*temp conflictanger false
*temp scream false
*achieve spotoftea

Arcade leads the three of you into the building, $!{cg} half a step behind him, you and Alistair bringing up the rear. Arcade walks you through a long corridor, taking a right corner, then another, and then brings you through a pair of double doors. The room beyond is bright, airy, and looks about the same as the lobby of any office you've ever entered. There's even a secretary seated behind a broad desk, though above them, a metallic glint in the ceiling catches your eye. A security shutter, you suspect.

Your escort stops and turns around, smiling apologetically. "If it's okay, I'll leave you folks here for a couple minutes. There's some clearance I need to sort out before I can bring you upstairs." He spreads his hands. "If you'd prefer me to stay with you, I can let someone know what's up, but it'll take longer."

"Bureaucracy…" $!{cg} shakes her head. "One villain you can't beat."

Arcade tips a practiced wink. "Even superheroes have to handle paperwork, sadly."

"Well, go do what you need to do," says $!{cg}.

"Appreciate it! Be as quick as I can." With another well-polished smile, Arcade heads past the secretary and into a sleek elevator.

You're left in the loosely-designated waiting area. There's a set of cushioned red chairs around a long, low coffee table.

Alas, not a magazine in sight.
*choice
    #Look at Alistair.
        Alistair appears completely overawed to be here, peering every which way despite there not being all that much to see. He catches your eye and smiles, then goes straight back to marvelling at your surroundings.
        
    #Look at $!{cg}.
        $!{cg}'s tense, and trying very hard to conceal it. You've known her long enough to recognise the telltale clench of her fists and restless shifting of her weight from foot to foot. She catches your eye and holds it for a moment, then looks away.
        
    #Just sit down.
        Taking a seat, you briefly @{(expressive > 55) entertain the thought of people coming off the street to grab numbers and patiently wait their turn for the Hounds to handle their crime. Please hold on ma'am, we'll deal with that mugger after we're finished handling the villains smashing up downtown.|wondering how many people actually use this area. It isn't as if the average man on the street has business with the Hounds' front desk.}
        
You glance around the lobby. Aside from the doors you entered by, there's an identical set opposite, a sturdy wooden door behind the desk but just ahead of the elevator, and then the front entrance of the building, which is all frosted glass. You wonder if the aesthetic is worth the repair costs,
    
"Hey $!{aka}." $!{cg}, murmuring. "@{(halpmecg >1) Calling in that favour. |}Cover for me."

Without another word, she's up and heading for that second pair of doors. Immediately the secretary, a slender, androgynous brunette, is on their feet and calling out. 

"Ma'am? You can't go through there!"

What the hell is $!{cg} playing at? More importantly, what the hell does she expect you to do? This couldn't be more blatant if she announced it with a parade.

@{(halpmecg > 1) You really do owe her. She bailed you out from withdrawals. Failing to hold up your end won't go well for you.|}


*choice
    *selectable_if (halpmecg = 1) #@{(halpmecg > 1) Even if I'd like to leave her hanging, I can't.|She's on her own.}
        *set trust_cg -1
        *set rel_cg %- 10
        *set helpoutcg 3
        You don't budge. This situation is already precarious enough for you.
        
        *label libramaam
        "Libra? Ma'am!" the secretary calls. $!{cg} pauses, one hand on the handle, and then lowers it reluctantly.
        
        "Sorry," she mutters, heading back to you and Alistair. "Needed the bathroom."
        
        You lose the secretary's reply in the venomous glare $!{cg} gives you as she reclaims her seat. "Thanks for nothing, [i]$!{aka2}.[/i]"
        
        Needless to say, you elect to remain silent.
        
        *if (metrico)
            Oh hey. Looking at the secretary—because the other direction has $!{CG}—aren't they your mystery dance partner from last night? Small world. You wonder if their bosses know they frequent the Businessmen's club.   
        
    *if (ephalanx)
        *selectable_if (halpmecg = 1) #@{(halpmecg > 1) Beth might be around, but I can't screw myself over with $!{cg} after she helped me.|Call attention to myself? When Beth may be around? Haha, uh, no.}
            *set trust_cg -1
            *set rel_cg %- 10
            *set helpoutcg 3
            Whatever $!{cg} is cooking up, it's not worth the heat. You need to keep a low profile and get out as soon as possible.
            
            *goto libramaam
            
    *selectable_if (metrico) #Wait... I recognise the secretary! I can use that!
        That's your mystery dance partner! From the club!
        
        "No way!" you call, projecting your voice. "What are the odds?"
        
        The secretary jumps, looking around. Their mouth hangs a moment, then they start smiling. "Oh! Good afternoon! This is a surprise!" They're still looking past you, trying to track $!{cg}.
        
        You plant yourself between her and them, being the best distraction you can be. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. Nice to meet you properly; I'm $!{aka2}."
        
        "Likewise, but um, Libra—"
        
        @{(subterfuge > 34) "Is just finding the washroom," you lie smoothly.|"Is a hero, it's fine." Not a very smooth lie, but it'll do.} "I don't think I got your name?"
        
        Though they're clearly torn, you've slipped past their professional barriers. "Um, Federico. Sometimes Federica." You note a genderfluid flag blocked out on one side of their nametag. @{cis Thanks Prii.|}
        
        "That's cool," you say. "So you work for the superheroes? Bet that's exciting."
        
        @{(expressive < 45) There's ample inspiration for chatter, so while you're not the best conversationalist, you're still able|You've no shortage of topics to chat about, and it's easy work} to keep Federico—Rico—talking for long enough for $!{cg} to reappear. She slips back into the lobby like she never left, returning to the chairs while studiously ignoring the quizzical look Alistair gives her.
        
        "Let's catch up again sometime," you @{(expressive < 45) don't-quite-enthuse. Thankfully they don't notice that you're forcing it, nodding and slightly smiling.|enthuse.}
        
        @{(expressive < 45) |They nod, smiling slightly.} "I wouldn't mind that. I have to get back to the desk, but if you need anything, let me know."
        
        "Sure." You return to the others.
        
        *label cgtease
        @{metrico "Been making friends, $!{aka2}?" $!{cg} asks as you sit, a glint in her eye.|"Aw, you're making friends," says $!{cg}.} "I'm so proud."
        *choice
            #Flip her the bird.
                *if (interest_cg)
                    *label flustercg
                    She blows you a kiss, then instantly gets flustered, sharply breaking eye contact.
                    
                    *if (flirt_cg > 2)
                        Alistair looks at you significantly, half-smiling. You glower at @{polyflag_acg him, feeling an inexplicable flash of butterflies.|him.}
                    
                *else
                    Your obscene gesture only makes her grin wider.
                
            #"Fuck off."
                *if (interest_cg)
                    *goto flustercg
                
                "See, manners like that are why I'm impressed…"
                
                You know a no-win situation when you see it. You resort to glowering.
                
            #Glare.
                *if (interest_cg)
                    *goto flustercg
                
                She smirks. You glare harder.
                
            #Raise an eyebrow. I want to know what she was doing.
                She wouldn't wander off in the Hounds' headquarters without a good reason.
                
                $!{cg}'s smile turns enigmatic. 'Later', she mouths.
                
            #"I have friends, right Alistair?"
                *if rel_alistair < 0
                    *set rel_alistair 10
                    
                    *set rel_alistair %+ 10
                Alistair perks up like a dog. "Sure thing," he says, smiling broadly.
                
                "Hm. Suppose I have to give you that." $!{cg} is smiling too, and the genuine fondness in her expression @{cg_dislike catches you off guard. Aren't you supposed to hate each other?|steals away your response.}
                
    *selectable_if (not (metrico)) #@{(fighting_style = 2) Come up with a diversion on the fly.|Don't think, just act!}
        *if ((instinctive > 60) or (fighting_style = 2))
            Distraction. Be a distraction.
            
            You pop up to your feet, moving after $!{cg}. "Hey, Libra, hold on—!" 
            
            In a spectacular show of tomfoolery, you fake a trip, flinging yourself into a full length sprawl right in front of the secretary, who stumbles over you in turn.
            
            "Jeez! You two alright?" Now Alistair's bustling over, fussing around you and the hapless secretary. @{(brutal = 0) Thankfully, they|They} seem more embarrassed than hurt, increasingly so as you repeatedly and profusely apologise for the spill.
            
            By the time everyone's back on their feet, dusted off, and suitably composed, $!{cg} has slipped back through the doors and perched herself on a chair like she never left. You return to join her.
            
            *goto cgtease
        *else
            *set helpoutcg 2
            Distraction. Right, okay, uh.
            
            It's easier to say 'don't think' than it is not to think.
            
            You're on your feet and trying to come up with something, but all your ideas have gaping holes. Yell 'fire'? It'll be obvious there's no fire. Feign injury? Too many questions.
            
            You get as far as "Um, hey—", and by then it's already too late; $!{cg}'s square in the secretary's sights.
            
            Dammit. @{(instinctive < 40) This is why you plan things out.|Not your best improv. You're out of practice..}
            
    *selectable_if (not (metrico)) #Physically impose myself between the secretary and $!{cg}.
        *set doubt_gh + 5
        *set ricoannoy true
        
        Stepping into the secretary's path, you plant yourself, very nearly causing a head-on collision. They jolt back at the last moment, giving you a strained smile.
        
        *if guts > 23
            "Um, excuse me. Libra shouldn't be leaving the lobby." They attempt to move past, but @{(mc_height < 4) you're a lot more solid than your stature suggests,|you're a brick wall,} moving with them to block their progress.
            
            "Hey, what's the hurry?" you say pleasantly. "It's no big deal." Your words matter less than your positioning. You match the secretary as they step again.
            
            They halt, brow furrowing. "I'm not sure what you think you're doing. We have cameras here. Security too, if it comes to that."
            
            "Security for what? I'm just standing here," you protest, like every belligerent loiterer ever.
            
            "Yes. In the way. Please move."
            
            You continue playing dumb and generally pushing your luck as you obstruct the secretary. Just as it seems they'll finally lose their patience, drawing themselves up, face reddening. $!{cg} slips back through the doors.
            
            "Is everything alright?" she asks innocently.
            
            "Now that you're back, yes," the secretary answers through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at you. "Please don't wander off alone again, ma'am."
            
            With apologies and excuses offered, you and $!{cg} return to the seating, complete with flummoxed Alistair.
            
            *goto cgtease
            
        *else
            *set helpoutcg 2
            "Um, excuse me, Libra shouldn't be leaving the lobby." They make to move past, and though you attempt to move with them and block their progress, they manage to brush by your shoulder with the barest bump.
            
            You… really may need to hit the gym more.
            
    *selectable_if (not (metrico)) #Talk fast and talk loud.
        *if expressive > 60
            Making noise. Your speciality. You spring up and intercept the secretary before they can reach $!{cg}.
            
            "Hey! Can you answer some questions? Great 'cause I'm super excited to be here—I've always looked up to the Hounds and it must be incredible working for them—"
            
            You unleash a deluge of nonsense, bombarding the poor secretary with question after question, barely stopping for air, let alone an opportunity for them to actually answer.
            
            "I'm—"
            
            "That's—"
            
            "I really need—"
            
            Nope. No brakes on this train. Honestly, if they stopped to think for just a couple of seconds, they'd realise you're rambling aimlessly, but you're banking on them being too caught up in the politeness of customer service to scrutinise.
            
            Right as you're beginning to run out of steam, $!{cg} slips back through the doors and perches herself on a chair like she never left.
            
            "Well anyway thank you so much I really appreciate your time and I'll stop bothering you now!" you say in a single breath, then bustle away, leaving the wreckage of your conversational hurricane in your wake.
            
            *goto cgtease
        *else
            *set helpoutcg 2
            You spring up, intercept the secretary before they can reach $!{cg}, @{(expressive < 40) open your mouth, and… nothing.|and blurt the first thought that arrives in your head.}
            
            *if expressive < 40
                Ah.
                
                You, maybe forgot that sparkling conversation wasn't your forte. Or regular conversation. Or like, noise.
                
                For a couple of excruciatingly awkward seconds, you just stare at each other while you fail to come up with a suitable topic. Then, with a brutally polite smile, the secretary steps past you.
                
                Well, don't you look like a complete weirdo.
                
            *else
              "Hey how's your day going?"
              
              Probably should have gone with the second thought. Once you have it.
              
              The secretary gives you a strange look, then reverts to polite form. "Fine, thank you, but just a moment please!" Before you can interrupt, they step past you, ignoring your half-hearted attempt to maintain the conversation. No point; it was a bad idea from the start.
              
              You're a little—a lot—too rusty, socially, to channel noisy energy that easily. 
            
    *selectable_if (not (metrico)) #Spin a story. Quickly.
        Springing to your feet, you intercept the secretary before they can reach $!{cg}.
        
        *if subterfuge > 35
            *set ricoannoy true
            "Don't worry about it, she's just finding the washroom!" you explain, feigning your best blithe cheer.
            
            "She can't wander around unsupervised—"
            
            "Aw, no need to be a stickler!" You fix them with a big dumb grin. "Libra's here 'cause she saved a bunch of people. You really think Arcade will mind if you don't hold her hand while she uses the facilities?"
            
