod.” Okay. Easy.

This is in fact, a feature in MOST RPG games where companions are a focus/are ‘real characters’. Yes, including recent 3D ones filled with playersexual companions.

Since she made that comment I’ll leave out BG2, outside of saying the old BG games do have a similar system in place. Characters leaving over disagreements is a feature in Baldur’s Gate 3. It tracks companion approval, and if that gets low enough they’ll leave without any chance to convince them otherwise. This includes romanced companions. That’s without getting into a whole host of actions one can do where the companion right there will leave or even attempt to kill you with no chance to talk it out. If you do account for scenes with failed rolls, that pool gets larger. Or you know, the fact people play lone wolf runs on harder difficulties all the time. Or that you can kill every single companion, or just simply never invite them in your party. Literally no one is necessary.

She wants a romance where the character breaks up with you for abusing them? Low bar. To pick something totally random…the Astarion romance. If you break his boundaries, he will break up with you and let you know you’re a piece of shit for not valuing him as a person. And that isn’t even the only scene where a breakup can happen. Both times you’ll notice the trigger is trying to push his boundaries.

To be charitable and include a good-aligned character to scale… Wyll also has a breakup event that can be triggered with no talking out of it depending on certain events. He has strict morals and goals, he also obviously will disapprove of certain actions and statements, and again, will leave if approval is low.

These aren’t mods. These are base game, these are what the writers intended.

So yeah, I’m not all that impressed it took more than 10 years for a couple of people to write up and add creepy fanfiction to a game that was already completed and also port it to the newer edition. That’s not impressive, if anything, that’s a really long time to spend on a project like that. It even still has bugs and typos, and doesn’t match the writing style of the games at all.

It took the BG3 team 7 years to make the entire game and first ship it out. Maybe add another for current updates to address bugs and to continue to add content. And when it does reach 10 years of development, I think most everyone will agree that one of these was a big triumph for RPGs, and that it was just perfected over 10 years. The other will continue to rot away on old message boards.

[uvexar]

Dragon Discourse is back to 5e social media and I've realized that dragons form a really fascinating vertical slice of all the problems with the system. Not just technical problems, but problems in the culture of the game.

Dragons in 5e D&D are big sacks of hit points with deadly breath weapons. Large dragons have a Frightful Presence, which is like a fight-or-flight response effect triggered on everyone close enough to it. The largest get to slap people with their wings and knock them over with their tails. The most powerful dragons have Legendary Actions, giving them extra attacks on other people's turns, and if you fight them in their lair, their lair has effects too. A burst of fire might come out of a crack in a red dragon's cave, for instance.

It's not a bad setup. But the problem comes when dragons have to intersect with the rest of the game.

If you play a dragon like an intelligent creature (which you should - "intelligence" meaning not totally brain-dead), its abilities suggest a monster that outside of its lair will *never* let go of its areal advantage. It will fly down, use its fire breath on the player characters, then fly away until it recharges. This wouldn't be bad, except that 5e as a system encourages characters builds around specific aspects of combat. In this situation, melee-only characters are going to have to suck it up and use a bow, which they wouldn't be as optimized for, but which would still be effective.

But 5e as a culture? HATES this kind of scenario. You might be wondering, why is a tabletop game encouraging closing off an entire area of combat for the sake of optimization? The answer is, it isn't; however, the culture of 5e suggests that when a character specializes in something, they should be expected to be doing that thing *all the time* and *nothing else.* Players will get upset if they encounter a monster that hard-counters their focused character build!

This isn't necessarily their fault, of course. 5e is incredibly glued to the 2D grid/battlemap, only surpassed by 4e in that respect. Its range increments in all areas (weapons, spell areas, movement speeds) are set up for a space no wider than 150 feet or so across, and that's honestly being generous. And because streaming is absolutely enamored with rich territory maps and VTTs, and streaming is a cornerstone of 5e as a product, very few players have any reason to expect a battle with a vertical component larger than 30 feet. (Anything larger is increasingly abstract and hard to render on a grid map.) As a result, players are able to comfortably design builds that are "melee-only."

Dragons break the whole paradigm of 2D, VTT-focused combat in half. So what happens when you play a dragon intelligently in 5e? Simple: Players get frustrated, and characters die.

