*temp thanks false
*temp decap false
*temp promise_dance false
*temp halistair false
*temp architectmotives false
*temp havingfun false
*temp atbar false
*temp aliwork false
*temp fridays false
*temp talkystair false
*temp arglebargle false
*temp oopswhite false
*temp janklol false
*temp atcontainer false
*temp gottafix false
*temp introuble false
*temp agreedance false
*temp heatedmoment false
*if ((inform1 > 4) and (not (footagedestroy)))
    *set introuble true

*if ((archmotives = 2) or (archmotives = 5))
    *set architectmotives true

*if remotemembrane > 1
    *set decap true
    
*temp domino 1
*temp wrekt false
*if (((remotemembrane = 2) or (surpass_stomach > 1)) or (collapsezone))
    *set wrekt true
*if knowledge < 20
    *set domino 2
*temp firstdate false
*temp toprel 1
*temp highestrel 1
*temp cab false
*comment 1 dion 2 mal 3 wil 4 teddie 5 kay

*temp dionsymp false

*if (romance_wil > 1)
    *set toprel 3
    *goto nightmare
*elseif ((flirt_wyrd > 1) and (flirt_wyrd > flirt_kay))
    *set toprel 2
    *goto nightmare
*elseif ((flirt_kay > 1) and (flirt_kay > flirt_teddie))
    *set toprel 5
    *goto nightmare
*elseif ((flirt_teddie > 1) and (compatible_teddie))
    *set toprel 4
    *goto nightmare

*set highestrel rel_architect
*if (confide = 2)
    *goto diontidyup

*if rel_wyrd >= highestrel
    *set toprel 2
    *set highestrel rel_wyrd
    *if confide = 3
        *goto nightmare
    
*if rel_wil >= highestrel
    *set toprel 3
    *set highestrel rel_wil
    *if confide = 4
        *goto nightmare
    
*if rel_teddie >= highestrel
    *set toprel 4
    *set highestrel rel_teddie
    *if confide = 6
        *goto nightmare
    
*if rel_kay >= highestrel
    *set toprel 5
    *set highestrel rel_kay
    *if confide = 5
        *goto nightmare

*label diontidyup
*if ((confide = 2) or (toprel = 1))
    *set dionsymp true
    
*label nightmare
[i]"All done there, @{funspeciality DUMMY|musclehead?|poindexter?|voyeur supreme?|criminal scum?}" You look to Grant. His smirk yawns open, cheek laid bare. The flesh hangs from his jaw, dripping like raw meat.[/i]

[i]Before you can answer, claws burst through his chest from behind, showering you in gore. Grant stumbles, collapsing atop you, dragging you to the basement floor. He stares glassily, face inches from yours. The weight's insurmountable, suffocating. You can't move. Shadows stir behind him.[/i]

[i]"You're welcome," he spits bitterly, blood oozing from his mouth, spattering your face.[/i]

[i]"Graaant! Quit making fun of ${mc_him}!"[/i]

[i]The weight lifts as Grant flops to the side. Now Shauna stands between you and the darkness. It coils around her wrists and ankles, drawing her in.[/i]

[i]"$!{mc_name}, help!"[/i]

[i]You can't seem to get up. No strength in your unresponsive limbs.[/i]

[i]"$!{mc_name}! What are you doing!?"[/i]

[i]You strain, desperately trying to lift yourself off the ground. You jerk up by an inch, maybe two, then hit the floor again.[/i]

[i]"Help me, $!{mc_name}! You're the worst! You're the worst—" Bone crunches. Shauna screams as she's lifted into the air. The shadow shakes her around like a rag doll, her leg shattering and shattering again.[/i]

[i]She's hurled away, out of sight.[/i]

[i]But her sobs pervade your senses, deafening your ears.[/i]

[i]The darkness's attention falls on you like a physical force. You attempt to rise one final time, only succeeding in flipping yourself to your stomach.[/i]

[i]Desperately, you begin to crawl.[/i]

[i]Too slow. Far, far too slow. An animalistic chuff blasts hot air across the back of your neck. It sounds almost amused.[/i]

[i]You reach out your arm as far as it will go. Your fingertips brush something. Someone's leg.[/i]

[i]"Ugh," says Beth, lip curled with scorn. "I hope you aren't thinking of asking for my help."[/i]

*if btalk = 1
    [i]Words crumble in your mouth. You gaze at her, pleading.[/i]
    
    [i]She rolls her eyes. "That is about what I expected. Pathetic."[/i]
    
    *goto bethwalks
    
*elseif btalk > 1
    [i]Your mouth opens. The words come unbidden.[/i]

*if btalk = 2
    *fake_choice
        *if (bmessageb = 1) #[i]"Go! We'll catch up to you!"[/i]
        *if (bmessageb = 2) #[i]"I'll be fine, I promise!"[/i]
        *if (bmessageb = 3) #[i]"We'll see each other again soon!"[/i]
        *if (bmessageb = 4) #[i]"Hey, don't worry! I still owe you that talk, remember?"[/i]
        *if (bmessageb = 5) #[i]"I'm not leaving them, Beth!"[/i]
        *if (bmessageb = 6) #[i]"We'll catch up to you!"[/i]
            
    [i]She regards you, utterly expressionless. @{bmessageb "Ah yes. Catch up. Remind me when that happened."|"I suppose we know what your word is worth."|"You have an interesting definition of 'soon', $!{forename}."|"Yes. Yes you do."|"And how did that turn out for you all?"|"Ah yes. Catch up. Remind me when that happened."}[/i]
    
    *goto bethwalks
    
*else
    *choice
        *if (bmessage = 1) #[i]"Don't look back! Never look back!"[/i]
            [i]She regards you, utterly expressionless. "Believe me, I had no intention of doing so."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 2) #[i]"Run! Leave me!"[/i]
            [i]She regards you, utterly expressionless. "Do you think I need your permission?"[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 3) #[i]"Please don't leave me!"[/i]
            [i]She rolls her eyes. "Pathetic. Truly."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 4) #[i]"Don't forget us."[/i]
            [i]She regards you, utterly expressionless. "Remembrance is for those that matter, $!{forename}."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 5) #[i]"This isn't your fault."[/i]
            [i]She rolls her eyes. "Of course it isn't." She stoops, leaning in close to your face. "It's yours."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 6) #[i]"BETH! HELP ME!"[/i]
            [i]She regards you, utterly expressionless. "After what happened to Grant and Shauna? No, I don't think I will."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 7) #[i]"Don't you fucking dare!"[/i]
            [i]She laughs. "Or what, $!{forename}?"[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 8) #[i]"Promise me you'll protect him! Promise me!"[/i]
            *label bethconsiders
            [i]She seems to consider, a finger touched to her chin. "Hm, no, I don't think so."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 9) #[i]"Get her out, Beth! Promise me!"[/i]
            *goto bethconsiders
        *if (bmessage = 10) #[i]"Beth, I love you."[/i]
            [i]She laughs derisively. "Like an abandoned puppy, $!{forename}."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 11) #[i]"Beth... I've always loved you."[/i]
            [i]She laughs derisively. "A little late for that now, is it not?"[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 12) #[i]"Beth, I love you."[/i]
            [i]She laughs derisively. "Do not pretend you had the nerve to tell me."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 13) #[i]No, not words, a faltering smile[/i].
            [i]She rolls her eyes. "Trying to make me feel better? Perhaps start by refraining from using your friends as human shields."[/i]
            
        *if (bmessage = 14) #[i]But they remain unspoken. Fear shrouds me.[/i]
            *goto frightenedchild
        *if (bmessage = 15) #[i]No, not words. A scream.[/i]
            *label frightenedchild
            [i]She rolls her eyes. "Like a frightened child. Pathetic. "[/i]

*label bethwalks
[i]Beth turns on her heel and walks away. @{ephalanx As she moves, more and more pieces of armour attach to her. By the time she vanishes into the dark, Phalanx has floated from the ground.|Soon enough, she vanishes into the dark.}[/i]

[i]Growling, inches from your ear.[/i]

[i]A huge paw flips you onto your back, it claws raking at your flesh. Another pins you to the ground, squeezing the air from your lungs.[/i]

[i]The monster looms above, its mouths blotting out your entire world.[/i]

[i]one eye among so, so many locks onto yours.[/i]

[i]Hazel.[/i]

*if contemprii = 0
    [i]"I'll always be a part of you," the Project says in Prii's voice.[/i]

*else
    [i]@{(contemprii = 1) "Does that explanation really satisfy you?"|"Where else would I be?"} the Project asks in Prii's voice[/i]
    

*page_break "Wake up!"
*if bestie = 2
    *set contemprii + 1
[i]Prii-ject jostles you around with their paw, a predator playing with its food.[/i]

*temp wakeup 1
*choice
    #I thrash around, throwing wild punches.
        Your knuckles connect@{(toprel = 4)  with something hard. The burst of pain jolts your eyes open.|.}
        
        @{toprel "Dammit—$!{aka2}! That's enough!"|"Ow. Dammit, $!{aka}! Would you freaking chill out?"|"Agh! $!{aka}, please calm down!"|"Well, that was dumb." Your eyes, scratchy and clouded with sleep, manage to focus. Teddie's leaning over you, wearing a look of mild irritation.|"Urf—! C'mon, $!{aka}! Cool it!"}
        
        @{(toprel = 4) |It's not a voice of your past. You open your eyes, scratchy and clouded with sleep.} @{toprel Dion stands at your bedside, wincing and rubbing his jaw.|Mal stands at your bedside, looking mildly frustrated, a fresh welt decorating their jaw.|Wil stands at your bedside, worry filling ${whis} expression, a fresh welt decorating ${whis} jaw.||Kay stands at your beside, wincing and rubbing her jaw.} Oh. You clocked @{toprel him|them|${whim}|him|her} in the face. @{(toprel = 4) Though, looking at your skinned knuckles, that hurt you more than it hurt him.|}
        
        You stare, hands twitching, still wanting to fight. @{juiceless Intense pangs of hunger pound through you, tiny needles stippling you inside and out. Testing bites.|} @{(mc_health = 5) You feel like you've been run over by a truck. Surpass probably counts.|} @{(mc_health = 3) Everything hurts, yesterday's battles catching up to you with a vengeance.|} @{(mc_health = 4) Everything hurts, yesterday's battles catching up to you with a vengeance.|} You take a deep, cleansing breath, and the jitters slow, but do not cease.
        
        @{toprel "Have you calmed down?" asks Dion. "I admit, I didn't expect you'd swing at me in your sleep."|"Man, if I knew it'd get me clobbered, I wouldn't have tried waking you," Mal jokes.|Watching you, Wil relaxes by the tiniest of fractions. "You look a little calmer. That's good."|"Got it out your system?" Incongruously, Teddie smiles. "Guess I'm the best target for sleep punches."|Kay looks you up and down, then blows out a sigh of relief. "You calmed down." Pause. "You have, right? Not gonna punch me again?"}
        
        Feeling awkward, you look away.
        
    #Incoherent gibberish spills from my mouth.
        *set wakeup 2
        "pleaseI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry Ididn'tmeantoitwasn'tyouitwasn'tme you'renothereyou'renotI'mnot—"
        
        Words merge and mangle, a panicked sludge of apologies, denial, guilt, and regret.
        
        @{toprel "Slow down, $!{aka2}, maybe I can help."|"Easy there, easy! You gotta slow down."|"$!{aka}, you're safe. It's going to be okay."|"I have no fucking idea what you're saying. Slow down."|"$!{aka}, slow down! I don't know what you're saying!"}
        
        *gosub wakeupdesc
        
        *goto whoevercontinues
    #I can't stop screaming.
        *set wakeup 3
        A deluge of blind, helpless panic spills forth. You buck and twist and thrash, screaming your lungs raw.
        
        @{toprel "$!{aka2}, wake up. You're safe."|"$!{aka}! Wake up! You're okay!"|"$!{aka}. $!{aka2}. You're going to be okay. You're safe."|"Chill the fuck out!"|"C'mon, $!{aka}, wake up! It's alright! You're alright!"}
        
        *gosub wakeupdesc
        
        *if ((collapsezone) or (wrekt))
            @{(toprel = 2) "Gotta say, $!{aka}, that was one hell of an alarm clock." Mal grins at you lopsidedly. They stayed sleeping next to you?|}
            
            @{(toprel = 2) "Sorry," you mutter. It's automatic. Some habits are hard to break.|}
            
            @{(toprel = 2) "No big deal. I've had worse wake ups. I'm just glad [i]you're[/i] awake now."|}
            
            You look away, feeling awkward.
            
        *else
            *label whoevercontinues
            @{(wakeup = 5)  Your distance must show in your face, because|While you stare into space,} @{toprel Dion continues. "You were shouting and screaming in your sleep," he says. "Rousing you wasn't easy."|Mal continues. "Heard you yelling," they explain. "Dunno what was going on in dreamland, but waking you sure wasn't easy."|Wil continues. "I came running when I heard you screaming. Waking you up was difficult."|Teddie continues. "You were screaming, so I came over." He frowns. "Took a while to wake you."|Kay continues. "I heard you screaming so I came as fast as I could. I was starting to worry you'd never wake up."}
            
            You wince and don't reply.
            
    #I'm sobbing uncontrollably.
        *set wakeup 4
        You shudder and writhe, anguished tears pouring down your face.
        
        Sleep's the one place your control loosens. Where your tightly compartmentalised trauma can slip containment and run free.
        
        @{toprel "$!{aka2}, wake up. You're safe."|"Aw, come on $!{aka}, you keep up the waterworks and I'm gonna cry too. I'm a sympathetic crier, you know?"|"$!{aka}, you're going to be okay. You're safe."|Someone's gripping you by the shoulder, shaking you. Fruitlessly, you struggle against the grasp.|"H-hey, $!{aka}, c'mon, don't cry. You're gonna be okay."}
        
        *if toprel = 4
            "Wake up." More shaking. You struggle further, and your eyes open.
            
            Oh. It's Teddie.
            
            He retracts his hand, expression cautious. As you slip back into yourself, you gradually grow more conscious of your body; you're streaked in sweat, utterly entangled with your covers. Your face is wet as you regard him, blinking slowly. @{juiceless Intense pangs of hunger pound through you, tiny needles stippling you inside and out. Testing bites. Checking if the feast is ready.|} @{(mc_health = 5) You feel like you've been run over by a truck. Surpass probably counts.|} @{(mc_health = 3) Everything hurts, yesterday's battles catching up to you with a vengeance.|} @{(mc_health = 4) Everything hurts, yesterday's battles catching up to you with a vengeance.|} @{(mc_health = 1) You ache just about everywhere. The price of yesterday's battles.|}
            
            *gosub wakeupdesc2
            
        *else
            *gosub wakeupdesc
            
        @{toprel Dion|Mal|Wil|Teddie|Kay} seems to feel the need to fill the space, and continues. @{toprel "You were cr—" Dion pauses, switches word. "—making noise in your sleep, so I investigated. Rousing you wasn't easy."|"Heard you crying," they explain. "Dunno what was going on in dreamland, but waking you sure wasn't easy."|"When I heard crying, I came running. Waking you up was difficult."|"Heard crying, so I came over." He frowns. "Heavy sleeper." You wonder just how much he had to shake you.|"I heard you crying and came as fast as I could. Was getting worried you'd never wake up!"}
        
        You swipe a forearm across your tear-stained features and don't respond. You don't know how.
        
    #I give up, going limp.
        *set wakeup 5
        What's the point in fighting? You already know how this story ends.
        
        The shaking stops.
        
        @{toprel "$!{aka2}? Are you alright?"|"Yoo. Anyone home in there?"|"$!{aka}? $!{aka}, are you okay?"|"Come on. Wake up."|"C'mon, $!{aka}, talk to me here…"}
        
        *gosub wakeupdesc
        
        *goto whoevercontinues


*if ((confide = 2) and (toprel = 1))
    You feel Dion's eyes on you. After a long silence, he speaks, selecting his words delicately. "This episode. Is it anything to do with our conversation yesterday?"
    
    *goto confideoptions
*elseif ((confide = 3) and (toprel = 2))
    Mal speaks again. Hesitant. Gentle. "So uh, sorry if I'm digging things up, but what just happened and that chat we had yesterday… connected, right?"
    
    *goto confideoptions
*elseif ((confide = 4) and (toprel = 3))
    After a long moment, Wil speaks, selecting words delicately. Handle with care. "This is the same thing we talked about yesterday, isn't it?"
    
    *goto confideoptions
*elseif ((confide = 6) and (toprel = 4))
    Teddie speaks again. Gently, by his standards. "That thing you told me about giving you nightmares, huh?"
    
    *goto confideoptions
*elseif ((confide = 5) and (toprel = 5))
    Kay slowly begins to speak again, hesitant. Gentle. "This got anything to do with what we talked about yesterday?" She laughs nervously. "Sorry, it's probably none of my business." 
    
    *goto confideoptions
  
*else  
    *label looploop
    *if toprel = 1
        Dion speaks again. There's a strange note in his voice; @{(observation < 35) you can't place it.|he sounds almost nostalgic.}  "Believe it or not, nightmares often come with the territory. You aren't the first teammate I've shaken awake." He hesitates. Several seconds tick by. "I've been in your position myself."
        *choice
            #Ask him how he deals with that.
                "Practice," he replies with a laugh that isn't much of a laugh. Something must show on your expression, because he goes on. "Talking about it helps. Sometimes."
                
                You nod. You have no such intentions.
            
            #Tell him I find that a little hard to picture.
                A melancholy smile twitches at Dion's lips. "I've heard as much."
                
                You study him, but his expression gives nothing away. Tough a nut to crack as ever.
                
            #Other teammates? Such as?
                *set archhis 1
                *set archinfo +1
                He clearly wasn't expecting the question, and stumbles on his words. "Ah. I've been in a—there was a separate group. A while ago now."
                
                Meaning he's definitely operated under a different identity, and with a team, no less. Confirmation of the Coven's suspicions. @{(inform1 > 4) Not that you've been keeping them especially in the loop.|Still doesn't tell you who he really is.}
                
            #I'm not sure how that's supposed to make me feel better.
                The mask life is just generally shit? Cool? Thanks?
        
        *goto finishingup
    
    *else
        @{toprel |"I dunno if it helps to hear this, but I know a lot of masks go through this kinda shit." A faraway look enters their eyes for a moment. "There's people around who get it. Guess what I'm trying to say is… you aren't alone."|"Don't forget, we're a team. Friends. If you need help, then we're all here for you. Me especially."|"…don't feel like it's a burden. Everyone goes through shit." Teddie looks at his arms. Flashes of white push through the skin in several places. "Guess I'm saying I've got your back."|"Um, maybe this is out of line but… sometimes I've gotta remind myself not to beat myself up over feeling bad. Like, all that does is make you feel even worse." She looks away, fidgeting, looks back. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're um, allowed to be upset."}
        
        The reassurances ring hollow. @{toprel |They have|$!{whe} has|He has|She has} no idea. None.
        
        *goto finishingup

*label confideoptions
*choice
    #Deny it.
        You're still rebuilding your defences. If you let @{toprel him|them|${whim}|him|her} break through again, your walls may just crumble to dust. You shake your head.
        
        @{toprel "I see,"|"'kay. If you say so."|"…alright."|"Hmph."|"…'kay then."} @{toprel He|They|$!{whe}|He|She} clearly @{(toprel = 2) don't|doesn't} believe you.
        
        You avoid eye contact.
        
    #Admit it.
        "…yeah," you say, voice thick.
        
        *label sucksbro
        @{toprel "I'm sorry," he murmurs.|"Damn. You've been through the wringer."|"It'll get better," ${whe} says with sudden confidence. "I believe in you."|"Sucks. Sorry." Blunt as he is, you can tell he's sincere.|"…sorry," she says again. "I shouldn't have brought it up."}
        
    #I've had nightmares for years. Yesterday's just a new and exciting twist on the formula.
        "Let's just say yesterday didn't help," you reply.
        
        *goto sucksbro
    #I don't want to talk about this.
        Even the attempt to discuss what happened completely overwhelmed you. After those nightmares, you want it even less.
        
        "Some other time," you mumble.
        
The good news is that @{toprel Dion|Mal|Wil|Teddie|Kay} lets the topic of yesterday drop. The bad? @{toprel He keeps|They keep|$!{whe} keeps|he keeps|she keeps} talking anyway.

*goto looploop

*label finishingup
*if toprel = 2
    *if ((collapsezone) or (wrekt))
        Mal inspects you, hand cupped across their face. "Hmm. Looks like you'll be okay unsupervised for now. @{collapsezone Feeling alright? Powers not freaking out?|Lemme check on your injuries real quick.}"
        
        *if (collapsezone)
            You really, really could have done without them bringing that up. You shake your head tightly, feeling a cold sweat breaking across your body.
            
            "Great," Mal says, oblivious. "I'm gonna do the rounds. 'Less you want me to stick around?"
            
        *else
            @{(surpass_stomach > 1) Though you're not fond of letting Mal poke around at your stomach, they're true to their word and only take a quick look. One dressing change later, and|Your semi-decapitation isn't exactly a wound, though you understand what they mean. Soon enough} they straighten up, nodding to themself.
            
            "You're all set. Should I stick around?"
        
    *else
        Mal muffles a yawn in their hand. "I could use a nap…" They lower their hand, smiling brightly. "Can stick around if you want, though. I'll manage." 

*else
    @{toprel Dion inspects you for a little longer than is comfortable. "I suppose I'll leave you to it. Unless you wanted to talk further?"||Wil's pale eyes stay on you for several long and silent seconds. "Feels like I ought to leave you be for a bit."|A silence interlude ensues. Teddie stares at you, then shifts. "Gonna check on Kay," he announces. Pauses. Keeps staring. "I'll stay if you want me to."|A silent interlude ensues. Kay starts fidgeting after a minute or two. "It okay if I check on Teddie? I mean, I won't if you'd prefer I stuck around."}

*choice
    #Ask for space.
        "I could use some space," you say.
        
        *label noseriouslygetout
        @{toprel Dion gives a final fractional nod and exits the room.|Mal nods easily. At the door they turn back, wink, and exit.|Wil nods, gives you a gentle smile, and leaves the room.|With a final lingering look, Teddie heads straight out.|Kay nods twice and heads for the door. She stops there, flashes a smile, and then is gone.}
        
    #Thank @{toprel him|them|${whim}|him|her} for waking me.
        *set thanks true
        It's difficult to muster the words. Difficult to accept the help.
         
        "I appreciate you being here," you murmur.
        
        @{toprel "Any time. I mean that." With a final fractional nod, Dion exits the room.|"Hey, I got you." Mal winks, slipping from the room. Backwards.|"It's no trouble." Wil gives you one more smile and exits the room.|"Don't mention it," Teddie grunts. He retreats from the room, though not before you see his embarrassed expression.|"Always," Kay says, firmly. Then, with a sudden blush, she scurries from the room.}
        
    #Apologise for making a scene.
        You must have woken the entire house.
        
        "Sorry about… all this."
        
        @{toprel Dion gives you a long and sad look. "$!{aka2}, you've nothing to apologise for."|Mal shrugs. "Doesn't bother me."|There's a sad look in Wil's eyes. "Come on, $!{aka}, you don't need to apologise."|"Don't," Teddie instantly ripostes. "Just—It's fine."|"You don't gotta apologise," Kay replies softly, brow downturned.}
            
        Says @{toprel him|them|${whim}|him|her}.
        
        You don't have the inclination or energy to argue, and mumble an 'okay' or an 'alright'; it's gone the moment it leaves your mouth.
            
        *goto noseriouslygetout
    
    *if (wakeup = 1) #Apologise for punching @{toprel him|them|${whim}|him|her}.
        "I'm sorry I hit you." So typical of you, to bite the helping hand.
        
        *if (romance_wil = 4)
            Wil smiles sheepishly. "Not how I thought we were gonna get across the line on touching."
            
            You sort of laugh. It tastes bitter. @{(expressive > 60) "Promise I don't usually show affection that way."|"Sorry," you say again.}
            
            "I forgive you, but only because you're cute." $!{whis} tone is playful, but ${whis} voice is soft.
            
            It hurts to smile. The conversation fades out.
            
        *else
            @{toprel Dion's lip curves into a subtle smile. "I've taken worse friendly fire," he says. "That wasn't even in the top three."|Mal scoffs. "What, that lovetap?" They pose, tilting their head up with a hand on their jaw. "Barely felt it." The mark you left on them has already faded.|"If you thought that was bad, I need to get you to the mosh pit sometime," Wil jokes. "Seriously though, I'm fine."|Teddie snorts. "Why apologise? It's you that got hurt."|"Oh, no worries," Kay replies, scuffing her feet. "More surprising than painful." Her head pops back up, face lighting up with a grin. "You gotta put more work in at the gym if you wanna hurt me, $!{aka}."}
        
            You almost smile. Almost.
            
            The conversation fades.
        
        *goto noseriouslygetout
    
*if toprel = 1
    *set rel_architect %+ 10
    
*elseif toprel = 2
    *set rel_wyrd %+ 10
    
*elseif toprel = 3
    *set rel_wil %+ 10
    
*elseif toprel = 4
    *set rel_teddie %+ 10
    
*else
    *set rel_kay %+ 10
    
Alone with your thoughts. What time is it? With curtains drawn, the room is dim and grey. A fragment of light escapes between them. Must be morning.

Exhausted as you are, you've no intention of going back to sleep. Sleep isn't to be trusted.
*choice
    #I hope this doesn't come back to bite me.
        You've already had several episodes. Enough for the team to stitch a pattern, should they compare notes. If they start doubting your mental state, everything will get a whole lot harder.
        
        Sympathy is on a thin line with 'liability'. 
        
        Perhaps you should avoid resting at the base. Though then they'll start to wonder why you aren't coming to the safehouse, nor will you be able to hunt for information.
        
        You laugh, humourless. Can't win.
        
    #Great. Now everyone will think I'm a frightened child.
        Having to be comforted from night terrors. Are you in grade school?
        
        You're supposed to be a heavy hitter, a fearsome villain. There's little formidable or intimidating about this display.
        
        It'll be in the back of the team's mind. $!{aka} is afraid. Unreliable.
        
        Broken.
        
    #Get a grip. That wasn't even my worst nightmare.
        Your dreams have held rebukes and recriminations, mutilation and death. You've played that night out countless times, you've blended it into the worst experiences of the past five years.
        
        Letting something as basic as the Project speaking get to you? You're better than that.
        
        *if (bestie = 2)
            (ignore that it was Prii. ignore yesterday's encounter. ignore @{(brokenheart = 2) the snarl of thorns squeezing around your heart|the accusation in their eyes}).
            
            What is the illusion of resolve worth?
            
        *else
            Would be nice if insisting enough made it true. Though you feel a little better, a little more grounded, you know the illusion of resolve when you see it.
            
    *if (not (thanks)) #I'm growing to hate those pitying looks.
        Everywhere you turn, someone's staring at you like you're some kind of broken thing.
        
        You don't need anyone to feel sorry for you. You don't [i]want[/i] anyone to feel sorry for you.
        
        They have no idea what you've been through—no. 
        
        What you've survived.
        
    #Close my eyes, do some deep breathing. I'm okay.
        In. Hold. Out.
        
        In. Hold. Out.
        
        In. Hold. Out.
        
        Your eyes open, fixed on a point midway up the wall.
        
        Still alive and kicking. @{juiceless Though your parasite of a power may have something to say about that.|}
        
    #I find somebody who might give the slightest damn about me, and I'm lying to @{toprel him|them|${whim}|him|her}. Poetry.
        If you were a play, you'd be a tragedy. Or wait, a tragic comedy.
        
        You've had a lot of practice playing a part. @{coven_history Pain's an effective incentive.|How long before it blends into who you really are?|How long before you forget the person underneath?}
            
    *selectable_if ((brutal > 2) or (psycho > 1)) #Really wish I had someone to hurt right about now.
        *set psycho +1
        You've got a lot of pent up aggression to work through. Where's a DPR officer when you need them? @{(rangerhurt = 3) Or Ranger again. You fantasise briefly, remembering the satisfying pop pop pop of each bone breaking in turn.|Or someone like the Patrol trio, putting up just enough of a fight for the beatdown to be more satisfying.} 
        
        Your smile soon fades. Imagination doesn't hold a candle to the real thing.
        
    #I'm pathetic.
        Heat wells behind your eyes. Your fingers twitch, curling into trembling fists. You want to pound them into the wall, slam your knuckles into brick over and over until there's nothing left but pulverised meat.
        
        You find your fist pressed against the wall and yank it back, as if scalded. 
        
        Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
        
        You bury your face in your hands like it'll hold back the tears.
        
        How long you stay like that, it's impossible to say.
        
    *selectable_if (juiceless) #None of this matters if my powers kill me. @{(vials = 0) And there's no Juice waiting back home.|I have to leave ASAP.}
        The nightmare, @{toprel Dion's|Mal's|Wil's|Teddie's|Kay's} reaction—or suspicions—it's all irrelevant. You're on borrowed time. When the suppressant runs its course, your hungering passenger will return.
        
        You've got to scrape together whatever pieces of self you're able and get the fuck going.
        
        *if (vials = 0)
            As for your lack of supply… cross that mountain when you come to it.
            
        *goto nojuice
*page_break
*goto afternightmares

*label wakeupdesc

@{(wakeup = 4) Your eyes slide open, the only movement in your entire body.|Your eyes open. Or perhaps they already were, and only now are coming into proper focus.}

@{toprel Dion|Mallory|Wil|Teddie|Kay} stands at your bedside. You look at @{toprel him|them|${whim}|him|her}, blinking long and slow. You gradually grow more conscious of your body; you're streaked in sweat, utterly entangled with your covers. @{juiceless Intense pangs of hunger pound through you, tiny needles stippling you inside and out. Testing bites. Checking if the feast is ready.|} @{(mc_health = 5) You feel like you've been run over by a truck. Surpass probably counts.|} @{(mc_health = 3) Everything hurts, yesterday's battles catching up to you with a vengeance.|} @{(mc_health = 4) Everything hurts, yesterday's battles catching up to you with a vengeance.|} @{(mc_health = 1) You ache just about everywhere. The price of yesterday's battles.|} @{wakeup |Your babble finally stutters to a halt.|You finally muster enough vestiges of self-control to throttle further screaming.|You raise your head. Just a little.|The flow of tears abates a little.}

*label wakeupdesc2
@{toprel Dion slowly exhales. "You're back with us. There's a relief."|Mal smiles, strained. "There we go. Easy now. Nothing's gonna hurt you."|Wil looks apprehensive, afraid, perhaps, of setting you off. "You're safe," ${whe} repeats. "I'm here for you."|Teddie exhales a long breath through his nose. "Better." He pauses. "Are you?"|Kay smiles. It's tentative, worried. "You okay? Couldn't wake you for a hot minute there."}
        
@{toprel You nod slowly. Despite Dion's assertion, you aren't sure you're entirely present in the moment.|If only that were a promise you could trust.|$!{whe}'s here for you. It's not the reassurance you wish it to be.|You don't know how to answer him. You slowly shrug.|You don't know how to answer her. You slowly shrug.} You feel... floaty. Detached. @{(wakeup = 4) Any sense of drive or urgency is absent, leaving a sucking emptiness in your chest. Why bother?|}
        
*return

*label afternightmares
Eventually your scattered thoughts converge into something approaching coherence. @{juiceless The suppressant has you on borrowed time. Once it runs its course, your hungering passenger will return.|}

*if ((collapsezone) or (juiceless))
    *label nojuice
    Against your body's protests, you haul yourself out of bed. It's nothing compared to what lies ahead. Gathering up your things, you stumble from the bedroom, mind set on [i]home.[/i]
    
    *if (collapsezone)
        *label unfortunate
        Unfortunately, your hopes of a swift and quiet exit are instantly dashed as Mallory@{(toprel = 2) —perched on a kitchen stool—|—you suppose they were on a brief break from your bedside—}spots you and immediately rushes to intercept.
        