            You spend the ensuing conversation drawing on the memory of every clueless customer from your barista days, 'failing' to grasp the secretary's increasingly-exasperated explanations for why they need to fetch Libra back. While you feel just a little guilty over being this poor person's customer service nightmare, the ends justify these means. You'll need to tip your next server double to atone for this terrible deed,
            
            Just as the secretary seems about to genuinely lose their patience, $!{cg} reappears through the doors. You think about saying something to the effect of 'See, no problem at all!', but decide you've already tormented the poor soul enough. With a guileless smile, you retreat to the seating area.
            
            *goto cgtease
        *else
            *set helpoutcg 2
            *set rel_cg %+ 5
            "Don't worry, she's got clearance!" you explain, confident as you can.
            
            The secretary frowns. "No, she doesn't. She isn't in the affiliates program."
            
            "I—uh—" You were not aware that was a thing. 
            
            While you're scrambling for a better lie, the secretary sidesteps you and calls out again. "Ma'am, Arcade will only be a minute! That area is restricted!"
            
            Pushed past the point of plausible deniability, $!{cg} reluctantly turns back, mumbling an excuse about needing the bathroom.
            
            *goto segue
     
    
*if helpoutcg = 1
    *set trust_cg +1
    *set rel_cg %+ 10
    
*elseif helpoutcg = 2
    *set rel_cg %+ 5
    "Ma'am!" repeats the secretary.
    
    Reluctantly, $!{cg} turns back. "Sorry," she says. "Needed the bathroom."
    
    *label segue
    After an awkward segue of the secretary explaining the location of said facilities and $!{cg} refusing to go, you're both back at the seating with a faintly-bemused Alistair.
    
    "Thanks for trying anyway," $!{cg} mutters.
        
*page_break Shortly...
The elevator slides open and out strolls Arcade.

He crosses the lobby to join you. "Alrighty folks, thanks for being patient. Got the credentials sorted out. LIbra, if you'll follow me?" Arcade turns to you and Alistair. "And if you two can sit tight for just a couple minutes more, someone's on their way to look after you."

"No prob," Alistair answers. You don't dissent.

"You're a gent." He flashes another of those made-for-TV smiles, and then sets off straight back to the elevator.

$!{cg}'s eyes linger on you a moment before she follows after him.

Back to waiting. Paranoia whispers that with you and $!{cg} separated, now's the time for the Hounds to strike.
*page_break

Suddenly, raised voices from across the lobby. Your head snaps around, adrenaline spiking. The door alongside the secretary's desk bursts open, but rather than a squad of superheroes to ruin your day, out charges a goateed man in a black suit.

He takes three furious steps, then whirls around, shouting. "This deal is more than you people deserve!"

The familiar figure of Vantage emerges after him, stone-faced. She's dressed down compared to your clash back in the Zone, though she cuts a sharp figure in blouse and high-waisted pants. Behind Vantage comes@{ephalanx … son of a bitch.|Phalanx, armoured as ever.}

*if (ephalanx)
    Behind Vantage, fully armoured, comes Phalanx.
    
    Beth.
    
    You make yourself as small and unobtrusive as you can.
    
"Ah man," mutters Alistair. "Don't look this way." You glance at him right as he averts his eyes from the raving man.

"Your deal isn't worth the paper its written on," Vantage tells the fuming stranger, completely calm.

"And what worth do you have? Self-appointed protectors who can't protect!" The suited man gestures wildly around the room, but then spots you and Alistair as the obvious outsiders and thrusts a finger in your direction. "These people know you can't keep them safe, Vantage!"

Phalanx ignores the gesture. "The meeting is adjourned. Leave."

Instead of complying, the man storms up to you, rifling through his suit jacket. Again you tense up, but he's reaching only for a business card. Visibly composing himself, he forces a smile. "If you want to talk to a [i]real[/i] organisation about your experiences today, give me a call." He glances across to Alistair in obvious recognition. "Adeniji, right?"

"Officer Ramos." Alistair nods, expression not entirely happy.

"Let's discuss Monday."

Alistair nods again, a touch reluctantly.

You glance at the card. Ramón Ramos, DPR. 

*temp spotted false

*choice
    #Then... Alistair is DPR.
        Has this been some kind of sting the whole time? Sending him to track a suspected villain?
        
        Then again, do the DPR really have the resources to pull that off? They're hurting for personnel and they've got the Zone to consider. Besides, you'd barely debuted when you first met him. It seems way too fast for the Department to be onto you.
        
    #I'm not jumping to conclusions.
        They know each other. That doesn't mean they're part of the same organization. Alistair called him [i]officer[/i] Ramos; that's not how someone addresses a colleague. There's at least a little distance.
        
    #Even if Alistair isn't DPR, he works with them.
        Ramos expects to see Alistair a couple days from now. What more proof do you need? All that's in doubt is whether he's part of the organization itself; you'd think that an actual DPR officer would call for backup with S.C.U.M. on the scene.
        
    *if (ephalanx) #Can think about that when Beth isn't in the same room.
        *set spotted true
        Whatever it means or doesn't mean for Alistair is a thought for somewhere and somewhen else. She's going to spot you.
        
        *goto getoutp


It's scant reassurance. They're on last-name basis. You can't ignore the connection, and Alistair's @{(alicafe = 2) on his third strike.|on—damn, you lost count—is this his fourth strike? Too many.}  

*label getoutp
*if (spotted)
    "Get out." Phalanx snaps, catching up to Ramos. He holds his hands in the air defensively and makes his exit while you try to look like part of the furniture.
    
    It's a fool's errand. Her head turns toward you in slow motion, and she freezes. Your stomach plummets.
    
*else
    "Get out." Phalanx snaps, catching up to Ramos. He holds his hands in the air defensively and makes his exit. Phalanx turns to you both and freezes. @{ephalanx An electric shock runs down your spine.|}

Then without a word she grabs you by the shoulder and drags you from your seat.
*fake_choice
    #"Hey—!"
    #"What the fuck—"
    #"Get off—"
        
She rips you away from your companion, ignoring both your protest and Alistair's behind you, and your struggles are in vain against that iron grip. Panic mounts as @{ephalanx Beth|Phalanx} marches you across the lobby, through the double doors, and straight into another room, releasing you only to slam the door shut.

Before you can speak or react, Phalanx rips off her helmet and discards it crashing onto the ground.

Underneath is a face you haven't seen in five and a half @{ephalanx years, and even knowing what's coming doesn't brace you for it.|years.}

*page_break Beth.
*set bethstatus 3

She's older, hard lines around her eyes and mouth. A wickedly deep scar gouges her lower lip, twisting it into a permanent sneer. Her hair's wilder, less tamed, tinged prematurely grey at the temples.

"$!{forename}," she whispers. "You're alive."

*if brokenheart = 1
    You aren't ready for this. You could never be ready for this. For her.
    
    Staring at her, your frozen heart cracks in two.
    *choice
        #"I thought I'd never see you again."
            *gosub minibeth
            
            Beth nods. Her eyes tell you that the belief was mutual.
            
        #"I guess I am."
            *gosub minibeth
            
            "You guess," she repeats. Not sceptical, instead it's almost like she's weighing your words in her own mouth.
            
        #"Barely."
            *gosub minibeth
            
            "Barely," she repeats, ashen, like the word physically hurts her to say and to hear.
            
        #What's that keening noise? Oh, it's me.
            The sound seeps from inside of you like water squeezing between rocks, leaving fissures in its wake.
            
            "$!{forename}…" Beth murmurs again.
            
        #Words are impossible.
            You've everything and nothing to say, and all of it hurts.
            
            Beth swallows. You stare and don't quite see, a distant ringing in your ears as you drift, unmoored.
            
    *goto bhbeth2
    
    *label minibeth
    Your voice sounds very far away.
    
    *return
    
    *label bhbeth2
    *if (ranaway)
        @{(guilt = 1) Beth made it, and no thanks to you. There's no exoneration. She didn't survive because of anything you did.|All your excuses are just... laughable. Face to face with the love you were too cowardly to stick by, what defence can you possibly have?}
    *else
        *if battitude = 1
            For years, you've tried to tell yourself that you understand what Beth did, that she had good reason to prioritise @{alive Grant|Shauna}. It's never quite dulled the pain in your chest, which now returns, fresh off the whetstone. 
            
        *else
            @{battitude  DUMMY|Familiar resentment pools in your gut, mingling with the ache of your heart, equally recognisable. A festering wound at your very centre.|For years you've kept yourself numb, locking away your feelings as a defence mechanism. As a twisting ache grips your chest, you know your aegis is buckling.|For years, even thinking about Beth has summoned fresh pain. Having her in front of you is almost too much to bear.|The melding of anger and heartbreak is nothing new. A festering wound at your very centre. You just didn't think there was a deeper layer to unlock.}
            
            
    *choice
        #I can handle this. I can. I can.
            Breathe, $!{forename}. Just breathe.
            
            You clench your fists so hard they begin to shake, fingernails biting into your palms. If you don't hold it together, you aren't sure you'll be able to reassemble the pieces later.
            
            Yeah. Yeah. You can handle this. Just seeing your @{dated_beth girlfriend|ex} for the first time since half your mutual friends got torn apart. And she's a superhero. Who you fought earlier this week.
            
            You're handling this so fucking much.
            
            After a few minutes or a few years, you've dragged yourself back into the driver's seat. Optimistically, you'd say you've ridden out the storm. Truthfully, you know you've simply found a calm.
            
            For now, what remains of $!{mc_name} remains intact. By ${mc_his} standard of intact.
        
        #Nevermind, no I can't.
            You press a trembling palm to your face, as if in warding. Soon enough the shakes begin to rack you entire body.
            
            "$!{forename}, hey. It's alright." Beth steps towards you, and you step away.
            
            *label cantbeclose
            You can't be that close to her. Not now. Maybe not ever.
            
            The veneer of reassurance on her face collapses in defeat. She remains where she is as you oh so quietly fall to pieces.
            
            *label regain
            Later—it could be a few minutes or a few years—you regather what you can of yourself, the room slowly blinking back into focus.
            
        #@{(battitude = 3) Buckled isn't broken. Keep holding the emotions at bay.|Wall it off. Wall it all off.}
            @{(battitude = 3) It's seen you through five years without her, it can see you through a reunion.|If there's no handling these emotions, then cut yourself off from them.}
            
            You go glacial, burying your feelings as hard as you possibly can.
            
            *if (expressive > 69)
                Doomed to fail from the start. @{(battitude =3) Numb may have worked with Beth in the abstract distance. Face to face, you|You} run far too hot to pull off something like this.
                
                Your icy walls melt almost the moment you build them.
                
                *label triplefuck
                *set expressive %- 10
                "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck," you mumble, pressing the heels of your palms to your temples, shoulders beginning to shake. Beth looks like she might step towards you, and you back away before that can happen.
                
                *goto cantbeclose
                
            *elseif (expressive > 55)
                Turns out, that is not particularly hard. For a few seconds, your defences hold, you avoid feeling. Then a trickle grows into a flood, and it's too late.
                
                *goto triplefuck
            *elseif (expressive > 30)
                *set expressive %- 10
                The strategy succeeds and it doesn't. Feelings of loss and pain and guilt still seep through your barriers, but it's a trickle instead of a flood. It's… manageable.
                
                Holding on by your fingertips, you refocus on Beth and attempt to conjure a smile.
                
                That, it turns out, is beyond you, your lips barely twitching.
                
                It'll have to do.
                
            *else
                *set expressive %- 10
                And that's pretty damn hard. You are in fact an expert at burying things deep, deep inside.
                
                Probably there's something not super healthy about that, but in this moment, you honestly do not care.
                
                You manage to meet Beth's eyes. There's a haunted cast to them. What does she see in yours?
           
        #Tears start flowing.
            Silently you crumble, tears tracking down your cheeks.
            
            Those feelings for her never went away, but the greater the affection, the more jagged the wound.
            
            Beth steps towards you and instinctively you reel, stumbling away from her. You're barely holding together as it is. Actual touch? You'd disintegrate.
            
            She starts to say something, then closes her mouth. 
            
            *goto regain
        *selectable_if (((battitude = 2) or (battitude = 5)) or (brutal > 2)) #Punch her in the face.
            *set bethpunch 2
            Your hand launches itself without conscious thought. The crack of impact echoes around the room.
            
            Beth's head snaps to one side. Slowly, very slowly, she reaches up, gauntleted fingertips brushing against her cheek.
            
            Her eyes are glassy. Stunned.
            
            *choice
                #Stammer an apology.
                    "I—I'm sorry, I don't know what—I—" you falter into silence, hanging your head in shame.
                    
                    Fuck. You knew you were kind of garbage, but this is the entire trash heap.
                    
                #I instantly feel a surge of disgust for myself.
                    What is wrong with you? Five years, and your first instinct is to [i]hit her?[/i]
                    
                    You stare at your hand in loathing. If you could will it to burn to ash, you would.
                    
                    But blaming a body part is asinine. Your fist didn't throw a punch of its own accord. You did that. 
                    
                #I've been waiting to do that for a long time.
                    Many of your darker daydreams featured you letting out your frustrations on Beth.
                    
                    It's hardly something to be proud of, but should you lie? Act as though you haven't spent five years riding the line between love and hate?
                    
                    When words fail, sometimes your fists are all you have left.
                    
                #I... I didn't mean to lash out. I really didn't.
                    Both hands shake. An apology catches in your throat. You're a deer paralysed in the headlights, the stark glare of what you just did pinning you in place.
                    