An analogy here that I think is appropriate is, imagine if enemies just inside your load range in Skyrim could spray fire at you with a 20% chance of nearly killing you. That wouldn't be fun! 5e doesn't have a literal load range, of course, but *effectively* it does.

There are three ways you can run a dragon in 5e. The first is to give it a death wish. Make it land like a Skyrim dragon at half health, or hell just treat it like a big dinosaur that can do some long jumps. What you're left with is a bag of hit points with no brain that can't fly. And that's a pretty easy fight - worse, it's *boring.*

The second way is to homebrew the shit out of it. 4e has this over 5e in terms of dragons: they escape the trap of the grid's event horizon by having a lot of cool abilities they can use. You can add a bunch of these cool abilities to a dragon in 5e, and it almost makes it a good fight! Except now you're fixing an issue with the game on your own time, in ways that are explicitly counter to the game's actual monster design paradigms. You are stapling 4e onto 5e. Which is fine until the contradictions become overwhelming.

The third way, of course, is to play it intelligently. How are players expected to respond to a real life dragon?

In myth and legend, heroes never meet dragons on even turf. Even Saint George, the classic knight on a lance facing down a fiery serpent, actually pacifies the dragon with the Cross in the story. So if a group of PCs wants to kill a dragon, they have to use every tool at their disposal. Find allies, place traps, seek it out in its lair where it has nowhere else to run, and keep it from getting airborne.

This is proactive play. And this is where the last and biggest issue with 5e comes in: *5e actively discourages proactive play.*

This is a problem both cultural and mechanical. Mechanically, 5e's adventure design is extremely reactive and railroad-y, almost scripted in some cases (Descent into Avernus comes to mind). Culturally, the fantasy games most often played by people nowadays are *incredibly* reactive and railroad-y, because that's how video games are programmed! Dragon Age and the Witcher and World of Warcraft and *especially* Skyrim aren't designed for you to be proactive, to build your own goals, or find your own solution to problems.

What this means is that very few players, unless they came up in an older game tradition (or are a horrible revanchist like me), expect the solution to a combat encounter to be found outside of that very combat encounter. And if they have no other choice? It's frustrating! The game isn't giving them the tools to succeed! *They haven't been taught to think this way.*

(This goes for DMs too - the game encourages DMs to design adventures and encounters in a video-game fashion, mechanically and culturally. So of course a dragon in that paradigm, using the 5e rules, is going to suck.)

What's the solution? Well, other than homebrewing (which let's be honest means you should just play 4e), the solution is a hard uphill battle against cultural and mechanical biases. So honestly the easiest way to play a dragon in 5e is to not play it at all.

And that sucks.

[yanderes-galore]

Could you do Clotted Cream Cookie romantic headcannons? If so, thank you so much.

I am so rusty at Cookie Run so apologies. I had to do research on his story. His story event is way past me so I had to look hard lol. I did not see the whole event so I am sorry if I get things wrong.

You're both humans or cookies, whatever you prefer.

Yandere! Clotted Cream Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Manipulation, Deception, Overprotective behavior, Implied forced relationship, Kidnapping, Slight delusional behavior, Murder mentioned.

Clotted Cream seems like he'd be manipulative and deceptive.

He's always formal and hides his true intentions from others.

They did say he has a practiced smile....

He seems like he could be very charismatic towards his darling and others around you.

He wants to look out for the future and prepare for danger.

Even if it means hurting or lying to others to see it fulfilled

Clotted Cream is calculated and full of deceit.

He is a diplomant willing to do something harmful or immoral for his Republic.

He has a similar feeling towards his darling.

Deep down he wants to protect you and is willing to do anything for your safety.

Clotted Cream doesn't mind lying to your face and hiding his true intentions from you if it means he'll have you in the end.

Call him selfish but he feels he knows what's best for you.

After all, you most likely trust him.

His smile and words are as sweet as he himself.

He could easily get you to fall for his lies with just a wink and a compliment.

Due to his line of work, Clotted Cream can use the emotions of people against them.

Even more so with you since he has a romantic interest in you.

His flirting seems genuine because it is.

The most genuine thing coming from him is his feelings towards you.

He loves you, your looks, and your sweet personality.

Wouldn't you want a partner with his social status anyways?

He's convinced you'll come to love him, perhaps having a bit of an ego.

Clotted Cream is Manipulative, Stubborn, Overprotective, and Obsessive for the most part.

He relies heavily on his charisma towards you.