        *if (wrekt)
            *goto lmaothislabelisscuffed
    
        The ensuing discussion-slash-argument is unbearable. Don't they get you're on a fucking timer? You tell Mal you're heading out. They strenuously object to letting you out from their supervision. You press the point. You [i]have[/i] to press the point. With each passing moment, your power's slavering jaws stir a little more from slumber. In the prickling of your skin and the ache in your bones, you feel the ravening mouths closing in.
        
        After longer than you can afford, Mal throws up their hands in defeat.
        
        "This is a bad freaking idea, $!{aka2}, but I'm not gonna force—oh sure bye."
        
        You're out of the safehouse before they finish their sentence.
        
        That's one obstacle down. Now comes the long walk home.
        
        *goto makingithome
    *elseif (wrekt)
        *goto unfortunate
        *label lmaothislabelisscuffed
        *set doubt_wyrd +5
        *set doubt_architect +5
        *set cab true
        "Whoa! What the heck are you doing out of bed!?" Their eyes are wide, voice stricken with alarm.
        
        "Have somewhere to be," you mutter. Should have climbed out the damn window.
        
        Mal stares incredulously. "In your condition? You've gotta be kidding."
        
        You grit your teeth. This is going to take a while.
        
        The argument rattles back and forth for longer than you can afford. Mal strenuously objects to you going anywhere, you dig in your heels and insist. They pull the medical advice card, you counter with the it's-really-none-of-your-business-what-I-do card. After an excruciating holdup, Mal finally agrees to let you leave, but only if you take a cab. It's a compromise neither of you are happy with, but at least catching a ride will make up some of the lost time.
        
        "Go carefully," Mal calls to your back as you slump out of the safehouse. You withhold a sarcastic comment.
        
        A few blocks away—because you're not stupid enough to call a cab to the base—you clamber into the back of a taxi and slowly sink into the seat. Your driver's the talkative type, but your monosyllabic responses soon dissuade him from attempting conversation.
        *goto makingithome
    *else
        Fortunately, you made it through last night just about intact enough for your departure not to raise any eyebrows. Only Mallory is present in the main part of the safehouse anyway—you wonder @{toprel where Dion got to|what's on their mind|where Wil got to|where Teddie got to|where Kay got to}—and they just watch you pass with a tired wave and not a single clever comment. Even Mal isn't immune to fatigue.
        
        The bad news is that leaving the base was the easy part. 
        
        Now comes the long walk home.
        *goto makingithome
*elseif (wrekt)
    With your body still a wreck from its encounter with a parahuman bulldozer, the best option is to stay here and rest up. Trying to head home will only invite an argument that you have no energy to fight, as well as looking suspicious; why is $!{aka2} so eager to leave? 
    
    …only hitch is the whole, sleeping's-just-asking-for-another-nightmare thing.
    
    Ugh.
    
    Maybe you can bother Mal for some breakfast then give it another shot.
    
    *page_break
    The next couple of days trickle past at a snail's pace, long hours of tedium broken only by the occasional visit from one teammate or another. Mal, more often than not. You stave off sleep as much as you can, dreading what lies in store. Yet when at last you can fight slumber no longer, the nightmares' grip on you ebbs, your rest uneasy and disturbed, but not haunted.
    
    *gosub attemptedcheckins
    
    On the second afternoon, Dion pays you a visit. He looks less haggard than the other night, though his beard has grown out a little.
    
    *gosub heatassess
    "Ah, I wanted to ask how you're feeling, $!{aka2}. Mallory tells me you're recovering well?"
    
    @{(surpass_stomach > 1) You're getting there, you suppose. At least your powers are good for patching you up.|You're not as weak as you were, though the ache in your bones seems to be sticking around.}
    
    *if (surpass_stomach > 1)
        *choice
            #"Well, my stomach's got the normal number of holes again."
                Dion winces. "I suppose that's something."
                
            #"About as well as can be expected, I guess."
                "Hm. Alright." He looks unsure of how to take your nonchalance.
                
            #"I feel like someone rammed their hand into my guts."
                Dion winces. "A fair point. I'm sorry it came to that."
                
            #"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." I don't want to get into this.
                *label hesbeingnicedime
                Dion looks sceptical, but doesn't call you out on it.
                
                *goto dionkeeps
            #Shrug.
                *label shrug
                Dion laughs softly. "Alright then."
                
        *goto dionkeeps   
     
    *else
        *choice
            #"Let's just say I'm not eager to get my head knocked off again."
                Dion laughs softly. "Yes, that's to be avoided."
                
            #"Rough, but I'm getting there. Thanks for the food."
                Dion laughs softly. "Yes, Mallory did mention you've been eating a lot. 'Like two horses', was their exact wording."
                
                *choice
                    #"One and a half at best."
                        *set expressive %+ 7
                        "Hey, take it up with Mallory."
                        
                        "I just might."
                        
                    #"I lost a lot of mass." I say neutrally.
                        Dion nods, thoughtful. "Hm. That makes sense."
                        
                    #"I demand more sugar cubes."
                        He laughs again, a little louder. "I'll see what I can do."
                        
                    #My cheeks warm from embarrassment.
                        You drop your eyes. You didn't [i]mean[/i] to eat so much.
                        
                        "$!{aka2}, it's fine," Dion says gently. "We have plenty."
                
            #"I feel like I'm not going to experiment with my powers anytime soon."
                "You'll hear no disagreement from me." You give him a sidelong look, unsure if he's disapproving of you, but you see no judgement in his eyes.
                
            #"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." I don't want to get into this.
                *goto hesbeingnicedime
            #Shrug.
                *goto shrug
            
    *label dionkeeps
    He keeps you company a little longer, exchanging some inconsequential small talk, and then, checking his phone, excuses himself.
    
    Dion pauses right in the doorway. @{(surpass_stomach =2) "You were brave to take her on. I appreciate what you did for us."|"You're welcome to as much food as you like, even once you're feeling better. You don't need to go hungry."}
    
    Wordlessly, you watch him leave.
    
    @{(surpass_stomach = 2) What you did for them. You taste bile.|The ache that settles within your abdomen is not that of a famished stomach.}
    *page_break
    *if ((inform1 > 4) and (not (footagedestroy)))
        Later that afternoon, your phone beeps.
        
        *gosub cgwarning
    
    *set mc_health 2
    On the third day of recovery, you're finally up and moving around. To be back on your feet is an incredible relief; you've had a couple lifetimes' too much confinement in bed.
    
    The mood around the base is tense, your teammates snappish, though their ire is generally directed at one another rather than you. Being injured has its perks apparently.
    
    Mal fusses over you a fair amount, though they ease off as you demonstrate that your powers have @{juiceless calmed themselves down.|sped your recovery along nicely.}
    
    Even so, you have little time for chatter as Dion calls the team to another of his briefings.
    *goto anotherbriefing
    
*else
    @{(mc_health > 1) Though you got pretty banged up during the mission, you're a quick healer, and none of your injuries are severe enough to warrant mandatory bed rest. There's|You made it through the mission fully intact—at least physically—so there's} nothing stopping you from heading home if you so choose. That said, you should probably check in with Dion beforehand. A lot happened last night; maybe the situation changed.

    *page_break
    You rise, gather up your meagre possessions, and get dressed@{tidy , savouring the luxury of having some halfway-decent clean clothes to choose from.| in your sole available set of clean clothes. Well. Cleanish. Clean enough.}
    
    With all your stuff secured in your satchel, you walk out into the main room of the base. In the kitchen area Dion talks softly with $!{wname}, whose whole upper body is stretched out on a countertop, barely propping ${whim}self upright with a single elbow. @{(toprel = 3) You feel a little bad for waking ${whim} up.|}
    
    "Ah, $!{aka2}. Excuse me, Wil." Dion steps away from Wil to meet you halfway. Wil raises a hand in sleepy acknowledgement. Meanwhile, Dion draws you aside.
    
    You incline your head, waiting for him to speak.
    
    *gosub heatassess
    
    Since Dion seems to be finished, you venture a change of subject. "So, are we staying here for now?"
    
    Dion shakes his head. "Your choice. Just be sensible about it and keep your head down."
    
    "Sure." You exchange nods, and Dion returns to Wil, who in the meantime has sunk all-but facedown onto the counter.
    
    You decide you'll…
    *goto passthetime

*label heatassess
*if (heat < 3)
    "It's looking like we did a good job of eluding the DPR. Their response is completely scattershot." He smiles slightly. "Even if the mission didn't turn out as planned, it's good to be a step ahead."
    
    "They must know it was us," you say, @{wrekt voice rasping.|tilting your head.}
    
    "Oh absolutely, but @{vindicate with their footage destroyed, they're one step behind. So... good job with that." You can tell by his tone of voice that he's more than a little baffled that your strategy of 'break everything that looks important' actually worked. Sweet, sweet vindication.|that's where infiltrating quietly pays dividends. Their information is incomplete, which makes their job much harder."}
    
    *choice
        #"Go us." Extend my hand for a fist bump.
            *set rel_architect %+ 7
            *if expressive < 40
                Dion laughs. "This isn't like you." Nonetheless, he reaches out and meets your fist with his own.
                
            *else
                Dion's smile grows to an uncharacteristic size, and he meets your fist with his own. "Go us."
                
            *set expressive %+ 10
            *if (wrekt)
                Even that slight movement sparks a shower of protests through your body. Urgh.
            
        #We shouldn't assume anything.
            *set rel_architect %+ 8
            *set instinctive %- 10
            
            "Even so, let's not get carried away," you say. The DPR's resources are extensive, it would be a mistake to count them out so easily.
            
            "Agreed. There's no reason to be reckless."
            
            You mutually reflect on that for a moment.
            
        *if (not (vindicate)) #@{footagedestroy "Good thing we got the footage, huh?"|"Too bad we couldn't get the footage too."}
            Dion nods. @{footagedestroy "It'll set them back even further."|"True, but we did our best."}
            
            @{footagedestroy You take a moment to bask in the satisfaction of a successful sidequest.|He's actually capable of loosening up about the job. Learn something new every day.}
            
        #Simply nod.
            *set expressive %- 10
            Observation made, observation answered, topic over.
            
    *return

*else
    "We really stirred the DPR up," he tells you grimly. "I've had word of their officers making discreet and pointed enquiries about us. We'll need to be cautious going forward."
    
    "Wouldn't they be investigating anyway?" you ask, @{wrekt voice rasping.|tilting your head.}
    
    "Yes, but we left enough evidence and took long enough to exfiltrate that they've clearly been able to zero in on us a lot better," Dion explains.
    
    *choice
        #Say there's nothing to be done about it now.
            @{(expressive > 60) "Sucks, but what can we do? It's done."|"What's done is done."}
            
            Dion inclines his head. A fraction of an inch. "True enough."
            
        #Promise to do better next time.
            @{(expressive > 60) "Next time we do something like this, I'll be a ghost. They won't even know I was there."|"In future, I'll do a better job," you say, with conviction.}
            
            @{(expressive > 60) Dion smiles thinly. "I appreciate the thought. Hopefully that won't be required."|Dion shakes his head. "I appreciate your commitment, but we all share responsibility. I'm not blaming you, $!{aka2}."}
            
        #Simply nod.
            *set expressive %- 10
            Question asked, question answered, topic over.

*return
*label makingithome
*page_break
        
@{cab The car window is cool against your throbbing skull. How far is the drive? You've only made the trek on foot. How far? How far?|One step at a time. The only way to do it. Don't think about the distance, don't think about the destination, don't think about anything but putting one foot in front of the other.}

You don't know how long you'll last. Your only points of reference are last night's frenetic breakdown and the shapeless eternity of the lab. Back then, your agony wasn't measured in minutes or hours, but in the droning of Hypothesis's voice and its endless observations. There's a hum in your head, in your eyes, its intensity only growing.

@{cab …if you lose your composure in a freaking taxi, you'll—well, you won't laugh, because you'll be convulsing as your powers rip you to pieces. But like, in a [i]funny[/i] way.|One foot in front of the other. That's all you can do.}

@{cab Fuck. Maybe you're slipping already.|}

*if (cab)
    @{(vials = 0) Even if you make it through the drive, there's no gameplan. No respite awaits; you broke your only vial.|You have to get back home. There's a vial waiting. You just need to make it through the drive and go drink your Juice, and then you'll be okay.}

*else
    @{(vials = 0) Past that mantra, the rhythm of your steps, there's no gameplan. No respite awaits; you broke your only vial.|You have to get back home. There's a vial waiting for you. You just need to make it there and go drink your Juice, and then you'll be okay.}
    
@{(vials = 0) You might actually just be fucked.|You'll be 'okay'.}
    
@{cab Eventually you start to recognise your surroundings, and you have the driver drop you off a couple of blocks from your building. Even in this state, there's no way you're leading someone straight to your doorstep.|Eventually, the familiar surroundings of Wesson Parks coalesce around you. You don't consciously remember arriving here.}

Stumbling the remaining distance to your derelict abode, you enter the building. It takes you three attempts to unlock the container and stagger inside. You nearly forget to haul the door shut behind you.

*if (vials = 1)
    Scrabbling at the floor, you desperately punch in the code for your vial, forcing yourself to slow down and avoid mistakes. As the box hisses open you snatch the vial out, pop the lid, and
    
    [b]drain[/b]
    
    [b]it[/b]
    
    [b]dry[/b]
    
    The jaws at your throat, in your throat, gnashing within your body; all hesitate.
    
    Then recede.
    
    Merciful relief.
    
    You collapse backward onto the container floor, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
    *page_break
    *set juice 100
    *set vials 0
    *set dependence + 2
    *set juiceless false
    *set remotemembrane 1
    *set vantagebeating 1
    *if ((getspiked = 3) or (surpass_stomach > 1))
        *set injurydesc 9
        *set mc_health 2
        
    *else
        *set mc_health 1
        *set injurydesc 1

        
    You don't know how long you sprawl on the steel, Juice slowly working its way back into your system, easing the ravenous teeth out of their embedded places. Drinking up certainly hasn't injected you with the usual surge of vigour.
    
    As you blink into awareness and inspect your body, you feel washed out and exhausted. There are no signs of the war waged within your body, none save the utterly desolate look in your eyes as you catch a glimpse of your reflection. Your wounds may be healed, but the scars run deep.
    
    Far too close a call. And this was the best case scenario.
    
    As you reassemble the tattered pieces of body and mind, you contemplate your next steps. Remaining here to recuperate is feeling awfully tempting. On the other hand, isolating yourself from the other Altruists could leave you in a bind, and your abrupt exit may spark questions. Perhaps you should return.
    *goto passthetime
    
*else
    You crash to hands and knees, the exertions all too much for your faltering body to handle. If you don't come up with a plan fast, you'll be too gripped in the throes of agony to do anything but slowly succumb to your own powers.
    
    The choice is painfully clear: you're going to have to beg.
    *page_break
    *set halpmecg 2
    You fumble for your phone and message $!{cg}.
    
    [i]need help. out of drinks.[/i]
    
    Is that vague enough? You'd best hope so.
    
    A couple of agonising minutes later, a reply.
    
    @{(confide = 7) [i]And you didn't tell me this last night why?[/i]|[i]What the fuck. How.[/i]}
    
    [i]Never mind. Not important. Status?[/i]
    
    Fingers shaking, you type your response.
    
    [i]bad. real bad.[/i]
    
    Your phone chirps again. Faster this time.
    
    [i]For fuck's sake.[/i]
    
    [i]You at home?[/i]
    
    Three letters. Just three. Come on.
    
    [i]yes[/i]
    
    Two more quick beeps.
    
    [i]Stay there. I'll arrange something.[/i]
    
    [i]You owe me big for this.[/i]
    
    Your phone clatters to the floor. You press your head against the metal and try to breathe.
    
    *if ((nojuicezone) and (inform1 > 4))
        *if (not (footagedestroy))
            *set halpmecg 3
            A few minutes later, your device beeps again, and you scramble for it, finding a voice message from $!{cg}—she's here already? yes yes yes yes. You hit play. The feverishly desperate swell of hope dies the moment she begins to speak.
    
            [i]"By the way, Dime, when I found out you lied to me, I really thought you'd set the bar for stupid. But lying [b]and[/b] using your entire supply? That's on another fucking level, dude."[/i] $!{cg}'s voice pauses, perhaps contemplating the magnitude of your screw up. [i]"Someone should be with you soon."[/i] You hear a long, long sigh. [i]"Dime. When they call you in, I can't protect you."[/i]
            
            Fuck.
            
            *page_break
        *else
            *goto doublebreathe
         
            
    *else
        *label doublebreathe
        Breathe.
        
        Breathe.
        *page_break

The unsteady ebb and flow of your own breath is your only companion as you wait for deliverance, reduced once again to pleading at the feet of your jailers. You'd laugh at the brutal unfairness of it all if your lungs weren't devouring themselves.

A light rapping from without may as well be a cacophony of hammers upon the anvil. Head throbbing, you muster every scrap of energy remaining in your body to drag yourself to your feet and over to the entryway.

It takes all your strength to heave the container open, overbalancing with the effort and narrowly catching yourself from falling. 

"If it isn't Paradigm." Leaning heavily on the door, you drag your gaze upward to see one of your least favourite people, hands tucked nonchalantly in the pockets of their long brown coat. Lullaby. "Our mutual friend Control Group tells me you landed yourself in a spot of bother," they continue, as if you fell a little behind on rent rather than crumbling before their eyes.

You manage to nod. Your eyes dart feverishly to their coat. Do they have a vial in there?

One hand emerges from their pocket. Empty. A twinge of desperation hits you. Lullaby raises the hand and lowers their sunglasses with a single finger, painfully lackadaisical. They peer past you into the container, eyes as dark and empty as ever. "@{livingconditions I love what you've done with the place."|I see you've spruced the place up a little."|Oh, very good, Dime. You do have an eye for décor."}    

The cravings were already unbearable, the pain all-consuming in an entirely literal sense. Their intentional meandering shouldn't be a blip on the radar.

But when you're clinging on by your fingertips, how can you ignore the boot grinding on your hand?
*choice
    #I have enough self-respect not to crawl.
        You watch them as impassively as you can while they flit around, making inane small talk. @{(expressive > 30) Though you try to hold yourself contained, it doesn't take long for your mask to crack. Soon, you're openly staring, wearing your hunger bare and urgent. Lullaby glances your way and meets your eyes. Their mouth curls up, just enough to let you know they noticed.|Somehow, against the odds, you hold yourself contained. Hold to what little dignity you have. Lullaby pauses mid-sentence, looking at you thoughtfully, their expression mildly disappointed and equally mildly impressed.} "Ah, but I'm rambling. I'm sure you're eager for your delivery."
        
    #No I don't.
        *set defiance -1
        What's pride worth if you're dead?
        
        "Please, Lullaby. I—I need this. It's tearing me up, I—"
        
        "Don't blubber, it's undignified. I have your 'Juice', Paradigm." They don't hide their disdain.
        
    #I barely have the strength to stand, but I'm still angry.
        *set defiance +1
        Always with the power games. Rubbing superiority in your face. Even on the brink of death.
        
        "If you're just going to mock me, you can fuck off," you growl, words rasping like broken glass.
        
        Lullaby's mouth twitches. It's almost a smile. "Temper, temper. I have your delivery right here."
        
They pluck a purple vial from their pocket and you can't restrain yourself from snatching it right out of their hand. You're so desperate you forget to remove the cap; you correct that and then start feverishly gulping the vial's life-sustaining contents.

The gnashing teeth devouring you within and without hesitate.

Then recede.
*page_break Relief. Merciful relief.
*set juice 100
*set vials 0
*set dependence + 2
*set juiceless false
*set remotemembrane 1
*set vantagebeating 1
*if ((getspiked = 3) or (surpass_stomach > 1))
    *set injurydesc 9
    *set mc_health 2

*else
    *set mc_health 1
    *set injurydesc 1

You sink against the wall of your container, eyes glazed. There's no surge of electric adrenaline, just a slow and steady lessening of the pain that's consumed you. The Juice courses through your system, refreshing, restoring, repairing.

And despite the agony, despite all you've been through, you can't deny the euphoric high humming through your ravaged body.

As you shudder free of the Juice's intoxicating clutches, you catch Lullaby eyeing you. They're trying to maintain a mask of neutrality, but faint disgust is seeping through.

"You people and your poison," they mutter. Their eyes flick to yours, widening for just an instant as they find you lucid. You don't think they intended you to hear that.

*choice
    #Point out it's not like you have a choice.
        *set coveninfo +1
        *set covenlul true
        
        *if defiance < 4
            *set defiance +1
            
        "It's drink this or die," you say bluntly.
        
        "Why Paradigm, you can't mean to suggest that's the only reason you partake of your dear leader's wondrous creation?"
        
        @{coven_history You freeze up, a deer in the headlights. Disloyalty means punishment. The lash is imminent.|Your words catch in your throat and you stammer out something half excuse and half apology. You didn't mean to imply disloyalty.|Ah. Let a little too much of the real $!{forename} slip out there. You shrug carefully.}
        
        @{coven_history Lullaby sighs. "Stop cringing. Honestly, you're like a whipped dog."|Lullaby smirks. "Adorable. You're so eager to please."|Lullaby says nothing, their eyes lingering on you for several long seconds. You can't tell if you've erred.}
        
        You school your expression and steady your nerves.
        
    #Try to persuade them to elaborate. Carefully.     
        *if knowledge > 40
            *set trust_cg +1
            *set coveninfo +1
            *set covenlul true
            Though your head pounds, there's also something approaching coherent thought. You've never heard them express a negative sentiment before. Or, well, any kind of actual opinion.
            
            You begin, speaking slowly to match your mouth to the pace of your brain. "There are side effects, but poison is going a little far. A lot of powers are double-edged swords. Remember Vault?" That's a pretty deep cut; Vault left the parahuman scene years before you ever got mixed up in it. Still, you don't get to be a masked merc—not with a long career, at least—without keeping your ear to the ground, and you're counting on it here.
            
            "Vault?" They rub their chin, and you can tell you've piqued their interest. "With the stasis ability, correct?"
            
            You nod. "Which turned out to slowly degrade anything he froze." Himself included. You still remember watching Vault's retirement conference on TV. Remember the withered husk of a man the hero had become.
            
            "Hm." Lullaby wavers a hand from side to side. "The leading theory is that Vault was using the power improperly to avoid harming others. Most parahumans don't experience those kinds of ill effects. I can't put myself to sleep, for example." Their lip curls. "Even the best case scenario for the… Juice means permanent addiction. It's no double-edged sword, Dime, it's a tainted chalice."
            
            The criticism is a genuine surprise. You're so used to nobody ever speaking a word against Hypothesis, even obliquely. For a moment you consider persevering for more detail, then decide not to push your luck. Lullaby's all too mercurial for such a risk. Instead you simply nod again.
            
        *else
            That's your intention anyway. Instead you open your mouth and an incoherent jumble of words falls out.
            
            Lullaby regards you a moment, then shakes their head. "Keep trying, Paradigm. You'll produce an actual sentence one of these days."
            
            Chastened, you go silent. More recovery is clearly needed before you start trying to debate anyone.
            
    #Blandly thank them for the delivery: the sooner they're gone, the better.
        *if defiance < 5
            *set defiance +1
        
        "Thank you for this," you say carefully.
        
        "I live to serve." They pause just long enough. "Not you, of course."
        
        You know better than to react.
        
    #Attempt to get some news of the Coven: how screwed am I?
        *set coveninfo +1
        You take a second to psyche yourself up, then just go for it.
        
        "Lullaby, can I ask something?"
        
        "If you like."
        
        "How are things at base?"
        
        *if inform1 < 5
            "Oh, all abuzz, of course. $!{cg} let us know what to expect, and all have been awaiting news of your exploits." They touch a finger to their cheek, miming wiping a tear. "You're all grown up. I could weep." They're stone-faced, and the only thing in their voice is light sardonicism. 
            
            The mockery barely registers. Jibes are pedestrian for you.
            
        *elseif (not (footagedestroy))
            "All abuzz with word of your exploits of course." Their smile is all teeth. "Though it did come as quite a surprise, given you didn't inform us first. Stage fright is only natural, Paradigm, but there's no need to be shy."
            
            Ah. Extremely screwed, then.
            
        *else
            "Mm, calm enough, I suppose."
            
            That's one lie that hasn't come home to roost yet. You can't help feeling that it's only a matter of time.
            
        You hesitate, but you've come this far. "And… what did Hypothesis have to say?"
        
        "About the vial? Good question." Lullaby stops, regarding you with a glint in their eye. You realise they're not going to answer said question. 
        
        That's as far as you dare push. You nod.

Lullaby yawns, checking a non-existent watch. "I had best be going. Take care, Paradigm, and do try to pace yourself better in future."

*if (diming)
    They stride away two steps, pause, then turn back. They're smiling. On another person, you'd call the expression one of mischief. On Lullaby, it's thoroughly capricious "By the by, I hear you've kept $!{mask} for your new career. I'm touched that you're still thinking of us."
    
    And then they're gone for real.
    
*else
    They stride away. You feel deeper in this pit than ever.
    
At the very least you can think clearly again. Decide what to do with yourself next. Recuperation here at the container is tempting, though on the other hand, your abrupt exit from the safehouse could raise questions. Perhaps you should return, lest you garner even more suspicion.    
*goto passthetime
    
*label cgwarning

*set doubt_hypothesis + 20
*if liedetect = 1
    *set rel_cg -5

You feel a long sinking sensation in your chest as you check your phone and find a message from $!{cg}.

[i]bad move.[/i]

You don't reply.

*return

*label attemptedcheckins
*if (confide > 6)
    @{(confide = 8) Alistair tries to call you twice. You reject both calls. You—it's too much, just now.|$!{cg} texts you exactly once. A simple [i]'I'm here'[/i]. You don't reply.}
    
    *if (confide = 7)
        @{connectcg The idea you could trust her is tearing you up. The conversation you had the other day feels like a glimpse of the real person. A peek at a $!{cg} something more than your Coven taskmaster. It's just. How can you take that leap of faith? How can you believe in her?|Her loyalties are with the Coven, never with you. To trust is to ignore that yawning chasm, that gap in the hierarchy that puts her as your superior. $!{cg}'s [i]responsible[/i] for you, not your friend. }
        
        @{connectcg Questions you can't answer.|You can't forget that. You can't afford to forget that.}
    
*return

*label passthetime
*choice
    #@{nojuicezone Return to the safehouse and stick around.|Stick mostly to the safehouse.}
        *if (nojuicezone)
            While taking too many leisurely strolls across town strikes you as a bad idea with a superhero team and a government agency hunting for you, the team might ask questions if you separate yourself right after a mission.
            
            With a weary groan, you haul your tired ass out of your container and set off for what you hope will be your final trek for at least the next few days. Fortunately, you've got the punch of a fresh dose of Juice jolting through your system, feeding you with fresh energy that only seems to amplify the more you get moving. By the time you reach the safehouse, there's far more of a pep in your step.
            
            You pause at the front door, taking a moment to tamp down on your jittery energy. Can't have anyone wondering why you're all wired all of a sudden. Once adequately composed, you step inside.
            
        *else
            When a superhero team and a government agency are on the hunt for you, it feels prudent to avoid taking any leisurely strolls across town. You're not in desperate need of any of the junk at your container, so ultimately the decision to remain is an easy one.
        
            And okay, maybe spending time around these guys isn't all that bad.
        
        *page_break
        The next two days are an odd blend of tension and triumph, the collective held breath of waiting for success to come crashing down around you. Everyone's on edge, snapping at each other over infractions both real and imagined. @{(heat < 3) Reminders of the comparative success at keeping things quiet fall on deaf ears; as good as the first leg of the mission went, the exfiltration was much more messy. |Nobody's forgotten the hornets' nest you all stirred up on the way out, and the group collectively braces for its sting.}

        Yet in spite of all that, the events in the Zone get surprisingly little media traction. The full extent of coverage is a couple of news columns mentioning noises in the night and a couple threads on mask message boards claiming sightings of the DPR rolling out. Nothing about a battle in the Zone, nothing about the Altruists. You suppose both Hounds and DPR have reason to keep this quiet.
        
        *if (halpmecg > 1)
            *goto skipwarning
            
        *if ((inform1 > 4) and (not (footagedestroy)))
            Though, when your phone beeps on that second afternoon, it's apparent that the Coven has its ways.
            
            *gosub cgwarning
      
        *label skipwarning 
        *gosub attemptedcheckins
        
        There's little to do around here, leaving you with the options of trying to crack open your teammates' prickly moods or whiling away the hours by yourself.
        
        Even if you wanted to contact somebody outside of the team, you haven't exactly painted yourself as the type of person with a bustling social life. @{(confide > 6) You already sneaked off for a call after the mission; making a habit of it will arouse suspicion.|Best to play it safe.}
        
        So, the question is whether you're feeling like a social animal.
                
        *choice
            #Catch up with someone at base.
                
                You decide to spend time with…
                *label basemenu
                *choice
                    #Dion.
                        *set rel_architect %+ 15
                        Despite the generally tense atmosphere around the hideout, Dion's an odd oasis of calm. Sure, it's him who strenuously reiterates the importance of laying low to everyone, but from the point on, he simply occupies himself. clinically confirming with everyone their findings from the Zone, writing it down, and then keeping to his own devices.
                        
                        He seems surprised when you seek him out, though if your presence bothers him, he doesn't give any sign. However, other than adjusting his stool in the kitchen slightly to give you room, nor does he particularly acknowledge you. His focus remains intently on the mid-sized notebook in front of him, a selection of pencils arrayed in a neat row alongside it. Periodically he selects a new pencil and begins writing away, the scratching of his work the only sound from him.
                        
                        You can't help but grow a little curious. @{(instinctive > 60) "What have you got there?" you ask, craning your neck to try and see. "You drawing?"|"Doing some journalling?" you ask him.}
                        
                        @{(instinctive > 60) "Something like that. Take a look." Dion flips the book around, showing you a half-finished sketch of the entrance to the Zone facility. The detail is exacting, the shading a deep gradient, richly depicting the gloom down in the chasm.|Dion smiles and shakes his head. "Keeping a journal? Mallory would have a field day with that." He affects a voice. "Dear diary, today, my devastatingly attractive friend Mallory saved my backside, as usual. Whatever would I do without them?"}
                        
                        *if (instinctive > 60)
                            *label sketchreact
                            *choice
                                #Compliment his artistic skills.
                                    "This is really good," you tell him.
                                    
                                    "Thank you," he replies with a pleased, slightly bashful smile. "I started young." He looks like he's going to elaborate, and then stops, focusing his attention back on the sketchbook.
                                    
                                #Ask if the Zone is on his mind.
                                    "Still thinking about the mission, huh?"
                                    
                                    Dion sighs. "No sense denying it, I suppose. Yes. It's difficult not to dwell." @{dionsymp He gives you a significant look, doubtless thinking on the distress you've shared with him.|He holds your gaze for a moment, your episode the other morning must have got back to him.} "This always helps me relax." He swivels his canvas back and resumes.
                                    
                                #Nod appreciation.
                                    *set expressive %- 7
                                    He definitely has some talent. He gives you a pleased, slightly bashful smile, and then swivels his canvas back to continue. The smile remains on his face.
                                    
                                #Eh. I've seen better.
                                    You shrug, eyeing the sketch without much enthusiasm. After a couple of seconds, Dion swivels his canvas back and resumes drawing quietly.
                            
                            With the brief conversation concluded, you end up exchanging barely a handful more words over the next couple of hours in Dion's presence. Nonetheless, he seems to appreciate the company, and at least you get to watch him work.
                            
                            You've spent afternoons in worse ways.
                            
                            *if observation < 20
                                *set observation + 10 
                            *goto afterchatting
                            
                        *else
                            *choice
                                #"They can't annoy you that much, considering how often you bring them up."
                                    Mallory isn't even in the room. Preoccupied much, Dion?
                                    
                                    Dion clears his throat and looks away. "If you must know, I was sketching," he says.
                                    
                                    The blatant dodge has you convinced you just scored a point.
                                    
                                    *label fliptoshow
                                    Dion flips the book around, showing you a half-finished drawing of the entrance to the Zone facility, that dark portal leading into the tunnels deep below Alderbrook. The detail is exacting, the shading a deep gradient, richly depicting the gloom down in the chasm.
                                    