                    You lost control, and so you [i]hit her?[/i]
                    
                    Is this who you've become?
                    
                #Hit her again.
                    *goto punchbeth2
    
        
    *goto bethpt2        
    
*else
    Her eyes are still the same deep @{(prev_li = "Beth") blue that once stole your heart.|blue.}

*comment 1 guilt 2 I had to 3 insecure
*comment 1 understand, 2 resentful, 3 numb, 4 broken up, 5 furious
*comment 1 ran, 2 trapped, 3 lost, 4 stood, 5 jaws, 6 trappedshauna

*if (ranaway)
    *choice
        #Seeing her brings on a great surge of guilt.
            You abandoned her in that place. Abandoned all of them.
            
            Guilt has been a constant companion, these last years. Now it drowns you.
            
        *selectable_if (guilt = 1) #Face to face with my own cowardice, I falter.
            Your throat closes. Your mind blanks.
            
            The guilt has abided in the background. Now it's impossible to ignore.
            
        *selectable_if (guilt > 1) #I always thought this would vindicate my decision to flee. It doesn't.
            Throughout your years of torment you clung to the sliver of belief that, without seeing Beth or Grant dead, they had to be okay. That you weren't to blame.
            
            Seeing Beth brings no relief, no lifting of the weight from your shoulders.
            
            You've spent so many sleepless nights trying to convince yourself you did what you had to, but truth is, your guilt crushed you from the moment you ran into the dark.

        *selectable_if (guilt = 2) #I can almost convince myself that running was the only option.
            Beth's okay. A half-decade later, she's okay.
            
            Of course you had to run. Who wouldn't have?
            
            The justifications taste of bile.
            
        *selectable_if (guilt = 3) #She made it, so I'm not to blame for running, right? Right?
            You cling pathetically to your justifications, as if this moment can exonerate a half-decade of doubt.
            
            Of course you know the truth. You've always known the truth. You ran. You abandoned them.
            
    It's all hollow. All so utterly empty.
    
    "$!{forename}?"
    *choice
        #Cling to my composure.
            You stand frozen, barely breathing, barely feeling. Any slip could trigger the avalanche.
            
            Keep it together.
            
            Keep it together.
            
            You swallow the shards of ice in your throat, and choke out an exhalation.
            
            It may be by your jagged, bloody fingernails, but you hold on. 
            
        #I can't. I break down.
            *label crybaby
            The first sob bubbles out of you, and it's already too late. Years of repressed emotions crash upon you in a tidal wave, and you burst into tears.
            
            Her expression breaks sorrowful, and you can't face it, can't face her, averting your eyes while your shoulders shake, wracked with—with all this.
            
            Why her? Here? Now?
            
            Why you?
            
            Why.
            
            In your peripheral vision Beth steps towards you, hesitates. She'd started to open her arms, but lowers them.
            
            You don't know what you'd have done if she went in for a hug.
            
            She stands by in silence until you're finally able to get yourself under control, drag the ugly spectacle back onto the inside where it belongs.
            
            That vessel is ruptured. The seal broken. There's no closing Pandora's box.
            
         
    *goto bethpt2        
    
*else
    @{ephalanx Part of you couldn't believe she was Phalanx. That you had to be fooling yourself. |}It's her. It's really her.
    *choice
        #I... I have no idea what I'm feeling right now.
            Emotions rise and fall and meld, an overload of warring opposites. Guilt and anger and sorrow and on and on and on—
            
            It's impossible to filter or untangle. All you can do is stand and stare and battle to keep your head above water, lest your emotions drown you.
            
        *selectable_if (battitude = 1) #I wonder what she's been through, all this time.
            Your half decade was a nightmare. What about hers? What led her to the Glory Hounds?
            
            It's hard to picture that Beth you knew as a superhero, but the evidence is staring you in the face.
            
        *selectable_if (battitude = 1) #I'm overwhelmingly relieved that she's okay.
            It wasn't for nothing.
            
            It wasn't for nothing.
            
            You let out a tremulous breath.
            
        *selectable_if (battitude = 1) #I've been telling myself for years that I accepted her choice. Turns out, I'm wrong.
            Turns out it's a lot easier to accept when you can keep Beth in the abstract past.
            
            She left you. She [i]left you behind[/i].
            
            A jagged hook lodges in your heart and sticks there.
            
        *selectable_if ((battitude = 2) or (battitude = 5)) #Seething quietly, I try not to let her see my anger.
            Fury and resentment fester in your mind, howling and beating at your skull.
            
            Coward. Coward. Coward.
            
            You keep your face a frozen mask.
            
        *selectable_if (battitude = 2) #No thanks to you, Beth.
            She flinches.
            
            Oh.
            
            You said that out loud.
            
            She lets it pass. Maybe she knows she deserved it.
            
        *selectable_if (battitude = 3) #I thought I was numb. I didn't know the meaning of the word.
            There's a ringing in your ears.
            
            You feel very, very far away from yourself. Like it's a scene playing out in a dollhouse.
            
            Unmoored. Drifting.
            
        *selectable_if (battitude = 3) #A half decade of frozen emotions hits me like an avalanche.
            Unstoppable, they roll down the mountain and swallow you whole.
            
            You've refused to feel for a long time, locking that night away in ice.
            
            Here's the thaw.
            *choice
                #Break down.
                    *goto rawgrief
                #Scream and shout.
                    *set scream true
                    Your scream tears your throat raw, unbridled and primal. Beth takes a step back and you scream again, rage and grief pouring out of you.
                    
                    There might be words. You couldn't say.
                    
                    Then as quickly as it appeared, it's gone—rather, it ends. The emotion hasn't gone anywhere. What was entombed is now laid bare, an open wound dripping across your heart.
                    
                    Beth stands by in silence until your shuddering breathing is back under control, until your eyes refocus and the tremors stop.
                    
                    "I'm sorry," she murmurs.
                    
                    Amidst you burned out emotions, you can't find the words to speak.
                
        *selectable_if (battitude = 4) #The wounds reopen in an instant.
            *label rawgrief
            Raw grief chokes into your throat.
            
            *goto crybaby
        *selectable_if (battitude = 4) #I'm flooded with such emotion, I'm paralysed.
            It all crashes upon you at once, and it's system shock, a total shutdown.
            
            There's a thousand stored up thoughts and feelings, and you just—you can't.
            
            You're crying and not even processing it, tears spilling down your frozen face. 
            
            How— 
            
            what—
            
            "$!{forename}…" Beth reaches for you. Jolting, you stumble backward. 
            
            With a quickfire volley of blinks, you reboot, grasping some semblance of control. You wipe at your eyes, refocus, and pretend that didn't happen.
            
            Mercifully, Beth follows your lead.
            
        *selectable_if ((battitude = 5) or (battitude = 2)) #I've spent years @{(battitude = 5) hating|resenting} her, but now that she's in front of me I don't know what to do with myself.
            *set conflictanger true
            It was easy to hate the idea of Beth. The concept of Beth. Easy to hate the person who left you behind.
            
            But this is just… her. It's just her. Your friend, five years on.
            
            You're furious yet you're relieved yet you're somehow homesick. You've got five years of vengeful fantasies stored up, and they all fade into irrelevance.
            
        *if (battitude = 5) #I've dreamed of punching her @{ephalanx since I realised who she was.|for years.} So I do.
            *goto punchbeth
        *if (battitude < 5) #Punch her in the face.
            *label punchbeth
            *set bethpunch 2
            Her head snaps to the side. She doesn't flinch or stumble.

            Slowly, she looks back to you. "I deserve that, I suppose."

            *choice
                #Agree.
                    "Yeah. You do."
                    
                    Her lip curls in a sardonic smile.
                    
                #Hit her again.
                    *label punchbeth2
                    *set bethpunch 3
                    Your second punch connects with her jaw.
                    
                    @{(brokenheart = 1) She rocks. Still her eyes are glazed over.|She takes longer to turn her head back, this time.}
                    *choice
                        #Again.
                            *set bethpunch 4
                            The thunk of your knuckles into Beth's face is the only sound in the room.
                            *choice
                                #Again.
                                    Your body is shaking. A livid mark begins to blossom across Beth's cheek.
                                    *choice
                                        #Again.
                                            *set bethpunch 5
                                            You pull back your fist, launching a haymaker with so much behind it you stumble forward.
                                            
                                            Beth catches the punch, steadying you with her other hand.
                                            
                                            "That's enough," she @{(brokenheart = 1) says, a tremor in her voice.|says softly.} You thrash around, struggling fruitlessly. After a moment, she lets go, taking a guarded step back.
                                            
                                            You snatch your hand away, breathing as unsteadily as your footing. You don't lunge at her again, though part of you is tempted. The other is consumed with bitterness and regret and a total lack of release. There's no satisfaction here.
                                            
                                            *goto fcomposure
                                            
                                        #Stop.
                                            You lower your shuddering fist, trembling like a leaf.
                                            
                                            *goto yeahstillsucks
                                            
                                        #Break down.
                                            You're sobbing. You were already crying by the second punch, you think. Beth steps closer. You flail a fist at her, knuckles glancing from her breastplate. She stops anyway.
                                            
                                            "$!{forename}…"
                                            
                                            "Don't. Just… just don't," you choke out, tears streaming down your face. There's no release here, no satisfaction. It all burns as bad as it ever did.
                                            
                                            *label fcomposure
                                            The facsimile of composure is slow in returning.
                                            
                                            *goto bethpt2
                                            
                                #Stop.
                                    *goto witheffort
                        #Stop.
                            *label witheffort
                            With effort, you lower your fist. Your body begins to shake.
                            
                            *label yeahstillsucks
                            Beth's eyes @{(brokenheart = 1) are dull. Numb.|seek yours, and you avoid them.} You hoped there would be some release, some satisfaction.
                            
                            Of course not.
                            
                            The shaking is slow to end.
                            
                            *goto bethpt2
                            
                #Apologize.
                    You look down at your twitching hand, then back to her. "Sorry, I… that was wrong of me."
                    
                    "It doesn't matter."
                    
                    There's a haunted look in her eyes. You wonder what she sees in yours.
                    
                    *goto bethpt2
                #Say nothing.
                    There's nothing worth saying. Not to this.
                    
                    You lower your trembling fist.
                    
                    *goto bethpt2
                    

*label bethpt2
*if bethpunch > 1
    *if (brokenheart = 1)
        Silence. Seconds stretch by. The only motion is Beth's slow blinking.
        
        Finally, she seems to return to herself, shaking off the shock of you hitting her.
        
        
    *else
        Silence. Beth's gauntleted fingers brush over her cheekbone, trail down to her jaw.
    
    She fixes you with her placid, unreadable regard.
    
*else
    "I don't believe it." Her voice is hoarse. Ashen.

    @{scream She's letting your outburst by her. Parts of you are grateful. Others are not.|}

*choice
        #"Are you real?" Prii wasn't.
            *set contemprii +1
            You can't call the sound she makes a laugh, trembling and sickly. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
            
            There's something more tangible about this Beth, older and worn down, than not-Prii. She's not the Beth you remember, but that's [i]correct[/i]. She's supposed to be different.
            
            This is Beth.
            
        #"...hey, Beth."
            She stares at you, eyes wet. "I had no idea how badly I could miss someone's voice."
            
            Yeah.
            
            Yeah.
            
        #"Where were you?"
            The question means far more than you could ever fit into words. 
            
            Perhaps Beth senses the weight of it, because she looks away. "That is a very long story, $!{forename}."
            
            Five years long.
            
        #"Nice armour."
            She doesn't smile. "Five years, and that's all you have to say?"
            
            *if bethpunch > 1
                Yeah, probably a long shot to go for humour right after slugging her in the face. @{bethpunch ||Twice.|Multiple times.|Multiple times.}
                
            *else
                @{scream Yeah, probably a long shot to lighten the mood right after screaming your lungs out.|You come up blank on clever rejoinders.} 
            
        #@{(expressive > 55) "You know, a 'hello' would have worked just as well."|"Did you have to drag me in here like that?"}
            Beth grimaces. "I'm sorry. That was… impulsive of me. I saw you there and—and I couldn't wait. Not after five years."
            
            Hard to argue, much as you dislike getting accosted. You nod, slightly.
            
        #I say nothing.
            Surely you can't be expected to handle this reunion and hold up a conversation at the same time.

Her gaze searches you, up and down.

"I almost didn't recognise you," she murmurs. "@{feature Your hair… and you're|Your eyes… and you're|You're|You're} so thin. You look…" She stops, shaking her head. "What happened to you?"

You can't tell her what's really going on. You can't.
*choice
    #I'd just drag her down with me.
        Beth escaped that place. You didn't.
        
        She doesn't deserve to get dragged back there. @{(battitude = 5) Despite your anger.|} @{(battitude = 2) Despite your resentment.|}
        
        You're toxic. Let her get close, and she'll lose everything she's built.
        
    #I'm too ashamed of what I've become.
        You're less than a ghost, a twisted mess of a thing dependent on ${mc_his} own torturer to survive. @{guiltkill A monster and a murderer.|A pawn. A tool.}
        
        Better not to tarnish the good memories. Let $!{forename} stay in the past.
        
    #I'd be signing my own death warrant.
        No Coven, no Juice. No Juice and it's only a matter of time before your powers consume you from the inside out.
        