He has such a way with words you almost suspect there's nothing up.

You could say that's the benefit to being a diplomat....

It's so easy for him to lie even if he isn't trying to cause you any harm.

His goal is to get you to like him and eventually decide to be beside him.

Y'know... in the more formal and romantic sense.

Clotted Cream would also silence anyone who tried to warn you about him.

They don't need to know his plans...

This is entirely between the two of you.

Clotted Cream doesn't care how he has to silence someone.

Blackmail, threats, or even crumbling crosses his mind.

As long as they stay quiet, he's happy.

Rumors are a dangerous weapon he both doesn't mind using... but also must prevent.

Clotted Cream has a stubborn mindset.

His view on things isn't easily changed and he is very dedicated to his beliefs and delusions.

Not even his darling could change his mind.

By the time he gets you chained to his side there's no convincing him that you need freedom or privacy.

Clotted Cream is overprotective.

Dark Enchantress is not only a threat to his Republic but also you.

You need his protection, which only makes him more eager to get his hands on Soul Jam.

No one understands his ambitions.

He gets obsessive about you and his plans.

Clotted Cream always seems to have an occupied mind.

You haunt his thoughts and throw him off his game.

Clotted Cream would kidnap you like a venus flytrap.

He'd lure you in with his sweet words and smile...

Then lock you beside him in a room, smug that you fell for it.

He'd keep you chained by his side.

He hates anyone who questions his adoration towards you.

Clotted Cream has a sweet taste which hides his bitter deception...

Follow his words and you may never be able to pull yourself away from him.

[sburbian-sage]

The Sburb Glitch FAQ says "Every Player will have a Showdown at least once during the playthrough of a session. It can't be helped. It's like some sort of rule."

Is it just me, or is that, uh, totally wrong? I've had plenty of sessions where at least one guy player managed to keep a more-or-less level head the whole time- or at least, if they ever did lose it, they did so in private, and calmed down on their own.

Not to mention, I think plenty of players permadie before they even unlock the abilities that are associated with berserk triggers..

Well hold on now, the entire point of Berserk Triggers is that it doesn't matter whether you've unlocked those abilities yet. You enter such a psychotic state that you access endgame abilities you don't or shouldn't be able to use.

As for the "every Session will have a Showdown" thing, this is a common folly among Replayers, and GGTG is unfortunately not immune to it. That folly being the "I keep experiencing this weird thing so I assume it's actually hardcoded to happen" disease. It's a type of disease where you keep experiencing a weird thing and assume it's hardcoded to happen. There is merit to this type of thinking, because the game DOES seemingly keep making certain things happen. When computers get too stressed out or crash, they ALWAYS explode, Cataclysm classes ALWAYS trigger a Cataclysm, and so on.

Then there's the "tends to happen" scenarios. Seers TEND to get their vision damaged, Knights and Pages TEND to lose the will to fight at some point, the Reckoning TENDS to end the world via meteor storm by default and only come up with variant methods in worlds with anti-meteor defenses, or if something happens to the Veil during the Session in the future. But it doesn't ALWAYS happen. For example, Seers and Sages TEND to get arrogant and make a short-sighted decision that causes issues, but my insight has never been clouded by spite or resentment. Similarly, while I've certainly had a meltdown or two, I don't recall if I ever Berserk Triggered. But in those Sessions, someone else did Berserk Trigger.

It could just be that "a Showdown always happens and someone always Berserk Triggers" isn't a statement of "the game mandates this event to happen", but rather "the game is really fucking stressful and we're all teenagers so it just tends to happen, the conditions are almost perfectly set up for this to happen". For example, if I said "someone always permadies in a Session" and you go through a Session with no casualties, you would realize this is less a statement of "the game will forcekill someone to meet quota" and more "the game is really hard and poorly put together actually", you know?

[towerbetweenworlds]

Before Sannan had a route, my heart went to Hijikata. I still think the latter has the most interesting and complete of routes (not only is he the "canonical" in anime, he outlives many of the other Shinsengumi in history, being alive all the way up to the end of the Boshin War.)

Conversely, Sannan, or Yamagami Keisuke, is the first of the Shinsengumi core members to die in history. He's also considered to be among the most principled of the lot, if a little uptight compared to the rural stock most of the other members come from.