                                    *goto sketchreact
                                #"Did you just... imitate Mal imitating you?"
                                    Dion's smile grows broader with the slightest hint of mischief. "Yes."
                                    
                                    You have to admit, Dion's 'Mal' is quite good.
                                    
                                    *goto fliptoshow
                                #"if it's not a journal, then what?"
                                    "Oh, I'm sketching," he explains.
                                    
                                    If you're not mistaken, you catch a hint of disappointment for your non-reaction to his joke.
                                    
                                    *goto fliptoshow
                    #Mal.
                        *set rel_wyrd %+ 15
                        *temp wyrdconvo 1
                        Your expectation is that Mal, laid back as they are, will be more chill about the situation than the others and so easier to hang out with.
                        
                        You are mistaken.
                        
                        From the moment you settle in by their side in the lounge, Mal's all over the place, checking their phone what seems like every ten seconds, constantly trailing off mid-sentence and then forgetting what they were talking about when you prompt them.
                        
                        "Sorry," they say at length. "I've got too many feeds going at once and I feel like if I don't check them as soon as they update, I might be missing something important." You see a notification pop up on their phone and they immediately tap it to open a tab and start perusing. You raise your eyebrow and they laugh awkwardly. "There I go again, huh?"
                        
                        Eventually you're able to get a little bit of conversation going, distracting Mal from their constant browsing. Reading between the lines of their comments about the job, you realise that they're feeling pretty guilty at escaping ahead of the rest of you.
                        
                        *if (suppressants = 2)
                            "Wanted to ask…" they begin, then trail off. They look away, frowning, and it's several seconds before they resume. "Does medical stuff make you uncomfortable?" They hold up both hands in a 'hold on' gesture. "Not asking for details. It's just… well, you kinda went dead in the eyes when I injected you before."
                            
                            They noticed. Fuck.
                            *choice
                                #Guardedly admit it.
                                    "Yeah, you could say that."
                                    
                                    Mal grimaces. "Sorry. thought it was the best option at the time."
                                    
                                    You listlessly shrug.
                                    
                                #Tell them I don't like talking about it.
                                    "Difficult subject, sorry," you say.
                                    
                                    "Consider it dropped," they answer with an easy nod. Then they pause. "Well, actually, just one thing, if that's okay."
                                    
                                    You try not to grimace, and cautiously nod.
                                    
                                #Play it off.
                                    *if (subterfuge > 40)
                                        *set doubt_wyrd -5
                                        @{collapsezone "I was just freaking out because my powers were,"|"It'd been a long night. My guard was still up,"} you say casually, giving a relaxed shrug that you certainly don't feel.
                                        
                                        "Oh, yeah, that makes sense." Mal seems to accept your explanation readily enough.
                                        
                                        Might have covered your tracks here.
                                        
                                    *else
                                        "I was on edge in general," you say, but the memories of the syringe sliding under your skin put a wobble into your voice.
                                        
                                        "Uh huh." Mal isn't hiding the scepticism from their face.
                                        
                                        Ugh.
                                        
                                    Mal straightens up, looking serious. When they speak, they're a different type of Mal than you're used to. "It's important to me you feel safe when I'm treating you. So, if there's ever anything I can do to help with that, just ask." They stop, and just as quickly as their demeanour changed, they relax back to normal. "Alright, enough of that. Where were we, again?"
                                    
                                    *goto nothingmuchtopic

                        *else
                            *choice
                                #Probe delicately into that impression.
                                    @{(rel_wyrd > 50) They're reluctant at first, but with some gentle persuasion, they explain that even though they knew they couldn't stick around, it's hard not to think of that as leaving everyone else in the lurch.|They're both reluctant and evasive, and after a little while you give up. It seems like they don't quite trust you enough to get into the grimy details.}
                                    
                                    @{(rel_wyrd > 50) "My powers are great and all, but I really feel the limitations when a whole posse of heroes rocks up."|}
                                    
                                    @{(rel_wyrd > 50) There's something in the way they say 'limitations'. An odd expression in their eyes. Almost like you're having two slightly different conversations.|}
                                    
                                    @{(rel_wyrd > 50) But then their clouded eyes clear, they change the topic with a smile, and it's like nothing ever happened. Hm.|You switch tack to something unrelated, and you're sure you see a subtle look of relief in their eyes.}
                                    
                                    *if rel_wyrd > 50
                                        *set wyrdpowers 1
                                    
                                #Ask their opinion on mask websites.
                                    *if knowledge > 40
                                        *set rel_wyrd %+ 10
                                        "So," you gesture at their phone. "What's your parahuman news source of choice? I usually follow [i]Real Parahuman Digest[/i]." 'Usually follow' is an exaggeration; you only stumbled on the site recently, and mostly because you were intrigued with how their logo blatantly parodied the DPR's.
                                        
                                        "Ooh, solid choice," Mal's eyes twinkle with approval. "They're pretty good if you just want reputable, fact-checked articles. I've got them in my set-up."
                                        
                                        "Your set-up?"
                                        
                                        *label mysetup
                                        @{wyrdconvo "Yeah, I've|Mal continues. "I've} got this aggregator program that pings things at me from a bunch of places. Can be useful to know what opposite perspectives are saying about the same stuff. Lets you see the story between the gaps." They pause, looking away with a hint of self-consciousness. "Uh, that sounds kind of pretentious, huh?"
                                        
                                        @{(expressive > 60) You grin at them. "Well you said it, not me."|You shrug. "Maybe a bit."}
                                        
                                        They laugh. "Anyway, there's the aggregator and I also roll around on a couple message boards. You kinda have to take with a pinch of salt but if you don't just like, instantly believe every conspiracy theory you read, you can often find stuff out that more mainstream places aren't reporting on. Like, DunkMasterSavage was talking about me and Dion's first outing way before the news got there."
                                        
                                        Back when $!{cg} briefed you, she had a pretty comprehensive breakdown of Wyrd and Architect's activities. The uncanny mental image of Hypothesis arguing with people on forums passes through your head.
                                        
                                        @{wyrdconvo You and Mal spend the next while discussing the pros and cons of various websites and publications, and by the time you're done, they seem a lot more relaxed.|Mal spends the next while showing you their aggregator and pointing out the pros and cons of various websites. They seem much more relaxed, and as an added bonus, you think you actually learned a couple things.}
                                        
                                        *if wyrdconvo = 2
                                            *set knowledge + 5
                                            
                                        *goto afterchatting
                                        
                                    *elseif knowledge <= 20
                                        *set domino 3
                                        *set knowledge + 10
                                        "Where are you getting your news? [i]The Daily Domino[/i]?"
                                        
                                        Mal laughs. You don't. That makes them hesitate. "That's uh, that's a joke, right?"
                                        
                                        You frown. "No?"
                                        
                                        Mal buries their face in their hands. "$!{aka2}, honey. [i]Daily Domino[/i] is a satire site."
                                        
                                        "Oh." Heat rushes to your cheeks. "Uh. Are you sure?"
                                        
                                        For a long moment Mal stares at you. Then they open their phone, tap away at it for a few seconds, and turn the screen to face you.
                                        
                                        [i]GALEFORCE VOWS TO DEFEAT PIGEON MENACE[/i], reads the headline.
                                        
                                        You slowly slump down in your seat. You're… you're pretty sure that they didn't used to be that blatant about it!
                                        
                                        Grant just sniped you from downtown with a prank something like seven years in the making. You can picture him cracking up. Dick.
                                        
                                        *choice
                                            #Smile wistfully.
                                                Have to give credit where it's due: Grant kept a hell of a poker face all those times you brought up [i]Daily Domino[/i] stories like they were legitimate.
                                                
                                            #Fight back tears.
                                                You're ever haunted by these reminders. It seems every conversation holds invisible pitfalls, waiting to ensnare you in the pains of the past. You take a deep breath, clenching your eyes for a moment to force the welling to stop.
                                                
                                            #Dammit. I miss him. All of them.
                                                It's so, so difficult just to have a normal conversation. Maybe you're warming to your comrades a little, but what's a couple weeks of familiarity compared to years of friendship?
                                                
                                            #Focus on the fond memory, not the painful one.
                                                He'd want that, you think. For you to roll your eyes and good-naturedly complain about his bullshit. Not be sad about it.
                                                
                                                @{(brokenheart = 4) Sorry, Grant. You can't always do what he wants.|}
                                                
                                                
                                        Wresting your mind away from thoughts of the past, you spend an educational couple of hours with Mal as they explain the basics when it comes to fact-checking and generally not-falling-for-prank-news. They seem a whole lot more relaxed by the end of it, and you think you've learned a few things too.
                                        
                                        *goto afterchatting
                                                  
                                    *else
                                        "Where do you get your news from anyway?" you ask. "You on [i]Masks.net[/i] or something?"
                                        
                                        Mal laughs. "Please, I'm not a normie." They pause. "No offence." Hastily, they continue. "[i]Masks.net[/i] is… fine, but the DPR's got their mitts all over it so that shit's real biased." They shrug. "Don't get me wrong, pretty much any news source is biased in one way or another, but in this case, it's real bad."
                                        
                                        Pride perhaps a little wounded, you nod. "So…?" you say, inviting them to go on.
                                        
                                        *set wyrdconvo 2
                                        *goto mysetup
                                        
                                #Keep the conversation light.
                                    *if rel_wyrd < 50
                                        *set rel_wyrd + 5
                                        
                                    *else
                                        *set rel_wyrd + 2
                                        
                                    You don't press on any particular topic and just keep chatting. Even if it's only small talk—exceedingly rusty small talk—some of the cloud over Mal seems to lift, and you can tell they're grateful for your company.
                                    *goto afterchatting
                        *label nothingmuchtopic
                        The subject drifts around from there, and even if you're no longer talking about much of anything, you can tell that they're grateful for your company.
                        
                        *goto afterchatting
                        
                    #Kay.
                        *set rel_kay %+ 15
                        If anyone is embodying the nervous energy suffusing the base, then it's Kay. She's pacing, fidgeting, sitting down only to get back up to resume restlessly roaming around. It's clearly driving Teddie nuts, and by the second day of it, he retreats to his own room, muttering darkly.
                        
                        Kay doesn't seem to notice, and you wind up intercepting her midway through one of these constant patrols for a chat. That anchors her for a little bit, even if the conversation ends up slowly rotating around the room as Kay's constantly shuffling feet gradually relocate you both.
                        
                        "I hate sitting in one place," she tells you. At a couple of separate points in the conversation. "Makes me feel like I'm not getting anything done. Like, I know that there's nothing we can do that we didn't already, I just…" she shrugs helplessly. "I dunno, sucks."
                        
                        After a little more conversation Kay eventually—and you couldn't explain how—ropes you into working out with her.
                        
                        She's full throttle, burpees, star jumps, squat thrusts, the works. @{(flirt_kay > 2) It's a struggle not to get distracted as Kay's powerful muscles flex and strain, her brow dappled with sweat. She's wearing gym shorts and a loose tanktop, and neither are leaving much to the imagination. Luckily, she's focused enough on the exercises that she doesn't seem to notice your admiring eye.|It's impressive, seeing the effort she's putting forth, though she sure doesn't let you idle and watch.}
                        
                        *if (guts < 20)
                            @{(flirt_kay > 2) You'd like to say that having a half-eye on Kay is the reason you struggle, but let's be real, you're in horrible shape.|You're soon wishing that she had.} In short order, you're gulping desperately for air, doubled over on wobbling legs. There isn't a hope in hell of keeping up with her.
                            
                            "C'mon!" Kay urges you. "Just a little more, $!{aka}!"
                            *label kaywork
                            *choice
                                #Force myself to give it a shot.
                                    "Slave driver," you groan, hauling yourself upright.
                                    
                                    You struggle most valiantly through another three exercises, and then you're well and truly done, @{(guts < 20) sprawled out on your back in the middle of the floor. You think you might never breathe again.|barely holding yourself upright on a countertop.}
                                    
                                    "$!{aka}, are you like, alive @{(guts < 20) down|over} there?" Kay asks, biting back giggles.
                                    
                                    @{(guts < 20) You let out a piteous wheeze in response.|"…vision… fading…" you wheeze.}
                                    
                                    "…let's get you some water." She walks to the kitchen sink, still stifling laughter.
                                    
                                    *label afternoonkay
                                    *if (guts < 20)
                                        *set guts +10
                                    Now that Kay's left off some steam she seems a whole lot more relaxed, and the rest of the afternoon slips by in the ease of her company.
                                    
                                    *label moreoften
                                    "We should do this again," she says at one point.
                                    *goto afterchatting
                                #Nnope. I know my limits.
                                    "Nuh-uh, I'm done." @{(expressive > 60) You mime waving a white flag.|You shake your head.}
                                    
                                    "Boo, coward," Kay heckles playfully. @{(guts < 20) "This is why you've got noodle arms."|"Never gonna get swole at this rate, $!{aka}."}
                                    
                                    *if (mc_exbuild = 6)
                                        You grimace involuntarily. Your muscles are long gone, months and years of hard work destroyed in your captivity. "Yeah…"
                                        
                                        Sensing she's touched a nerve, Kay speaks quickly. "Hey, just teasing. You're fine how you are."
                                        
                                        She's wrong, but you nod anyway.
                                        
                                    *else
                                        @{(guts < 20) "If not for us noodle armers, then you jacked folk would have nobody to show off for."|You shrug. "Swole's overrated."}
                                        
                                        Kay laughs. "Excuses."
                                        
                                    *goto afternoonkay
                                        
                                #Halfass it.
                                    With a weary groan you haul yourself upright and start doing some very slow reps with more or less the minimum effort.
                                    
                                    "Aw c'mon on," Kay grouses. "You might as well not bother if you're not gonna try."
                                    
                                    You give her a look, and then very deliberately go half a second slower.
                                    
                                    She laughs. "Jerk."
                                    
                                    *goto afternoonkay
                                *if ((aro != 4) and (interest_kay)) #I don't want to do it... but I do want to impress her. @{ftone [Flirt, passive]|}
                                    *set flirt_kay +1
                                    *if (guts < 20)
                                        *set guts +10
                                    "Alright, but only because it's you." Before Kay can respond to the comment, you haul yourself upright and continue.
                                    
                                    You force your ailing body through another three exercises while stealing intermittent glances at her, which at least functions as a small distraction from the agony of it all.
                                    
                                    As you conclude the final exercise and all but collapse, you catch Kay looking at you right back, eyes intense. She meets your own, and for a moment there's something electric in the air.
                                    
                                    Then she breaks off and looks away, laughing nervously. "Not bad, $!{aka}, not bad."
                                    
                                    It's a little difficult to get back into the groove of conversation after that. There's a certain charge to the remainder of the hangout, and you find her eyes lingering on you more than once.
                                    
                                    *goto moreoften
                            
                        *elseif (guts < 40)
                            @{(flirt_kay > 2) Despite your distracted state, you're|you're} able to keep up for a while, but her stamina outstrips yours. By the end of the routine you're doubled over and gasping.
                            
                            Kay grins at you, popping up from a jumping jack. "That all you got, $!{aka}? C'mon! One more set!"
                            *goto kaywork
                            
                        *else
                            @{(flirt_kay > 2) You set your mind to the physical activity, blocking out the urge to admire her further.|Setting your jaw, you rise to the challenge.} As the routine progresses, you don't only keep up, you find yourself pulling ahead a little. Kay breaks off at the end of a set, panting and shaking her head. 
                            
                            "Alright," she gasps. "I'm done."
                            *choice
                                #Stop.
                                    You halt too, giving her a smile. She smiles back, fanning her reddened face. "Not bad at all, $!{aka}! Looks like I've gotta work harder to keep up."
                                    
                                    @{(expressive > 60) You half-bow, smile edging a little wider.|You look away, a little bashful from the compliment, but you feel your smile edge a little wider.}
                                    
                                    "C'mon." Kay motions her head to the kitchen. "Let's get hydrated."
                                    
                                    *goto afternoonkay
                                #One more set, just to show off.
                                    You run through one final set of jumping jacks, your muscles feeling a pleasant burn.
                                    
                                    As you finish up, Kay catches your eye. She's grinning and shaking her head, arms folded. "Tryhard."
                                    
                                    @{(instinctive > 60) You laugh. "Guilty as charged."|You shrug. "Hard worker."}
                                    
                                    @{(instinctive > 60) "At least you admit it."|"Pff, alright."} She motions her head towards the kitchen. "C'mon, let's get hydrated."
                                    
                                    *goto afternoonkay
                                *if (aro != 4) #One more set, just to... show off. @{ftone [Flirt, passive]|}
                                    *set flirt_kay + 1
                                    *set interest_kay true
                                    @{(flirt_kay > 2) Only returning the favour, right?|} You glance again in her direction and run through one final set at a more-deliberate-than-necessary pace. Kay straightens up, catching her breath, and you feel her eyes on you as you conclude the workout for good.
                                    
                                    "Nice," she says, unmistakably giving you a once over. @{(expressive > 60) You return a confident smile.|The attention, though invited, is a little much, and you quickly look away.} "Let's cool off and hydrate," Kay adds, and you nod.
                                    
                                    There's definitely a charge in the air for the remainder of your hangout, and you pick up on her attention more than once.
                                    
                                    *goto moreoften
                                    
                                #Encourage her to keep going!
                                    "Don't tell me you're done already!" you call to her, through deep gulps of air. "Come on! Another set!"
                                    
                                    Kay sticks out her tongue, but without protest, she forces her body back into action and joins you in a fresh round of exercises. A couple minutes of frantic repetitions later, and you're both thoroughly wiped out, bent over and struggling to snatch your breath.
                                    
                                    "L…lunatic," Kay manages. An exhausted smile is all you can muster.
                                    
                                    Once the two of you eventually recover, you find Kay significantly more relaxed now that she's let off some steam. The remainder of the hangout passes easily in her company.
                                    
                                    *goto afterchatting
                        
                    *disable_reuse #Teddie.
                        *if rel_teddie < 0
                            *set rel_teddie 15
                            
                        *else
                            *set rel_teddie %+ 15
                        Amidst an irritable, snappy group, Teddie might just be the snappiest and most irritable. Some may say that trying to hang out with him at all is an exercise in futility. @{po_teddie Especially when he still has an axe to grind with you.|} Nevertheless, around ten minutes after he angrily stomps out of the room he's sharing with Kay and slouches moodily into one of the couches, you go over to join him.
                        
                        Well, you sit down in his vicinity and then generally just sort of exist there for @{(instinctive > 60) what feels like hours|almost half an hour} in total silence. Teddie initially looks your way, then once you don't say anything, goes back to brooding. Occasional sidelong glances grow more frequent with time, and then he sighs and turns towards you, finally breaking the deadlock.
                        
                        *if (po_teddie)
                            "What do you want?" His tone is the barest notch above freezing.
                            
                            Yep. Still doesn't like you.
                            *choice
                                #Make an effort to bury the hatchet.
                                    @{(expressive > 45) "Thought we could talk about things between us."|"You've been pissed at me a while," you say plainly.}
                                    
                                    @{(expressive > 45) "There's nothing between us," he replies almost instantly. You try not to roll your eyes.|"Yeah," he replies, equally plainly.}
                                    
                                    @{(expressive > 45) "We both know you're still pissed at me," you tell him bluntly.|"Let's talk about it."}
                                    
                                    Teddie regards you with a long and fixed stare, eyes slightly narrowed. @{(routeout = 4) "I don't trust you, $!{aka2}. You're clearly out for yourself ahead of anyone else."|"You already blew me off about this once. Don't see the point."}
                                    
                                    *choice
                                            *if (routeout = 4)
                                                #My temper flares.
                                                    "Somebody has to be!" you snap.
                                                    
                                                    Teddie leans back, his expression shading speculative. "That how it is?"
                                                    
                                                    You know you're letting your emotions get the best of you, but you can't rein them back in. "Yeah! Yeah it is!"
                                                    
                                                    "Hm." He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, then slowly shrugs. "Don't take your trust issues out on me."
                                                    
                                                    *label trustissues
                                                    *choice
                                                        #Punch him.
                                                            *if instinctive < 30
                                                                Your fist moves on its own, but at the very last instant, you get a grip on yourself, still your hand before you can make a serious mistake.
                                                                
                                                                Teddie eyes you, your clenched, trembling fist, and then gets up and leaves.
                                                                
                                                                *label nowmadder
                                                                Now you're madder than when you started. Fuck's sake.
                                                                
                                                                *goto afterchatting
                                                            
                                                            *else
                                                                *achieve workbeef
                                                                *set rel_teddie %- 25
                                                                *set punch_teddie true
                                                                Your fist moves on its own, cracking him solidly in the jaw. @{(guts < 30) His head slowly turns back to you, a sneer on his face. "That your best shot? Fuck off."|He's visibly rocked by the punch, and takes a second to recuperate. "Alright then…" he mutters. "Asshole."}
                                                                
                                                                Without another word, he gets up and stalks away, leaving you trembling in fury.
                                                                
                                                                *goto nowmadder
                                                        #Tell him to fuck off.
                                                            "Go fuck yourself," you snarl, clenching your fists. "You don't know shit."
                                                            
                                                            "Guess not." Teddie stands and without a word nor backwards glance, leaves you seething there furiously.
                                                            
                                                            *goto nowmadder
                                                        #...Fuck, I do have trust issues, don't I?
                                                            The angry retort brewing on your lips dies down. You drop your eyes, staring into your lap.
                                                            
                                                            You've come to expect that nobody will look out for you but yourself. That anyone else will toss you to the wolves the moment it's advantageous.
                                                            
                                                            But… nobody here has done that to you.
                                                            
                                                            "…Alright," you mutter begrudgingly.
                                                            
                                                            For what feels like forever, Teddie watches you in silence. Then at long last, he seems to come to a decision, and nods. "We start over," he says. "You get one chance. Pull any more bullshit and we're done. Deal?"
                                                            
                                                            *choice
                                                                #Deal.
                                                                    You nod.
                                                                    
                                                                    Teddie doesn't smile, but the tension in his face disperses. Slightly. "Cool."
                                                                    
                                                                    *label diffuseteddie
                                                                    *set po_teddie false
                                                                    *set rel_teddie +15
                                                                    *if (compatible_teddie)
                                                                        *set romance_teddie 0
                                                                    The hostile air between you both slowly diminishes. It's awkward and halting at first, but a conversation gradually develops. It's nothing particularly scintillating, but you're not hurling insults at one another or on the verge of coming to blows, so it can only be considered an improvement.
                                                                    
                                                                    You wind up spending a couple of hours in Teddie's company, and by the time he gets up and leaves with a grunted "Later,", you feel like you've made real headway into repairing the relationship.
                                                                    
                                                                    *goto afterchatting
                                                                #Tell him this goes both ways.
                                                                    You're not going to take his bullshit for the sake of approval. You already have to do that at the Coven.
                                                                    
                                                                    "Just so long as it's a two way thing," you say, meeting his eyes levelly.
                                                                    
                                                                    He nods. "Yeah. Sure."
                                                                    
                                                                    *goto diffuseteddie
                                                                #Fuck that. I'm not grovelling for his approval.
                                                                    "Don't give me ultimatums," you growl.
                                                                    
                                                                    Teddie rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't have bothered," he mutters, rising and proceeding to stalk off.
                                                                    
                                                                    *goto nowmadder
                                                    
                                            *else
                                                #Insist he's taking it too personally.
                                                    "Shit happens in the heat of the moment," you insist, boldly meeting his gaze. "My concern is winning. Sometimes that means not playing nice."
                                                    
                                                    Teddie snorts. "Exactly."
                                                    
                                                    "So get off my ass."
                                                    
                                                    His eyes bore into yours a moment, then he shakes his head. "Just 'cause I get it doesn't mean I have to like it. Nobody else acts like an asshole."
                                                    *choice
                                                        #Give him a pointed look.
                                                            You slowly look Teddie up and down, then simply raise an eyebrow.
                                                            
                                                            To your surprise, he laughs. "Fair," he acknowledges. "Difference is, I haven't thrown anyone under the train."
                                                            
                                                            *label point
                                                            …Point.
                                                            
                                                            Teddie continues. "So. We're talking. What's next?"
                                                            *choice
                                                                #Suggest starting over.
                                                                    "We both said some shit. Why don't we reset and go at this with a fresh slate?"
                                                                    
                                                                    "Said some shit, did some shit." Teddie places a slight emphasis on the second half of that sentence, and you know he's mostly talking about you rather than admitting fault.
                                                                    
                                                                    Whatever. You're tired of butting heads with him. "Let's put it behind us."
                                                                    
                                                                    Teddie says nothing for a few seconds, then slowly nods. "Alright."
                                                                    
                                                                    *goto diffuseteddie
                                                                #...well [i]I'm[/i] not apologising.
                                                                    "You could apologise for biting my head off."
                                                                    
                                                                    Teddie frowns. "No."
                                                                    
                                                                    You glare at him, and he glares back, but you're not budging. You only blew him off because he came in swinging at something you did. You're not about to roll over and beg for forgiveness.
                                                                    
                                                                    The staredown wears on. One minute. Two.
                                                                    
                                                                    Eventually, Teddie snorts. "Whatever. If you can't meet in the middle, I don't care." He gets up and walks off, leaving you alone and frustrated.
                                                                    
                                                                    Of course he can only stomach it if you're the bad guy. Jackass.
                                                                    *goto afterchatting
                                                        #Demand he spell his issues out.
                                                            "Sounds to me you're just bitching about how I get the job done," you snap at him.
                                                            
                                                            He slowly and deliberately shrugs. "We're on the same side. We don't need to be friends. We need to have a basic fucking level of trust."
                                                            
                                                            *goto point
                                                        #This is going nowhere.
                                                            *goto donetalking
                                            #Admit that I'm not used to working with others.
                                                "Look, this is new to me," you say. "Being a team player is outside my wheelhouse." You silently add 'nowadays' in your head.
                                                
                                                Teddie frowns, crossing his arms. "Want a pointer? Don't @{(routeout = 4) fucking hang teammates out to dry."|use teammates as shields."} His glower deepens. "Need to be able to count on each other at least that much."
                                                
                                                *label tedexplain
                                                *choice
                                                    #Try to explain that I've come to expect the opposite.
                                                         "I don't have a Kay, Teddie," you tell him. The admission feels bitter. The truth always is. "I've spent years expecting that anyone at my back is half a second from jumping me from behind."
                                                         
                                                         "Hm." Teddie considers that for a moment. "You've had shit allies."
                                                         
                                                         You laugh, because otherwise you'd choke. "Yeah."
                                                         
                                                         Teddie looks contemplative, then shrugs. "Don't take your trust issues out on us."
                                                         *goto trustissues
                                                    #This is going nowhere.
                                                        *label donetalking
                                                        You shake your head in frustration. "Whatever," you snap. "This was pointless."
                                                        
                                                        Teddie eyes you a moment, then turns his head away dismissively. "Yup."
                                                        
                                                        A tense silence descends, and within a couple of minutes, Teddie gets up and walks off without another word.
                                                        
                                                        What a waste of time.
                                                        *goto afterchatting
                                            #I'm genuinely struggling to understand his issue.
                                                "I don't get why you're mad," you say. "Isn't that just… how these things operate?" Nobody at the Coven has your back. Nobody would go out of their way to help you or keep you safe. The only reason the likes of Catalyst would get behind you is to jump you while you're not looking.
                                                
                                                Teddie's long stare continues, and he slowly shakes his head. "No. Not how teams work, $!{aka2}."
                                                
                                                *if (not (ranaway))
                                                    You frown, studying him. @{(battitude = 1) your own experience springs to mind; Beth left you behind that night... to help Grant. Not for simple convenience.|…Not in your experience. Beth was perfectly happy to leave you behind.}
                                                    
                                                *else
                                                    You think about your history of bailing out on friends and make your best effort to withhold a grimace.
                                                    
                                                With your silence, Teddie continues. "Needs to be a bare minimum of trust, or else what the fuck are we doing here?"      
                                                
                                                *goto tedexplain

                                #This was a bad idea.
                                    "Nothing," you mutter, breaking eye contact and staring off into the corner someplace. The tension between you palpably thickens, and the two of you sit there in an uncomfortable silence for the better part of ten minutes before Teddie hauls himself up and stalks off.
                                    
                                    Well, that went great!
                                    
                                    Maybe you can try someone else?
                                    *goto basemenu
                            
                        *else
                            "Why are you here?"
                        
                            Your heart skips a beat, then reason asserts itself and you realise he means 'here, presently, with him' and not 'here, at the hideout and/or with the Altruists'.
                        
                            *choice
                                #"Because you're quiet. Now shut up, you're ruining it."
                                    *set rel_teddie %+ 10
                                    *set expressive %- 10
                                    Teddie's eyebrows rise, then a smile slowly curls across his face. He nods, folds his arms, and then settles into his spot on the sofa.
                                    
                                    Over the next couple of hours, you don't exchange more than ten words with him.
                                    
                                    It's the best, most relaxing hangout you've had in years.
                                    
                                    *if subterfuge < 20
                                        *set subterfuge + 10
                                        
                                    *goto afterchatting
                                #I tell him he looked upset.
                                    @{(expressive > 60) "Well, with the way you came storming out here, I thought you looked a little upset."|"Something seemed to be bothering you."}
                                    
                                    *label didntask
                                    Teddie scowls. "Didn't ask for your company."
                                    
                                    You shrug. @{(expressive > 60) "If you'd prefer I leave…"|"Already have it."}
                                    
                                    He stares at you and sighs. @{(expressive > 60) "No. Stay."|"Yeah."}
                                    
                                    You nod, ever so slightly.
                                    
                                    More time passes before Teddie actually ventures to speak. He's prying at his elbow, where a long flat spur emerges. "Snapped at Kay. Stupid."
                                    
                                    @{(expressive > 60) "Yeah?" you say,|You incline your head,} inviting him to continue.
                                    
                                    He sighs. "She's… livelier than me. @{(instinctive > 60) Kind of similar to you, actually.|You get what I mean, probably.} All that energy is… a lot." He worries harder at the bone, wobbling it slightly. "Sometimes I'm too tired for it. Or hurting too bad. And I just need things not to be going a hundred miles an hour." He sighs. "Shouldn't yell at her. Not her fault my body's an asshole."
                                    
                                    *choice
                                        #"You're best friends, right? She'll forgive you."
                                            Teddie frowns. "Friendship's not a free pass to treat someone how ever you want."
                                            
                                            You hide a grimace.
                                            
                                        #"Just go apologise, it'll be fine."
                                            "Yeah. I'm gonna. Giving it a few. Don't want to bug her straight after. She needs space too."
                                            
                                            Fair enough.
                                            
                                        #"It's not your fault either."
                                            "No. But can't blame it for the yelling." He looks away, muttering an addition. "Shitty excuse is a shitty excuse."
                                            
                                            You nod slightly.
                                            
                                        #"Like person, like body."
                                            Teddie snorts, which is something close to a laugh. "Yeah, yeah."
                                            
                                            You give a thin smile.
                                            
                                    Time drifts by in Teddie's company. Conversation is sporadic, though you find yourself not minding all that much. It's not a bad way to consider the value of silence, and you gradually relax. Things end up feeling damn near companionable, and though Teddie is a tough read, you get the sense that he's glad of your presence.
                                    
                                    In his own, Teddie kind of way.
                                    
                                    *if subterfuge < 20
                                        *set subterfuge + 10
                                        
                                    *goto afterchatting
                                #I tell him he looked lonely.
                                    @{(expressive > 60) "Oh you know, just thought you seemed kind of lonely all by yourself."|"I thought perhaps you needed someone to talk to."}
                                    
                                    *goto didntask
                                #Say I felt like it.
                                    "Dunno," you say, voice nonchalant. "Felt like it. Does there have to be a reason?"
                                    
                                    *goto didntask
                    #@{(romance_wil > 1) Some quality time with Wil might be nice...|Wil.}
                        *set rel_wil %+ 15
                        *set firstdate true
                        *if romance_wil < 2
                            Wil's usually got a good perspective on things. $!{whe}'s also been one of the more collected members of the team over the last couple of days; you're much more likely to be able to hang out with ${whim} as opposed to catching an earful.
                            