        Your life is one of the few things you've got, and the past weeks have reminded you that you kind of enjoy not being dead.
        
        So, until you figure out how to disentangle it from a slow and painful suicide, you're not confessing.
        
    *selectable_if ((battitude = 5) or (battitude = 2)) #I refuse to crawl for her help.
        @{conflictanger Your emotions are all over the place. One moment you feel almost ready to forgive Beth, the next, all your resentment comes surging back.|You haven't been nursing this grudge for five years only to throw yourself at Beth's feet the moment you reunite.}
        
        @{conflictanger What's certain, though, is that you refuse to throw yourself at her feet.|These wounds run deep. Your anger runs deeper.}
        
        It doesn't matter whether she could or would help. She abandoned you to die. You'd chew off your own hand before accepting hers.
        
    #I won't betray the Altruists.
        It's foolish. You're betraying them already. @{(archqualms = 1) You spied on Dion and Mal just hours ago.|You're a spy.} Sentiment shouldn't hold you back.
        
        And yet it does.
        
        They're your team, and you won't sell them out. Not to the Hounds. Not even to Beth.
        
    #Everything's moving too fast. I need to think this through.
        *set instinctive %- 10
        @{ephalanx Sure, you knew meeting her here was a possibility, but you aren't ready for it. How could anyone?|Beth isn't just alive, she's Phalanx. You aren't ready for either of those. Not in a million years.}
        
        Your mental state is a blazing tyre fire: you're in no condition to make a call of this magnitude. You need time to calm down and space to be methodical.
        
    *selectable_if ((battitude !=2) and (battitude !=5)) #Trusting Beth is one thing, trusting the Hounds is another.
        Perhaps you could put your fate in Beth's hands. Hero or no, she's still @{dated_beth your… |your } friend.
        
        But Vantage's? Arcade's? Surpass's? They're strangers. Worse than that, actually, since 'stranger' implies that you haven't fistfought them. Multiple times.
        
        Trusting Beth is trusting all of them, and that's a bridge too far.
        
    #I won't surrender my freedom. Never again.
        *set defiance + 1
        Admit that you're $!{mask} and you're as good as climbing into the cell yourself.
        
        Your current autonomy may still be on the end of the Coven's leash, but it's better than the lab. @{(defiance > 4) You already yearn to slip the yoke. You refuse to exchange one for another.|Provided you don't give Hypothesis a reason to drag you back, you should be able to keep operating independently.}
        
        You want—no, you [i]need[/i]—to be free.
        
    #Whatever we were, I'm a villain now, and she's a hero.
        $!{mask} and Phalanx.
        
        $!{forename} and Beth.
        
        There's another link between you now, and one she can't know. You're on opposite sides, and an enemy is an enemy.
        
        Perhaps you'd tell Beth, perhaps not.
        
        With Phalanx, there's no ambiguity. Villains don't reveal themselves to heroes.
 
 
Beth's question hangs in the air. You won't tell the truth, but you can't ignore her entirely.
 
*choice
    #Tell her I was held captive, let her fill in the blanks herself.
        Lying by omission might be the best option. It might be the [i]only[/i] option.
        
        "After… what happened. I was taken prisoner. Held for a long time. Held and… other things." Even by allusion, it's harder to say than you expected. Beth stares at you, lips slightly parted. Sensing a question incoming, you hastily continue. "I wish I could say who they were, but…" You shrug helplessly.
    
        "How long?" Beth whispers.
        
        You don't even have to lie for that one. "Until a month ago, give or take." You shake your head. "I don't know. I guess they got tired of keeping me in a cell. "
        
        "I'm sorry." She's so faint you barely hear her.
        
        @{(expressive > 70) "Saved on rent." You grimace and pretend it's a smile.|Your eyes drop to the floor. Sympathy. How are you supposed to react again?}
        
        @{(expressive > 70) Beth looks pained, but|Beth} doesn't speak. Seems that your story holds up. For now.
        
    #...Maybe just enough of the truth to dissuade further questions?
        *set bethcover 2
        Revealing anything to Beth is a dangerous game. You may be giving her too many dots to connect. Even if she doesn't, she could bring it up around $!{cg}, and you're fucked if the Coven finds out you're telling a Hound about them.
        
        On the other hand, if Beth buys it, you're pretty much in the clear, your disappearance and physical changes explained away.
        
        It's a risk worth taking. Maybe a risk you [i]must[/i] take.
        
        You steel yourself, and speak. "That thing we saw wasn't there by fluke." You falter, and not by design. Talking about that night is even harder than you could have imagined.
        
        It's no easier on Beth. A tremor runs through her entire body. "Somebody was controlling that monster?"
        
        You nod. "They took me. E-experimented on me. It's only recently I got away."
        
        Beth looks sick. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, so faint you barely hear her.
        
        Even if you wanted to, you don't think you could say anything else. You dip your head in the barest nod and hope that she drops the topic.
        
    *selectable_if (subterfuge < 35) #@{(subterfuge > 34) Claiming I was injured will raise too many questions about the timeframe. Not trying that.|Claim I was injured. Debilitatingly so.}
        *set bethcover 3
        *set doubt_gh + 10
        "I got messed up. Very badly," you say. "I was recovering for a long time."
        
        Beth looks at you askance. "$!{forename}, you vanished. If you were hospitalised someone would have heard about it. If not me, then your family."
        
        "Who says I was hospitalised?"
        
        That was not the right thing to say. Beth's brow furrows deep.
        
        You attempt to steer out of it. "What I mean is, who says it was a regular hospital? You don't check into the ER with monster wounds."
        
        Her frown remains. "The alternative is the DPR, and you certainly were not in their care."
        
        Feigning nonchalance, you shrug. "Not sure what to tell you. That's what happened."
        
        "Right." Beth's expression tells you she's biting back a harsh remark. Something else that hasn't changed.
        
        The sooner you get off this topic the better.
       
    #Just watch me.
        *set bethcover 5
        *set doubt_gh + 5
        *set rel_phalanx - 10
        You can spin up a story or a not-quite-story on the spot then deal with the cascading effect of additional lies to shore yourself up, constantly risking a contradiction or lapse, [i]or[/i] you can keep your damn mouth shut. Better taking the short term heat than adding a third layer to your cover.
        
        "Nothing I want to talk about," you say.
        
        Beth looks at you askance. "$!{forename}, surely you don't expect me to accept that."
        
        "Doesn't matter whether you accept it or not." @{(rel_beth > 75) You're struggling to meet|You meet her} her hurt-filled eyes.
        
        "…I see." Once more, her voice has dropped low. "I hope you'll reconsider."
        
        You shrug.
        
    *selectable_if (subterfuge > 50) #@{(expressive > 55) Improvise the most elaborate crock of bullshit imaginable.|Lie. Lie like my life depends on it. Because it just might.}
        *set bethcover 4
        *if doubt_gh > 1
            *set doubt_gh - 5
            
        "I've been on the run," you begin, every cog in your brain turning. "That place we found must have been some kind of black site." You pause, looking her up and down. "Is that why you're doing the superhero thing? Protection?" Turn the story back on her. Don't give her the chance to find holes in your fiction.
        
        She hesitates. "Not entirely."
        
        "Maybe you were too hard a target." You rub at your face, shakily exhaling. You're already rattled, saving you the trouble of faking it. "I can't remember what it's like to not be looking over my shoulder every ten seconds."
        
        "Someone's been after you? For five years?" Her tone is more sceptical than sympathetic, but she's nibbling. You just need to reel her in.
        
        You let a desperate, despairing edge seep into your voice. "I know how it sounds. I do. I wouldn't believe me if I hadn't lived through it."
        
        A moment passes. She nods. "Go on."
        
        "I have no idea who's behind it. For a while I thought it was the DPR, but how long they take to catch up to me seems independent of the DPR's presence, so…" You shrug helplessly.
        
        "And whoever is responsible, they send people after you? To what end?" Beth hasn't changed so much that you can't tell when she's deep in thought. You're getting her.
        
        You laugh, dialling up the hysteria a notch or two. "Not for a friendly chat." You run a hand across your head, frantic, anxious strokes. "I've got theories but you probably already think I'm a lunatic."
        
        "Of course I don't." @{(bestie = 1) The compassion in her face drives a fistful of guilt into your gut.|There's compassion in her face. You should feel triumph.} "$!{forename}, if you're in danger, the Hounds can—"
        
        "No!" It bursts from you more forcefully than intended. "I—things go badly when other people get involved."
        
        Beth frowns. Then, with a sigh, she nods. "If that is what you want." She folds her arms. With the armour, it's an imposing gesture. "We'll discuss this further."
        
        She's not asking. Still, in this moment, it's a reprieve. "Okay."
        
        What's one more lie to wrap this up?
        
    #I don't know what to say. My mind's locking up.
        *set bethcover 6
        Too much. Too many questions. You've been dragged to this place, then to this room, then had the past upturned directly onto your head. Even telling the truth of the five year chasm yawning at your feet is an insurmountable task. Coming up with something else to fill that gulf is simply impossible.
        
        You stare, eyes wide like a frightened rabbit.
        
        "$!{forename}?"
        
        You force your mouth to move. "I…" you croak. "It's…"
        
        The words wilt away. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.
        
        A soft sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to overwhelm you. Let's discuss this later."
        
        You manage a trembling nod. The prospect of 'later' sets off a pang of panic, but at least you've delayed the inevitable.
        
*page_break        
        
The last moments you spent together cycle through your mind. @{origin The all-consuming fear as you fled.|The way out sealing itself shut.|The darkness surrounding you.|Deciding to stay.|Deciding to stay.|The way out sealing itself shut.}

*if btalk = 2
    @{bmessageb You said you'd catch up to her.|You promised her you'd be fine.|You told her you'd see each other again soon.|You said you still owed her that talk. About… the two of you.|You refused to go with her. For Prii and Shauna's sake.|You said you'd catch up to her.}

*elseif btalk = 3
    You can hear the thud of your coffin as clear as day.
    
*else
    As time wore on, you became more and more certain that those moments were the final.
    
@{ephalanx Your realisation in the Zone brought the past into sharp relief. This conversation focuses the lens to a laserpoint.|And now you're here. Both of you.}

It's not only the desire to wriggle away from more questions of where you've been that has you opening your mouth to speak.

@{(bethcover > 4) "What|"You've heard about me. What} about you? What about @{alive Grant?|Shauna?}"

*if ((prev_li = "Grant") and (alive = 1))
    As you ask, you can't suppress the wobble in your voice.
    
*elseif ((prev_li = "Shauna") and (alive = 2))
    As you ask, you can't suppress the wobble in your voice.
    
Beth finds something interesting to inspect on the nearest wall. @{alive "He|"She} was well, last I saw @{alive him."|her."}

Your heart skips a beat. "Last you saw @{alive him?|her?} What does [i]that[/i] mean?"

"We're not in regular contact. The situation is…" she hesitates. "Complex."

*if alive = 1
    *set grantstatus 4
    
*else
    *set shaunastatus 4
*choice
    #Get frustrated. I need to know.
        *set instinctive %+ 10
        "Complex? Can you spit it out for once in your life!?"
        
        She grimaces. Then…
        
    #Try to be patient.
        *set instinctive %- 10
        @{(expressive > 55) "Meaning…?"|"Elaborate."}
        
    #Make a snippy comment.
        "Oh sure that explains everything, no further questions."
        
        She frowns. Then…
        
    #Hearing @{alive he's|she's} alive is enough.
        It's all you ever hoped to know.
        
        Despite your quiet acceptance, Beth shifts uncomfortably. Then she's speaking.
        
        *goto talkboutsurvive

More hesitation. Several long seconds. Beth stares down at her gauntlets, flexing her fingers.

At length she looks up. "There are things I'm not supposed to say, $!{forename}."
*choice
    #"Is @{alive he|she} doing okay, at least?"
        Beth nods. Where earlier she wavered, now she's all conviction.
        
        You let out a sigh it takes a moment to place as relief.
        
        A moment later, Beth begins to speak.
        
    #"You have to give me more than that!"
        "I—" She stops, shakes her head. "You are right. Of course you are right."
        
        You stare at her, caught between indignant frustration and tentative hope. 
        
        *label INHALE
        Beth inhales, exhales, inhales again, then begins to speak.
       
    *selectable_if ((dated_shauna) and (alive = 2)) #"This is my girlfriend we're talking about!"
        *label bethflinch
        Beth flinches. "I'm sorry. You are right. You deserve to know."
        
        You stare at her, heart pulsing with tentative hope and the squeezing dread of the edge of a cliff.
        
        *goto INHALE
    *selectable_if ((dated_grant) and (alive = 1)) #"This is my boyfriend we're talking about!"
        *goto bethflinch

*label talkboutsurvive
"When @{alive he|she} and I escaped that place, the local DPR agency swooped in by the following morning. I suppose a fresh flare dragging their critically injured friend into hospital set off an alert of some kind." As she tells the story, Beth's face is distant, her gaze far off in the past "I told them everything I could. That's what you're supposed to do, after all." Her lips twist, a sardonic mockery of her younger self. "They had me signed up before I was in my right mind, and I [i]thanked[/i] them for it. Idiotic. Still, they were ensuring @{alive Grant|Shauna} had the best possible care, and @{alive he|she} was my priority." The mocking smirk deepens. "In retrospect, it's so obvious. They were desperate not to be blamed for allowing a parahuman group to operate right under their noses. The news would have feasted on a story like ours. Instead…" She sighs. "Instead, I had a contract, and @{alive Grant|Shauna} had something approximating witness protection." For the first time since beginning her tale, Beth refocuses on you. "@{alive He's|She's} built something new for @{alive himself|herself} these days. @{alive He|She} doesn't need me breathing down @{alive his|her} neck and reminding @{alive him|her} of the @{alive past." She gropes loosely for a lighthearted affectation. "And it isn't as if we got along particularly well beforehand.|past. She deserves what peace she can get.} We speak occasionally, and it suffices." 