(As an aside: I have an interest in feudal Japanese history that goes beyond my love for Hakuouki, my primary interest being in the Sengoku or Warring States period. But I do credit the otome game for getting me truly interested in the period between the Black Ships / Commodore Perry's arrival and the start of the Meiji Restoration. So my fansploding over Sannan will definitely be interspersed with thoughts of the historic events, people, and places Hakuoki is based on.)

My knowledge of the historical Sannan is why I always side-eyed at the idea that he's just a purely evil and unlikable character in the game. I know it can depend a LOT on the route you play, but...

[I guess it is spoiler time now, specifically for Sannan and Heisuke routes]

...pretty much every character in the game has at least *some* basis in known history, albeit highly romanticized (duh). So it makes way more sense to me for Sannan's cold, calculating, and ruthless attitude to be only one part of his truth, and for his deep love and loyalty to the Shinsengumi (and Chizuru!!) to feature strongly in his motivations under the surface.

I also love that while he's terribly antagonistic in Heisuke's route, he actually subverts this in his own route by *pretending* to kill him to sell his strategy to get closer to Yukimura Kodo.

I won't entirely absolve Sannan because he does do some abjectly awful things, even in his route. Honestly, that's true of the historical Shinsengumi as a whole, which is why their reputation can range from the villainous (see: Rurouni Kenshin, minus Harada of course--he's a good boy in all media afaik) to the heroic but ultimately tragic (see: the NHK Shinsengumi! taiga drama, which generally paints them in a positive light, but does not shy from portraying when their members make questionable decisions.) I get why he thought he had to keep Chizuru in the dark about his plans, but I do think he could have trusted her more to hold up her end of things if they worked together.

Honestly, I think Sannan's depression (as someone quite familiar with that particular psychological condition, I can say with confidence he definitely suffered it, especially when triggered by feeling worthless) makes it hard for him to accept that someone could love him enough to follow him boldly into his schemes while trusting he will not fall completely. The game makes it clear that Chizuru's love is a deciding factor when it comes to him taking a less heinous path toward finding a true purpose in life. She ensures his despair and desperation do not swallow him whole, both due to the chance for redemption she represents for him, and because her blood makes it possible for him to do more for longer without losing his sanity to the Ochimizu.

On the other hand, the dark, twisted side of him that leads him to decide that forcing a kiss on Sen to turn her into a demon rasetsu is a good idea (for example) is still part of who he is. That is something much harder to accept. He can be deliberately cruel, if only to keep people at arms length so he can keep wallowing in his pain, and he can be terrible at considering the human factor in the schemes within schemes he plots. At his worst, he discards emotions and morality as a hindrance to his goals, and that's just not a good way to handle things. He should not be given a free pass to be abusive, no matter if it is due to his fragile self-esteem, his fear of letting people too close, or his tendency to hyperfocus on the endgame.

I think all of us have the potential to rise or fall depending on our circumstances--our genetics, where we were born, how our parents/guardians raised us, important people in our lives, life-altering events that befall us. As a multiply marginalized person, I drew the short straw in many ways, but I am extremely fortunate to have a supportive spouse who knows me like no one else, whom I can trust with my life. Genuine love from a worthy life partner can truly be transformative if you are fortunate to find it. It's not the only way to reach a state of greater happiness and stability, but it is *A* way, and I choose to believe it works wonderfully for Sannan and Chizuru.

Maybe it's cliche to say he just needs love. Haha. But he definitely needs help avoiding the pitfall of devaluing himself and others so much that the kinder, gentler parts of his nature are smothered.

[ninjababypowpow]

Hi there !! For the WIP game I *need* to ask about Lay your weary head to rest (don't you cry no more). I'm also curious about Once more with feeling and the assassin au if you want to talk about them ? 🙏🙏

Wellllll...

lay your weary head to rest (long title is long) is actually the Dogma whump fic I originally intended to write, the one FUBAR and SNAFU resulted from. In short...Dogma gets an abusive plant parent.

Slightly longer: Torrent (or rather...Rex, Fives, Jesse, Hardcase, Tup and Dogma) lands on a creepy alien planet to map a creepy ancient giant temple. Anakin ran off bc Palps called and is not there with them, and they all expect it's gonna be a boring mission, perfect for some field training for Tup and Dogma.

Little do they know, this temple wasn't built to worship something...but to keep it contained. (And because it's you, and I live for your praise XD, an excerpt.)