                            *label catchingwil
                            $!{whe}'s harder to find than you'd expect, considering the small bounds of the search area. Not in the main room, not in ${whis} room, and best as you can tell, not hanging out with anyone else in their own room either.
                            
                            Turns out, ${whe}'s in the backyard you didn't even know the safehouse had; a small fenced area boxed by the two buildings next door and backed onto a little green trail. You catch a glimpse of black through the back window of the safehouse, and on second glance, you realise you're looking at a sprawling Wil spreadeagled on the grass, lanky limbs stretched out wide.
                            
                            *if ((romance_wil < 3) and (interest_wil))
                                You can't deny that it's a nice view.
                            
                            After some brief mental mapping to determine which door actually leads outside, you head out into the yard. It's comfortably warm, sun just bright enough to matter. Wil's eyes slide open as you step onto the grass, and ${whe} barely lifts ${whis} head to look at you.
                            
                            *if (expressive > 60)
                                "Was starting to think you'd gone full gothic and mysteriously disappeared," you call to ${whim}.
                                
                            *elseif (expressive > 40)
                                "The elusive $!{wname} at last," you call to ${whim}. 
                                
                            *else
                                "Here you are," you say plainly.
                                
                                "Here I am," ${whe} agrees.
                                
                                You sit down in the grass alongside ${whim}.
                                
                                *goto wilhead
                                
                            Wil shrugs, which is an interesting visual with ${whim} laying down like that. "Been here all morning."
                            
                            *if (expressive > 60)
                                "Gothically."
                                
                                Wil snorts.
                                
                            *elseif (expressive > 40)
                                "Doesn't make you un-elusive."
                                
                                "Is that a word?"
                                
                                "Is now."
                                
                            You sit down in the grass alongside ${whim}.
                            
                            *label wilhead
                            $!{whe} lets ${whis} head drop back to the floor, eyes slipping closed again. "Well, you found me. What's up?"
                            
                            *if romance_wil < 2
                                "Just wanted to hang out, you know? Things have been tense."
                                
                                Wil pulls a face without opening ${whis} eyes. "Ugh. Can say that again. That's why I'm out here." After a moment, ${whe} sits up and stretches, yawning wide and long.
                                
                                *goto wilhangout
                            *elseif romance_wil = 2
                                "Thought you were looking cute. How could I not swing by?"
                                
                                Wil smirks without reopening ${whis} eyes. "Could get used to attention like this from someone as attractive as you."
                                
                                $!{whis} standards apparently aren't that high. You look half-starved. $!{whe} sits up, stretching ${whis} arms overhead with an enormous yawn.
                                
                                *goto wilhangout
                                
                            *else
                                "Thought it'd be nice to spend time together. We haven't had much of a chance."
                                
                                @{(romance_wil = 5) A pleased, surprised smile appears on ${whis} face. "Absolutely."|$!{whe} softly smiles. "Nope. I'm definitely down."} $!{whe} sits up, stretching ${whis} arms overhead with an enormous yawn. 
                                
                                *label wilhangout
                                The afternoon slips serenely along there in the backyard while you simply enjoy one another's company. @{t_wil Despite your initial clashes, begrudgingly you have to admit you get along decently well.|} @{(romance_wil < 2) Who knew a garden can be such a calming place to relax?|}@{(romance_wil = 2) Every so often you make a playfully flirtatious remark, and Wil reciprocates, lifting your spirits that you're both on the same page.|}@{(romance_wil = 3) From time to time, you even find the dark clouds around your heart easing a little.|} @{(romance_wil = 4) While there's no grand romantic gestures or dramatic outpourings of your feelings, the lingering eye contact and private, nervous smiles are far from platonic.|}@{(romance_wil = 5) The uncertainty between you both feels distant and unimportant. You like spending time together, and that's what counts.|}
                                
                                "That mission was a lot," Wil says suddenly, breaking the companionable silence that had descended between the two of you. "Definitely prefer fighting heroes to roughing up security guards, but the Hounds don't fuck around, do they?"
                                
                                *choice
                                    #Agree wholeheartedly.
                                        "No. No they do not."
                                        
                                        Wil smiles, though there's little humour in it.  "Guess I shouldn't expect them to pull punches." 
                                        
                                        You nod. The stakes are certainly clarified.
                                        
                                    #Point out that a success is a success.
                                        "Hey, we all made it out in one piece."
                                        
                                        *if (decap)
                                            "…Didn't Surpass tear your membrane off?"
                                            
                                            "Figuratively in one piece," you amend, wincing in recall of the sensation of your head tearing from your shoulders.
                                            
                                            Wil glances at their hands, murmuring. "What does it say that I'm in a spot where that needs clarifying?"
                                            
                                        *elseif (wrekt)
                                            "Barely."
                                            
                                            You try not to glare at ${whim}.
                                            
                                            "What? I'm right."
                                            
                                        *else
                                            Wil sighs. "Sure, but it was a hair away from being a disaster."
                                            
                                            "Someone's optimistic," you say dryly.
                                            
                                            "We aren't playing cops and robbers, $!{aka}."
                                            
                                        You don't have an answer for ${whim}. You know you aren't setting the bar high.
                                        
                                    #Encourage ${whim} to show more confidence.
                                        "You held your own against an experienced hero. Don't sell yourself short."
                                        
                                        Wil sighs. "It's not that, exactly." You wait for them to elaborate, but they just shake their head. "…some other time."
                                        
                                        Hm. Weird.
                                        
                                    *selectable_if (poutcome = 4) #Thank ${whim} for bailing me out with Vantage.
                                        It's tangential, but you haven't really had a chance to bring it up. "Been meaning to thank you for saving my bacon from Vantage."
                                        
                                        *if romance_wil < 2
                                            Wil brightens. "Oh, yeah. Of course. When I saw you struggling I knew I had to get in there." $!{whis} eyes widen. "Uh, not that I'm criticising. She definitely would have kicked my ass one v one."
                                            
                                            You snort. "Nice save."
                                            
                                            WIl smiles crookedly. "Thanks."
                                            
                                        *else
                                            "Couldn't let my special friend get hurt now, could I?"
                                            
                                            @{t_wil You groan, flipping ${whim} off. "Fuck you."|You splutter a laugh. "Special friend?"}
                                            
                                            @{t_wil $!{whe} gives you a great big grin. "What's that one line? Oh yeah: you want me so bad it makes you look stupid."|"Oh, my mistake, you're completely mundane. Dull in every way."}
                                            
                                            You throw a handful of grass at ${whim}.
                                            
                                    *selectable_if (poutcome = 4) #Tell ${whim} how worried I was when the ground collapsed under ${whim}. 
                                        "I''m just glad you weren't hurt in that collapse," you tell ${whim}.
                                        
                                        @{t_wil "Aw, $!{aka}, you do care."|"My life did flash in front of my eyes for a second," ${whe} admits.}
                                        
                                        @{t_wil You flip ${whim} off, sparking a laugh. "I take it back," you grumble.|"Hopefully the next job has fewer sinkholes."}
                                        
                                    *selectable_if (poutcome = 1) #Apologise for leaving ${whim} to handle Portrait alone.
                                        "Hey, back there…" you begin. $!{whe} tilts ${whis} head. "Sorry. For not helping with Portrait."
                                        
                                        Wil nods slowly, then shrugs. "Dion told us to prioritise getting out. I understand."
                                    *selectable_if (ghouldvibrations) #Ask ${whim} about that strange manic energy ${whe} showed in the Zone.
                                        "Back in the Zone, you were acting… supercharged. You know, talking fast, zipping around. What was that?"
                                        
                                        *if rel_wil < 40
                                            Wil flinches, then shakes ${whis} head. "Sorry I don't—that's not something I want to talk about."
                                            
                                            Despite your curiosity, you don't want to push ${whim}, and let it drop.
                                            
                                        *else
                                            Wil flinches. "I, uh. That's part of my power, actually."
                                            
                                            You tilt your head, inviting ${whim} to continue.
                                            
                                            $!{whe} sighs. "I don't just take energy, I absorb it. Gets me all wired, like you saw. It's just… it's not the easiest to control. Feel like I lose the brakes, you know?"
                                            
                                            You nod slowly. @{(knowledge > 32) It's the missing puzzle piece to Wil's ability, and the full picture is dangerous: if ${whe} can stack the absorption, it'd be an exponential power curve. Food for thought.|Definitely more punch to Wil's ability than you first thought.}
                                            
                                            
                            After a moment Wil changes the subject, and the two of you see out the remainder of the afternoon sunlight side by side in the grass.
                            
                            *if observation < 20
                                *set observation + 10
                                
                            *goto afterchatting

                        *elseif romance_wil = 2
                            You left things in a good spot with ${whim} the other day; it certainly feels like you have an understanding. So, you know, it'd be good to do something with that. Let off a little stress.
                            
                            *goto catchingwil
                        
                        *elseif romance_wil = 3
                            *set repairs +1
                            You like Wil. You'd like to spend more time with Wil. If only it were so simple. Your past hangs overhead like a guillotine, and you don't know if Wil's the one to pull you from the device or inadvertently trigger the lever.
                            
                            How can you be fair to ${whim} when half your ruined heart still belongs to $!{prev_li}?
                            
                            *goto catchingwil
                        *elseif romance_wil = 4
                            In theory you're… something to one another. Are you dating ${whim}? It almost feels premature to say that. All you've done together since then is, uh. Crime. Which you don't think counts as a date.
                            
                            Today's your chance to change that.
                            
                            *goto catchingwil
                        *else
                            You walked right up to the precipice with Wil the other day, and you're not referring to the Zone chasm. There are still unspoken words and unresolved feelings, and it's been preying on your mind.
                            
                            *goto catchingwil
                            
                    #Nevermind.
                        You aren't, you realise, much in the mood to talk to anyone. Perhaps it's lingering a little too close to home that you aren't really their ally, much less their friend.
                        
                        Stewing in memories it is then.
                        
                        *goto dwelling
                        
            #Nope, too busy dwelling on the past.
                *label dwelling                
                *goto past_thoughts                                
            
                *label shakingfree
                *page_break
                Despite your attempts to shake yourself free of the past, your mind drifts back continually, and it's not until a rapidfire string of knocks hits your door that you snap out of it. Rising from bed, you crack the door open and see Kay standing there.
                
                "Team meeting," she explains. Pauses. "You okay?"
                
                You shrug, walking past her without a word. She wouldn't understand.
                
                *goto anotherbriefing  
    #@{nojuicezone Stay here at the container.|Go back to my shipping container.}
        You're craving privacy. Your own space. It's trading physical comforts for mental: you don't have to worry about keeping your guard up when nobody else is around.
        
        *if (halpmecg > 1)
            And you could really, really use the alone time after your brush with Lullaby.
            
        *else
            @{nojuicezone Plus, well, you're already here and absolutely dog tired to boot.|Time for another long walk across town. Urrgh.}
        
        @{nojuicezone |Thankfully, the trek is without incident. Any incident greater than crossing the street to avoid roadwork would probably be more than you can handle.}
        
        *if (confide > 6)
            Some time later, a sudden beep startles you out of your trance. For a moment you're disoriented, and then you realise it was your phone. You pick it up to check, and your heart skips a beat. @{(confide = 8) Alistair messaged you. [i]'All good? Wanna talk?'[/i]|$!{cg} sent you a message. [i]'Let's meet later. Just to talk. Or no talk, if you'd prefer.'[/i]}
            
            *if (halpmecg > 1)
                *goto monotony
                
            *elseif ((inform1 > 4) and (not (footagedestroy)))
                Minutes later, a second beep.
                
                *gosub cgwarning 
                
                *goto reacttocg
                
        *if (halpmecg > 1)
            *goto monotony
            
        *if (inform1 > 4)
            *if (not (footagedestroy))
                On the second afternoon, your phone beeps.
                
                *gosub cgwarning
                
                *label reacttocg
                The sense of impending doom notwithstanding, you have some time to kill. You're not flush with recreation at the container.
                
                Technically you could call someone, though dialling any of the Altruists isn't especially appealing just now; you're staying home for a reason.
                *choice
                    #See if $!{cg} will tell me how much trouble I'm in. Worse move.
                        You punch in $!{cg}'s number and call before you can think better of it.
                        
                        After five long rings, she picks up.
                        
                        *if (connectcg)
                            [i]"Dime, I am way too pissed off to be talking to you right now. Whatever you thought about lying to me, you're wrong."[/i]
                            
                        *else
                            [i]"Whatever you're going to say, Dime, I'm not interested. Don't pull that shit again."[/i]
                            
                        The line goes dead.
                        
                        That went well.
                        
                        *choice
                            *selectable_if (alinumber = 2) #@{(alinumber = 2) Hey, let's make it two for two on the bad decisions and call Alistair.|Since Alistair's number hasn't spontaneously materialised, that's one bad decision I can't double down on.}
                                *goto talktothenerd
                            #Back to dwelling on the past it is, then.
                                *goto dwellcave
                    *if (confide = 8)
                        #Fuck it, why break up a perfectly good streak of stupid? Call Alistair again.
                            *goto talktothenerd
                    *else
                        *selectable_if (alinumber = 2) #@{(alinumber = 2) Call Alistair, because I am apparently a moron.|It's a good thing I don't have Alistair's number, or I'd be tempted to do something stupid.}
                            *goto talktothenerd
                    #Both those options suck. Guess it's back to dwelling on the past.
                        *goto dwellcave
                    
        *else  
            *label monotony
            At this point the monotony is starting to drive you insane. There's only so long you can spend staring at these same four walls with nothing to do.
            
            Technically you could call someone, though dialling any of the Altruists isn't especially appealing just now; you're staying home for a reason.
            *choice
                #Reach out to $!{cg}
                    *set rel_cg %+ 10
                    Impulsively, you grab your phone and dial her.
                    
                    After five long rings, she picks up.
                    
                    @{(confide = 7) [i]"Dime, by later, I meant [b]later[/b]."[/i]|[i]"Not a good time, Dime."[/i]} Her voice is strained and hushed. In the background you hear angry yelling.
                    
                    You try not to cringe at her tone. It's too trained an instinct.
                    *choice
                        #Does she need help?
                            "Are you in trouble? Can I help?"
                            
                            [i]"Yeah, by [b]not distracting me,[/b]"[/i] she growls.
                            
                            *label gunshots
                            *set cg_shots true
                            A sudden volley of noise. Pop-pop-pop. Gunshots.
                            
                            $!{cg} curses. [i]"Gotta go."[/i] The line cuts dead.
                            
                            Well.
                            
                            Fuck.
                            
                            *if ((cg_dislike) or (rel_cg < 40))
                               Conflicted feelings stir in your chest. You may not like $!{cg}, but you don't know that you want her to get killed. She's not the top of your list.
                               
                            *else
                               Not much to do but hope she isn't getting herself killed. @{(defiance > 4) Despite your issues with the Coven, she's not the top of your list.|She's a decent ways from the top of your list.}
                            
                            *label wth
                            What the hell does Hypothesis have her doing? Nobody's shot at you even once! With a firearm. @{(getspiked = 3) Wait, does Enfilade's launcher count? Question for later.|}
                            
                            Your phone's still in your hand.
                            
                            *choice
                                *selectable_if (alinumber = 2) #@{(alinumber = 2) Call Alistair. Not smart, but I could use the distraction.|Not that I have anyone to call, seenas Alistair's number hasn't spontaneously appeared.}
                                    *goto talktothenerd
                                #Back to dwelling on the past it is, then.
                                    *goto dwellcave
                        #Is she okay?
                            "Are you alright?"
                            
                            [i]"I am fucking [b]busy.[/b]"[/i]
                            
                            *goto gunshots
                        *selectable_if (interest_cg) #No like seriously, [i]is she okay!?[/i]
                            *set cg_shots true
                            Your heart clenches with sudden anxiety. "Are you alright?" You can't quite hide the tremor.
                            
                            [i]"Dime, it's cute that you're worried and all, but I'm—"[/i] A volley of noise. Pop-pop-pop. [i]"Fuck me. I gotta go. And don't freak out. I'll be fine."[/i]
                            
                            The line goes dead, leaving your chest pounding. Easy to say. Promises are cheap.
                            
                            And an idiotic part of you keeps wanting to smile in spite of the worry. Because she called you cute.
                            
                            Moron.
                            
                            *goto wth
                        #Apologise and leave her to it.
                            "Sorry, sorry." 
                            
                            [i]"Ugh, don't scrape. I'm just in the middle of something."[/i]
                            
                            *goto gunshots
                        
                *if (confide = 8)
                    #Fuck it, why break up a perfectly good streak of stupid? Call Alistair again.
                        *goto talktothenerd
                *else
                    *selectable_if (alinumber = 2) #@{(alinumber = 2) Call Alistair, because I am apparently a moron.|It's a good thing I don't have Alistair's number, or I'd be tempted to do something stupid.}
                     *label talktothenerd
                     *set talkystair true
                     You pull up Alistair's number and dial him.
                    
                     On the third ring, he answers.
                    
                     [i]"'lo?"[/i]
                    
                     @{(confide = 8) "You said I could call, so…"|"Hey. Alistair?"}
                    
                     *if (confide = 8)
                        *temp lyingliar false
                        [i]"Whoa, you're early. Ain't even past midnight."[/i]
                        
                        "Funny," you grumble. 
                        
                        He laughs good-naturedly. [i]"Doing better?"[/i]
                        
                        You take a second to consider.
                        
                        *choice
                            #"A little."
                                It's faintly surprising that you mean it.
                                
                                [i]"Good to hear."[/i]
                                
                            #"A little," I lie.
                                *set lyingliar true
                                *label lyingliar
                                The weight of what—who—you saw is no lighter than it was when you last spoke to him. @{lyingliar You just don't want him to know that.|You just don't have it in you to lie right now.}
                                
                                @{lyingliar [i]"Good to hear,"[/i] he says, buying the lie so readily you almost feel guilty.|[i]"Damn. Sorry."[/i]}
                                
                                @{lyingliar |"Is what it is," you reply, trying not to get drawn back into the topic.}
                                
                                *if (not (lyingliar))
                                    *goto taketime
                            #"I don't know."
                                It's too raw. Too complicated.
                                
                                *label taketime
                                [i]"Things take time. Don't rush yourself,"[/i] he says philosophically. You make a noncommittal noise. More time than he'll ever know.
                            #"Not really."
                                *goto lyingliar
                            
                        There's an awkward pause as your atrophied conversational muscles twitch feebly.
                                
                     *else
                        [i]"Uh, hey? Who is—wait! @{aliname $!{aka2}! From|It's you from} the old factory, right?"[/i]
                        
                        "Yeah." Now that you've got him on the line, you aren't sure what to say. 'Hey man, how's your day? Oh pretty good, you? Yeah I'm fine, just hanging out in my metal box @{nojuicezone coming down from a power drug high.|hiding from superheroes.}
                        
                        [i]"Nice! Good to hear your voice!"[/i] He sounds genuinely enthusiastic, which if anything only trips you up further.
                        
                     "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" you hazard, parts of you hoping for a yes, others for a no.
                    
                     [i]"Woulda been a half hour either side."[/i] He lowers his voice conspiratorially. [i]"Between you and me, I woulda made time anyway."[/i]
                    
                     "Why?" The question slips out unbidden.
                    
                     He pauses. [i]"People are more important than my job."[/i]
                    
                     Easy to say.
                    
                     You ease into the conversation, some of the rough edges smoothing away. You talk about…
                     *choice
                        #...him.
                            *set alitopics 2
                            Though he's a little reluctant at first, you persist, and he soon opens up.
                            
                            He's lived in Alderbrook all his life, including community college—you didn't even know they [i]had[/i] community college here—and is the eldest of three siblings, though only his 'baby sister' still lives in town; apparently his parents opted for someplace quieter after the Zone incident. Despite that going down before you were allowed outside, you still feel a guilty pang. Maybe it's the reminder.
                            
                            Also, he likes video games and cooking. A shocking revelation.
                            
                            *label stallstall
                            You manage to stall, divert, and otherwise non-answer any reciprocal questioning, eventually leaving the conversation off in what feels like a decent enough place once Alistair says he has to get going. Look at you, actually succeeding at a passable social interaction.
                            
                            *goto aftertalkcontainer
                            
                        #...his work.
                            *set alitopics 3
                            He's surprisingly evasive on the details. Oh, he's happy enough to talk about working in IT, but he's far more guarded with the specifics of his job. Or, more accurately, his [i]current[/i] job. The most that you can get out of him is that this suddenly morphed into something of a hell week thanks to a command from on high. He actually stops himself midway through explaining that, switching tack with an awkward laugh and a vague allusion to confidentiality.
                            
                            So he has secrets to keep after all.
                            
                            *goto stallstall
                        #...charity.
                            *set alitopics 4
                            He's instantly in his element, launching headlong into an explanation of all the programs he's working on and hopes to work on. He's so excited about it that he starts stumbling over his words, reversing course, getting sidetracked, and blending multiple points into one.
                            
                            Apparently he doesn't often get a willing audience for this.
                            
                            It's not unpleasant. His enthusiasm is endearing, even if you have to evade or otherwise divert him each time he alludes to one outreach or another being aimed towards 'people' that always seem to conveniently match your situation. What he thinks is your situation. 
                            
                            *goto stallstall
                        #Uh. Not much.
                            *set alitopics 5
                            You fumble your way through some truly wretched small talk. Those rough edges weren't smoothed, they were obliterated.
                            
                            Despite your best efforts to annihilate the conversation from orbit, Alistair persists patiently and gently, which frankly only hastens your descent into despair.
                            
                            Eventually Alistair has to go, which at that stage is an out-and-out mercy killing, and you say your farewells.
                            
                            You lower your phone, stare at it a moment, and then thunk your head into the container wall.
                            
                            *goto aftertalkcontainer

                #But if I contact anyone, how will I have time to dwell on the past?
                    *label dwellcave
                    *set atcontainer true
                    *goto past_thoughts

                    *label aftertalkcontainer
                    *page_break
                    Time slips by. On the third morning from the Zone, you receive a message. Mal.

                    [i]meeting @ base. dont b l8! :)[/i]

                    Gathering yourself, you set out. This walk has grown routine, and soon you're approaching a familiar red door and letting yourself into the safehouse. Most of the group is already gathered, and looks to you as you enter.

                    *if (wrekt)
                        "Ah, $!{aka2}. How are you feeling?" asks Dion.

                        "Fine. Don't worry about it," you reply, brushing him off. @{nojuicezone You'd rather avoid any more scrutiny about your powers.|}

                    *elseif (getspiked = 3)
                        "There's my wayward patient!" Mallory chirps. "How's the shoulder? Better not be overworking it."

                        "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

                        For some reason, that makes them laugh.

                    *else
                        "Hi, $!{aka}!" Kay calls. You nod, moving to join the others.

                    *page_break The Altruists convene.
                    *goto letsbegin
            
*label past_thoughts
You spend most of the time hung up with thoughts of…
*choice
                    #My old friends.
                        *set contemprii +1
                        You're not sure what gets you thinking about Shauna's birthday. The house party at Grant's place.
                        
                        The five of you had individually known each other through a sort of daisy chain: You knew Prii from a mutual trip to the ER (…long story), and they introduced you to Beth, though ironically you would have met her anyway within a couple weeks when you became coworkers. Shauna independently knew Beth and Grant, and he'd stopped to chat while she happened to be hanging out with Beth, who in turn introduced you to Grant one day after work. Each of you meeting the others around a mutual friendship circle. Shauna's birthday, though, was the first time all five of you were in the same place at the same time.
                        
                        The group just gelled. There were other attendees, but they may as well have been background extras compared to the chemistry between your quintet, balancing one another out perfectly. You think you all realised, in one way or another, that you'd stumbled across a winning combination. 
                                
                        *choice
                            #Beth actually danced. [i]Beth.[/i]
                                [i]"Pinch me, $!{mc_name}, I've gotta be dreaming," says Grant.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Huh?" You glance over to him. He points, and you follow his gesture to the middle of the cavernous lounge, which has been repurposed as an impromptu dance floor. Your eyebrows shoot upwards.[/i]
                                
                                [i]Sure enough, Beth's out there on the floor, grooving with the best of them. In effort, at least. In coordination… work needed.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Wow."[/i]
                                
                                [i]"I know right?" Grant's grinning, a devillish gleam in his eye. "What if I just…" He slides his phone out of his pocket, and you realise he's planning on recording her.[/i]
                                
                                [i]Before he can enact his scheme, Prii appears between you both, face flushed and red. "Hey, troublemakers!" they call, too loudly, draping an arm over Grant's shoulder. "What's going on?"[/i]
                                
                                [i]Grant, further delayed in his plot, once again indicates Beth's uncharacteristic activity, and in that moment Shauna's voice suddenly cuts across the music. "WHOO! YOU GO, BETH!"[/i]
                                
                                [i]Beth instantly stops, looking mortified. Grant sighs in defeat as she makes a hasty exit. Without thinking about it, you move to intercept her at the edge of the room. She looks flushed, from embarrassment as well as exertion.[/i]
                                
                                [i]As you catch up, Beth meets your eyes with a grimace. "You saw, didn't you?"[/i]
                                
                                [i]You nod, smiling apologetically. "Sorry."[/i]
                                
                                [i]She groans. "I don't know what came over me. I shan't be doing that again."[/i]
                                *choice
                                    #[i]"It's good to get out of your comfort zone!"[/i]
                                        [i]"There is out of my comfort zone and then there is making an utter fool of myself, and I suspect this has been the latter."
                                        
                                        [i]@{(instinctive > 60) "Where's the fun in life if you're always perfectly put together all the time? If you never take risks, you never experience anything new."|"Take it from me, you can't be in control of everything a hundred percent of the time, you'll go crazy."}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Beth sighs. @{(instinctive > 60) "Of course you would say that."|"If it wasn't coming from you, I would likely discard that advice out of hand, but… noted."}[/i]
                                        
                                    #[i]"I can always give you pointers, you know."[/i]
                                        @{dance [i]Even if it hasn't blossomed into the career you once hoped, you still know your way around a dance floor. [/i]|[i]You know your way around a dance floor. It's a hidden talent of yours.[/i]}
                                        
                                        [i]She laughs, hard and flat. "The offer is appreciated, but I am a lost cause."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You shrug. "I've seen worse."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Damned by faint praise." She contemplates you a moment, then continues, a hint of mischief entering her voice. "Besides, this venue is too meagre for your talents, I fear."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]That evinces a wry smile. Your friends do like teasing you over your lofty abilities. @{(expressive > 60) "Do the masses not deserve a brush with greatness?"|"Being an above average dancer is really nothing special."}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(expressive > 60) "Ah, but of course. Very gracious of you, o dancemaster."|"You're selling yourself short, but very well."}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(expressive > 60) You dip into a fanciful bow.|You smile, bashful with the compliment.[/i]}[/i]
                                        *set dance true
                                        
                                    #[i]"Do what again? Enjoy yourself?"[/i] 
                                        [i]"My dancing is horrendous," Beth protests.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(expressive > 60) "So what? Last I checked, this wasn't a talent show."|"Even if that were true, half the people here are too drunk to notice."}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]She tilts her chin back, defiant. @{(expressive > 60) "There is still an audience. You were watching me, for one. Shauna, for two."|"And what of the other half?"}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(expressive > 60) "Grant and Prii for four," you add cheerfully. "But who cares? I'm sure your reputation will survive the scandal of you having fun at a party."|"Too busy having fun to judge."}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Beth sighs. "Well… perhaps."[/i]
                                        
                                    #[i]"Probably for the best, Grant was snooping around."[/i]
                                        [i]Beth's eyes narrow. "Noted," she intones.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Don't worry, he didn't get anything on camera."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Ah, good, then there shall be no homicides tonight."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You laugh, choosing to interpret that as a joke.[/i]
                                        
                                    #[i]"It was definitely an interesting watch."[/i]
                                        [i]Beth groans. "So glad to serve as the evening's entertainment."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"I'm just saying, it's nice to see you with your hair down."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"For your amusement?"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Because you're always so serious. @{(expressive > 60) Getting a little goofy never hurt anyone."|And this is me talking."}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(expressive > 60) Beth hmphs. "Yes, you would say that."|"…you indeed," Beth murmurs, seemingly mulling your comment over.}[/i]
                                        
                                        
                                [i]As you elect to stick by Beth, the rest of your group slowly gravitates towards you. Soon, you're back in your good ol' five person cluster, chatting away merrily.[/i]
                        
                                [i]Later, Beth catches your eye, leans in, and in a low murmur, says "I suppose dancing is not so bad." There's an ever-so-slight, ever-so-shy smile on her face.[/i]
                        
                                [i]@{(prev_li = "Beth") You almost pour your heart out right then and there.|You grin, nod, and resolve to accompany her next time.}[/i]
                        
                            #Prii spent like an hour rambling about getting into urbex.
                                *set contemprii +1
                                *temp urbex false
                                [i]"I just think it's really neat!" they enthuse, waving their phone at the group. Ostensibly they're showing you urbex photos, in practice they're moving their hand way too much to get a decent look. "It's like, going into ancient ruins for treasure and secrets only in the middle of a city."[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Yes, except instead of riches and glory, you uncover rodents and drug dealers," Beth observes.[/i]
                                
                                [i]Prii laughs. They're a little red in the face; they've had a few drinks, you think. "Okay, obviously there aren't literally piles of gold laying around, but it's still kind of an adventure."[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Maybe the real treasure was the hobos we found along the way," says Grant.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"It does sound cool," Shauna adds. "Maybe a little dangerous. And um, possibly illegal, depending."[/i]
                                
                                [i]There's no halting Prii's hype train. "Well, that's why you do your homework first and make sure you're prepared."[/i]
                                
                                [i]You say…[/i]
                                *choice
                                    #[i]"Most hobbies are at least a little dangerous if you really think about it."[/i]
                                        [i]"It's true," says Grant. "I sprained my ankle at an art gallery once."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Shauna groans. "That's cause you tried to hop a railing for no reason!"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Not [b]no[/b] reason—" They start bickering.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Prii shakes their head in fond exasperation, then meets your eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence anyway, $!{mc_name}."[/i]
                                        
                                        *label urbex
                                        [i]@{(expressive > 60) "I accept payment in coffee and snacks," you reply, grinning.|"Anytime," you reply with a smile.}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Beth hums. "Well, if you're going to insist on gallivanting around abandoned buildings, I suppose someone will need to keep an eye on @{urbex you both."|you, Prii."}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Prii touches a hand to their chest. "Aw, you say the sweetest things, Beth."[/i]
                                        
                                    #[i]"It does sound a bit risky. You could find anything."[/i]
                                        [i]"Okay, but do you really think the average abandoned building is secretly a drug den?" asks Prii.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"It only has to be a drug den once," Beth says grimly.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Or a gang hideout," Shauna's eyes widen. "Or a lair. Or there's like a pack of feral dogs living there—"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Grant splutters into laughter. "You guys know that it isn't like, an instant death radius if you come within fifty feet of A Drug, right?"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"—or someone's doing an arms deal, or it's been rigged up as a deathtrap like one of those horror movies—"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"A little healthy caution never hurt anyone," you tell him.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"—or all the electrics have gone crazy and you'll get shocked if you touch a single thing—"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so quit being a wuss." Grant shrugs. "Or however that saying goes."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"—or it's being used for an eldritch ritual to summon horrors from another dimension—"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Doing okay there, Shauna?" Prii asks.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]She jumps. "Huh!? Oh, um. Yeah. Just was letting my imagination run away with me, I guess."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Run away?" Beth raises an eyebrow. "That's hardly adequate: You were boarding the next plane to Speculationstan."[/i]
                                       
                                        [i]A rare Beth joke. The rest of you crack up.[/i]
                                        
                                    #[i]"I'd be interested in doing something urbex-y with you, Prii."[/i]
                                        *set urbex true
                                        [i]Prii gives you a broad smile. @{(prev_li = "Prii") Your heart stutters for a moment.|} "Appreciate that." They turn to the others. "See, $!{mc_name} likes the idea."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(prev_li = "Prii") Grant scoffs. "$!{mc_name} doesn't count. $!{mc_he}'d say skateboarding through a minefield was a good idea if it was you suggesting it."|Grant strokes his chin. "I mean, yeah, but I'm not sure that gives me more confidence. Might be less, even."} He laughs as you @{touchingokay jostle him with an elbow.|fix him with a glare.}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Shauna looks conflicted. "Are you sure? Do you two even know anything about urban exploration?"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"I'm sure they will 'muddle through'," Beth replies, and you hear the airquotes clank into place.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Prii exaggerates a sigh. "Ye of little faith. At least I know [b]someone's[/b] got my back." They glance back over to you and grin. "$!{forename}, you are my true ally in this world."[/i]
                                        