She falls silent, leaving you processing. For so long you could only speculate about their escape, and now you finally have the facts.

@{alive Grant's|Shauna's} alive. @{alive Grant's|Shauna's} alive. @{alive He didn't die for you|You saved her} after all.

*page_break

Beth recognises you need a moment. Perhaps she needs a moment herself. Either way, she leaves an appropriate interval before resuming. "I'll need to talk to a few people, but I promise you I will do everything I can to get you in touch with @{alive him. He'll|her. She'll} want to hear from you."

That almost sweeps you from your feet. Speaking to @{alive Grant?|Shauna?} You're can barely comprehend speaking with Beth, and she's standing right there.

While you manage a brief nod, your mind's already racing away. Five years on. What kind of life is @{alive Grant|Shauna} leading? 

*if alive = 1
    Hard wrapping your head around an older Grant. Him and maturity never got in the same building. @{(prev_li = "Grant") And you loved him for that.|And that's what made him Grant.} There's a pang as you think it could be different now. A shift in him that you never got to experience.

*else
    Did her art go anywhere? Is she still as into comic books and writing as she used to be? Does she still play basketball—you remember the sight of her mangled leg, and your enthusiasm crumples. @{(prev_li = "Shauna") You weren't there for her. Weren't there for the person you cared about so deeply.|Nothing will be the same, and you missed out.}

*if alive = 1
    *if brokenheart = 4
        *label thisbetterwork
        Your wounded heart wants to sing for joy and weep tears of blood. @{alive Grant's|Shauna's} survival doesn't undo these scars, doesn't fill the gaping hole @{alive he|she} left behind. It doesn't give back years of @{alive missed smiles and laughter and those rare and precious serious moments.|quiet, brilliant smiles, of creative excitement, nor the boundless determination beneath all her doubts.}                 
*else
    *if brokenheart = 3
        *goto thisbetterwork
        
    Will this cleanse you, let you begin anew? Or, is it merely the master torturer's moment to select a fresh instrument of pain?
    
    *goto okayedgelord
     
Even if you escape the Coven tomorrow, the lost time is gone for good.

*label okayedgelord
*page_break
*if origin = 6
    Beth looks away, takes a deep breath, then looks back. "…Prii?"
    
    Oh. She saw Grant die, didn't she? She was the one who told you.
    
*else
    Beth looks away, takes a deep breath, then looks back. "…Prii? @{alive Shauna?|Grant?}"

Slowly, you blink. The snap of bone, the scents of blood and chewed human flesh play through your mind.

In front of you, Beth's eyes burn with feverish hope, her face still as stone.
*choice
    #Tell her.
        "…didn't make it."
        
        *label paincracks
        Beth's stoic mask cracks with pain. "Alright."
        
    #Tell with brutal honesty.
        *set rel_phalanx -5
        You yield to the vindictive urge. If she wants to know, then she can have a fraction of your pain.
        
        "The monster tore them to pieces."
        
        Beth inhales sharply. "I—alright." 
        
        Your satisfaction is fleeting. Hurting Beth doesn't lessen the effect on you.
        
    #I slowly shake my head.
        The gesture speaks for itself.
        
        *goto paincracks
    #It's too hard to get the words out.
        *if origin = 6
            Prii's death is fact. You've never been in the position of delivering it as news, and it's paralysing.
            
        *else          
            Prii and @{alive Shauna's|Grant's} deaths are fact. You've never been in the position of delivering them as news, and it's paralysing.
        
        "I—they—" Your throat closes. Your eyes sting. Helplessly, you slump.
        
        "You don't have to say." Beth's voice is gossamer soft. "I understand."
        
        A faint nod.
        
    #I'm not going to tell her.
        *set rel_phalanx - 5
        Your mouth stays shut.
        
        She waits. And she waits. And she waits.
        
        Finally, her brow creases. "…$!{forename}. If you dislike me, or resent me, or—anything, really, that's fine," she says. "But please, [i]please[/i] don't say you're so cruel as to keep this from me."
        
        *if psycho > 1
            *set refusetell true
            *set rel_phalanx - 5
            The look in her eyes would have hurt you, once. Somewhere along the way, you lost your ability to care.
            
            You say nothing.
            
            Beth turns her head away, blinking rapidly. You catch a glimpse of welling moisture. "You've changed," she rasps.
            
            "Maybe."
            
        *else
            The look in her eyes sears you to the core. Try as you may, you can't harden your heart enough to remain silent. 
        
            *if origin = 6
                Not for Beth's sake. Prii deserves someone else to know.
            
            *else
                Not for Beth's sake. Prii and @{alive Shauna|Grant} deserve someone else to know.
            
            "They're dead," you say, short and sharp.
            
            "I—thank you."
            
            You turn your head, refusing to meet that piercing gaze any longer. 
    
    
Another long pause. Beth slowly clenches and unclenches her fists. @{refusetell She's smart enough to know what your refusal actually means. Your survival just had her daring to hope. That little twinge of doubt, that 'what if' instilled by keeping quiet is far worse than anything else you could have done to her.|There's a slight shake to her shoulders, a shudder to her breaths. As quickly as your survival awakened that tenuous hope, reality snuffed it back out. No miracles here.}

Finally, she drags an armoured knuckle across her forehead. A vivid red line rises and fades, and with it fades her @{refusetell moment of weakness.|display of grief.} Instead she stares at you, a conflict you can't place playing out over her expression.

Eventually, it's too much. "What?"

"I just…" Beth runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head. "I don't understand. Even if @{(bethcover = 4) you are on the run,|you've had limited opportunities,} surely you could have made contact sooner. My profession may have changed, but my number has not. How is it that I only find out you're alive by happenstance?" She meets your eyes, her own so desperately vulnerable. "Be honest. Were you even trying?"

She did not just ask you that. Like it's nothing. Like you owed her to reach out. Like you're a neglectful friend instead of a shackled fucking lab experiment.
*temp faceface false

*choice
    #Get defensive.
        "That's unfair," you say, reproachful. "I've had my own crap to deal with."
        
        @{(bethcover = 5) "Which you refuse to tell me."|"And not once did it occur to you that there were people who would appreciate knowing you weren't dead."}
        
        "My life doesn't revolve around you, Beth!" you snap. "If you care so much, then maybe [i]you[/i] should have tried to find [i]me![/i]"
        
    #She's a fucking superhero, and she never saved me.
        Anger bubbles to the surface, boiling over before you can stop it.
        
        Your mouth pulls into a snarl. "Fuck you. Don't you have fucking superpowers? Maybe you should have used them to find me, if it matters so much."
        
    #I can't lose my @{(bethpunch > 1) temper again.|temper.} Not now.
        "I had my reasons," you mutter, fixing your eyes on the floor, trying to hold your seething emotions in check.
        
        "Really."
        
        Oh she is seriously testing you. Your head snaps back up.
        
        "Yeah, actually!" you growl. "I could ask you the same question."
        
    *selectable_if (searched) #Actually, I did try, and I'll throw that back in her face.
        *set faceface true
        *set rel_phalanx + 5
        *if doubt_gh > 1
            *set doubt_gh - 5
            
        "When I looked into it, all I found was dead ends and cold cases," you snap. "How exactly was I supposed to contact you?"
        
        Beth starts. "You… looked into me?"
        
        "Into everything. There was barely a trail, Beth." Accusation creeps into your tone, and you let it stay. "Turns out @{alive Grant's|Shauna's} in hiding or something, and you're a superhero. No wonder I didn't get anywhere."
        
        "I see." She lets out a guilty sigh. "I apologise. It was an unfair question."
        
        "I'm guessing you tried as well. Finding me, I mean." You shouldn't ask, but you need to know. You need to know she didn't forget you.
        
        *goto glisten

"I DID!"

The shout, jagged and raw, cuts through your accusation like tissue paper.

*label glisten
@{faceface Her breath catches. She nods.|Her eyes glisten, locked onto yours like she's terrified you'll vanish.} "I called you. I called every day for three years. Continued for another year after that. I only stopped because hoping started to hurt too much." @{faceface She swallows painfully.|A long shuddering breath.} "And I searched. I searched as much and as often as I could. I checked the compound for myself, because I couldn't just trust what they said. Nothing. Like a bad dream. I looked all across town, I looked everywhere I could think of, even" — she @{faceface squeezes her eyes shut|swallows hard} — "Even morgues, John and Jane Does, and—and the like." 

You can't speak, snarled in her retelling. All that, and it still made no difference.

She continues.

"Five years, $!{forename}." Her voice is hoarse, fragile. "And nothing. Nothing until I bump into you by coincidence." She laughs, an ugly, broken sound. "You didn't even tell your parents."

An unexpected jolt. You barely remember the last time you thought about family.
*label parents
*choice
    #We weren't close, but...
        Even before your life was torn apart, you hadn't seen your folks in almost a year. You were in a different town, and it's not like they gave you much incentive to visit unless you felt like getting various life choices raked over the coals.
        
        They weren't the warmest people, but they did care in their own way. Their own wonderful, emotionally stunted way. 
        
        You still can't imagine how your disappearance must have made them feel.
        
        "No, I didn't," you murmur. Beth tilts her head. You know the question she isn't asking. "It's better if they don't know."
        
        "$!{forename}… you can't mean that."
        
        You shrug, hugging your arms to yourself, shrinking away from the subject of family. Yes you can.
        
    #It's not like we were on good terms. Barely speaking terms, really.
        *set parents 2
        "I mean…" you mutter. "Kind of surprised they noticed I was gone."
        
        "$!{forename}…"
        
        "What do you want me to say?" you bark. "They never cared."
        
        "There is a difference between being distant and being indifferent to their child disappearing, $!{forename}."
        
        "If you say so." Your voice is flat. This isn't up for discussion.
        
    #I always hated them, and she's well aware of that.
        *set parents 3
        "If they wanted to know, maybe they should have been better parents," you spit, both surprised and oddly gratified that you can still muster such venom for them. "Guess it took me dying for them to realise they're supposed to care, huh?"
        
        "$!{forename}…"
        
        "What? They never gave a damn about me, so I don't see why I should give a damn about them."
        
        "I—" She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Alright. I won't argue with you."
        
        "Good." Your tone leaves no room for debate. This topic is closed.
        
    *hide_reuse #First, I ask how she'd know.
        "What would you know about that?" you say, hating the defensiveness that creeps into your tone.
        
        "We talk. I can't say anything about what happened, but… we talk." Beth looks guilty. Perhaps over speaking to your parents behind your back. Perhaps because she's hidden the truth from them.
        
        Perhaps both. Likely both. 
        
        Regardless…
        *goto parents

The conversation withers into an awkward silence. There's so much unspoken that it's stifling, the weight of your years of separation turning the atmosphere oppressive and suffocating.

Beth forces her way through the tension, brandishing a change of topic. "What are you doing at the moment? I heard briefly that Libra was coming by with a couple of civilians, which I presume is you." She regards you, arching an eyebrow. "How did you get wrapped up in a mask fight, $!{forename}?" The blend of disapproval and concern is achingly familiar.

The question itself, on the other hand, is just inconvenient. You haven't had a chance to straighten out a cover story with $!{cg}, nor do you have a ready-made personal update. Not one that'll satisfy Beth. @{(subterfuge > 45) You're a good liar, but this is piling up far too fast.|You aren't nearly a good enough liar to keep ahead of this pile up.} 
*temp ache false
*temp iamlazy false

A sudden pounding at the door almost startles you both from your skin.

"Phalanx?" hollers a familiarly boisterous voice. Wait. Surely that isn't… "Y'all good in here? Our guests are a lil bit feisty over you stealing their friend!"

Beth scrambles to replace her helmet and then yanks the door open, revealing, as expected, Surpass. "You are interrupting," Beth snaps frostily.

"Sorry," says Surpass, not sounding sorry. "Kinda worries people when you randomly nab someone without explaining, y'know?"

Beth makes a terse noise. For a moment, you're transported back to the old days. You can picture her eyes rolling below the helm. "Nothing untoward is happening, Surpass. Vantage was right there. If there was a problem, she would have spoken up."

"Well, see, Vantage is occupied with the real polite but also real insistent and large man in our lobby who is [i]very[/i] concerned about his friend. You get me?"

*choice
    #It's absolutely surreal seeing Beth arguing with Surpass of all people.
        That's someone who can demolish walls with her bare hands, and Beth's bickering with her like she would Grant.
        
        The context is jarring. This is Beth's normal, two worlds away from what you knew it to be.
        
    #Didn't expect I'd be thanking Surpass today.
        The interruption couldn't have come at a better time.
        
        Ironic that it's Surpass pulling your butt from the fire.
        
    #I guess some things don't change.
        Can't take the snark out of the Beth.
        