Towards the back of the room stood Dogma, his back to them, swaying slightly on his feet like a vod too tired to stand straight. And in front of him was…something. A plant of some kind, Rex realized as they shone their lights over the mass. Massive, dark green, looking mostly dead even as the huge vines and dark purplish-red flowers were writhing weakly. The whole thing looked disturbingly fleshy. The smell hit him next, even through his bucket. Sweet and rotting, the kind of scent you tasted all the way down your throat. Dogma was still just standing there. “Private! Step away from there at once!” Rex shouted, hoping to wake the instinctual reaction to orders that was drilled into all of them (and especially into Dogma), and was so hard to break, would work in their favor just this once. Dogma twitched, as if startled, and looked over his shoulder at them, looking dazed. “It’s calling me, sir.” he said softly, almost dreamily. “Has been for days, but I didn’t know what it was. It says I can rest here.” His lips trembled a bit. “I’m so tired, Captain.” “We have a nice, comfy bedroll with your name on it at camp, Dogma.” Fives called out, his blaster aimed steadily at the plant growth. Force, it was huge; would blaster shots even hurt this thing?

Once more with Feeling is a pretty straightforward Time Loop AU, from the POV of the batch. They all need a few days to even realize they're in a loop, and try fruitleslly to find a way out, to no avail.

Until they realize it hit their entire batch...except for Fox apparently. Or maybe it did and he just didn't realize? (Yet more evidence that the Guard has easy, cushy duties).

But no, Fox really doesn't seem to be aware of the loop.

And then they realize the event that triggers the loop to start over is Fox's death.

(there's sadly no excerpt, because I have NOTHING written yet.)

And the assassin AU is a Bacara/Fox Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU, following the plot more or less...or maybe more the setting. wholly inspired by that nightly housebattle-turning-to-smut scene.

Bacara grabbed the spare magazine, listening intently while pressed against the wall and trying to keep both doors in sight. Fox had been surprisingly sneaky, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to hear him move from the kitchen. "I can't believe you'd betray me like this." Fox's voice was difficult to locate due to the tiles, but Bacara figured he'd crouch behind the kitchen island. "I'm not the only one who lied about certain things, sweetheart mine!" he called back to cover the sound of the clip sliding into his gun. "But at the least I don't have to suffer through another night with your ice cold feet pressing against my shins." There was an indignant noise. "You know I have poor circulation!" Something rolled through the open doorway. A grenade.

Yeahhhhh. I have so many AUs dude, it's terrible, I keep adding more. Thank you for your question, though, and feel free to ask more, or dm me for info on the others, or whatever! ❤️

[toyota-supra]

points on Bomb Rush Cyberfunk so far:

I've only really used the skateboard and the inline skates so far, but I much prefer the former. something about the latter does not go with me so good and I'm not even sure if they're actually different

that said, the movement as a whole feels really good, so it's easy to forget the objectives and just keep doing combos for fun

however, for a game that's so fun to combo in, it really bothers me how much it likes to interrupt you. most story triggers happen when you reach a certain number of tags or get close to a certain area, and then the game cuts to a scene showing this happen and then back to you. sometimes it just teleports you somewhere else, breaking the combos entirely! this is genuinely such awful pacing for exploring a level it baffles me. and the game even has the mechanic to talk to npcs, so why not have story events start that way???

similarly, while the police is an interesting mechanic to keep players going, the heat builds too quickly, and every time you get a new heat level, another cutscene interrupts your flow

another thing with the police is that it seems that they prevent you from changing characters, so you have to get rid of them by finding a bathroom, but the bathrooms aren't marked in the map, and if you've already visited one in this run it'll be locked, and sometimes the game changes your character to Red for a story moment, so now you're stuck as him for the time being,

I really wish you could maybe permanently get rid of the police in an area by getting enough heat that a special boss shows up and if you beat it, they're all gone. or if you just get every tag in an area

in Tony Hawk's games, whenever you had a timed objective, if the time ran out while you were doing a combo, the timer would then stay on zero until you landed the combo or bailed, which is when the game would move on. In Bomb Rush Cyberfunk, as soon as the timer is over, the game stops you, even if your combo was still going. and it doesn't even stop your combo, it just stops the game as a whole and you don't get to see the final result

the story is pretty fun

like, this game took so long to be made and it was made with a lot of care, so I'm really just frustrated because some of these are basic things that these types of sports games already figured out decades ago