                                        *goto urbex
                                    #[i]Nothing.[/i]
                                        *comment tk past personality?
                                        [i]You're just enjoying the company. You don't have to say anything.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]The discussion goes around the group a few times. Grant gets a few light-hearted jabs in, Prii counters. Shauna tries (and fails) to remain balanced, while Beth gets a lot more invested than she'd care to admit.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]It's nice being surrounded by all of this, and your certainty slowly builds: there's real chemistry in this combination of people. This won't be the last time you all hang out together.[/i]
                                        
                                [i]Within the next hour or so, @{urbex the combined persuasive powers of you and Prii|Prii's persuasive powers} have gradually talked the group around on the idea of an excursion together at some point in the future.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Just wait," Prii says, bright yellow eyes sparkling with excitement. "It'll be an adventure."[/i]
                                        
                            #Shauna got the drunkest I ever saw her.
                                *temp drunkest false
                                [i]Every cup or bottle Shauna gets handed, she winds up downing. And as the birthday girl, she gets handed a lot of drinks.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"—and after that we went across to the movie theatre—wait did I tell you about the theatre? Okay so basically it's from like way back in the day and it's pretty much one of the oldest buildings in the city and that's really cool if you think about it cause you can see all the old architecture—" Shauna's words are an unstoppable tide, and even the usually gregarious Grant is reduced to occasional nods and one-word acknowledgements.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Taste of his own medicine," Prii says, appearing at your elbow. They're smirking.[/i]
                                
                                [i]On your opposite side, Beth hums. "Perhaps we should intervene. To slow Shauna down, I mean. I think she's had a half dozen already." A glint in her eye suggests that she too is finding some humour in Grant's predicament.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"I counted seven, maybe eight," you reply.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Who'd have thought our Shauna can hold her liquor so well?" Prii says with a smirk.[/i]
                                
                                [i]Beth snorts. "Do not speak too soon. There is plenty of time for disaster."[/i]
                                
                                [i]You say…[/i]
                                *choice
                                    #[i]"Let's rescue the poor guy."[/i]
                                        [i]"Must we?" Beth sighs dramatically.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"You suggested it," you point out.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Cutting Shauna off, yes. Grant needs to be taken down a peg on occasion."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(prev_li = "Grant") You'd be affronted if she wasn't correct.|You shrug and smile.}[/i]
                                        
                                        *label damnyougrant
                                        [i]@{drunkest In lieu of a spontaneous manifestation of parahuman abilities from Grant, you head over to him and Shauna. He sees you coming and calls out.|Grant spots you as you head over. }"Hey, it's $!{mc_name}!" Shauna swings around with a big goofy grin, and Grant adds. "You should tell ${mc_him} what you were telling me about the gallery."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Oh that [b]motherfucker.[/b][/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You glare at Grant as he makes his escape, but there's no time to plot vengeance before you're faced with Shauna on full blast. @{(prev_li = "Shauna") Good thing she's endearing.|At least you can keep her from the drinks table.}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Perhaps ten minutes later, you've guided Shauna over to a couch. There's no sign of the flood of stories abating until she abruptly stops talking in the middle of a sentence. She stares at you with wide eyes for a couple of seconds, then smiles. "I always like being around you, $!{forename}," she says, voice soft.[/i]
                                        
                                        *label nolongerremember
                                        [i]You no longer remember your reply. @{(prev_li = "shauna") You think you might hate yourself a little for that.|}[/i]

                                    #[i]"She's not drinking right now. And this is funny."[/i]
                                        [i]Beth rolls her eyes. "How altruistic."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Don't pretend you're not enjoying seeing Grant struggle."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]The corner of Beth's mouth twitches. "Perhaps, but I should not sink to his level."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Prii laughs. "You're so cruel, Beth. He's your friend!"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Despite my better judgement."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]In the midst of this discussion, Grant somehow finds an opening and breaks away from Shauna, heading straight over to your trio with the birthday girl in his wake.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Help me," he says urgently. "She will not freaking stop."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Graaant! I wasn't finished!"[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You, Prii, and Beth observe the desperation on his face, exchange glances, and come to a silent agreement to show mercy, sharing the burden of Shauna's drunken enthusiasm.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Somehow, you end up being the one sitting next to Shauna on a couch while Prii hunts down water, Beth intercepts drink-toting partygoers, and Grant… vanishes off somewhere. Shauna, still rushing through story after story, abruptly stops in the middle of a sentence. She stares at you with wide eyes for a couple of seconds, then smiles. "I always like being around you, $!{forename}," she says, voice soft.[/i]
                                        
                                        *goto nolongerremember
                                    #[i]"Yeah, if she doesn't pace herself, she'll wind up passed out. That's no fun on your birthday."[/i]
                                        *set drunkest true
                                        [i]"It's a rite of passage!" says Prii, semi-seriously.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Speak for yourself. [b]I[/b] have never been blackout drunk," Beth replies loftily. It's such a perfect opening for a quip that you half expect Grant to teleport over here. Alas, he remains anchored in Shauna's gravity, and the opportunity goes begging.[/i]
                                        
                                        *goto damnyougrant
                                    
                            #Grant... well, did Grant things.
                                [i]Grant makes it a mission to be the heart and soul of any party he ever attends, and tonight he has double—nay, triple—incentive; he's not only the host, it's a special occasion. A friend's birthday? You better believe he's pulling out all the stops.[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Prii!" Grant calls across the kitchen. "How's the punch coming?"[/i]
                                
                                [i]Prii looks up from the array of pitchers in front of them. "Uhh, it's coming for sure!"[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Keep it going!" Grant dances past the central island counter, depositing two bowls of chips along the way. "Beth! What's the word?""[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Do not rush me," Beth growls, pushing aside a row of chopped ingredients aside with the flat of a kitchen knife.[/i]
                                
                                [i]Grant laughs then glances in your direction. "$!{mc_name}?"[/i]
                                
                                [i]You nod, too focused on making a cute arrangement of the snack platter in front of you to reply. @{(instinctive > 60) Earlier you were laying things out willy-nilly, and Grant was so aghast at your efforts as to render you thoroughly chastised.|You want to get this right.}[/i]
                                
                                [i]"Um… Grant?" Shauna's voice comes from the corner of the room, where she's perched on a chair. "Are you sure I can't help with anything?"[/i]
                                
                                [i]Grant whirls on the spot, pointing a finger with scorching fervour. "Stay right where you are, birthday girl! You're already cheating by being here so early, I'm sure as hell not letting you do prep for your own party!" @{(subterfuge < 29) Grant shoots you a significant look, earning him an awkward grin. Yeah so… you might have accidentally spoiled the surprise again. You're not good at secrets!|}[/i]
                                
                                [i]Shauna shrinks back into her seat. "Okay then," she mumbles, looking conflicted.[/i]
                                
                                [i]Seriously Shauna, don't worry about it," Prii tells her from nearby. "Of any day, this is the one where you're allowed not to pitch in, and you'd do the same for any of us."[/i]
                                
                                [i]She nods, a little of her angst easing off.[/i]
                                
                                [i]Meanwhile, you glance at Grant. Although he's putting on his game face, you know him well enough to recognise the underlying strain. @{(prev_li = "Grant") You feel a pang of concern; he won't admit it either, left to his own devices.|}[/i]
                                
                                *choice
                                    #[i]"Hey, Grant. Maybe take five? We're doing well here."[/i]
                                        [i]Grant immediately grimaces, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He shakes his head, ponytail whipping gently over his shoulder. "I don't want to take my foot off the gas and leave stuff unfinished, $!{mc_name}. We can relax when we're done."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(instinctive > 60) "In that case, try to keep up," you challenge.|"Alright, but one thing at a time, okay?" you say.}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(instinctive > 60) Grant laughs. "Please, you'll be eating my dust." He pauses. "My... nacho dust, I guess."|Grant grins. "Slow and steady as ever, huh, $!{mc_name}? Try not to fall behind."}[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]@{(instinctive > 60) "Don't make me hungry," Prii says piteously|"Who would have thought Grant's such a slave driver?" Prii muses} from nearby.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You refocus onto your own task.[/i]
                                        
                                        *goto grantfin
                                    #[i]"Nearly there, Grant. No stress, yeah?"[/i]
                                        [i]Grant raises an eyebrow at you, and then lets out a laugh. "Stressed? Who's stressed? I think you're projecting." Again, if you didn't know him so well, you'd miss the extent to which he's playing the whole thing off.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Maybe," you 'admit'. "In that case, let's finish strong."[/i]
                                        
                                        *label notintended
                                        [i]"Hell yeah," Grant thumps his chest, a little of the tension dissipating. [/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Well, it wasn't your intended means of cooling him off, but if it works, it works.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You attend back to your own task, forming what you'd call a rather excellent display of snacks if you do say so yourself.[/i]
                                        
                                        *goto grantfin
                                    #[i]Even though it's a little childish, I make a silly face at him.[/i]
                                        [i]Grant's eye is quickly drawn over to you, and he openly snickers, shaking his head with a broad grin. "Dork," he doesn't-quite-mouth.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You simply wiggle your eyebrows impishly in reply, earning a snort as he returns his attention back to his duties. You can already see he's perking with a fresh boost of energy.[/i]
                                        
                                        *goto pie
                                    #[i]"If you need me to take the wheel, I can."[/i]
                                        [i]Grant's brow briefly furrows and he shakes his head, though he masks the consternation just as swiftly with a smile. "C'mon, do I look like I need a hand? I'm the partytime maestro."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You consider whether to push further, then decide against it, simply nodding and smiling back. "Fair enough, you've got this. Let's finish strong."[/i]
                                        
                                        *goto notintended
                                    #[i]I catch his eye and give a silent nod of support. If he wants extra help, he'll ask.[/i]
                                        [i]…but otherwise, poking at Grant or suggesting he's stressed will simply wind him up.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Grant quickly notices your attention and upon your nod, breaks into a smile, already perking with a fresh boost of energy as he nods back.[/i]
                                        
                                        *label pie
                                        [i]Easy as pie.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You allow yourself a private smile and get back to your own task, forming a rather excellent display of snacks if you do say so yourself.[/i]
                                        
                                        *label grantfin
                                        [i]After another half hour of intensive preparations, the four of you plus guest of honour are looking at your efforts and basking in the communal glow of a job well done.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Alright, all hail me, party planner supreme," Grant says, casting his arms out wide.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]Beth scoffs quietly. "Claim the credit after the party, not before."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Ah, see, but if I get the praise first, then I get to keep it regardless of how things go, thanks to the no take-backies clause."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Yes, because that is definitely how that works."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"Thank you for arranging all this, Grant, everyone," Shauna breaks in, smiling bashfully. "It doesn't really matter how it goes; it's already great cause of everything you guys have done today."[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"I'd make fun of you but that was way too sincere, c'mere, you." Grant sweeps Shauna up in an uncharacteristic hug, causing a surprised squeak. "I suppose my assistants were acceptable. $!{mc_name}'s a pretty good sidekick at least." He flashes you a wink over Shauna's shoulder, which requires him to stand on tiptoes.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]"The only sidekick you're getting is when you get kicked to the curb, gloatyboy," Prii chimes in.[/i]
                                        
                                        [i]You don't remember Grant's comeback. You do remember that he uses this as an excuse to introduce himself as a professional party planner for the next six months.[/i]
                        
                        *label afterparty
                        *page_break
                        The memories bring a throbbing pain to your chest. That party was the very first seed for AdVenture. The beginning of the end.
                            
                        *if ((bestie = 1) or (prev_li = "Beth"))
                          Beth would never quite admit that urban exploration excited her. She cast herself as the responsible one, keeping the rest of you out of mischief. Never mind that she went out of her way to research every site and was always the first person to propose timings for the excursions. No no, she was merely organising the hopeless rabble, otherwise nothing would ever get done.

                          @{ephalanx It's hard to focus on your actual memories of her right now. Not when you keep recollecting the hollow sound of her voice ringing from within a suit of armour.|As ever, you've a million and one mixed feelings regarding Beth, and those aren't resolving any time soon.}

                          @{ephalanx What happened to her, between that night and now?|}

                        *elseif ((bestie = 2) or (prev_li = "Prii"))
                            Prii was the motor behind it all. The dynamo driving the entire group's enthusiasm. How could they have known the path that lay in wait?

                            Every thought of them hurts. Worse for whatever… thing you encountered in the Zone.

                            Hard to focus on anything good with that on your mind.

                        *elseif ((bestie = 3) or (prev_li = "shauna"))
                            Shauna managed to be both the most nervous and the most enthusiastic member of the group simultaneously. Always agonising about the potential for getting yourselves into trouble. Always ready to go out on the next excursion.

                            Maybe she didn't always have the most confidence, but what's confidence next to heart?

                        *else
                            Grant always downplayed how much he cared. About AdVenture, about life in general, about all of @{dated_grant you—with yourself as the notable exception, and even then…|you.} That arm's length distance to sincerity could be frustrating at times.

                            But… what you wouldn't give for another of his evasive little comments about his friends.
                                
                                
                        You drag yourself from the reminiscing with a sharp shake of your head. This isn't helping you.    
           
                        Does anything, ever?
                
                        You consider the idea of unloading your woes on a therapist and a grim smile slashes its way across your face.
                        
                        Yeah. Sure. They'd be dialling the asylum in the first five minutes.
                        
                        *if (atcontainer)
                            *goto aftertalkcontainer
                        
                        *else
                            *goto shakingfree
                    #The Coven. The early days.
                        [i]"From here on, you will answer to the name Paradigm, understood?"[/i]
                        
                        [i]You nod. @{coven_history The defiance isn't yet crushed out of you, but the untreated cut dripping blood down your cheek has quelled resistance for now.|You know you're doing a poor job of concealing your fear. You've learned that compliance will stymie the worst of the beatings, but it's far from a foolproof strategy. Best behaviour is at times simply not enough.|You're still trying to build a strategy to survive this with body and mind intact. When trapped in a situation with impossible odds, self-preservation is the top priority. Obedience serves as a means to avoid the worst of the beatings. Most of the time.} @{(coven_history > 1) The collage of bruises across your body is testament to that.|}[/i]
                        
                        [i]"Excellent." The bespectacled man opposite you appraises you like a fish on the hook. "Given time, I think we'll be able to make you into a useful asset. Do try to meet expectations." He folds his hands. "Otherwise, well, fodder is always needed for the Project."[/i]
                        
                        [i]You nod again, faster. Your first few months had a front row seat to that monster's appetites. Even now, disobedience is frequently met with a stint back in the cell next door.[/i]
                        
                        [i]And it never stops trying to get at you. Never.[/i]
                        
                        [i]It prefers fresh meat to the cadavers.[/i]
                        
                        [i]Hypothesis touches a button on his desk. "Catalyst, please come in."[/i]
                        
                        [i]You freeze, @{coven_history your cut throbbing in time with your racing heart. You're past the capability of pretending that you're unaffected by that name, that man. Not after what he's done to you.|breath catching. If there's one illustration that doing as you're told doesn't always work, it's Catalyst.|caught between hatred, fear, and survival instinct. Catalyst. At first you thought he'd seen straight through your feigned compliance. By now, you've realised it's simply that he doesn't give a fuck whether or not you listen to him.}[/i]
                        
                        [i]The man himself stalks in, glowering at you before looking to Hypothesis. "Yeah?"[/i]
                        
                        [i]"Please show our new recruit to Control Group. She'll be taking charge of training."[/i]
                        
                        [i]"New recruit." Catalyst doesn't mask his contempt.[/i]
                        
                        [i]"Indeed." Hypothesis flicks a finger at you. "Go on, then, introduce yourself."[/i]
                        
                        [i]"…Paradigm…" you mumble.[/i]
                        
                        [i]Catalyst sneers.[/i]
                        
                        *page_break [i]Outside.[/i]
                        [i]You round a corner in the hallway and Catalyst instantly grabs you by the shoulders and slams you into the wall. You're too frail to fight back.[/i]
                        
                        [i]"Listen, 'Paradigm', this doesn't change a fucking thing," he snarls. A vein on his head is standing out, looking fit to burst. A livid scar encircles his neck. "You step out of line, you step to me, and I'll fucking end you. Got it?" He doesn't allow even a second to respond before ramming his fist into your stomach. You double over as the blow rocks you. One. Two. Three. "I said got it!?"[/i]
                        
                        [i]"Got it," you croak.[/i]
                        
                        [i]"Good ${mc_boy}," he says, patting you on the shoulder, then turning the motion into a shove that sends you sprawling to the ground. He walks over you, pressing a boot to your back, and continues down the hallway. "Move your slow ass, Dime."[/i]
                        
                        [i]You pick yourself up, you follow. You already understand how this goes.[/i]
                        
                        [i]Catalyst stops to hurl open a door. Inside, a compact, curly-haired woman you've seen a couple of times springs to her feet, fists flying up.[/i]
                        
                        [i]"Sit your ass down before I do it for you," Catalyst snaps. He half turns, grabs you by the scruff of the neck, and wrenches you forward. You stumble, falling onto hands and knees. "Hypothesis wants you to make something out of this trash. Don't know why he's bothering."[/i]
                        
                        [i]You hear him stomp off, slamming the door so hard it rattles.[/i]
                        
                        [i]Quieter footsteps. You look up. The woman is offering you her outstretched hand. Her eyes aren't kind, but nor are they cruel.[/i]
                        
                        [i]"Control Group," she says. "Don't listen to him. You'll be fine." She leans closer, extending her hand further. "Come on, there's work to do."[/i]
                        
                        *page_break
                        *set defiance +2
                        You'd thought the endless purgatory of the lab was the worst of it. In some ways, it was. In others, the nightmare was only beginning.
                        
                        Even if you succeed in your task, will the beatings end? Will Hypothesis treat you as more than a disposal puppet?
                        
                        Will anything change at all?
                        
                        @{coven_history Remembering that old fire is hard. You flinch from it instinctively. But if you refuse to recall the flame, refuse to feel its heat, then this cowering weakling will be all that you ever are.|You've toed the line. You've obeyed. Perhaps that needs to change.|Perhaps you've played the long game for long enough.}
                        
                        *goto aftertalkcontainer
                        
                        
               
*label anotherbriefing
*page_break The Altruists convene.
With everyone hanging around the safehouse, you're swiftly gathered in the living area. Dion takes his usual position in front of the group.

*goto letsbegin

*label afterchatting
*page_break
Late on the third morning, Dion assembles everyone for a meeting, taking his usual position in front of the group.

*label letsbegin
"I'll keep this short," he says. "The immediate heat is dying down, so we're in a position to act again. I'm planning a… let's call it an outing for this evening."

Mal rolls their eyes. "You have to make everything sound so cloak and dagger, D?" They address the group. "A couple of us are going clubbing."

"We have a goal that happens to [i]involve[/i] going to a club," says Dion, glaring at Mal. They smile guilelessly. Dion shakes his head in irritation, then picks up where he left off. "The Businessmen operate most of their activity out of their club, Masquerade, and I need to have words with them. I've thought it over, and they're only way the Hounds could have known where we were."
*choice
    #"Do you mean words or 'words'?" If he's talking about a fight, I want to know.
        "I hope to keep this civil, but if they decide to play dumb or try to strongarm me, then I'm prepared to get violent."
        
        You nod. You can work with that.
        
    #I'm starting to get sick of how in love Dion is with his own voice.
        He can never just tell you something. It's always built up in some droning speech.
        
        You fold your arms and stew, impatiently waiting for him to get to the point.
        
    #Remain silent.
        *set expressive %- 7
        You've developed a sense for how these briefings go. He'll explain the rest soon enough.
        
    #"Couldn't the Hounds have been monitoring the area?"
        Dion nods fractionally. "I considered that, but remember, they're banned from the Zone. I can't see how they would have managed to set something up right in the middle of the DPR's territory."
        
        "Didn't stop them gatecrashing," Teddie grumbles.

"It's not gonna be a big thing," Mal adds. "Just me, Dion, and Wil. The rest of you will be on standby."

"$!{aka2} is coming too," Dion interjects. 

Mal blinks. "Wait, ${mc_he} @{mc_singular is|are}?"

*temp bristle 1
*choice
    #Bristle at their tone.
        *set rel_wyrd %- 5
        "What's that supposed to mean?" you snap.
        
        *if ((collapsezone) or (wrekt))
            @{collapsezone "Uh, that your powers flipped their shit so bad that you couldn't walk like three days ago?|"Uh, that you're still injured? Like, badly?} You're in no condition to go out."
            
            "I'm fine," you growl.
            
            "As your doctor, no you're not!"
            
            *label dionenough
            "Enough," Dion doesn't raise his voice, but it still cuts straight across your argument. "If this goes to plan, then nobody will be doing anything more strenuous than walking across a dance floor. $!{aka2} is coming. That's the end of it."
            
            "Yeah, because stuff always goes to plan," Mal mutters, but shuts up.
            
            *goto skipmal
        
        *else
            *label nobristle
            @{(bristle = 1) Mal holds up both hands. "Whoa, whoa. Look, $!{aka}, no offence|Mal laughs awkwardly. "Uh, so no offence, $!{aka},} but you're kinda bedraggled. @{tidy Like, you're ahead of where you were a couple weeks ago, but|Like,} if I'm on the door of a nightclub, I don't know if I'm letting you in."
            
            *label rudemal
            @{(bristle = 1) Yeah so saying 'no offence' doesn't really mean a lot when they just go on to be offensive anyway.|[i]Ouch.[/i]}
            
            @{(bristle = 1) "You're such a dick—"|"Damn. Say how you really feel," you say. Mal at least has the grace to look guilty over their comment.}
            
            *if bristle = 1
                *goto dionenough
            
            *else
                "Let me worry about getting $!{aka2} in," Dion interjects. "We need ${mc_him} for the intimidation factor."

                *goto unsureflatter  
            
    #Laugh it off.
        *set bristle 2
        *set rel_wyrd %+ 5
        
        "What? Am I not enough of a party animal?" you say, mock-offended.
        
        *if ((collapsezone) or (wrekt))
            Mal laughs and shakes their head. @{collapsezone "Not for nothing, $!{aka}, but like three days ago your powers were flipping their shit so bad you couldn't walk.|"I'm sure you've got moves, but you're also still injured. Like, badly."} You're in no condition to go out."
            
            "I'm tougher than I look, don't worry about me."
            
            Mal looks like they're about to reply, but Dion cuts across them. "If this goes to plan, then nobody will be doing anything strenuous. We can't underestimate the intimidation factor $!{aka2} brings."
            
            *label unsureflatter
            You… aren't sure whether you should be flattered.
            
        *else
            *goto nobristle
    #Wait: I assume they have a point to make.
        *set instinctive %- 7
        *set bristle 3
        *if ((collapsezone) or (wrekt))
            Mal indicates you with their head. @{collapsezone "Like three days ago, ${mc_his} powers were flipping out so bad ${mc_he} couldn't walk.|"$!{aka} is still injured. Like, badly.} $!{mc_he} @{mc_singular 's|'re} in no condition for a mission."
            
            You shrug. They have a point, but by your reckoning it's not up to, well, either of you.
            
            And indeed Dion interjects. "$!{aka2} is coming. If this goes to plan, then nobody will be doing anything strenuous. We can't underestimate the intimidation factor ${mc_he} @{mc_singular brings|bring}."
            
            *goto unsureflatter
            
        *else
            Mal hesitates, then continues. "I'm probably gonna sound like a dick, but $!{aka}'s kinda bedraggled. @{tidy Like, better than a couple weeks ago maybe, but|Like,} if I'm on the door of a nightclub, I don't know if I'm letting ${mc_him} in."
            
            *goto rudemal
        
Your shapeshifting compatriot doesn't seem particularly happy, but shuts up anyway.

*label skipmal
Kay lets out a quiet sigh and nudges Teddie. "Looks like we're on the bench."

He shrugs. "I hate clubs."

They'd both also stick out like sore thumbs. You wonder how either of them maintains even a semblance of a secret identity.

Dion swiftly summarises the plan. You, Mal, and Wil will accompany him to the club out of costume, with Kay and Teddie posted a couple of streets over in case anything goes severely wrong. He and $!{wname} will meet a Businessman lieutenant privately, the matter of the Zone will be discussed, and if all goes well, everything remains civil and the group leaves with fresh information and new leads. You and Mal will only be in the vicinity in case negotiations go sour, in which case, Dion emphasises, you are not to begin trashing the place. He'd rather not declare war on the Businessmen just yet.
*temp dionwil 1

*choice
    #A fair plan. [i]If[/i] it works.
        *if instinctive > 60
            No plan survives contact with the enemy and such.
            
        *elseif instinctive > 40
            In your experience, what can go wrong, will go wrong.
            
        *else
            'The best laid @{(knowledge > 40) schemes|plans} of mice and @{(knowledge > 40) men gang aft a'gley', as the poem goes.|men oft go awry', as the saying goes.}
        
    #I'm disappointed that I'll be missing out on the meeting.
        And why is that?
        *choice
            #I don't like being left out.
                There's little complexity to your feelings on this: something interesting is going on and you don't get to participate. Who wouldn't feel disappointed?
                
            #It could help my undercover goal.
                *if ((inform1 > 4) and (not (footagedestroy)))
                    Considering your lie to $!{cg} got rumbled, you need to make up ground with Hypothesis. Soften the consequences. If such a thing is even possible.
                    
                *else
                    You still don't have as much information on Dion as you'd like, and this feels like a lost opportunity.
                    
            #I'm curious about what I found in the Zone.
                If the Businessmen can fill in the gaps about your haul from that strange room in the facility, you'd rather hear about it firsthand.
                
            *selectable_if (rel_architect > 50) #I want to watch out for Dion.
                *set defiance +1
                *label protective
                It takes a moment to place that you're feeling… protective. @{dionwil If Dion's in a den of vipers, you want to be there at his side, not rushing to reach him.|If discussions break bad, you don't want ${whim} in harm's way. You'd much rather take ${whis} place and know ${whe}'s safe.}
                
                You must be nuts. Completely and utterly. Didn't take you long at all to fall too deep.
                
            *selectable_if (rel_wil > 50) #I'm worried about Wil.
                *set defiance +1
                *set dionwil 2
                *goto protective
                
    #So I get to have fun while Dion's wrapped up talking? Score.
        A chance to unwind? Fucking sold.
        
        Of course, odds are, things will go nuclear the second you start relaxing.
        
    #Clubbing isn't really my scene. This is going to suck.
        An evening surrounded by drunks making fools of themselves. Yippee, what fun you'll have.
        
    *selectable_if (psycho > 1) #No ruining anyone's day? Aw.
        You were kind of hoping for a chance to let off some steam.
        
        @{killthink Part of you eyes your mounting bloodthirst with trepidation. If you don't keep yourself in check, you're going to hurt someone. Badly.|No need to kill anyone. Just rough them up a bit. Okay fine. A lot.|Next idiot who gets in your way is going to have a very, very bad evening.} 

As the team disperses, Dion stays you. "$!{aka2}, one second." 

You remain, raising an eyebrow. 

He takes a moment to work up to speaking, looking uncomfortable. "I apologise for bringing this @{wrekt up,"|up again,"} he says. @{tidy "Especially when it seems your situation has improved a little.|"Sincerely, I am not judging you or your circumstances.} Still, I, well." He hesitates, then just goes for it, picking up a reusable bag from alongside the couch. "First thing today I slipped out and bought you some clothes. @{(mc_height > 4) I hope I got the sizing right; you're a lot taller than I usually shop for.|}@{(mc_height = 4) We're a similar height, so I think I got the sizing right. Hopefully.|}@{(mc_height < 4) I hope I got the sizing right; you're shorter than me.|}" He hands the bag over and you squint suspiciously inside.

The contents are almost offensively ordinary. A flannel shirt. Grey jeans. A vest. You look back up to Dion, who doesn't meet your eyes.

"…I'm trying to think of something to say, but I can't come up with anything that doesn't sound like I'm looking down on you."

There's a knot in your stomach. @{tidy All your efforts, and you still look like someone dragged off the street.|He doesn't have to say it aloud; you look like a feral animal.}

*choice
    #Make a cutting remark.
        "Kind of suggests something, doesn't it?" you say coldly. "Maybe ask if I want your handouts next time."
        
        Without giving him a chance to reply, you stalk off. Someday you'll go five minutes without the knife getting twisted.
        
    #Thank him and get out of there. I don't want to make a whole thing of this.
        "Thanks," you say mechanically, then swiftly withdraw without giving him a chance to reply.
        
        All you want is a moment, one single moment, when you don't have to think about the state you're in, get your losses shoved into your face.
        
    #Why is he being nice?
        Is he just trying to lower your guard for the sucker punch? You've experienced that tactic before. Again you study the clothes. There don't appear to be any venomous snakes lurking within the bag, so you return your attention back to Dion.
        
        He sighs. "I think I've botched this. I wanted to do something nice, since I know you don't have many clothes." He tries a wry smile on for size. "Well, I suppose that you could have a massive wardrobe that you don't care to wear."
        
        You nod warily. "Thanks," you mutter, then scuttle away before he has a chance to reply. 
        
        When will the other shoe drop?
        
    #Directly ask his reasons.
        "Just say it plainly. I won't get upset," you lie. You might.
        
        Dion sighs. "Two reasons. Pure logic: I don't want any headaches with Masquerade's bouncers. Emotional: I wanted to do something for a teammate, and @{tidy your wardrobe is small.|I've seen you wear about three outfits total. And one of those is that membrane of yours.} So clothes felt like a good thing to buy."
        
        You nod slowly. You can understand his reasoning, if perhaps not accept it. "Alright. Thanks for being straight with me."
        
        Dion returns your nod in apparent relief, and as he leaves you be, you're once again left with the impression that he's not as detached as he'd like to project.
        
    #To my horror, I realise I'm on the verge of tears.
        The emotions are coalescing around one thought:
        *choice
            #@{tidy I'm trying my fucking best, and it's still not enough.|I don't need a reminder of how fucking terrible I look.}
                The stinging heat in your eyes is frustration and anger and visceral hopelessness.
                
                @{tidy You've scraped so hard for just a shred of humanity, and it's too thin to even see.|Does he think you don't fucking [i]know?[/i] Does he think you're blissfully fucking ignorant about your state?}
                
                "$!{aka2}? Are—"
                
                "Cool, thanks." You storm off before Dion can finish kicking you while you're down.
                
                Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck everything.
                
            #People don't just... give me things.
                It's been years.
                
                The Coven's 'gifts' don't count. Not the worn hand-me-downs flung carelessly into your cell of a room. Not the metal casket calling itself your home. Not the Juice.
                
                Never the Juice.
                
                You bury your eyes in your elbow before he sees you crying. @{(wakeup = 4) You've already spilled too many tears in company.|}
                
                "$!{aka2}? Are—"
                
                "I'm fine," you mumble, not moving your arm. "Thanks."
                
                "You don't have—"
                
                "I said. I'm fine." You clench your teeth, screwing your eyes tight. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
                
                Dion falls silent, but remains there for what feels like a decade. You remain resolute, continuing to hide your face until you finally hear him leave. Then you stumble to your room, eyes red and raw.
                

*set juice - 10
*if juice < 1
    *set juice 1
    
*if juice < 20
    *page_break
    Your legs wobble a little. There's a gnawing ache behind your eyes, within your bones.
    
    How long has it been since your last dose?
    
    Too long.
    
    *if (vials = 1)
        Fuck.
        
        You brought your vial along. No choice but to use it.
        
        Making sure your door is blocked, you uncap the vial and down it.
        
        The surge of electrical relief nearly knocks you from your feet. Your vision warps and whites out. When you come to, you're curled on the floor, pulse thrumming around your whole body.
        
        Your mouth is dry. The pain is gone.
        