        Seeing Surpass get an earful is almost enough to conjure a smile.
        
        Almost.
        
    #Loss and jealousy churn in my gut.
        Once you had something like this with Beth and the others. No longer.
        
        You remember what was taken, and you ache.
        
    *selectable_if (surpass_stomach > 1) #...My stomach hurts. Like, physically.
        *set ache true
        It wasn't so long ago that Surpass put a hole in you, and there's a twinge from the still-healing wound, the constant ache resurfacing from subconsciousness.
        
        Surreptitiously you shift your weight, trying to ease the discomfort. Great, you'll be feeling this all day.

"Surely Vantage can handle a civilian." Beth folds her arms, obstinate.

"I mean yeah, if you wanna make headlines."

"Ugh."

Beth's complaints are all bark and no bite; you remember angry Beth, and this isn't it. Surpass's tone has stayed light throughout. They're comfortable around each other. Maybe even friends.

*if (((soutcome = 4) or (soutcome = 5)) or (soutcome = 6))
    *set iamlazy true
    Your attention bounces over to Surpass. This close, her shemagh doesn't conceal as much as it might, and you can see the mess you made of her eye, swollen and bruised. You thought you did more damage than that. Does she have accelerated recovery too?
    
    She catches you looking. Her eyes crinkle with her grin. "Helluva shiner, right? $!{snick}—I mean, $!{mask} got me good the other day."
    
    *if soutcome = 6
        Huh. Is that a little pride you feel?
        
    *else
        @{ache Another|A} sympathetic pang from your perforated stomach.
    
    "Surpass, if you are going to interrupt an important conversation, you could at least remain on task," Beth complains.
    
*else
    Your attention bounces over to Surpass. Catching your eye, she winks then returns to her conversation.
    
    Just when you thought today couldn't get any weirder.

@{iamlazy "Oh right, yeah. So|"So yeah,} can you give $!{aka2} back a sec? Just so Libra and ${mc_his} other friend know ${mc_he}@{mc_singular 's|'re} okay?"

*if (pseudonym)
        *temp lazystill false
    
        Beth tilts her helmeted head. "…$!{aka2}?"
        
        Son of a bitch.
        *page_break
        Can you catch a single break today?
        
        *if bethcover = 4
            You mask your frustration and roll with it. "I know, I know, first name basis. Crazy, huh?" You give Beth a significant look, like she's in on the secret. 'Of course I'm not using my real name, I'm on the run'.
            
            It's a lot to communicate with just your eyes, but some shreds of your old connection must be intact. She nods. "You're full of surprises, $!{aka2}."
            
            Your pseudonym sounds profoundly strange from Beth's mouth.
            
            *goto overhead
            
        *else
            *set doubt_gh +5
            Back to your box of excuses.
                        
            *choice
                #"Wanted a fresh start, you know?"
                    "I can understand that," Beth says after a long, long moment.
                    
                    *label satisfy
                    The explanation seems to satisfy. You've dodged so many bullets at this point you might need to check if you've developed a new power.
                    
                    *label overhead
                    @{lazystill Surpass clears her throat.|Surpass glances between you both, your conversation clearly going over her head.} "Soo about that thing I mentioned."
                    
                    *label labeloverload
                    @{pseudonym "Very well." Beth|Beth sighs. "Fine." She} turns to you. "Don't you dare disappear on me." Even armoured as she is, you can feel the burning intensity of her glare.
                    
                    "I won't." Perhaps you mean it.
                    
                    *if (pseudonym)
                        As you follow Surpass out, Beth close behind, you reflect on that final unexpected bump in the road.
                        
                        *choice
                            #Hearing my real name again was nice while it lasted.
                                *set pseudopinion 2
                                Even if the circumstances left something to be desired.
                                
                                Your pseudonym is @{(defiance > 3) in a way a symbol of your servitude. You picked it because you had to.|a means to an end, a service to secrecy.} It's not who you are.
                                
                                *page_break
                                
                                *goto lobbyagain
                            #Honestly, $!{aka2} is starting to feel more like my name than $!{forename}.
                                *set pseudopinion 3
                                For years, all you've had is Paradigm. The occasional Dime. 
                                
                                Getting to be someone else has felt good.
                                
                                $!{forename}… $!{forename} was before all of this. Maybe it's worth leaving ${mc_him} in the past.
                                
                                *page_break
                                
                                *goto lobbyagain
                        
                    *else
                        You follow Surpass out, Beth close behind.
                        
                        *page_break
                        
                        *goto lobbyagain
                #"Hey, it stops anyone recognising me from our old hobby."
                    Beth snorts. "We were hardly famous."
                    
                    *goto satisfy
                #"You know I don't give the law my name."
                    *set lazystill true
                    Beth actually laughs, ringing out from the helmet. @{(arrested = 1) "As I recall, you only [i]almost[/i] got in trouble."|"Still the troublemaker I see."} Her voice is fond with nostalgia.
                    
                    "Am I hearing this? Miss Morals, associating with hardened criminals?" Surpass breaks in.
                    
                    Beth snorts. "Hardly."
                    
                    *goto satisfy
    
*else
        *goto labeloverload
  
*label lobbyagain
*set met_phalanx 1
*if rel_beth > 80
    *set rel_phalanx +40
*else
    *set rel_phalanx +30
 
Surpass holds the doors open for you to re-enter the lobby, then steps to the side, gesturing with both hands as if to present you to the room. "Alright! I got ${mc_him} back in one piece! You folks can rest easy!"

Several heads turn. The lobby has become more populated since you left it. $!{cg} and Arcade got back while you were tied up, and Alistair is on his feet, towering over Vantage. It's the politest loom you've ever seen. Mixed feelings that he'd stand up for you like that. You think again about his DPR connection.

"Everything good, $!{aka2}?" $!{cg} asks, eyes watchful, studying each individual in turn.

@{(expressive > 55) "Another exciting adventure," you call back, then wince at the unintended reference.|You give her a nod.}

"I apologise for alarming you." Beth strides past you and Surpass, addressing Alistair specifically. "It was important I speak @{pseudonym with—ah, $!{aka2}." The little stumble seems to slip by everyone.|with $!{forename}."} 

"So long as ${mc_he}@{mc_singular 's|'re} good," says Alistair. You nod@{(expressive > 55) .| again.}

Vantage apologises individually to the three of you for any undue stress—you keep your response to a minimum—Arcade waves off Alistair's offer to explain what happened at the café with an assurance that Libra told him everything he needed, and Surpass enthuses to a reserved $!{cg} about her being 'pretty badass' for taking on S.C.U.M. alone. Beth remains on the sidelines, a silent observer. More than once, you catch her looking at you, inscrutable beneath her helmet.
*page_break Presently...
"You folks want to chill here for a bit?" Arcade offers. "We've got some pretty cosy rooms upstairs and you've had a heck of an afternoon. It's best to take it easy after something like that, take it from me."

$!{cg} shakes her head. "That's nice of you, but $!{aka2} and I have somewhere to be. It's best we make a move."

In all the—well, everything—you almost forgot the Coven meeting. One more thing you can't avoid.

"Oh, sure. Don't push yourselves too hard." Arcade looks to Alistair. "Offer goes for you too."

Alistair smiles politely. "I'm good."

"Alrighty then. Libra—" He pauses, glancing at Vantage, who nods at him to continue. "Libra, we'll reach out if we need anything. And if you end up on the wrong side of S.C.U.M. again, just give us a call. You don't have to go it alone."

"Noted."

As heroes, fake hero, and charity worker exchange stilted goodbyes, Beth singles you out, drawing you to one side. With hushed tones, it's just about enough not to be overheard.

"I won't try to keep you, but leave your details at the desk. Please." She heaves an enormous sigh. For a moment, her voice trembles. "I finally found you again, $!{mc_name}. @{dated_beth I don't know what I'd—" She stops. Another long breath. "It doesn't matter. I just don't want to waste this."|I couldn't live with myself if I let you slip away."} 
*choice
    #Me neither.
        *if (prev_li = "Beth")
            She is—used to be—your @{dated_beth girlfriend.|crush.} Maybe that's a little much to unpack here and now, but regardless, she's still your @{(bestie = 1) best friend.|friend.} Even if it was years ago, even if you're not on the same team, you can't bring yourself to discard what you had.
            
        *else
            Despite everything, she's still your @{(bestie = 1) best friend|friend.} Even if it was years ago, even if you're not on the same team, you can't bring yourself to discard that.
        
        *label whysmile
        Why are you smiling?
        
        "Sure," you tell her, scrubbing at your face like you can physically force your expression under control.
        
    #I know this is a bad idea, but when has that stopped me?
        Logic dictates you should stay far, far away. One conversation is already far too much Beth, and the risks will only multiply if you continue down this path.
        
        Naturally, you stride right past the turn off.
        
        *goto whysmile
    #I don't have much choice in the matter.
        You don't have a good excuse not to leave your information. Trying to back out will be too suspicious.
        
        *goto fakeit
    #Fine, but I don't like it.
        Complications stacked on complications stacked on frustrations. Time and again, you're forced into what you don't want. 
        
        *label fakeit
        While you could fake your info, you know Beth: pull a stunt like that, and she won't rest until she's kicked in the door of your shipping container and dragged you out on your ass.
        
    *if (brokenheart = 1) #I'm never going to get over her, am I?
        Years you've spent painstakingly reassembling the shattered pieces of your heart, barely making headway.
        
        Today has snatched the work in progress and hurled it to the ground.
       

A short stop by the desk and @{metrico Federico|the secretary} later@{ricoannoy —your reception is a little cool after your antics before—| }and the deed is done. @{(brokenheart = 1) Unconsciously, your feet begin carrying you back to Beth, and you have to force yourself to divert.|You steer clear of returning to Beth.} You need this to be over before any more cracks show.

As you rejoin $!{cg} and Alistair, Arcade's explaining something about a discreet exit from the building where $!{cg} can unmask privately. That meets with her approval, so with one final chorus of byes, you're off to follow Arcade back into the corridors. Glancing back just before the double doors swing shut, you see Beth's attention fixed on you, unwavering. Helmet be damned, a gaze that intense could punch through a wall. @{(brokenheart = 1) You clamp down on your emotions with all your might.|}

Arcade and Alistair make small talk while you walk, descending a set of stairs and into a tunnel. Preoccupied, you tune them out. Less successfully, you try to ignore the uneasy fear crawling into your throat. That night is only ever a thought away.

You came here aiming to keep your head down. You're leaving personally acquainted with multiple Hounds and your cell phone in their contacts.

Reacquainted, you should say.

The mental arithmetic to fit Beth—serious, studious, Beth the barista—into the armourclad boots of Phalanx is daunting. @{ephalanx Even with several days to grapple with it, the pieces don't fit together.|} Beth wearing plate? Beth carrying a massive shield, wielding a lance as tall as she is? It's almost satirical.
   
Or, perhaps it's the reminder you need. This isn't the same Beth. Time didn't stand still for her while you were locked away.

You can't afford to make that mistake.
*page_break

After ascending another staircase, the four of you pass through a heavy metal door and directly into an alleyway. By your  best estimate, it's a couple of streets over from the Hounds' building.

What is with mask organisations and tunnels? They're obsessed. @{(expressive > 60) …The maskuline urge to burrow into the earth's warm embrace.|Still, you can see why an exit like this would be convenient. The Hounds can't get much privacy.}

"Take care, everyone. Nice meeting you all!" His duty discharged, Arcade waves, then hauls the door shut. With a resounding clang and the clunk of some internal mechanism, you're finally in the clear. Until the next time $!{cg} drags you into a building through of superheroes.

The sun is dipping in the sky, casting the streets in an orange glow. It feels both earlier and later than it should. Someone could say you were in there for ten minutes or ten hours and you'd believe them.

You get perhaps thirty seconds to catch your breath, then your companions turn to you in unison.

"Heck got into Phalanx back there? That was crazy." Alistair's amazement is tempered with worry. 

"Yeah, I'd like to know too. Didn't enjoy coming back to find she'd dragged you off." $!{cg} copies a page from Beth's playbook to sound simultaneously disapproving and concerned.

And the headache just goes on and on.

*choice
    #Obviously I'm not going to tell the truth, but alluding to it should be okay.
        What does it matter? Beth knows you're alive and in Alderbrook. The damage is already done.
        
        "Turns out Phalanx and I have some history," you say. "The kind you can't really talk about in front of other people."
        
        "History?" Alistair's eyebrows rise. "You've got into mask stuff before?"
        
        More than he could know. You shake your head. "Personal history, not mask history."
        
        "Ah, got it." @{aliventure …Is that too much? He knows who you used to be. Then again, it's a struggle for [i]you[/i] to match Beth and Phalanx. He doesn't have the benefit of knowing her beforehand.|Thankfully he's polite enough not to pry.}
        
        $!{cg} stays quiet, calculating.
        
    #Supply a couple of details.
        So long as you give them something plausible, there shouldn't be reason to ask questions.
        
        "Phalanx recognised me from somewhere and I think maybe she was worried about discussing it out in the open." You glance at $!{cg}. "Secret identity things, maybe?" 
        
        She shrugs. "Maybe."
        
        "Huh." Alistair strokes his chin, then gives a shrug of his own. "I mean, ain't the weirdest thing happened today."
        
        $!{cg} goes quiet, inspecting you.
        