        You're ready.
        *set vials 0
        *set juice 100   
        
    *else
        And you with no Juice.
        
        Fuck. Fffuck.
        
        Smashing that vial had felt empowering and terrifying at once.
        
        You don't feel the power any longer.
        
        Swallowing hard, you mop at your brow and will yourself to keep it together. Keep it together.
        
        Will, entreat, beg the gnashing teeth to leave you be.

*elseif ((vials = 1) or (smashed))
    *page_break
    In your room, the thought occurs to you that it's been some time since your last dose.
    
    There's a sudden surge of primal panic, then your rational mind reboots.
    
    Because you feel… okay.
    
    Not great, but not in pain. Not being torn up from the inside out. Just… okay.
    
    There's a weird mix of pride and apprehension. You feel like a wild animal, alert to the hunter's presence, yet not realising you're right in their crosshairs.
    
    Perhaps this is little more than a stay of execution.
    
    Perhaps not.
    *set dependence -1
 
*else
     *goto thatevening
 
*label thatevening
*page_break That evening...
*if ((getspiked = 3) or (surpass_stomach > 1))
    *set injurydesc 9
    *set mc_health 2

*else
    *set mc_health 1
    *set injurydesc 1
    
The mission team has assembled in an alleyway a couple of blocks from Masquerade. Kay and Teddie left ahead of you, giving themselves time to get situated in the club's vicinity. Mixed feelings notwithstanding, you've donned the clothes that Dion picked out for you. The ensemble's a little loose, but he managed to get the lengths almost exactly correct. He genuinely made an effort.

You're wearing this because it's practical, that's what you keep telling yourself. Getting barred via dress code would just be stupid.

Speaking of which, it's time. At a nod from Dion, you don the domino mask he gave you earlier. Alongside you, the others do the same. The club's name isn't for show: staff and clientele alike go masked at Masquerade.

It feels strange to have something gripping your face. The mask isn't breathable like your membrane, which you occasionally manage to forget envelops your entire head. 

Such things you've grown accustomed to.

You hesitate in the mouth of the alley as a snag occurs to you. "Wait… I don't have an ID."

Mal snorts. "C'mon, $!{aka}, you think they card at a place you've gotta be masked to enter?"

*page_break …Ah.

Masquerade looks outwardly innocuous; a two-storey brick building tucked between a pawn shop and an office. A neon purple sign with the club's name and a stylised domino mask overlooks the entryway, which has a cordoned area to allow patrons to queue up for entry. All in all, it's just on the upper side of ordinary, the kind of place a person would happily take their friends, provided they hadn't got too smashed on the pre-drinking.

There's a small queue ahead, and the four of you join the back of the line. You can faintly hear music pulsing from within the club. As you advance closer and closer to the door, your anxiety climbs. This is far from the most perilous venture you've made with the Altruists, but that's just the thing. Going to a club is so [i]normal,[/i] and the steps feel so strange. The anchor in your stomach grows heavier and heavier, and soon you've worked your way to the front of the line. After one final clubgoer affixes their mask and heads inside, the bouncer motions you forward.

Nerves seize you as the slab of muscle looks you up and down, expression shrouded behind a mask of their own. They're so big you swear they must have been stapled into their suit; if they flex, that thing's going to explode. Briefly, you feel like a teenager again, sneaking into a bar with a fake ID.

Then the moment passes. They grunt, nod, and entry is yours.

Exhale.

*page_break Go inside.

The interior of Masquerade is abuzz with activity. Everywhere you look is another masked face, the central floorspace dominated by a square dance floor occupied by a couple dozen people. A long white bar extends almost the full length of one wall, staffed by a trio of tenders. The opposite side of the room consists mostly of booth tables, and you spy several doors marked STAFF ONLY, though only two of those are afforded the privilege of a guard; the two musclebound hulks could well be the twin of the bouncer. Thrumming electronica music pounds through the air. @{(expressive > 60) Hey, you can get behind it.|Way too loudly.}

"Yo," Mal appears at your side and you move a little deeper into the club together without waiting for Dion and Wil. Soon thereafter, you see the pair heading for one of the guarded doors from the corner of your eye. In theory, entering separately should distance you from them. In practice, you suspect the Businessmen will be able to put two and two together. For one, Mal's costume literally already features a domino mask.

Then again, they've also grown out their hair, coloured it bright red, and have donned a slinky black cocktail dress, so perhaps they're not so obvious. @{interest_wyrd You're battling valiantly not to look at their legs. And losing.|At least you can be sure that you're unclockable.}

*if (interest_wyrd)
    Mal turns to you. There's a gleam in their eye, like a cat stalking a mouse. "Sooo…" they purr. @{overt_wyrd "You've said a couple things that caught my attention.|Pretty sure I've seen you watching me a couple times. And not just in a teammate kinda way.} Makes a gal wonder." They grin, showing teeth. "Wanna hit the dance floor with me, $!{aka}? We've got time."  
    
    *label wannadance
    *choice
        #...Ah what the heck, sure.
            *set dancepartner 2
            *set rel_wyrd %+ 10
            *if expressive > 60
                "You have yourself a deal," you tell them, smiling broadly. "Let's tear it up."
                
            *elseif expressive < 40
                You hesitate, then slowly nod as the desire to enjoy yourself steadily outweighs your anxieties.
                
            *else
                "Let's do this thing,"  you say with a smile.
                
            "Fuck yeah!" Mal cheers, @{touchingokay taking you by the hand and tugging you towards|reaching for your hand. You pull away slightly, and they pause, nod, and then head for} the dance floor.
            
            *goto dancedancerevolution
        #I want to, but the crush of bodies is more than I can handle.
            You hesitate a moment, then glance past Mal at the packed dance floor and shake your head. "Sorry, too crowded."
            
            "Ah, no problem." Mal nods. "No fun if you're uncomfortable." They grin easily. "In which case, I've got an errand to get to. Ciao!"
            
            *goto immediatelydip
        #Not right now.
            Between the tension of the mission and the crowds of the club, you don't think you're feeling it. "Maybe another time."
            
            "Wasn't a no. I'll take it." Mal winks, then grins. "In which case, I've got an errand to get to. Ciao!"
            
            *goto immediatelydip
        #Maybe later, in private. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
            *set promise_dance true
            *set flirt_wyrd +1
            *set overt_wyrd true
            *set rel_wyrd %+ 10
            
            *if expressive > 60
                "Not here but…" You flash them a smile, its mischief equal to Mal's own. "Just the two of us? Later?"
                
            *elseif expressive < 40
                "Not here," you say. Hesitate, make eye contact. "Later. Just us."
                
            *else
                "How about later? Just us?" you suggest, not sounding as casual as you'd like.
                
            "Oh-[i]ho[/i]." Mal pitches up the second syllable, still grinning. "Now you've got my attention. Deal."
            
            Your cheeks warm a little. There's no flustering them.
            
            Before you can take the train of thought any further, Mal derails it. "Well, until that lovely little rendezvous, I've got an errand to get to.." They wink. "Later, $!{aka}! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
            
            *goto immediatelydip
        #Turn them down, both now and in general. [Block romance/flirting]
            *set romance_wyrd 1
            *set interest_wyrd false
            "Sorry, Mal, I'm not interested," you stress the last word slightly.
            
            Mal nods. "Message received. I'll back off." They wink. "In which case, I've got an errand to get to. Ciao!"
            
            *goto immediatelydip
    
*else
    *choice
        #Still, if I were the Businessmen, I'd be watching Dion and Wil like a hawk.
            It makes sense: three of six Altruists, including you, are very difficult to identify out of costume. You can't see brokers like the Businessmen passing up the opportunity to learn more. Even if ostensibly, using that information would be a grievous breach of mask etiquette. Perhaps coming here is a show of good faith from Dion in the negotiations.
            
            @{wrekt Well, not like you've got a secret identity worth a damn. Secrets, on the other hand...|Although… wait, has he even managed to get his proper costume back after his half-naked flight from the Zone?}
            
            Mal turns to you. "Okay, $!{aka}, I've got an errand to run. So… enjoy! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
            
        *if ((aro != 4) and (romance_wyrd != 1)) #Struggle valiantly not to look at their legs. And fail. @{ftone [Flirt, passive]|}
            *set interest_wyrd true
            *set flirt_wyrd +1
            
            In your defence, their legs look amazing in that dress.
            
            Predictably, Mal turns to you and catches you in the act. A sly smile creeps onto their face, a catlike gleam in their eyes. "Enjoying the view, $!{aka}?" They grin, showing teeth. "You know, if you want, we can hit the dance floor. We've got time."
            
            *goto wannadance
        #Ask Mal what they want to do.
            "So, any of this calling to you?" you ask Mal.
            
            They turn to you, grin, and shrug. "Well, I've got an errand to run, so why don't you just enjoy yourself? Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
            
            *goto immediatelydip

*label immediatelydip
They immediately dip into the press of bodies.
*fake_choice
    #"Huh?"
    #"What?"
    #"Dude!"
    #"What the fu—"

It's too late. They're gone.

You just got 300% ditched.

What the hell?
*choice
    #Am I being hazed?
        First they protested bringing you here, now they've bailed on you. @{(dancepartner = 2) Straight after a dance, no less!|} It's like they're deliberately trying to push your buttons.
        
        If not that, then what's their game? You don't understand.
        
    #It could be a test.
        Maybe they're feigning that they've left you to your own devices so they can observe you, see where your loyalties lie.
        
        They can change their face, after all.
        
        Then again, wouldn't a smarter method be to lie that they weren't coming, and then tail you into the club in another guise? That way you wouldn't be on guard at their departure.
        
        Okay. Probably not a test.
        
        So to repeat: what the hell?
        
    #This is wildly suspicious.
        An errand? In the middle of a mission? They tried to dissuade Dion from bringing you along in the first place, and now they've pulled a disappearing act. You two are supposed to be here for backup if things go south; it'll be difficult for Mal to back anyone up if they're off doing their own thing.
        
        Question is, are they trying to cut you out of the loop specifically, or everyone [i]including[/i] you?
        
    #Mal's being Mal.
        You're only here for backup in case Dion's meeting goes south. Mal probably just wants to enjoy themself.
        
        @{(dancepartner = 2) Directly after dancing with you for fun while showing every sign of having a blast.|…Though why call it an errand, in that case? You've known them to lie for kicks, but that would be a strange lie to tell.}
        
        Dammit.

*label loitering
You grow conscious that you're standing awkwardly alone in the middle of the club. Loitering around like this will attract a Businessman's attention sooner or later; you need to find something to do with yourself.
*choice
    *if (smooch_wyrd)
        #No way in hell am I letting Mal get away with that! After them!
            *goto inthelurch
        
    *else
     #@{(dancepartner = 2) Not that I'm needy or anything, but I want to know what Mallory is doing.|No way I'm letting this slide. Mallory is up to something.}
        *label inthelurch
         
        *if (smooch_wyrd)
            They kissed you then just [i]bailed[/i]. Who cares if they're up to something, the fuck kind of nonsense is this?
            
        *else
            @{(dancepartner = 2) Set aside that your dance partner left you in the lurch. Something's afoot.|Masquerade belongs to another gang. Mal's being shady. You can't just write that off as coincidence.}
        
        You plunge into the crowd, forging a path as best you can. You wall off the discomfort of bodies brushing against you and focus solely on your goal. @{mc_height DUMMY|Most everyone looms over you, allowing only brief glances through the crush, but you're long accustomed to these types of challenges and forge onward regardless.|Many of the people loom over you, blocking your view through the crush, but you're used to this, forging onward regardless.|It's crowded enough that your view is often blocked, and it's a considerable effort to keep your eyes peeled on anything other than the back of the closest patron's head.|Thanks to your stature you rise a little above the crowd, though it's crowded enough that your vantage is far from flawless; you're no watchtower.|With your stature, you're well clear of a majority of the crowd, and the gloriously open sightlines makes your job a heck of a lot easier.}
        
        There! A flash of red hair on the far side of the room, by the bar. You push in that direction, catching a second glimpse of red along the way. It has to be them.
        
        *if (subterfuge >= 40)
            *set wyrdmeet 1
            Despite your eagerness, you slow your movements as you draw closer. Can't have them spot you.
            
            Your patience is instantly rewarded. The very moment you're able to distinctly discern Mal leaning against the bar, they cast a look back into the crowd. @{mc_height DUMMY|Here your height comes in handy; you step behind your neighbour and vanish from view.|Here your height comes in handy; you step behind your neighbour and vanish from view.|You turn sideways on and pretend to dance.|Your height's less convenient now, and you turn away, pretending to dance.|Here's the downside of your prodigious height. You turn away, pretending to dance.} When you venture another look across, you're relieved to see that Mal's still there, once again facing away.
            
            *page_break
            *set fridays true
            As close as you dare, you halt, watching them cautiously from the corner of your eye. Mal speaks briefly to a bartender, points further along the bar, and then waits. After a minute or so, a tall fellow with a mane of dark blonde dreadlocks approaches with a drink in hand, and the two begin talking. Between the distance and the pounding music, you haven't a hope of hearing them; all you've got is body language. That and trying to commit dreadlock guy to memory.
            
            Mal looks uneasy, that's what you notice first. They aren't laughing and cracking jokes, they're speaking quickly and—you assume, given how they're leaning in—quietly, limiting themself to short sentences. Dreadlocks, while more languid and relaxed, is also talking for longer, punctuating himself with the occasional gesture. You study Dreadlocks a little more, then conclude that you've never seen the man before. He has a slightly different vibe from the Businessmen in the club; they're ubiquitously wearing suits, whereas he's in a button-up and jeans. Maybe some of their employees get casual Fridays?
            
            There doesn't seem to be anything else that you can learn here, so you slip back into the crowd before you get caught in the act.
            
            What did you just see? The possibilities race through your head.
            *choice
                #Doubtless some secret task of Dion's.
                    It wouldn't be the first time those two kept information from the rest of you, and it isn't as if Dion revealing his agenda laid all secrets bare. @{architectmotives Hell, best as you can tell, that wasn't even the entire truth.|Not by a long shot.} They're both playing some kind of shell game, and all you can do is watch the cups and try to keep track of where the little ball is moving.
                    
                    If indeed there's a little ball in the first place.
                    
                #Is Mal plotting against us?
                    Your mouth twitches with the irony. Right. 'Us'. As if you aren't a double agent yourself. 
                    
                    Regardless, Mal's up to something. The million dollar question is what. Easy to accuse them of working against the Altruists' interests, much more difficult to pinpoint the goal, not to mention the motive. Aren't they and Dion best friends? What would they possibly stand to gain?
                    
                #I shouldn't jump to conclusions.
                    It's one strange meeting. Suspicious though it may be, you don't have enough information to say anything definitive.
                    
                    Doesn't mean you're going to forget this. Better keep your eyes peeled.
                    
            Your phone beeps in your pocket, pulling you from your speculations.
            
            *goto alertalert
                    
            
        *else
            *if (smooch_wyrd)
                *set doubt_wyrd + 5
                
            *else
                *set doubt_wyrd + 10
            Eager to get to the bottom of this, you quicken your pace, and that's your undoing.
            
            The very moment you're able to distinctly discern Mal leaning against the bar, they cast a look back into the crowd. You halt abruptly, and that jolt seems to catch Mal's attention; their eyes lock directly onto you. Though you move to break line of sight, it's too little, too late. By the time you venture another glance at the bar, Mal's gone.
            
            You continue the search, but it's useless; there's no sign of them. Eventually you give up in @{smooch_wyrd frustration, still sore over getting ditched|frustration.}
            
            Barely a minute later, your phone beeps with an incoming text.
            
            *goto alertalert
        
            
    *selectable_if (dancepartner != 2) #@{(dancepartner != 2) Mal vanishing on me has killed my party mood stone dead.|Forget Mal. This is a club, right? I'll at least try to enjoy myself.}
        *set havingfun true
        …Yeah. Yeah! Mal didn't even want you here in the first place, so screw them, you'll make your own fun,
        
        *if expressive < 40
            So uh, how do you do that at a club again?
            
        *elseif expressive > 60
            You used to know how to do that. You think you remember how.
            
        *else
            Just have to try and remember how.
            
        Drinking any alcohol is probably a bad idea, both because you need to stay sharp and because you have no idea if your powers will react weirdly. Heck, even if they don't, inebriation may cause your control to slip, and you don't want to sprout tendrils in the middle of the club.
        
        Meaning you can partake of non-alcoholic beverages or else hit the dance floor. Alone. What thrilling options.
        
        As you deliberate, your eyes drift across your crowded surroundings, and then you freeze as one face leaps out.
        
        *goto alistairspotted
            
    #I'm not interested in chasing Mal nor acting like this is a party: I'll sit at the bar and wait to hear from Dion.
        *set atbar true
        If Mal wants to play stupid games, that's their own prerogative. You haven't forgotten why you're here.
        
        Sticking to the edge of the crowd, you make your way around the room until you reach the bar, taking a conveniently open stool. You order something non-alcoholic—need to stay sharp—and pay in cash. Half-rotating in your seat, you cast a glance out at your surroundings, the swell of happy humanity. Rarely have you felt more disconnected.
        
        *if (dancepartner = 2)
            *label quickinterrupt
            Your phone beeps, a grounding, focusing signal.
            
            *goto alertalert
       
        *else
            Up until your eyes alight on one face in particular.
        
            *goto alistairspotted
    #Between the noise and number of people, I'm barely coping. Time to find a quiet corner.
        The walls seem to press in, the music thumps and thunders, driving into your skull like hammers. Your nerves are a mangled mess, and Mal abandoning you is the final straw. You need some space to yourself or you're going to freak the fuck out.
        
        Gritting your teeth in your best effort to block out the noise and the persistent brush of bodies, you make your way over to the nearest open booth and drop into it with a harsh exhalation. Immediately the din of music mutes, and you're removed enough from the crush to begin to calm down. Sequestered in your sanctuary, you peer out into the room.
        
        *if (dancepartner = 2)
            *goto quickinterrupt
        
        *else
            And freeze as a face leaps out from the crowd.
        
            *goto alistairspotted
            
*label alistairspotted
Even in a mask, even without his glasses, Alistair's physique and distinctive hair are unmistakable.

What the fuck is he doing here?

*choice
    #He knows something.
        Maybe he's DPR, maybe he's got his own agenda. Doesn't matter. [i]He's onto you.[/i]
        
        You're caught in a flight or fight response. He hasn't seen you. Yet.
        
    #Is he with the Businessmen?
        They've got their roots deep into Alderbrook. Not hard to imagine they could use a charity as a front. Could his altruism—hah—be a smokescreen for darker intentions?
        
    #It could be a coincidence, but on the other hand...
        Twice, now, you've had chance encounters with the guy. At what point does happenstance become espionage? It'd be foolish to dismiss this as a fluke.
        
    #I'm being paranoid. Overreacting.
        It's a similar part of town. Alderbrook isn't that big of a city. When you encountered Alistair at your home he was specifically looking into signs of habitation; he didn't just 'happen to be' in the area. If last time was intentional, then can't this time be coincidence?
        
        The explanation, logical though it is, doesn't do much to soothe your concerns.        

*choice
    #Approach him anyway.
        *set aliclub 3
        *set doubt_alistair +5
        *set halistair true
        *if rel_alistair >= 50
            *set rel_alistair %+ 20
            
        *else
            *set rel_alistair + 20
            
        @{havingfun You|You get up and} begin walking in Alistair's direction.
        
        Why are you doing this.

        [i]Why[/i] are you doing this.
        
        Before you can come to your senses, it's too late. Alistair turns slightly, sees you moving towards him, and recognition sparks in his eyes. A smile immediately breaks across his face, and he animatedly waves you over.
        
        Well, no turning back now. You continue, briefly glancing him up and down. He's dressed a little more formally than your previous meeting, wearing grey slacks and a shirt with the top button undone and sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing broad forearms covered in a dusting of hair.
        
        His smile only grows wider as you join him. @{aliname "$!{aka2}!|"Hey!} This is about the last place I expected to see you!"
        
        He seems as genuine as ever. Can you trust that?
        
        Of course not.
        *choice
            #Give him a vague and evasive answer.
                "I go places now and then," you say, waving a hand around in an 'all-over' gesture.
        
                "Well, spose this is a place." He laughs.
                
                You nod uneasily. He's just… taking you at face value.
                
            #Tell a half-truth. The non-criminal half, obviously.
                "I'm with a friend, but they kind of just left me on my own here."

                "Damn. That bites." He strokes his chin for a moment, then shrugs, still wearing that guileless smile. "Well, guess it's up to me to try an' turn your night around!"
                
                "Ah, um." His enthusiasm takes you off guard. You nod uncertainly.
                
            #Take a risk and test if he knows who owns this club.
                *set aliwork true
                Brushing by the implied question, you tilt your head. "Could say the same to you. Don't the Businessmen screw up your charity work?"
                
                Alistair's face falls. "Believe me, I ain't big on putting money in their pockets, my coworkers kinda dragged me here; work's been absolutely wild and they wouldn't let it go 'til I said I'd come."
                
                He appears unperturbed that you brought the Businessmen up. Is Masquerade's management more of an open secret than you thought?
        
        As the thumping music grows louder and louder, you and Alistair gravitate closer together. It's that or shouting to make yourself heard.
        
        You're very much in one another's personal space; lean your head forward an inch or two, and you'll be touching. @{(aro != 4) Your eyes track the passage of a bead of sweat along the edge of Alistair's jaw and down his neck before disappearing under his shirt.|} He seems to grow aware of the proximity a moment after you, and something in his grin turns sheepish and uncertain.
        
        @{(aro != 4) He's really very close.|}
        *choice
            #Actually, shouting suits me perfectly well.
                There's no way of doing this subtly; you take a step backwards that rationally isn't all that long, but in context feels cavernous.
                
                Alistair looks relieved, though perhaps also a little disappointed, and passes no comment. The two of you raise your voices above the din and that's the end of it.
                
                *goto init
            *if (not (touchingokay)) #Too close. Too close!
                Uncomfortable in such close quarters, you subtly lean backwards, just enough for some breathing room. Alistair notices your discomfiture and adjusts, opening up his body to give you a little extra space.
                
                You don't know whether you're gratified or embarrassed that he noticed.
                
                *label init
                Deciding to take the initiative, you search for a topic before he asks any more questions.
                
                *goto pastachef
            #Grin and bear it.
                You exceeded your quota for acting weird within the first couple minutes of meeting Alistair. If you want to feign something in the region of normal, you have a lot of ground to make up. Despite your discomfiture, you remain still, remain almost touching.
                
                Caught in those close confines, you grope for a topic before he asks any more questions.
                
                *goto init
            *if (aro != 4)
                *if (not (ace)) #I could do indecent things to this man. @{ftone [Flirt, passive]|}
                    *set interest_alistair true
                    *set flirt_alistair +1
                        
                    You're only (para)human. Dude's hot. And you're hot under the collar.
                    
                    *label jostles
                    You hold eye contact, gazing into his big brown eyes, taking in his boyish smile, the curve of his cheekbones. Three seconds, five seconds, ten—someone jostles into him and breaks the spell. You both startle.
                    
                    "Anyway—"
                    "So—"
                    
                    You both @{(expressive > 45) stop, both laugh.|stop. Alistair laughs. You awkwardly smile.} He gestures for you to go ahead.
                    
                    *goto pastachef
                #With sudden clarity, I realise I'm not interested in him that way. [Block romance/flirting]
                    *set interest_alistair false
                    *set flirt_alistair 0
                    *set romance_alistair 0
                    You smile politely and break eye contact. Alistair relaxes, and an unspoken understanding passes between you: there's only friendship here.
                    
                    @{(rel_alistair > 40) Wait, friendship? Ugh, no, that—you didn't mean it that way. Mental lapse!|Perhaps not even that.}
                    
                    *goto init
                *if (interest_alistair)
                    #This is not helping my attraction to the guy. Quite the opposite. @{ftone [Flirt, passive]|}
                        *set interest_alistair true
                        *set flirt_alistair +1
                        Alistair's an ongoing bad decision. If you weren't going to double down, you wouldn't have come over in the first place.
                        
                        *goto jostles
                *else
                    #He's hot. Fuck. @{ftone [Flirt, passive]|}
                        *set interest_alistair true
                        *set flirt_alistair +1
                        Oh, $!{forename}. You're in trouble now.
                        
                        *goto jostles
        
        *label pastachef
        "So… pasta chef and party animal," you venture. "You've got broad interests."

        "Eh, this ain't really my thing." He shrugs, loose and easy. @{aliwork "But like I was saying, my coworkers dragged my ass here.|"But work's been absolutely wild and my coworkers wouldn't let it go 'til I said I'd come.} 'Come oooon Al, it's Friiiiday'." He laughs after his imitation. "They're over by the bar I think."

        @{fridays Weekends. What are those again?|You realise you wouldn't have known the day of the week without him mentioning it and stare into space for a moment.}
        
        "But I guess I gotta thank them," he continues. "Wouldn't have ran into you again otherwise." He winks. @{interest_alistair Is he deliberately trying to be charming, or does it just come naturally?|You half-heartedly think 'lucky me', but can barely pull off even the mental sarcasm. You could have avoided him if you wanted to.}
        
        "Maybe I should thank my friend too," you reply, surprising yourself by kind of meaning it.
        
        Alistair grins, then glances around as the music changes to something with more of a beat. As his attention returns to you, his grin has grown even more. "Hey. You wanna…?" He gestures onto the dance floor proper.
        *choice
            #Let's go.
                *set dancepartner 3
                You nod, finding yourself—well, not grinning. Smiling. Slightly.
                
                Alistair fist pumps like the dork he is. "Hell yeah. Stay close!" He turns around, preparing to plunge into the crowd.
                
                *goto dancedancerevolution
            #Haha, uh, no.
                You shake your head.
                
                Alistair grins. "Figured it couldn't hurt to ask. S'cool. We can just hang."
                
                Another shake of the head should be the easiest thing in the world. Shoot him down and walk away.
                
                Of course, that isn't what you do.
                
                "Sure," you say.
                
                "Right on." He narrows his eyes, then suddenly feigns a courtly accent. "Allow me to escort you, my liege!" It's so out of nowhere that you can't help laughing as he forges a path clear of the crowd.
                
                *goto algestures2
    #@{havingfun Vanish into the crowd.|Stay put and hope he doesn't notice me.}
        *set aliclub 2
        Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Whether coincidence or enemy action, getting wrapped up with Alistair here can only result in an unfathomable mess.
        
        *if confide = 8
            The pain you confided doesn't matter: this is the wrong place and the wrong time.
            
        @{havingfun You assess his trajectory, and then slip into the crowd in the opposite direction, vanishing in an instant. With Masquerade this busy, the chances of another encounter are minimal.|You turn away and lower your profile, putting your head down as far as won't look blatantly obvious. Then you wait. And wait.}
        
        @{havingfun |When you finally dare to look around again, Alistair's gone. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief.}
        
        *if ((confide = 8) or (talkystair))
            Perhaps this should be your clearest indication that involvement with him isn't, cannot be worth the risk. You don't know him. He doesn't know you.
            
        *if (havingfun)
           With the distraction—you'll call him that—you keep moving across the dance floor. Unexpected sightings notwithstanding, you'd still like to have a little fun. There's plenty of people going solo, so you won't stand out, though if you're really hankering for a partner regardless you could always try and link up with someone.
           
           *choice
               #Dance alone.
                   *set expressive %+ 10
                   *if (dance)
                       *goto safetydancesafetydance
                       
                   *else
                       You… well. You don't disgrace yourself. There's that.
                       
                       The dance floor is a little too claustrophobic for you to truly feel at your ease. Too many people to brush against you. Too much noise. Simple self-consciousness.
                       
                       You step back to the fringes of the crowd ere long. You don't quite regret the attempt, but you feel oddly bereft.
                       
                       Then your phone beeps.
                       
                       *goto alertalert
               #Gamble on a random.
                   *set metrico true
                   *set dancepartner 4
                   *set expressive %+ 15
                   It's different from Alistair, because Alistair knows where you live. You're definitely not averting one pitfall by diving headfirst into another.
                   
                   Masquerade's music pulses, the crowd whirls around you, and you find yourself very much inside the personal space of an androgynous brunette. Their smile is dazzling, and they've a cute splash of freckles across their nose.
                   
                   They raise an eyebrow in question, and you nod@{(expressive > 60)  with an easy smile of your own.|, though it takes you a moment to remember to smile back.}
                   
                   *goto dancedancerevolution
            
        *else
            *label varyhere
            *set airystatus 2
            "Buddyy!"

            The loud voice at your elbow just about launches your heart from your chest. You whirl around to see the familiar rotund figure of Variable, a domino mask on their face and a very, very loud suit on their body. They're grinning from ear to ear, like seeing you just made their day.

            @{(ariattitude = 3) Despite your vague approximation of friendship with them,|The} feeling is not mutual. You force yourself to scan your surroundings slowly rather than frantically look to every corner of the room; there's no sign of anyone paying attention to the two of you, nor the others returning. Yet.

            Variable's still smiling away without a care in the world.
            *choice
                #Tell the idiot to get lost before they blow my cover!
                    "Dude, fuck off!" you growl, resisting the urge to shove them away.
                    
                    "Aw, come on," Variable's face falls.
                    
                    *goto airyffs
                #What the hell do they think they're doing!?
                    "Are you nuts?" you hiss quietly. "My—friends could be back any second!"

                    "I know, I know! Relax!" Their version of a whisper sounds best suited for a stage. You try not to cringe.
                    
                    *label airyffs
                    "Are you [i]trying[/i] to fuck me over?" you snarl.
                    
                    "No, no, just—" Mercifully, they lower their voice. "Just hear me out, trust!"
                    
                #Okay, okay. Calm down, maybe I can use this.
                    A surprise is just an opportunity, or something like that.

                    "What are you doing here?"
                    
                    "Undercover, duh."
                    
                    You resist the urge to strangle them.
                    
                #Variable isn't completely stupid. They wouldn't take a risk like this for no reason.
                    Between their overbearing friendliness and inability to read social cues, It's easy to write Variable off as a bumbling oaf. However, Hypothesis doesn't suffer fools gladly, and he still trusts Airy on field missions. Clearly, they get results. Somehow.

                    "What is it?" you mutter.
                    
                    They tap their nose in a fashion you're sure they consider enigmatic. "Thought you could use a hand."

            *choice
                #This cannot possibly be worth it.
                    *set airytalk 2
                    "Get out of here before someone sees."
                    
                    "$!{aka2}—"
                    
                    "Now. Airy."
                    
                    They deflate, nod, and slide away with surprising grace.
                    
                    Right when you think you're out of the Coven's sphere, reality crashes at the gates. There's no way Variable could have infiltrated specially for this meeting, but that just shows they have their tendrils everywhere. @{(ariattitude = 3) That even kind-of liking someone isn't enough to trust them.|That your freedom's never more than a mirage.} 
                    
                    Your jangling nerves slowly subside.
                    
                    Then your phone beeps and sends them haywire all over again.
                    
                    *goto alertalert
                #Hear them out.
                    *set airytalk 3
                    
                    "Make it fast."
                    
                    They light up like they won the jackpot. "Okay, I'm with the Businessmen, right? And there's a memo to be ready to deal with some 'belligerent guests' tonight. Since you're here, I'm guessing you're the backup." They wave their hands, forestalling any response. "No, no, don't tell me. Point is, you're probably gonna be needed. In which case you should head through that door over [i]there[/i]." They indicate an almost blacked-out door in one corner of the room. "It's supposed to be locked, but it's not."
                    
                    You're still digesting this information when your phone beeps. Airy grins, then winks.
                    
                    *goto alertalert

*label dancedancerevolution
*if dancepartner = 2
    As @{touchingokay you're pulled along in their wake,|you follow along after them,} Mal glances back over their shoulder, face aglow with a novel kind of happy excitement.

*elseif dancepartner = 3
    Despite Alistair's size, he doesn't shove through anyone. Instead he's like an inexorably polite icebreaker, parting the seas around him. You scurry along in his wake before the gap can close.
    
@{(dancepartner = 4) Despite your facsimile of calm, you're|You're} desperately conscious that you're surrounded on all sides, suffocating in the presence of so many people. @{dancepartner DUMMY|Mal frowns and steps protectively closer to you, putting their body between you and at least a part of the crowd.|Alistair glances back at you and frowns. He steps closer, his broad shoulders blocking off at least a part of the crowd.|Your companion's politely warm smile is scant reassurance. Why on earth did you decide to dance with a stranger?}

You take a deep, steadying breath, and try to concentrate on why you're here.

Through your expertise prioritising, that's somehow shifted into 'to dance'.
*choice
    *selectable_if (not (dance)) #I am a decent dancer.
        It's been a while, but after some initial clumsiness, you warm into the steps. While you aren't a fan of all of the people, they do quell your performance anxiety. 'Decent' is solidly above average here.
        
        Are you actually… having fun?
        
        *label beensolong
        The emotion is so distant and foreign it takes a few seconds for you to determine that yes, you are in fact enjoying yourself.
        
        *if (touchingokay)
            You dance close to @{dancepartner DUMMY|Mal|Alistair|your partner}, occasionally brushing against @{(dancepartner = 3) him. He doesn't seem to mind, continuing to move to the beat.|them.} @{(dancepartner = 4) They don't seem to mind, shooting you a sidelong grin.|}
            
            *if ((interest_wyrd) and (dancepartner = 2))
                Mal cocks an eyebrow and grins, making a point of bumping into you a couple times more.
        *else
            You don't touch @{dancepartner DUMMY|Mal|Alistair|your dance partner} directly, just moving to the beat in @{(dancepartner = 3) his|their} vicinity.
            
        @{dancepartner DUMMY|Their attention seems split, sometimes dancing, sometimes watching you, sometimes lost in distant thought. Each instance of the latter sees them come back to themself just before you can ask what's up. Weird.|Alistair's an ungainly dancer, struggling to coordinate to the rhythm. He doesn't seem to care, smiling freely, constantly shooting glances your way. It takes a moment before you figure out he's checking on you, making sure you're comfortable.|They aren't half bad, better than you for sure, moving gracefully and with flair. You do your best to keep up, but have to concede defeat when they drop it like it's hot, almost hitting the floor before springing straight back to their feet with a cocksure smile. You bow your head in acknowledgement.}
        
        *if ((interest_wyrd) and (dancepartner = 2))
            *label malspeculation
            *if (touchingokay)
                Any speculation on that matter is blasted from your mind when Mal suddenly loops their arms around your neck, putting you @{(mc_height = 4) face-to-face.|almost face-to-face, save for the height difference.} 
            
            *else
                Any speculation on that matter is blasted from your mind when Mal suddenly steps close to you, right into intimate range.
                
            Your mouth goes dry as they flash that devillish smirk of theirs at you. Their eyes are dark, surrounded by smoky shadow. If you were the hunted mouse before, now you're ensnared in their claws. 
            
            *if (romance_wil = 2)
                They hesitate. "You and $!{wname}… that's just flirting, right?"
                
                You nod shallowly.
                
                Mal's smile stretches further. They move even closer, mouth inches from yours. "May I?"
                *goto kissthemal
                
            *elseif (romance_wil > 1)
                *set heatedmoment true
                Then abruptly they frown, shaking their head. The moment breaks. "Mm… I should stop before I do something stupid." They sigh, pull back. "Let's talk later. Need to understand where things sit with you and $!{wname}, yeah?"
                
                Before you can respond, Mal vanishes into the crowd, leaving you reeling. What—what the fuck just happened? You get not wanting to interfere with you and Wil, but to walk right up to the edge and then just [i]leave?[/i]
                
                You're left alone, struggling to regain your footing from the mother of all rug pulls.
                *page_break
                *goto loitering
            *else
                "Curious how you taste, $!{aka2}," Mal murmurs, voice husky. They move even closer, mouth inches from yours. "May I?"
                
                *label kissthemal
                *choice
                    #Let them kiss me. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                        *set overt_wyrd true
                        *set flirt_wyrd +1
                        *set rel_wyrd %+ 10
                        *set smooch_wyrd true
                        
                        *if (brokenheart < 5)
                            Their lips meet your own, and $!{prev_li}'s face flashes through your thoughts.
                            
                            Immediately you break off, tears springing to your eyes. Mal falters, expression alarmed. "$!{aka}?"
                            
                            "Sorry, fuck. Sorry, it's—" You shake your head harshly, fresh blood pumping to old wounds. "It's not you, I just—fuck."
                            
                            *if ((brokenheart = 2) and (ephalanx))
                                How can you fool around when there's a thousand unresolved feelings between you and Beth? She's out there. Alive. An enemy.
                                
                                It's impossible.
                                
                            *else
                                You feel like the worst kind of traitor. @{(brokenheart = 3) You can almost hear Prii—Not-Prii's—acerbic tones: [i]"You've certainly moved on fast."[/i]|You can see $!{prev_li}'s eyes, judging and so deeply hurt.}
                                     
                            Mal steps back, holding up both hands. "Hey, hey. We've all got hangups. It's fine. You don't have to explain or apologise."
                            
                            You laugh helplessly, dashing away tears with your hand as they absolve a responsibility you never could have fulfilled. Explain $!{prev_li}? Where would you start? Where would you end?
                            
                            Mal sticks by your side as the emotions rock through you. It wouldn't be accurate to say you work your feelings out. It's more akin to chaining them back up, compressing them until they can fit once again into their boxes.
                            
                            Some minutes later, on the fringes of the crowd, your eyes finally drying, Mal regards you sympathetically. "…Sorry to leave you like this, but I have an errand to run. Look after yourself, alright?"
                            
                            Before you have a chance to respond, they're gone, vanishing into the swell of bodies.
                            
                            You stare into the space they once were. Alone again. Left behind.
                            
                            Same as always.
                            *page_break
                            *goto loitering
                        *else 
                            Their lips meet your own. Soft. Warm. A little hungry. Masquerade disappears around you, the music and crowd fading. @{touchingokay You're not always into anything physical, but here in this moment… |}Your fingers twitch, grasping fervently at their hips, lest you be swept away.
                            
                            Too soon and too late, it ends. Mal draws away, smouldering eyes locked on yours. "Taste pretty good."
                            
                            @{(instinctive > 60) "How about another?" you suggest, riding high on the thrill, leaning back towards them.|"Speak for yourself," you mumble.}
                            
                            @{(instinctive > 60) "Where's the fun in rushing?" Mal teases, evading your attempt.|"All shy now? Adorable."} They take a step back, winking rakishly. "Unfortunately, I've got an errand to run, so let's call that a preview, huh?"
                            
                            Wait, what—
                            
                            Before you can properly process what they're saying, Mal dips into the press of bodies, vanishing from sight. Your mouth hangs open. They did not just do that.
                            
                            It's almost too audacious for anger.
                            
                            Almost.
                            *page_break
                            *goto loitering
       
                    #Shake my head no. I like them, but I don't want to kiss. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                        *set overt_wyrd true
                        *set flirt_wyrd +1
                        *set rel_wyrd %+ 10
                        
                        *if ((aro = 3) or (demi))
                            *if (demi)
                                *set explaindetails_wyrd 2
                                You pull away from them. "Sorry, kissing's not really my thing," you explain. "Not unless I'm very close to someone."
                                
                                *label startedfalling
                                Mal's face had started falling, but understanding now dawns. "Ohh." They frown. "Well, shit. Sorry. I made you uncomfortable. I uh, I totally get if you wanna be done with me."
                                
                            *else
                                *label touchokayquestion
                                You pull away from them. @{touchingokay "I'd rather not right now. Sorry."|"Sorry, kissing's not really my thing," you explain. "I mostly don't like being touched."}
                                
                                *if (not (touchingokay))
                                    *set explaindetails_wyrd 3
                                    *goto startedfalling
                                
                                *else
                                    Mal's face falls briefly, then a more easygoing smile reasserts itself as they nod understanding. "My bad. I came on too strong. I'll leave you alone."
                        
                        *elseif (not (touchingokay))
                            *goto touchokayquestion
                        
                        You shake your head again. "I didn't say I don't like you." You smile. "Let's just see where things go first. Maybe talk about this someplace more private?"
                        
                        Their own smile slowly returns. "Deal. Sorry again." They pause, look away, then laugh. "Okay this is gonna be the least smooth thing in human existence, but I've actually got an errand to run. So uh… ciao!"
                        
                        *goto immediatelydip
                    #Pull back.
                        Uncertain, you pull away from them. They're not unpleasant, but…
                        
                        *label malface
                        Mal's face falls briefly, then a more easygoing smile reasserts itself as they nod understanding. "@{(romance_wyrd = 1) I get it, no biggie. Had to shoot my shot, you know?"|Came on a little strong, huh? No worries."} @{touchingokay They detach themself from you|They take a step back} and give a self-deprecating bow. "This was fun, sorry if I made you uncomfortable." They hesitate, expression turning sheepish. "Well, I've actually got some errands to run anyway so… catch you later!"
                        
                        *goto immediatelydip
                    #I don't want this. At all. [Block romance/flirting]
                        *set romance_wyrd 1
                        *set interest_wyrd false
                        *set flirt_wyrd 0
                        *set overt_wyrd false
                        With a sudden sharp clarity, you realise that they aren't for you; not as a partner. You take a step back, shaking your head. "Sorry, Mal, I don't like you that way."
                        
                        *goto malface
                
        *else
            *if dancepartner = 3
                *label algestures
                The music fades out and into the next song. Alistair gestures away from the throng and you gratefully nod. @{dance That's enough of a performance for one evening.|This has been fun, but you're at your limit for crowds.}
                
                *label algestures2
                *if (aliname)
                    As you peel off the dance floor together, he turns to you, a soft smile on his face. "Gotta say, I'm real glad to see you having a good time. Been on my mind a lot since we met. Lotta folks in situations…" He pauses. "Like yours? Sorry, not to assume or nothing but—" He stops himself. "Lemme start over. A lotta folks in rough situations never get to do anything but struggle. So, you know, I'm glad you're getting outta that warehouse now and @{(confide = 8) then." Another pause, even more self-conscious than the last. "Especially after that call the other day."|then."}
                    
                    *label toogood
                    *choice
                        #He's too good to be true.
                            And if it sounds too good to be true…
                            
                            There's no reason for him to give a damn about you, and even if there was, you can't let him give a damn.
                            
                            Now, if only you could get it through your thick skull to stay away.
                            
                        #Oh great, he's worried about me.
                            If you don't extricate yourself soon, this will be a Problem.
                            
                            It's like he switches off every self-preservation instinct in your head. You can't let him involve himself with you.
                            
                        #...There's something in my eye.
                            Your breath catches. Your eyes prickle.
                            
                            You feign a cough, an excuse to turn your face from him.
                                
                    Stupid…

                    He's still. Smiling.

                    And your phone beeps, just about somersaulting your heart from your chest.

                    *goto alertalert
                    
                *else
                    As you peel off the dance floor together, he turns to you, grinning broadly. "So, can I maybe get that name of yours?"
                    *choice
                        #"I'll think about it," I tease. When did this become a game?
                            He laughs. "Really making me work for it, huh?"

                            "Sure am," you agree cheerfully.

                            Another laugh. It's infectious, and you chuckle.

                        #I shake my head.
                            *set rel_alistair -5
                            He looks disappointed. "Aight, your choice."

                            You fend off a pang of guilt. Nevermind that withholding your name is a drop in the ocean compared to the foolishness of spending time with him in the first place.

                        *if (not (pseudonym)) 
                            #It feels silly not to tell him. @{nickname "It's $!{aka2}. $!{aka}, if you'd prefer."|"It's $!{aka}."}
                                *set doubt_alistair +20
                                *set aliname true
                                He's not good at controlling his expressions. He double takes. "$!{aka2}, huh?" 

                                Your stomach sinks. Fuck. "Yeah."

                                He nods slowly, leaving you with the gnawing feeling that you screwed up.
                        *else
                            #It feels silly not to tell him. "It's $!{aka}."
                                *set aliname true
                                He doesn't just grin, he beams. "$!{aka}. Awesome."

                                @{(expressive > 60) "It's pretty great, you're right."|"It's just a name."}

                                @{(expressive > 60) He laughs.|"Yeah, but it's yours, so it's great."}

                                @{(expressive > 60) |Oh that smooth bastard.}
                            
                     
                    "Gotta say, I'm real glad to see you having a good time. Been on my mind a lot since we met. Lotta folks in situations…" He pauses. "Like yours? Sorry, not to assume or nothing but—" He stops himself. "Lemme start over. A lotta folks in rough situations never get to do anything but struggle. So, you know, I'm glad you're getting outta that warehouse now and @{(confide = 8) then." Another pause, even more self-conscious than the last. "Especially after that call the other day."|then."}
                     
                    *goto toogood
                
            *else
                As the music fades out and into the next song, @{(dancepartner = 2) Mal draws away, sweeping into an elaborate bow. "My deepest thanks for this dance, $!{aka2}. You're most delightful company."|your dance partner draws away, smiling still. "That was fun. See you around." They step away, and are swallowed by the throng.}
                
                *if dancepartner =2
                    You @{(expressive > 60) laugh|smile} and are about to respond, then Mal continues. "Sorry to leave you so soon, but I've gotta run some errands, so… ciao!"
                    
                    *goto immediatelydip
                    
                *else
                    And just as suddenly as the encounter began, it's over. The fleeting connection tastes more bitter than you expected.
                    
                    You're not in the mood to hunt for another partner. The beep of your phone from your pocket is a genuine relief.
                    *page_break
                    *achieve nostrings
                    *goto alertalert
                    
    *selectable_if (not (dance)) #I am an enthusiastic dancer.
        It helps that you're in a club. There's no points for form, and you relax into the movement, allowing yourself to just, well…
        
        have fun?
        
        *goto beensolong
    *selectable_if (not (dance)) #I can't dance for shit.
        If you ever had a sense of rhythm, years of neglect has seen it wither and die. You start off clumsy and only get worse, stumbling worse with each 'move' you attempt.
        
        For fuck's sake. It's not like this is a ballroom. There aren't even real steps for you to screw up.
        
        *if dancepartner = 4
            Your partner giggles. "You don't dance much, do you?"
            
            You grimace, shaking your head.
            
            While they don't seem to mind, your reduction to bobbing irregularly in place soon has you making your apologies and escaping the dance floor, vowing never to do this again.
            
            The beep of your phone from within your pocket is a genuine relief.
            *page_break
            *achieve nostrings
            *goto alertalert
        
        *elseif dancepartner = 3
            Alistair can't stop cracking up as you collide clumsily for the third time. "Man, we [i]both[/i] suck."
          
        *else
            You and Mal move at the same time, crack heads, and they stagger back, upending someone's drink.
            
            Embarrassment burns you to the core and you pull away. You hear them apologising and keep walking. You don't know where you're heading. Not here.
             
            "Hey, hold on." Mal's voice brings you to a halt, shoulders bunched. You brace yourself for remonstrations or mockery and then turn to face them. 
        
            There's no frustration on their face. No cruel smirk. Instead they're regarding you softly, a subtle smile curving their lips. "It's fine, $!{aka2}," they say, voice so gentle it barely carries over the music.
            
            "I made you look stupid," you mutter.
            
            They shrug. "So? I was having fun with someone I like. That matters about a million times more than some randos judging my dancing."
            
            You hesitate. Are they sincere, or are they just trying to make you feel better?
            
            *if (interest_wyrd)
                *goto malspeculation
            
            *else
                "Promise," they say, as if reading your mind.
                *choice
                    #I believe them.
                        You nod slowly, trying to take them at face value.
                        
                        "There we go. Now…" They grin. "I've got an errand to run. Ciao!"
                        
                        *goto immediatelydip
                    #I don't.
                        "If you say so," you mutter.
                        
                        "I do say so," they reply firmly, then wince. "But uh, don't take this in the wrong way, but I gotta run an errand. Ciao!"
                        
                        *goto immediatelydip
            
    *if (dance) #This dance floor isn't ready for what I'm about to bring.
        *label safetydancesafetydance
        …provided you can remember how.
        
        You're caught in a strange blend of confidence and anxiety as you try to centre yourself. Master your body.
        
        This was easy, once.
        
        You let your eyes slip closed. Breathe. @{(instinctive > 50) Don't overthink. Just let it all flow.|Remind yourself of the old steps.}
        
        Your eyes snap open, and you throw yourself into the beat, moving with all the freedom this once brought you.
        
        The club is your stage, and though it may not be the grandest venue, nor your finest performance, it matters more than any other. There's no elegance or grace, only primal energy, primal [i]movement.[/i] @{dancepartner If you had a partner, they couldn't possibly keep up.|Mal|Alistair|Your partner} can't keep up. Nobody could.
        
        @{dancepartner |"Holy shit, $!{aka}," Mal laughs breathlessly. "You've got moves!"|"Aight, you're kicking my ass." It's the happiest you've ever heard anyone say that.|"Wow," says your dance partner with a light giggle. "I feel a little outclassed here."}
        
        You think you're smiling. There's something frenzied and desperate in your chest, needing to know that you still can. That they haven't taken this from you. That it's still yours.
        
        At some point, the manic fervour possessing your limbs begins to ebb. A high pitched ringing keens in your ears as you emerge from your trance. How long were you going? A single song? Two? The entire evening? You feel a sheen of sweat on your brow, your breaths ragged, chest heaving.
        
        *if (dancepartner = 2)
            Mal whistles appreciation. "That was something else, $!{aka}." Their face is lit up, aglow with admiration. "Haven't you got hidden depths?"
            
            There's a note in their @{(observation > 40) voice. Assessing. Contemplating.|voice you can't quite read.} You hesitate.
            
            *if (interest_wyrd)
                *goto malspeculation
            *else
                "We've [i]got[/i] to do this again sometime," they continue. "Dancing like that is too good to keep to yourself!"
                
                You glance away, half-smiling. Not quite bashful. You're not sure you entirely believed you could still dance until this exact moment.
                
                "Anyhow, fun as this has been, I've got an errand to run. Ciao!"
                
                *goto immediatelydip
                
        *elseif (dancepartner = 3)
            "No fair, ya'll never told me you could tear it up!" Alistair jokes, regarding you with open admiration.
            
            "It's been a while," you reply, too swept in the comedown to lie.
            
            "That's even crazier!" he laughs. "You hit all that raw!"
            
            You smile and look away, both self-conscious and gratified. You still got it.
            
            *goto algestures
            
        *elseif (dancepartner = 1)
            And the spell fades. @{pseudonym $!{aka2} replaces ${forename}.|Your inner mask slips back into place.}  
            
        *else
            Your partner applauds. "That was amazing," they giggle again. "Feels like a movie, running into an incredible dancer at the masquerade."
            
            Maybe, but it's a different genre than they're thinking. You manage a smile, your excitement subsiding into the sickly ache of reality. If only you could be someone's mysterious stranger.
            
            *choice
                #Play my part, and enigmatically vanish.
                    "In that case, I suppose it's time for me to leave," you say, tipping an imaginary hat. "Farewell."
                    
                    You get a glimpse of them laughing before you disappear into the crowd.
                    
                    Despite the bitterness of the fleeting connection, you feel the slightest bit better. You prefer this role to your usual act. 
                    
                    Barely a minute later, your phone beeps.
                    
                    *goto alertalert
                #Linger.
                    You're clinging to the fleeting connection, wringing what humanity you can out of these scant moments.
                    
                    "Well, see you around," they say, too soon. "I had fun."
                    
                    And just like that, they're gone.
                    
                    You sigh long and hard, making your way off the dance floor. You aren't in the mood to do this alone.
                    
                    The beep of your phone a couple minutes later is a mercy-killing.
                    
                    *goto alertalert

*label alertalert
*if telephone = 3
    @{telname $!{wname}|Wil|W|goth|Romero|Wil they or won't they.}
    
*else
    Unknown number.
    
[i]shit's getting tense. come up here soon as you can. don't break anything yet.[/i]

*if (telephone = 3)
    *if (halistair)
        *goto halistair
    
    *else
        Not good.
    
*else
    *if ((romance_wil = 2) or (romance_wil = 3))
        The awkward realisation that you don't have the cell of the ${wman} @{(romance_wil =2) you're flirting with|you're kind of dating} momentarily distracts you from the gravity of the situation.
        
    *else
        That has to be Wil.
  
*if (halistair)
    *goto halistair
   
*elseif airytalk = 3
    You look up to Variable and frown.
    
    They just smirk. "Good luck. Come again anytime!"
    
    You feel strangely like you just lost a bet. You head over to the door Variable mentioned and sure enough, it opens freely. Beyond is a darkened stairwell.
    
    *page_break
    There's a decisive click as the door shuts. You know immediately that it locked behind you. The din of the club mutes.
    
    Only way is up. You ascend the stairs, finding your way to a likely-looking door. You can hear faint voices from within. One, you recognise as Dion's.
    
    Here goes nothing.
    
    You throw the door open.
    *page_break
    *set business_respect + 2
    You emerge at the right-hand side of a desk, behind which sits a masked woman with coils of dark hair, wearing a pantsuit. She whips around, mouth dropping open. "How did you—" She whirls in the other direction, where Architect and Ghoul stand. "What are you trying to pull, Architect!?"
    
    A broad-shouldered man with greying hair, suspender pants, and strange, filament-like strands spooling from his chin and wrists steps protectively between you and the woman.
    
    "Nothing at all, Management," Architect replies. He must be just as surprised as she is, but you'd never tell from his lofty tone, "$!{mask} is just demonstrating our resourcefulness."
    
    A door behind your teammates bursts open, framing a spindly figure in a very expensive suit, sand billowing from his sleeves. Ghoul twists, ready to fight, the powder keg a single spark from exploding.
    
    "Stand down Scour, Mr. White," says Management. The walking sandstorm and older man relax. Fractionally. She faces Architect directly. "Clearly, we've got off on the wrong foot, here. How about we start again… from a place of mutual cooperation?
    
    *goto strangler
    
*else
    [i]on my way.[/i] You stow your phone, locate the door your comrades went through earlier, and immediately head in that direction.
    
    *goto ifwilcan

*label halistair
You're supposed to be running backup. Instead you've let yourself get preoccupied with Alistair, infatuated with the facsimile of normal he offers.

Well, reality just came calling, and now you have to make an exit. Ideally without making it obvious where you're going, but that'll cost time you may not be able to afford.
    
*choice
    #Linger for a little bit: he'll get suspicious otherwise.
        *set rel_alistair %+ 10
        *set rel_architect %- 10
        *set doubt_architect +5
        "Shoot," you say, raising your phone. "Something came up. I'll need to take off in a second here."
        
        Alistair looks disappointed. "That's too bad. Catch you later?"
        
        "For sure." You should be lying, but you don't know that you are. @{(alinumber != 2) You've already let the cat out of the bag on interacting with the guy, so you quickly exchange numbers with him.|} @{(alinumber = 3) Luckily, he doesn't question why you're asking again.|}
        
        "Stay safe, @{aliname $!{aka}|mystery friend}," he says softly.
        
        "Will do."
        
        That's definitely a lie. Slipping away from him, you make a loop of the club to guarantee he's lost sight of you before heading to your objective.
        
    #Hurry up and leave: can't keep anyone waiting.
        *set doubt_alistair +10
        *set rel_alistair - 5
        *if ((confide != 8 )and (not (talkystair)))
            Alistair catches sight of your phone and jumps in before you can try to bail. "Oh! Lemme get your number real quick."
            
            Dammit. "Sure." You rattle it off—faster than making up an excuse—and then raise your phone meaningfully. "I have to go though. Something just came up."
            
        *else
            "Sorry, got to go," you say, raising your phone. "Something came up."
        
        Alistair looks disappointed. "Oh, no prob, catch you—"
        
        You're gone before he finishes the sentence. Before you trick yourself into staying.
        
    *selectable_if (aro != 4) #Promise, with deep eye contact, that I'll see him again soon. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
        "Hey, I need to go, but I'll see you soon. Promise."
        
        @{interest_alistair You just can't help yourself, can you?|Before you said the words, you had no idea how much you liked him. How deeply he was under your skin.}
        
        @{interest_alistair Too late to take it back now.|That is… no longer the case.}
        
        Alistair looks stunned for a moment, then hastily nods. "Right! 'kay! Y-yeah! Sounds great!" He can't keep eye contact.
        
        *if ((confide != 8 )and (not (talkystair)))
            @{(alinumber = 2) You give him your number,|You exchange numbers,} then bid him goodbye before you can trick yourself into staying. You need to make up the time.
            
        *else
            Before you can trick yourself into staying, you bid him goodbye and take off. You need to make up the time.
            
        *set interest_alistair true
        *set overt_alistair true
        *set flirt_alistair +1
        *set rel_alistair %+ 10
        *set rel_architect %- 10
        *set doubt_architect +5
        

*label ifwilcan
If Wil's able to get out ${whis} phone, negotiations can't have completely exploded. Nobody's sending texts in the middle of a fight.

Of course, there's the little matter of the guard barring entry to the staff area. His eyes track you as you approach, and out snaps a warding palm, blocking your bath.

"Hold it. Off limits."

*choice
    #Bullshit my way past.
        *if subterfuge > 35
            *set business_respect +1
            "I have an appointment."
            
            The doorman looks uncertain. "No you don't."
            
            You sigh and roll your eyes. "Really? This is what we're doing? Fine. Call your boss. I'm sure they'll be delighted to be interrupted while you check something you should already know."
            
            "There's already a meeting—"
            
            "Yes. There's already a meeting. Which I am [i]already[/i] late for. I'm looking forward to explaining why I was held up even further."
            
            You almost hear the grinding of the cogs in his brain as he stares at you. Then he moves to the side. "Go right on through."
            
            "Was that so hard?" You give your finest 'hmph' and stride past him.
                 
        *else
            "I have to get by."
            
            "Oh yeah?"
            
            You nod. "Maintenance." You sound confident, sure of yourself.
            
            "On what?"
            
            You did not think this far ahead.
            
            "Uh."
            
            The doorman snorts and shakes his head. "Beat it."
            
            *label alternatepersuasion
            "Look," you say, flipping a palm upturned. "One way or another, I'm going up there." You allow the tiniest fraction of your power to seep through. Your membrane begins to ooze through the crevices of your hand.
            
            The guy's eyes widen. "R-right. Head on through." Hastily, he steps aside.
            
            You retract your membrane and move on. Hopefully nobody saw you flaunting.
            
    #Persuade him.
        *if knowledge > 34
            *set business_respect +1
            "I have business upstairs. Important business."
            
            The doorman frowns. "Can't let you through."
            
            You sigh. "I'm part of the group that came through earlier. You catch my meaning?"
            
            He looks uncertain. "I'm only supposed to—"
            
            "I want you to think really hard about whether they're paying you enough to handle a mask at the door."
            
            The doorman swallows. "Yeah. Okay." He moves to the side.
            
        *else
            "I need to get upstairs."
            
            The doorman folds his arms. "No you don't."
            
            "It's important. My uh, colleague—"
            
            "Not interested. Beat it."
            
            Dammit. Maybe you should have taken a little longer to get an argument ready.
            
            *goto alternatepersuasion        
    #Threaten him. 
        *if ((guts > 25) or (brutal > 3))
            *set business_respect +1
            "Step aside."
            
            The doorman grins. "Think you're tough, huh?" He flexes both arms. "Try me."
            
            "Listen, asshole," you snarl. @{(brutal > 3) "Move, or I start making jigsaws from your legs."|"You have no fucking idea how little you want this."}
            
            His sneer melts as he meets your eyes, faces what is inside of them, is found wanting. "G-go right on through," he stammers, stepping to the side.
            
            You stalk past.
            
        *else
            "Step aside," you growl, fixing the doorman with your most intimidating glare.
            
            He takes one look at you and busts out laughing.
            
            …well.
            
            *goto alternatepersuasion
    #I don't have time for this. Sucker punch.
        "Sorry, I'm just looking for my friend," you tell the doorman, walking even closer. "Have you seen her? She's blonde, about five six—" You punch him in the throat, then in the dick.
        
        All's fair in love and business.
        
        The guy folds and you race through the door before security can come down on your head.
        
        Immediately, somebody coming the other way almost collides with you. Out your fist flies. At the last second, you catch yourself from swinging, your brain making up the ground on your reflexes.
        
        *goto vary2
    
As you step through the STAFF ONLY door, somebody coming the opposite way almost runs into you. You start to walk past, then halt in your tracks as your brain catches up with your eyes.

*label vary2
*set airystatus 2

It's Variable, wearing a domino mask and a very loud suit. Their eyes widen with mutual recognition. Then, they press a finger to their lips and give you the most exaggerated wink you've ever seen.

Before you can react, they slip past you and into the club beyond. 

What.

You shake yourself from your stunned state. There's no time to unravel Variable's presence: you have to reach the others.

Hurrying upstairs, you crest the second storey directly into a waiting room-esque area, complete with an unattended secretary desk. You start towards the only door, and then a sibilant voice halts you in your tracks.

"Not another step." A spindly figure steps from the shadows, a man wearing a simple domino mask, an earpiece, and a very expensive suit. Sand billows from his sleeves, his hands without cohesion. "I'd rather not clean up the mess."

Scour. The Businessmen's very own walking sandstorm.

You're regretting not readying your membrane on the way up here.

Before Scour can grate your skin off, a strident voice emanates from an intercom.

[i]"You may as well show $!{mask} in, Scour."[/i]

"Understood," Scour says into his earpiece, then looks to you. "Follow me."

Fingers coalesce around the door handle, and he leads you through.
*page_break

The scene awaiting you holds all the diplomatic niceties of a Mexican stand-off. Behind a broad desk sits a masked woman with coils of dark hair, a pantsuit, and a severe expression. Alongside her stands a broad-shouldered man with greying hair, suspender pants, and strange filament-like strands spooling from his wrists and chin.

Opposite them, Architect and Ghoul. The former's arms are at his side, but his hands stretched wide in a position you recognise as ready to create his projections. The latter fidgets nervously, glancing between you, Architect, and the woman. Scour flits to your right, putting himself at the edges of your peripheral vision.

"You know, Architect, calling in your creature only demonstrates your lack of bargaining position," the woman says loftily.

"I don't take well to threats, Management," Architect replies. "And if you call ${mc_him} that again, we'll have words."

Management leans back in her seat, steepling her fingers. "Threats? You're on our territory, Architect. I was simply recommending you mind your manners and take the terms and conditions of our prior arrangement in good faith."

"We. Are going. In circles," Architect snaps in uncharacteristic frustration. The big man takes a half step forward. "Stop wasting my time and yours. We're not working with you until you answer for selling us out to the Hounds."

"No need for that, Mr. White," Management tells her underling, then addresses Architect. "As I already informed you, the Hounds happening to have requested surveillance on the Zone does not mean we sold you out. We verified your information as you requested; we offered no further guarantees." A smug smile creeps across her face. "Would you like to take it up with our complaints department?"

*choice
    *selectable_if (observation > 34) #@{(observation > 34) People like this always have insecurities. I'll prey on them.|She's so composed. I can't see any weak points.}
            *if observation > 40
                *set business_respect + 2
            *else
                *set business_respect +1
            
            The disdain. The superior attitude. You think you're putting it together. She considers herself a professional, and you're the amateurs. This goes back to the Altruists completing both jobs: it must have stung her pride. She probably expected the Hounds would deliver payback by proxy. Since that didn't happen, she's trying to lord it over you instead.
            
            "Look, Management." Everyone turns to you. "I know your bosses must have chewed you out for handing us too much information." You smirk at her. "Get a reprimand or something for letting us pull a fast one? Doesn't matter. Point is, it's not much a good look to take that out on your customers. You want to report to your higher ups that you cost them business because you couldn't handle getting outplayed?"
            
            Management laughs unconvincingly. "Don't be ridiculous. You have no idea how we operate."
            
            "I know how businesses operate. When's your next performance review?"
            