    #Deflect. @{aliventure I can't risk Alistair putting two and two together about Beth and AdVenture.|}
        *if ((battitude = 5) or (battitude = 2))
            *if (aliventure)
                You're not sure why you're shielding Beth's secret identity, but whatever.
                
        *else
            @{aliventure He knows who you are already. All it needs is a seed of speculation.|Frankly, this is far too complicated already to start bringing in your history with Beth.}
        
        "Apparently Phalanx is pretty bad at asking politely when she wants a word." You shrug. "Probably would have been fine out in the open, but she's the superhero, not me."
        
        "Got it," says Alistair in the tone of someone who has not, in fact, got it. Still, he doesn't press for details.
        
        $!{cg} stays quiet, inspecting you.
    
    
"Anyhow, glad it wasn't nothing too major. I ain't about making trouble, but if it's gotta happen, it's gotta happen." He folds his arms. Briefly he's the picture of resolute conviction, then with a sheepish smile, the moment is gone.

Going to bat for someone he barely knows against actual superheroes. Another addition to the busy list of things about Alistair that don't make sense.

$!{cg} shifts restlessly, frowning at you. Subtly, she taps her wrist. Hypothesis's summons is a stormcloud over you both. Best you don't drag this out, lest you're caught in the rain. 

With that in mind, there's one more question you need to ask before you go.
 
"What was with you and that officer? You work together?"
 
Alistair's eyes widen behind his glasses. "Oh, uh, nah. Well sorta." He fidgets, looking like the world's biggest schoolboy. "So I work with computers, yeah? But we ain't like, the IT department for a company or nothing. We're freelance. Dunno if you know this, but the DPR in town ain't really got much infrastructure, so they had to bring in contractors. Which, well yeah, you're looking at one of 'em."

$!{cg} snaps from impatience to high alert, zeroing in on Alistair with laserlike focus.
*choice
     #That's as close to the DPR as makes no difference.
         *set alitude 1
         The distinction between employee and contractor is moot. Whichever way you slice it, he works for the DPR. The wrong word to the wrong person and you're in a world of trouble.
         
     #I don't know what to think. I just don't.
         *set alitude 2
         He's a pile of contradictions. Danger in one hand and charity in the other. An ordinary guy who shows up in all the wrong places. DPR and not.
         
         Outside the, well, paradigm.
         
     #I'm relieved: he's just a tech guy, that's not a threat.
         *set alitude 3
         There's no way the DPR trusts an outsider with the keys to the kingdom. The connection is tolerable, although it's still closer than you'd like.
         
     #I'm relieved: if he's not an officer, there's no chance of me having to hurt him.
         *set alitude 4
         *if ((brutal > 2) or (psycho > 1))
             The thought takes you by surprise. Empathy hasn't stopped by too often lately.
         
         *elseif (rel_alistair < 40)
             @{(flirt_alistair > 1) And here's you trying to kid yourself that you aren't at least a little stuck on the guy. Who are you fooling?|Even if you don't necessarily like the guy, you'd prefer not to brutalise someone you actually know.}
             
         *else
             @{(flirt_alistair > 1) Which, of course, has nothing to do with the various emotions-that-need-not-be-named you feel just about every time your eyes meet.|Given the choice, you'd prefer not having to beat down a guy you know and kind of like..}
             
             @{(flirt_alistair > 1) Ugh. Who are you fooling?|}
             
     #This doesn't change anything. @{(rel_alistair < 40) Despite myself, I|I} like having him around.
         *set alitude 6
         *if rel_alistair < 40
             Somehow you've let yourself get attached even while holding him at arm's length. Outstanding work, really.
             
         *else
             Maybe this says more about your loneliness than Alistair as a person.
             
             …No actually, it definitely says more.
             
     #I can turn this to my advantage.
         *set alitude 5
         Risk and opportunity hand in hand. A man on the inside opens up endless possibilities, and since he's not an actual officer, he'll likely be less vigilant than otherwise.
         
         *if ((flirt_alistair > 1) or (rel_alistair > 60))
             The twinge of guilt accompanying your plotting? Just something to ignore.
             
             (if only thinking it made it so)
             
"Must be stressful," is all you say out loud.

Alistair grins. "Tell me about it!" His laugh turns into a sigh halfway through. Someone's overworked.

…Which is probably at least partially your fault.

You suppose he could be lying, but you dismiss the possibility in almost the same instant it arrives. Sincerity bleeds through everything this guy says and does. Even if he was somehow faking the emotions he wears on his sleeve, a spy would have found less contrived ways to stumble across you, come up with more plausible cover stories than 'I happened to hear someone was living in this warehouse'. Spies have the luxury of forward planning.

You'd know.

Alistair. You've got to make a decision here. 
*choice
     #I'll stay in contact.
         @{alitude A reckless choice, and that's exactly the point. It's reckless and it's free, something you're choosing because you want to, instead of heeding the little Hypothesis-shaped voice in your head telling you how to act.|Letting go would be letting your doubts rule you. Giving up on him because it might go badly? 'Might go badly' is your middle name.|You've weighed up the risks. He's clearly not that married to his job or the DPR. So... why not?|You've weighed up the risks. A huge reason to avoid him just went away. So... why not?|You can hardly take the opportunity Alistair presents if you cut him off now, can you?|You can admit it, you're socially starved. And hey, the entire rest of your narrow circle has giant asterisks over their relationship with you, why shouldn't Alistair get in on the action?}
         
         There's something gleefully obstinate in this. @{(alitude = 5) Even if there's a chance you can finesse Alistair's connections to your benefit, the risk probably isn't worth the reward.|You're doubling down for the sake of doubling down.} You know that, and you're wilfully refusing to care.
         
         Nothing about your life is safe or average. Why draw the line at one of the few bright spots? That's just masochistic.
         
         Regardless, Alistair's hovering in a 'I don't want to impose' kind of way and $!{cg}'s fidgety again. Time to leave. @{alinumber At long last, you exchange numbers with Alistair. He got you in the end.|Alistair double checks you still have his number, which you fortunately do.|You take the opportunity to reacquire Alistair's number, which he graciously does not comment upon.} To your mild surprise, $!{cg} goes ahead and swaps information too.
         
         With that, and a final wave to the two of you, Alistair departs.
         
         You're smiling. A little.
         
     #I'm done with him.
         *set alicut true
         @{alitude The more you think on it, the bigger the danger seems to grow. Alistair could be every inch the well-meaning person he appears and still wind up leading the DPR straight to your door. The only way of averting that is to cut him off for good.|If in doubt, cut him out. That's a saying, probably. Point is, the easiest, safest resolution to your uncertainty is to remove it from the equation. Stop hanging around Alistair, solve the problem.|He's no direct threat, but that doesn't matter when he's in the midst of a DPR operation, one offhand comment from bringing them down on your head. You're just picking the safest option.|The greater the distance between you and Alistair, the happier you'll be. Hanging around with you will only put him in danger; isn't that pretty much what already happened earlier? It's for the best if you cut him off.|It's strangling the opportunity on the vine, but rationally, this is the safer option. Or perhaps you have qualms about manipulating him.|Cutting him off won't feel good, but it's the only choice. Otherwise you're both in danger.}
         
         *if (flirt_alistair > 2)
             Something—someone—else that this life has stolen away.
             
             Better to part company on your own terms than by force.
             
             The reassurance rings hollow.
             
         Of course, there's no need to make a scene by telling this to Alistair's face. You'll just go dark on him.
         
         "Aight, you be easy," he says, waving to the two of you as he departs.
         
         You bid him a silent farewell.
         
         And… that's that. He's gone.

Once Alistair is out of sight, $!{cg} motions. You fall in step by her side as she finally removes her mask and stashes it somewhere.
*page_break En route...

$!{cg} is quiet for a couple of blocks, then glances at you sidelong.

"You sure know how to pick them Dime."

*if (alicut)
    "Well, hopefully this is the last either of us see of him." @{(flirt_alistair > 2) The words are bitter on your tongue.|}
    
    *if (polyflag_acg)
        *set polyflag_acg false
        Her face doesn't so much fall as flatten, becoming a neutral mask. "Oh." 
        
        "Yeah." You don't look at her.
        
        "Right then."
        
        There's something like disappointment in her voice.
        
    *elseif (flirt_alistair > 2)
        "Really? Could have sworn—" She stops, shaking her head. "Doesn't matter. It's smart to avoid him."
        
        "Yeah." You don't want to talk about this. $!{cg} takes the hint.

    *else
        "Mm. Thinking you'll avoid him from now on? Smart." It's a compliment, but her face is completely neutral. 
        
    *goto continuewalk
*else
    *choice
        #"I didn't pick anyone."
            *if alicafe = 2
                "Yeah? I guess that must have been one of those coffee dates where nobody wants to be there."
                
                "It wasn't a date. Shut up."
            
            *else
                "Sure you didn't."
                
                @{(alicafe = 1) "He showed up out of nowhere!"|"I literally said no when he asked to meet up!"}        
                
            There she goes with another infuriating smirk.
            
        #"Look, it wasn't by choice."
            @{(alicafe = 2) "Oh yeah, that thing at the café sure looked involuntary."|"That so?"}
            
            @{(alicafe = 2) You open your mouth, then shut it again. You've no leg to stand on.|"He just randomly came up to me, I didn't know he was even there."}
            
            @{(alicafe = 2) $!{cg} smirks. You scowl.|"I guess I'll let it slide."}
            
            @{(alicafe = 2) |You roll your eyes at her.}
            
        #"Well, I do hang out with you."
            She snorts. @{cg_dislike "Yeah, alright, dick."|"Yeah yeah, very clever."}
            
        #"He's a good guy."
            "Does seem that way," $!{cg} agrees mildly.
            
            "He helped me and he didn't have to," you add. She nods slowly.
            
        #Yeah I'm not responding to that.
            $!{cg} smirks, trying to get a rise. You refuse to give her the satisfaction.
        
     
Half a block further. You and $!{cg} come to a crosswalk. While you wait for the light, $!{cg} hits you with another scrutinising gaze.

*if (polyflag_acg)
    "Stop me if I'm wrong, but there's something… with you two, right?"
    
    Seriously? They [i]both[/i] think you're into the other?
    
    *temp mixedmessages false
    *choice
        #"With me and Alistair? You were the ones flirting!"
            "No we weren't!" $!{cg} protests, too quickly. "That would be an awful idea." It's a hasty addition, uncharacteristically defensive.
            
            "Sure, but that doesn't mean it wasn't what you were doing," you counter.
            
            *label foronce
            It's rare you get to see $!{cg} squirm, much less genuinely flustered. She clams up, refusing to look at you.
            
            Today's been weird.
            
        #"...Why do you ask?"
            "Only checking," $!{cg} replies, too quickly.
            
            "Right. Of course." You wear your scepticism openly.
            
            *goto foronce
        #"I don't really know."
            *set mixedmessages true
            $!{cg} chuckles quietly. "Trust you, Dime."
            
            "If I don't know, I don't know," you say stubbornly, trying to ignore the fresh smirk creeping lopsidedly onto $!{cg}'s lips.
            
            *goto smugcg
        #"Of course not."
            *set mixedmessages true
            She snorts. "Liar."
            
            You scowl. "What happened to 'stop me if I'm wrong'?"
            
            "Nothing happened to it, I just wasn't wrong."
            
            *label smugcg
            You didn't realise $!{cg} [i]could[/i] look that smug. You turn your scowl onto the street.
            
        #This is getting a little hot to handle. I should put a stop to it. [Block triad]
            *set polyflag_acg false
            "That's between me and him. Same as if it was me and you." Not that there's a you and her. Then again, that's not what you're ruling out.
            
            $!{cg}'s scrutiny continues, then she slowly nods. "I get it. Won't bring it up again."
            
            A small nudge and she's back to being sensible, there's a relief.
            
            Well. Medium sensible. Depends on the aforementioned 'you and her' thing.
            
            *goto continuewalk
            
    Unexpectedly, $!{cg} resumes. "I don't know. I guess I'm just so used to all business, all the time that it feels weird to actually connect with someone. I haven't—" She cuts herself off, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Sorry. This isn't helpful. I shoudn't even be talking about this stuff."

    She wasn't faking rapport with Alistair after all. They sincerely hit it off.
    *choice
        #"Shouldn't you?" $!{cg} will talk herself out of it unless I give her a nudge. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
            *set flirt_cg +1
            *set flirt_alistair +1
            *set overt_cg true

            *if (mixedmessages)
                She opens her eyes purely to narrow them. "You are so annoying."

                @{(expressive > 55) "Am I?"|"Sorry."}

                @{(expressive > 55) She gives you the finger.|She smiles, slightly.} "Mixed @{(expressive > 55) fucking |}messages, Dime."

                @{(expressive > 55) You smirk.|Is that what you were doing?}
            *else
                Her eyes snap back open, immediately widening. "I—uh." She messes with her jacket zipper. "I don't think so," she mutters into her own shoulder.

                At that, she goes very, very quiet.

                For the next while, you occasionally catch her sneaking glances at you from the corner of her eye.

            *goto continuewalk
        #"Mm." I'm not sure if I want to discuss this just yet.
            Your day isn't even close to over and you're already verging on exhausted. Your head's not nearly as clear as it needs to be to discuss what you, $!{cg}, and Alistair may or may not feel about each other.

            It can wait for now.
            
            *goto continuewalk
        
            
    
*elseif (flirt_alistair > 2)
    Abruptly, her face sours. "Don't get close. It's not worth it."
    
    *choice
        #Blandly accept the advice.
            "Alright," you say.
            
            She rolls her eyes. "I'm looking out for you, Dime."
            
            "Alright," you repeat.
            
            *label exasperation
            With a noise of exasperation, she abandons the subject.
            
        #Consider what she's saying.
            $!{cg}'s been with the Coven longer than you. Long enough to see all kinds of things.
            
            You don't like the advice, but you shouldn't discard it out of hand. Affection to an outsider exposes you, and that's incontrovertible. 
            
            "Okay." You nod. $!{cg} matches it with one of her own, and lets the subject rest.
            
        #Speaking from experience, is she?
            $!{cg}'s been with the Coven longer than you. Long enough to see all kinds of things.
            
            "You say that like you know something."
            
            Her jaw clenches. Pain floods her features. It's a long moment before she musters a reply. "From experience, Dime."
            
            She goes silent, and you know that's all you're going to get on this subject.
            
        #Blank her.
            Your eyes flick to the traffic light and stay there. In your periphery, you see $!{cg} frown.
            
            *goto exasperation
            
    
*else
    "I won't tell you what to do. Just be careful and don't forget who he works for. There's a lot of ways things can go wrong."
  
*label continuewalk

@{alicut Even after a few blocks of complete silence, there's still|There's} plenty of walking ahead for you to bring up some topics of your own.
*temp talkin false
*label talkincg
*choice
    *hide_reuse #When she tried to sneak off.
        You can't make sense of taking such a huge risk right under the Hounds' noses.
        
        "What were you trying to do back there?"
        
        *if (helpoutcg = 3)
            *set rel_cg %- 10
            "When you left me to twist you mean?" $!{cg} asks pointedly.
            
            "…Yeah."
            
            She rolls her eyes. "If you're so curious, maybe you should have helped."
            
            You see how it is. "Fine then."
            
            There goes that topic.
            
        *else
            "Confirm something," $!{cg} says vaguely. "I took a chance because I knew I'd be able to play it off. Thanks for rolling with it."
            
            @{cg_dislike You want to be annoyed with her, so the gratitude is irritating.|At least she recognises how awkward that was.} "That's not much of an explanation."
            
            *if (helpoutcg = 3)
                "Didn't get much confirmation."
                
                @{cg_dislike …Is she blaming you? You squint at her, but she's already refocused on the sidewalk ahead. Typical.|Well. Fair enough.}
                
            *else
                @{cgtell She lowers her eyes. "I know, sorry. Just work with me on this, alright?"|"You'll know sooner or later." She returns her attention to the sidewalk ahead.}
                
                @{cgtell "Alright," you sigh. She better have a good reason for the cryptic act.|You swallow a discontented grumble. The cryptic act is getting old.}
                
        *goto talkincg         
    *hide_reuse #This isn't the best time to talk about Beth and I.
        That's not a conversation—if it even happens—for the street. Talking about the Coven in the open is already dicey, and even aside the secrecy, bringing up that night is going to hurt. Badly.
        
        You can't predict your own reaction. Anger and grief and everything in between. Prii and @{alive Shauna|Grant}. Beth still being alive. And that's not even getting into $!{cg}'s culpability.
        
        If you're going to light an emotional powder keg, you should at least ensure it's in a controlled environment. Blow up a room instead of an entire block.
        
        This analogy might be getting away from you a bit. For now, no Beth.
        
        *goto talkincg
        
    *hide_reuse #How little I appreciate the situation she just put me in.
        @{coven_history That's bold for you, when usually you wouldn't dare to criticise. Perhaps it's encountering your old friend that's reconnected you to a little of your spark. |Usually you wouldn't speak out of turn, but this is bigger than some minor inconvenience.|Holding your tongue at all times gets exhausting. $!{cg}'s the safest one to vent at.}
        
        @{coven_history Perhaps it's just that $!{cg} hasn't got a history of beating you bloody.||}
        
        @{(instinctive > 45) "So, next time you're thinking of roping me in on meeting a bunch of heroes, could you maybe ask first?"|"You know, there's a pretty good chance that meeting the Hounds makes my job a lot more complicated."}
        
        $!{cg} waits to answer until someone going the other way passes by. She twists her head to track the pedestrian, then returns to you with a shrug. "It kind of just happened in the moment. I wasn't expecting to get the Hounds' attention so soon, especially not with an invite to their base, and I needed the backup. There's a world where Alistair agreed to come along and you didn't, and that'd have been a total fiasco." A pause. $!{cg} makes a face that could be read as apologetic, at a squint. "For what it's worth, that's not how I would have drawn it up."
        *choice
            #"Is that a 'sorry', or...?"
                *set instinctive %+ 10
                You're not letting her off the hook that easily.
                
                She regards you, unimpressed. "Yes, Dime, I'm sorry you got a surprise trip to the Hounds' place. If a villain gang crashes a café we're in again, I'll make sure I check before signing you up for a ridealong. Will that do?"
                
                Sensing she's on the verge of actual annoyance, you concede that a snippy apology is as good as you're going to get, and nod. You've made your point.
                
            #I nod, mollified.
                *set instinctive %- 10
                Fair enough, intent matters. She was rolling with the punches in a volatile situation. Still would have preferred her not to go over your head like that, but at least she's acknowledging your point.
                
                Not that the acknowledgement will do much good if you get the third degree once you get back to the Altruists.
                
            #That explanation sucks, but I can't be bothered to get into it with her.
                She clearly doesn't think she did anything wrong, and you've got better things to do than argue. You mutter a noncommittal acknowledgement and keep walking. 
             
        *goto talkincg
    
    *hide_reuse #Her showing against Rocket and S.C.U.M.
        A couple of blocks go by while you wait for a suitably deserted street to bring up the café. Bad idea to discuss mask fights where you might be overheard.
        
        Eventually the opportunity arises. "You really stuck your neck out earlier. Pretty @{(instinctive > 45) cool.|reckless.}"
        
        @{(instinctive > 45) Her lips twitch wryly. "That probably isn't the word I'd use, but thanks."|"True."}
        
        "Must be taking the heroics pretty seriously to go three on one," you add. She's always cautioned you against fighting outnumbered.
        
        She snorts. "Libra's just a thing I'm doing. I don't know @{tag how you got S.C.U.M.'s attention, but I wasn't going to sit there and let them do whatever." So she noticed that. You still aren't sure what brought Insider down on you.|what S.C.U.M. were looking for, but it was too close for comfort. I wasn't going to be a sitting duck."} A shrug. "Besides, it got me an in with the Hounds. Good thing they showed early enough I hadn't got my ass kicked yet."
        
        *if (tag)
            @{t_cg Well—you didn't ask for her help!|You graciously choose not to point out how she let Insider get at you anyway.}
            
        *else
            S.C.U.M. surely had a specific reason for the attack. Beats you what they were doing though.
            
        $!{cg}'s never been one to brag, and says nothing further on the matter. Probably just as well, since the next turning brings you to a block with considerable foot traffic. @{(instinctive > 45) It'd be kind of funny to blow some random passerby's mind, but the humour isn't worth the headache.|Information security and all.}

        *goto talkincg   
    *hide_reuse #The meeting.
        The summons looms large. Hypothesis rarely brings everyone in at once. This has to be big.
        
        Big is unsettling.
        
        "Any guesses why he's calling us in?"
        
        $!{cg} barely glances at you. "I already told you I don't know."
        
        "Well yeah, that's why I asked for guesses."
        
        $!{cg} rolls her eyes, but relents. "Either something that needs full security, or some kind of demonstration."
        
        "Full security?" There's always someone guarding the Coven's base. You weren't aware security got more intense than that.
        
        "Oh. Right. You weren't uh, ready, last time we had one of those." As she hesitates, there's also a flicker of discomfort in her expression. 'Not ready' translates to 'still in training'. At her hands and at Catalyst's. 
        
        @{coven_history You flinch, memories flashing through your mind with razor precision.|You nod quickly. Makes sense to leave you out in that case.|You freeze a scowl from emerging.}
        
        $!{cg} waits a moment, then continues. "Basically, the place goes on lockdown while everything gets done. Nobody in, nobody out. Security breaches are—" She falters. "Sorry. You don't need to hear about that."
        
        A security breach. Is that all that night was to her?
        
        Neither of you says another word.
        *goto talkincg
    #@{talkin That's everything.|Nope, don't feel like it.}
        @{talkin You're satisfied leaving the conversation there.|You could use a mental reset after the Beth blindside.}
    

Inevitably, @{talkin your thoughts drift back towards Beth.|Beth is where your thoughts remain.}

Years alone in your mind. You thought you'd more or less solidified what you felt about her.

Turns out that feelings for the concept of Beth are much more straightforward than the reality of Beth.

And…

*choice
    #I missed her.
        In the end, the precarious danger she represents, the too-many-allegiances you're juggling, and a half decade of nightmares and bottled emotions all boil down to that simplest of facts.
        
        You missed her. @{battitude |Despite your festering resentment, you missed her.|||Despite your choking rage, you missed her.}
        
        Damn you for a fool.
        
    #How did she get so grizzled, so wartorn?
        Five years of parahuman heroics.
        
        Your brain struggles to comprehend it. Beth shouldn't be battling supervillains, gaining injuries and scars. It's [i]Beth.[/i]
        
        It's Beth. And you're not the only one who didn't make it through unscathed.
        
    *if ((aro != 4) and (compatible_beth)) #Forget that, how the hell did she get so hot? @{ftone [Flirt, passive]|}
        *set interest_beth true
        *set flirt_beth + 1
        Are Beth's looks really the priority right now? No. Should you be dedicating even a fraction of your mental energy to picturing her face, her scars? Also no.
        
        But holy shit is the rugged butch thing doing it for you.
        
    #Now that I'm out of there, it feels like a fever dream.
        Prii in the Zone. Beth in the Hounds building. Your ghosts are more involved than usual lately.
        
        You almost wish you could dismiss her as a phantom. It would be easier.
        
        However, unlike not-Prii, others interacted with Beth. Unless you hallucinated the entire thing, it really happened.
        
        @{ephalanx You finally reunited.|She's alive. She's Phalanx. And she} knows you're here in Alderbrook.
        
    *selectable_if ((battitude = 2) or (battitude = 5)) #The seething @{(battitude = 2) resentment|rage} is back in full force.
        If anything, your antipathy has only intensified. While you suffered, she was living the good life, all the fame and fortune that comes with being a superhero.
        
        Her powers gave that to her. Yours treat you as a walking lunch.
        
        *if (brokenheart = 1)
            The wound in your heart festers and rots. You hate her because you loved her.
            
        *else
            @{(bethpunch > 1) You kind of want to hit her again.|She doesn't get forgiveness just because she didn't die.}
            
    #I can't even begin to sort out that mess.
        Anger? Sadness? Joy? Relief? All of the above? Who knows! It sure isn't you!
        
        The makings of a giddily insane laugh bubble into your throat, and you're forced to bite your knuckle to contain it.
        
        What is your life.
        
    *selectable_if (prev_li = "Beth") #@{(brokenheart = 1) I never stopped loving her.|I think I'm still in love with her. I don't know if I ever stopped.}
        *if (compatible_beth)
            @{(brokenheart = 1) You've always known it on some level. Shattering your heart to pieces didn't end your feelings, it just made experiencing them more painful.|There was no closure in that night. No signal of 'relationship over, you can't have feelings for her anymore'. It ended, but the feelings remain.}
            
            And perhaps that makes sense. You've been locked in stasis, never growing, changing in only the wrong ways. Of course you haven't been able to let your emotions go. Catharsis doesn't happen in a prison cell.
            
        *else
            You'd think that five and a half years should suffice to get past a hopelessly doomed crush, but no, it was simply in hibernation.
            
            It's so pathetic it almost wraps around to being funny. Beth's more unattainable now than ever, and somehow you continue to pine over a girl who will never return your feelings.
            
        Damn you for a fool.    

*achieve reunion
And then there's @{alive Grant. He's|Shauna. She's} out there. You might even get to talk to @{alive him.|her.}

Whatever's going on with @{alive him,|her,} it can't be any crazier than being a mask, right?
*page_break

Increasingly familiar surroundings draw you from your thoughts. You're close.

As you approach the Coven's building, $!{cg} routes you away from the front entrance and to an unassuming side door. Sliding a shutter across, $!{cg} puts her eyes to the slot. With a loud chime, the door swings open into a steel box of a room. 

No, not a room, an airlock. There's a second, almost identical door opposite you, the sole feature of your barren surroundings. $!{cg} crosses over, keying an intercom set into door number two. "Control Group here. Paradigm is with me."

[i]"C-geeeeee!"[/i] An earsplitting squeal emerges from the intercom. $!{CG} winces. [i]"Been missing you, girl!"[/i]

"Yeah you too Gremlink," $!{cg} replies blandly.

[i]"Lemme just lock things up behind you annnnd, voila! Come on in! Tell Catalyst hi from me!"[/i]

Wait—

The inner door opens with a hiss. On the far side, Catalyst looks up from the bloody corpse at his feet and smiles, all teeth.

"Perfect timing, little ${mc_sibling}. Could use your help with this."

*finish


    