            *goto headlights
    *selectable_if (knowledge > 34) #@{(knowledge > 34) Her rationale is flawed, and I know exactly how to expose it.|I can't think of a good enough way to cut her argument down to size.}
            *if knowledge > 40
                *set business_respect + 2
            *else
                *set business_respect +1
            
            "Let me get this straight." Everyone turns to you. "You're admitting that you cut a deal under false pretences, and you don't see any issues? @{(knowledge > 40) If your reputation is so vital, then you should have refused to supply us with the information on principle. Reneging on an agreement would have been bad for you, but that's nothing compared to your customers losing trust."|"How are your customers supposed to trust you when you've got a reputation for snitching?"}
            
            Management smirks. "You'll find our arrangement to be perfectly above board, $!{mask}."
            
            "That's not how business works," you counter. @{(knowledge > 40) "You might have satisfied the Businessmen's standards, but those aren't the standards of the market. Nobody's going to care that you were [i]technically[/i] within your own guidelines, they'll just see that somebody made a deal with you and got burned. It's a delicate equilibrium that lets your group play all sides, Management, and you just fucked it up."|"You guys are sitting cushy right now because you can play all sides. That only works if all sides have a basic level of trust in you as the middle men. Know what destroys trust? Everyone learning that somebody got burned making a deal with you."}
            
            *label headlights
            Mr. White and Scour look to Management, frozen like a deer in the headlights. She swallows. "Perhaps we've all been a little hasty." She glances to Architect. "Our cooperation was useful previously. I'm sure we could come to another arrangement."
            
            Architect inclines his head. A fraction of an inch. "Good."
            
    *if (juice > 10) 
        *selectable_if ((speciality = 2) or (fighting_style = 3)) #Creature? I'll show her a creature.
            *set juice -10
            *set arglebargle true
            *set rel_wil %+ 20
            *set rel_architect +1

            *if (speciality = 2)
                You tap that familiar place inside of you and allow the beast to slip its chain.

                A set of slavering jaws bursts from your shoulder, snapping at the air. Management screams. Scour curses. Mr. White steps forward protectively. The shoulder-muzzle elongates, broadens, forming almost into a second head as your membrane streaks down your arm, spreads across your shoulder, drips within your mouth like fangs.

            *else 
                Concentrating, you tap into that well inside you. Like a conductor you direct its course, allowing your power to bubble closer to the surface, and closer still, never quite breaching through.

                Until you allow it to burst out in a single explosive instant. Your membrane goes from beneath the skin to coating you in entirety, tendrils unfurling like the claws of a mantis. Management screams. Scour curses. Mr. White steps forward protectively.

            "L-let's not do anything rash!" Management blurts. "I understand there may be some hard feelings, b-but I'm sure we can come to a compromise!"

            Architect looks at you for several seconds, then inclines his head. A fraction of an inch. "Good."
    #Leave this to Architect. He knows what he's doing.
        He probably wouldn't appreciate you talking over him.
        
        *goto leavetoarchitect
    #Leave this to Architect. I want to see how he plays it.
        You're trying to learn all you can about him, after all.
        
        *label leavetoarchitect
        "Your technicalities are very cute, Management, but I'm afraid you're forgetting something." Architect folds his arms. "I'm perfectly willing to drag this through the mud. I'll make sure every group in town is aware of the double dealing. Do you think the likes of S.C.U.M and the Shreds will care about your side if they hear that you gave our location to the Hounds?"
        
        Management laughs. "And why will they trust your word over ours?"
        
        "Because nobody likes you," Architect retorts bluntly. "You sit in the middle, profiting off everyone at once. You're tolerated because you provide a service. If that service is tainted, then what use do you have?"
        
        "Well, I—that is to say—" The smile slowly slides from Management's face. "Perhaps you have a point. Shall we—shall we allow bygones to be bygones?"
        
        *label strangler
        Architect inclines his head. A fraction of an inch. "Yes. Let's."
          
         
*page_break
Management clears her throat. "Then how can we help you today?"

"I need access to all the records you have on the Zone incident, and I need information about S.C.U.M." There's a razor-focus in Architect's voice.

"Hm." Management strokes her chin speculatively. "I can tell you about S.C.U.M, within reason. Call it a show of good faith after our previous dealings. As for the Zone…" She shakes her head. "You're asking a lot. That can't come for free."

"Understandable. In exchange?"

"Let's help one another out." Management swivels in her seat. "Mr. White, the file." Management continues while her lackey opens up a nearby filing cabinet and begins to rummage. "A troublesome hero has been poking their head into our affairs for a few weeks now. We've managed to determine that they've turned the head of one of our staff; unfortunate, but these things happen in business. Unfortunately for them, we intercepted a message from our wayward colleague. As luck would have it, he intends to make a dead drop this very evening. Once the drop is made, all you Altruists will need to do is wait for the hero to show their face and then teach them a lesson about meddling in matters above their pay grade."

*choice
    #"I'm starting to wonder if you guys can handle [i]any[/i] heroes yourselves."
        Management glowers. "Our operations are large scale. Sometimes that requires outsourcing."
        
        "$!{mask}." Architect warns. You decide not to push your luck.
        
    #"Like Ranger and company?"
        Management smiles cruelly. "Exactly."
        
        "I see," says Architect.
        
    #Remain silent.
        "Convenient timing," Architect comments, though Management doesn't reply.
        
Mr. White hands a folder to Management. "Ah, thank you." Opening it up, she studies the contents for a moment, then lays it flat on her desk. "We don't have much information about this do-gooder. They appear to be a new arrival, and while their powers are unclear, they're resourceful and capable in a fight. They go by the name Libra, if that's familiar to you."

*if knowledge > 44
    *set cgstatus 2
    Libra. As in scales. As in balance.
    
    Oh [i]shit[/i].
    
    [i]You sweep $!{cg}'s legs from underneath her and she lands perfectly on her hands, tagging you in the chin with a kick before vaulting clear. You flail a tendril after her, but hit nothing as you whirl around. All set to continue attacking, you stop dead in your tracks as you see her perched atop a nearby railing, standing on the ball of a single foot.[/i]
    
    [i]She laughs. "Almost, Dime. Keep trying."[/i]
    
    It has to be her. The name, the sudden change of task from Hypothesis. Everything fits together too well.
    
    "We can't," you blurt.
    
    Everyone looks at you. You're too busy careening down the slope without brakes to flinch. You see a dozen calculations whirring in Architect's eyes, then he turns back to Management. "As $!{mask} says, I'm afraid that won't be an option; the team is nursing injuries from the Zone, and we can't guarantee we'd hold up our end."

    He actually backed you up. You'd be relieved if not for the crisp new sense of impending dread; you have to invent an excuse. Fast.

    Management makes an exasperated noise. "Fine. I suppose you could handle our employee instead. Surely you can do that much."
    
    "Yes," Architect replies.
    *goto capital
    
*else
    *set libra 2
    Architect shakes his head. "We'll deal with them regardless."
    
    *label capital
    "Capital. As a sign of our cooperation—and to confirm the job is finished, Mr. White will accompany you."
    
    "Ma'am," Mr. White says in a gravelly voice.
    
    "…Fine." Architect glances at you. "$!{mask}, Ghoul, wait outside while we finish up."
*page_break    
    
Perhaps half an hour later, you're outside of @{arglebargle Masquerade, membrane safely retracted inside of you while you stand|Masquerade, standing} by with Wil and Mallory, who rejoined you as you exited the building and claims to have been covering another entrance. Of their 'errand', they say nothing, @{(knowledge > 44) though they do check their phone and then raise an eyebrow at you. Shortly afterwards, Dion emerges from the club.|and continue to say nothing all the way until Dion emerges from the club, expression sour.}
 
*if knowledge > 44    
    He instantly turns to you, eyes narrowed. "Explain."
    *choice
            #Claim I just wanted to screw with Management.
                *if subterfuge  > 44
                    *set doubt_architect +5
                    You shrug. "I dunno what to tell you. Management is just kind of a bitch and I didn't want to do her dirty work."

                    Dion stares at you, utterly incredulous. "You almost sabotaged us because you were feeling [i]petty?[/i]"

                    "Is it petty to be pissed off that we got screwed?" you counter. "@{wrekt I got my shit completely wrecked because of her.|We could have all been captured or worse because of her.} Why should we bend over backwards to do what she wants?"

                    Dion hesitates, sighs, then nods. "I suppose you have a point, $!{aka2}, but if you ever intend to do something like that again, warn me first. I don't improvise well."

                    "Noted," you reply, heart pounding. Is he really buying it?

                    Dion starts to speak, then cuts himself off as he catches sight of Mr. White leaving Masquerade. "We'll continue this later."

                *else
                    "Management sucks and I didn't feel like doing what she wanted."

                    Oh man. That had really sounded better in your head.

                    Dion stares at you, utterly incredulous. "Is this a joke to you?"

                    You shrug, trying to look casual. @{(motive = 1) "You know I don't do well with authority."|"She rubbed me the wrong way."}

                    Dion looks ready to say something, then he catches sight of Mr. White leaving Masquerade and stops himself. "…We'll talk about this later," Dion growls.

                    Somehow, you don't think you got away with it.

                    *if motive = 1
                        *set doubt_architect +5
                        *set doubt_wyrd + 10

                    *else
                        *set doubt_architect + 20
                        *set doubt_wyrd + 20

            #Try to persuade him that it sounded like a set up.
                *set doubt_architect +10
                *set doubt_wyrd +15
                "That situation reeked, Dion," you say. "She went from stonewalling us to giving us exactly what we wanted way too easily."

                "And you think she had a job ready-made to screw us again?" Dion asks sceptically.

                You shrug. "Maybe. Probably. Don't you think it's convenient that there was something for us this same evening? With an unknown? No time for preparation or doing our own research, just go go go right away."

                "$!{mc_he}'@{mc_singular s|ve} got a point, D," says Mal, glancing from you to Dion and back.

                Dion sighs. "We can't afford to look weak in front of them, and if they intend to double-cross us, they'll find a way to do so regardless. But fine, I see your meaning."

                *goto whiteforestalls
            #I admit that I know her.
                *set doubt_architect +5
                *set doubt_wyrd +10
                "I know Libra out of costume," you hurriedly explain. "We go back a ways. I had no idea she'd got into mask shit, let alone heroing."
                
                Dion blinks. Then he stares.

                Mal glances from you to Dion and back. "D? Whatcha thinking?"

                Dion's eyes bore into you for an eternity. At long last, he speaks. "…I'm thinking it would be insane to lie about this. I believe ${mc_him}."

                Before you can so much as sigh with relief, Mal pipes up. "So what, she tell you what her codename would be if she ever suited up?"

                That feels like bait. You shake your head. "I admit it's an educated guess, but her power is balance. And with the name Libra…"

                "It adds up." Dion swears. Then again. "Of all the…" He shakes his head, hard. "Nevermind. Nothing that can be done about it now."

                *label whiteforestalls
                The emergence of Mr. White from the club forestalls any further conversation on the matter. A temporary reprieve.
                *goto afterwhite
            
*else
    He sighs heavily. "What a mess. @{arglebargle $!{aka2}, I can't say your... display wasn't entertaining, but please refrain from doing that in the middle of meetings. Masks tend to be jumpy."|Thank you for your assistance, $!{aka2}. I didn't truly think they'd try anything, but your presence forced Management to take me more seriously."}

    @{arglebargle You grin. "My bad."|You nod. "Sure."}

    "Sounds like I missed out on the fun," says Mal. "You're always putting me on guard duty, D."

    Dion half smiles. "I have to keep you out of trouble somehow, don't I?"

    Before the banter can continue, Mr. White emerges from the club a short distance away, sobering the mood in a hurry.

*label afterwhite
*page_break
*set businessmen true
Now numbering five, your group stands by while Dion texts to update Kay and Teddie on the situation. If all goes well, then they shouldn't be necessary. @{(knowledge > 44) It's a single unpowered goon, how threatening can he be?|It's only one hero.}

Distracted, bored, and a little cold, your eyes skate around your surroundings. There's the line back into Masquerade, snaking back far further than when you first arrived. Across the street, two women walk arm in arm, talking and laughing. Behind them, a sharply dressed man is fully engrossed in his phone, almost walking obliviously into a street light before a taxi driver shouts a warning from his car window. A kid anxiously looks both ways, then again, trying to build the courage to cross the street. For a moment, their big brown eyes lock on yours, wet and fearful.

@{(business_respect > 2) "You impressed Management,"|"You ticked Management off,"} Mr. White rumbles from next to you, breaking your attention. His voice is a deep bass, yet a little cracked, a little worn, like a semi with too many miles on the clock. @{(business_respect > 2) "Not that she would admit it."|"Not that it's difficult."} As he talks, those long strands you noticed earlier bob beneath his chin. Up close, you can see how they weave under his lip then extrude from his jawbone, clicking quietly against one another.

*if business_respect > 2
    *choice
        #Tell him I don't care for her respect.
            "I'm not here to impress your boss," you reply bluntly.
            
            Mr. White shrugs. "Suit yourself."
            
        #Be diplomatic.
            "It's in all our best interests to cooperate."
            
            Mr. White nods. "Something like that."
            
        #What about him?
            "And you? Are you impressed?" you ask with a hint of challenge.
            
            Mr. White shrugs. "I'm not paid to be impressed."
            
        #Shrug off the comment.
            "Good to know," you say neutrally. You're more focused on the task ahead. Mr. White hums under his breath.
            
*else
    *choice
        #Good.
            "Good. @{(surpass_stomach > 1) I got a hole punched in me because of that intel."|I don't like getting heroes sicced on me."}
            
            Mr. White shrugs. "Just an observation."
            
        #Be diplomatic.
            "Hopefully I can make amends with this job, then. It's in all our best interests to cooperate."
            
            Mr. White nods. "We'll see what Management thinks when we're done."
            
        #Only Management, huh?
            "I ticked off Management, but not you?"
            
            Mr. White shrugs. "Makes no difference either way."
            
            Helpful.
            
        #I'm not interested in small talk.
            "Sounds like a her problem to me." You shrug.
            
            You think you hear him snort.
            
"That's done," Architect calls to the group, stowing his phone. "Let's get moving."            
            
*page_break

The location is only a few blocks from Masquerade, a multi-storey parking garage that, according to Mr. White, has been closed for repairs for almost a year. Public works move slow in Alderbrook. The plan is simple; split up to cover all the entry angles, stake the place out until the drop is made, @{(libra = 2) spring the trap on Libra as soon as they show up.|swoop in and nab the wayward Businessman as he's leaving.} With Rampage and Fracture to act as a safety net, it seems @{(instinctive > 55) almost boringly foolproof. Seven of you for one guy? This'll be a cakewalk.|foolproof, which is exactly why you're worried. Nothing is ever that easy.}

You find yourself paired with Mr. White again, laying low in a darkened, windowed booth that you presume was originally for ticketing. A limp tape cordon was the only barrier to entering the site, which has all the hallmarks of construction half-heartedly started then abandoned. @{(mc_height = 6) Between your height and Mr. White's size, it's damn cramped in here.|It's a bit of a close squeeze: Mr. White is not a small man.} 
*choice
    #I hate this.
        You cram yourself into the furthest possible corner, tucking your limbs as closely as you can.
        
        At least he looks vaguely apologetic about it.
        
    #It's tolerable.
        The flash of teeth, the unrelenting stare of a myriad of hungry eyes.
        
        You've had far worse roommates.
        
    #I try to creep him out with my tendrils.
        Allowing your extra appendages to slither free of your skin, they wend sinuously through the air. Mr. White's expression does not change as they drift closer and closer to touching him, but he does slowly begin to lean backward. Eventually, he bumps against the wall, and a grimace flickers across his face. Those filaments of his almost seem to shiver.
        
        You hide your smirk behind your membrane.
    
A half hour of @{(instinctive > 60) twitchy, impatient|} silence is suddenly shattered as Mr. White speaks. "When they arrive, I'll follow your lead. It's your show."

*choice
    #Nod understanding.
        Given you're helping the Businessmen out, it'd be strange to expect him to do the heavy lifting. You nod.
        
    #Make light of it.
        @{(expressive < 30) "Sounds kind of lazy if you ask me." You wince the moment you finish the sentence. Dammit! That came out wrong, just like always.|"Palming all the work off on me, huh? I get it."}
        
        @{(expressive < 30) Yet he actually smiles a little.|He doesn't smile.}
        
    #Boast.
        "Won't even need you," you drawl.
        
        "I suppose we'll see."
        
        "Just watch me."
        

Mr. White raises a hand, displaying the cluster of wires at his wrist. "If it comes down to it, detainment's a speciality of—" He stops, gesturing you to get down. You heed him and get low.

A shadowy figure hurries past the booth and into the garage, a tote bag swinging from their hand.

*if libra = 1
    "That's our man," Mr. White murmurs.
    
    You nod, limbering yourself up to move. Your tendrils are poised like serpents, your membrane flowing across your shoulders and head. Either he'll walk straight into your teammates' clutches, or it's go time for you.
    
    And thirty seconds later, out rushes your quarry.
    
    You launch yourself through the booth's window like an octopus from its hideaway, landing a few yards ahead of the Businessman and cutting off his escape.
    
    He instantly pulls a pistol, and you dart aside before you discover how bulletproof you are.
    
    One shot. Two. Three. Four—you've closed the distance, your tendril whipping his hand and sending the gun flying.

    *label mallcop
    *choice
        #@{(libra = 1) Go easy on him.|Hesitate. He's just doing his job.}
            *if libra = 1
                *set watson 2
                *set grey +1
                *set oopswhite true
                He might be part of a gang, but he's still just a regular guy. Not really a threat.
                
                Casually, you sling your other tendril around the target's shoulders, loosely binding his arms. Restrained, there's nothing he can do. @{(fighting_style = 1) |}
                
                @{(fighting_style = 1) |Except slam a knee into your crotch. Which he does. More surprised than hurt, you still loosen your grip, enabling your prey to wriggle clear and book it. Cursing, you take off in pursuit, only to be treated to a front-row seat to Mr. White bodychecking him like a heat-seeking missile, sending him flying.}
                
                *label notbadmr
                @{oopswhite Casting you a judgemental look, Mr. White marches over to his ex-colleague, stomping on his back to keep him on the floor. Then he|"Not bad," Mr. White rumbles as he catches up to you. "Quick and painless. Just how we like it." The Businessman} squats down to your quarry and sighs. "Should have just walked away, Watson. You're not important enough for them to care. Stupid."
                
                "Fuck you, tincan," Watson croaks. "Least I'm not whoring myself out for an oil change."
                
                Mr. White stiffens, then, ushering you aside, proceeds to gag and tie Watson with a combination of conventional gear and his spooling wires. The filaments cut harshly into Watson's flesh, crackling and fizzing. Mr. White straightens, dragging a bound Watson up with him. "You don't know shit. That's why you're there and I'm here." he growls into Watson's face. Slinging the man over his shoulder, Mr. White turns back to you. "I'll arrange a pickup. @{oopswhite Wasn't perfect, but we got there."|Thanks for the assist."}
                
                *label funsover
                "Aw, fun's already over?" Wyrd strolls into view from the opposite end of the garage, Architect close behind. "Ah well."
            
            *else
                *set grey +1
                He's a regular guy, getting by the same as anyone. Not DPR, not a gang member. He's here to chase away squatters and the occasional drug dealer, not break up mask fights.
                
                @{(brutal > 3) You've resorted to brutal methods in the past, but here, it seems not only excessive, but cruel. You're not a psychopath.|You don't want this guy's blood on your hands.} Perhaps you can scare him off—
                
                Two things happen simultaneously.
                
                @{librafail Libra|$!{cg}} bolts, and Mr. White comes flying past you to bodycheck rent-a-cop out of his shoes. The Businessman whips around. "Don't let them get away!"
                
                Spurred into action, you race off in pursuit.

                Thankfully, @{librafail Libra|${cg}} hasn't made it far. You latch your tendrils around a pillar, sling yourself forward, and skid to a halt right in front of @{librafail them,|her,} cutting off @{librafail their|her} escape.
                
                *goto playoftheday
        #@{(libra = 1) Take him down. Quick and clean.|I'll try not to hurt him. Much.}
               *if libra = 1
                *set grey +1
                *set business_respect +1
                *set watson 2
                
                Sure, he shot at you, but he's a regular guy and you're a parahuman. There's a reason DPR squads usually only try to contain threats, and it's the same reason few cops carry guns any more.

                They're outclassed.

                You snatch your opponent's wrist with your other tendril, cranking his arm behind his back. In the same motion you step into his blind spot and kick him in the back of the knee, wrapping your arm around his neck to control him all the way to the ground, subduing him cleanly. Any struggles are in vain as you maintain your chokehold, driving a knee into the small of his back to keep him pinned down.

                *goto notbadmr
 
               *else 
                Rushing forward, you snap out an elbow, feeling rent-a-cop's nose break as you connect. He staggers backwards, face gushing blood, then you sweep his legs, sending him crashing to the ground in a heap. With a swift kick to the jaw, he's out cold.
                
                *label watchedthewhole
                @{librafail Libra,|$!{cg},} having watched the whole thing, turns @{librafail their|her} attention to you. 
                
                *label playoftheday
                "So," @{librafail they murmur.|she murmurs.} "What's the play here?"
                
                *if (librafail)
                    You have zero idea what they mean. Might even be talking to themself.
                    
                    In any case, you do need to decide how to tackle them.
                    *choice
                        #I don't know what Libra can do: I should try and end this quickly.
                            *set libra 8
                            *set fissionmailed true
                            
                            When you're light on the details, you can't afford to let your opponent find their footing. Their power could be anything and everything.
                            
                            *if fighting_style = 2
                                And if going on the offensive plays into their hands? …Eh, you'll improvise.
                       
                            *else
                                @{(instinctive > 55) You do your best work on instinct anyhow.|Of course, they could be counting on your aggression, but you can't fall to paralysis.}
                            
                            You barrel at Libra, flicking your tendrils wide to create a big threatening target. Libra narrows their eyes, and then moves at the last second, their grip latching onto your arm and converting your momentum into a throw. You flip through the air, catching yourself with your tendrils. Before you can get reoriented, Libra's made a charge of their own, foot slamming into the side of your head. Seeing stars, you manage to get up your hands to block the next attack, rise to your feet, and then attempt to counter, swinging both tendrils in a vicious arc.
                            
                            Somehow, Libra seems to know your intent, is already ducking underneath, is already—son of a—!
                            
                            Crunch. Sddenly you're on the floor, vision swimming, skull ringing with impact. By the time you clamber back onto your knees, Libra is long gone.
                            
                            You didn't even figure out what they could do. Dammit.
                            
                            *goto frustratedwhite
                        #They're talking, maybe I can stall.
                            Libra doesn't know you've got backup on the way. Slow things down enough and you'll win by default.
                            
                            "This can go a few ways, and all of them suck for you," you say. "I suggest you take the L and then find a new line of work."
                            
                            Libra laughs. "Funny. You know I can't do that."
                            
                            You tilt your head. They spoke with such… familiarity, like you made an inside joke instead of a plain statement of fact.
                            
                            "Enough. Let me walk or put 'em up."
                            
                            Shit. There goes your window. Time to delay with your fists.
                            
                            *goto youstaller
                        #The intel matters more than winning a fight.
                            *goto getintel
                        *selectable_if ((expressive > 64) and (not (rentcop))) #Stalling? How dull. I prefer 'annoying distraction'.
                            *set expressive %+ 15
                            *set libra 7
                            Different method, same end goal.
                            
                            "Could just surrender," you offer. "It'd save everyone a lot of trouble."
                            
                            "You know that's not happening."
                            
                            "Eh. worth asking."
                            
                            Libra pauses for a few seconds, tilting their head to the side. "…You're being real casual about this."
                            
                            You shrug at them, adding your tendrils for emphasis. "Got to find my fun somewhere."
                            
                            Another stare, a couple seconds longer than before. "Wait, are you—"
                            
                            That's when you charge, catching them completely off guard, easy prey for a bulldozing.
                            
                            If, that is, you didn't stop short, spinning away to the side with a laugh. Libra stumbles, then manages to correct, scurrying back and clear as you regard them with folded arms. "Gee, someone's jumpy."
                            
                            "Are you serious!?" Libra snaps, and you smirk, knowing you're in their head.
                            
                            *goto whitecharges
                    
                *else
                    Great question. Your Coven and Altruist goals are directly opposed.
                    
                    *label libradilemma
                    *if ((rel_cg > 65) or (trust_cg > 1))
                        *set janklol true
                        
                    *choice
                        #The Altruists come first.
                            *set defiance + 1
                            *set rel_cg %- 10
                            *set trust_cg +1
                            You put up your dukes, preparing to fight.
                            
                            $!{cg} narrows her eyes and does the same.
                            
                            *choice
                                #Oh, I've been looking forward to this.
                                    *set defiance +1
                                    It's a modicum of payback. It's @{coven_history digging deep and finding the spark you once held.|the kicked dog biting the cruel hand.|allowing your hidden grudge off the leash.}
                                    
                                    *label onesmallproblem
                                    There's just one small problem.
            
                                    $!{cg} taught you everything you know.
                                    
                                    You're rushing to engage when she goes from standing to delivering a leaping knee to your face. Your head snaps back and you reel, staggering to regain your footing and your bearings.
                                    
                                    $!{cg} lands with the grace of a cat, her stance flawless.
                                    
                                    "Sloppy, Dime."
                                    
                                    *goto gottaplan
                                #What's that? I have to fight $!{cg} or risk getting found out? Ohhh nooo.
                                    *set defiance + 1
                                    Truly devastating. You're inconsolable.
                                    
                                    Today is a good day.
                                    
                                    *goto onesmallproblem
                                #I don't want to do this, but I don't see a better option.
                                    You have the garage surrounded; if you let $!{cg} walk, you'll get far too much scrutiny to handle. You're backed in a corner. It's fight $!{cg} or destroy your entire mission.
                                    
                                    *label gottaplan
                                    If you're going to beat her, you need to strategise.
                                    
                                    *choice
                                        *selectable_if ((cg_dislike) or (rel_cg < 40)) #No. Let's see how she likes me when I'm not half-starved and terrified.
                                            *set libra 6
                                            *set business_respect +1
                                            *if ((tidy) or (gutsrestore))
                                                Even if you're a shadow of what you once were, your efforts of the past weeks have not been in vain. You're a greater shade of yourself now than any time since that night.
                                                
                                            *else
                                                You're a fraction of what you once were, and yet you're still so much more than a few short weeks ago.
                                                
                                            Set your feet. Raise your guard.
                                            
                                            Focus your rage.
                                            
                                            You charge into the attack. $!{cg} braces, then attempts to convert your momentum into a throw. Instead of fighting back, you move with the toss, cartwheeling on your tendrils to land on your feet and lash out with a back kick, connecting hard into her solar plexus. 
                                            
                                            And you don't let up. The kick has $!{cg} curling inward, putting her head right in range of a clubbing tendril strike, then an elbow, a leg kick, an uppercut, an unrelenting rain of blows. $!{cg}'s desperately trying to cover up, even throws out a couple of stinging punches, but it's not nearly enough.
                                            
                                            Good as $!{cg} is, in this moment, you're unstoppable.
                                            
                                            $!{cg} swings for your head. You snag her arm under yours and then with a guttural howl, slam your forehead into her face.
                                            
                                            She drops. Hard.
                                            
                                            You stare down at her. Shoulders heaving, anger and adrenaline coursing through your system.
                                            
                                            *label yougoodmask
                                            "Uhh, $!{mask}? You good? That @{rentcop was—holy shit!"|was a hell of a sound you just made." You snap around, fists instinctively raised, but it's only Wyrd.}
                                            
                                            *label intelsuccess
                                            *if (rentcop)
                                                It's Wyrd, ignoring your instinctively raised fists and rushing straight to rent-a-cop sprawled on the concrete. They skid to a halt, placing two fingers to the man's neck, adjusting twice. After a moment, they look up. "Did you do this, $!{mask}?" Their voice is tight, controlled.
                                                                                      
                                                *label ohyeahdeadguy
                                                *choice
                                                    #Yeah, and so what?
                                                        *set rel_wyrd %- 20
                                                        You shrug. "What about it?"
                                                        
                                                        Wyrd physically recoils, almost falling on their ass. "What about—what [i]about it!?[/i]" They regain their balance and stare at you. "This isn't an 'oh, no big deal' thing, $!{mask}!"
                                                        
                                                        "We aren't playing tag, Wyrd. It was going to happen at some point."
                                                        
                                                        Their eyes are dark. "No. No it wasn't."
                                                        
                                                    #@{accidentkill Say|Claim} it was an accident.
                                                        *set rel_wyrd %- 15
                                                        "I didn't mean to," you @{accidentkill say.|lie.}
                                                        
                                                        "Oh, that's alright then," Wyrd snarls. "Put a pin in this one, guys, $!{mask} didn't do it on purpose."
                                                        
                                                    #The look in their eyes seems to flay me to the bone. It dawns on me that this was a very, very bad idea.
                                                        *set rel_wyrd %- 10
                                                        "I—" you start, stop.
                                                        
                                                        "He—" you stop again.
                                                        
                                                        *choice
                                                            #@{(psycho < 5) Guilt comes crashing down.|Was killing him a mistake?}
                                                                *if psycho < 5
                                                                    *set guiltkill true
                                                                    What have you done? 
                                                                    
                                                                    Your @{accidentkill recklessness|ruthlessness} cost a man his life.
                                                                    
                                                                *else
                                                                    *set psycho -1
                                                                    @{accidentkill Not an accident, a [i]mistake[/i].|You didn't have to. But you did it anyway.}
                                                                    
                                                                
                                                                You don't, can't speak.
                                                                
                                                                "Dammit, $!{mask}…"
                                                                
                                                            #Just look away.
                                                                They can't even see your eyes, but you still feel compelled to break contact.
                                                                
                                                                Wyrd snorts in derision. "Yeah. Okay."
                                                                
                                                    #Admit it. Lying won't help.
                                                        *set rel_wyrd %- 15
                                                        "I did," you say.
                                                        
                                                        The words hang in the air.
                                                        
                                                        Wyrd's eyes are dark. "That it? No explanation?"
                                                        
                                                        "None that matters," you reply. Not to them. Not to that expression they wear.
                                                        
                                                        They search your face for a long moment. "…guess not."
                                                        
                                                    #Spin a story. You never know.
                                                        *set rel_wyrd %- 20
                                                        *if libra = 1
                                                            "He tried to bolt when I caught up to him," you say. "Was panicking so badly he tripped, and I guess he hit the ground wrong—"
                                                            
                                                        *else
                                                            "He got into the crossfire," you say. "It was sudden. I didn't really get a good view of what happened. I think Libra—"
                                                            
                                                        "Cut the crap."
                                                        
                                                        You stop.
                                                        
                                                        Wyrd's eyes are glittering and dark, but what fills them is disappointment. "Least you could do is admit it."
                                                        
                                                "That's enough." Architect catches up to Wyrd, placing a hand on their shoulder only to be violently shrugged off.
                                                
                                                "You would say that." Wyrd glowers at him venomously.
                                                
                                                *goto archdiscusslaterw
                                            *else
                                                @{(expressive > 50) "I'm good," you tell them.|You nod slowly to them.} @{(mc_health > 1) Your body isn't only shaking from exertion; your previous injuries are catching up to you, setting your legs wobbling.|} You're still processing what you've done. There will be consequences. There always are.
                                                
                                                *label chalkitup
                                                "Guess we can chalk this one up," Wyrd says, flashing you a smile. "Love it when a plan comes together."
                                                
                                                As the dust settles, there's one thought on your mind.
                                                *page_break But whose plan?
                                                *if libra = 9
                                                    Mr. White joins your group, his pager in hand. "We didn't get Libra, but we scared them off and stopped them getting their hands on sensitive information, so we'll call this a success."
                                                    
                                                    Beside you Wyrd smirks, but says nothing.
                                                    
                                                *elseif (librafail)
                                                    Mr. White delivers a swift kick to Libra, causing them to ball up defensively. Ouch.
                                                    
                                                *else
                                                    Mr. White delivers a kick to $!{cg} on the floor, causing her to ball up defensively. @{connectcg Once again you're glad of your membrane, because you don't come come close to keeping the strife from your face.|Ouch.}
                                                
                                                The Businessman adjusts his suspenders, then @{(libra = 9) continues. "In any case, if|turns to the rest of you. "Learned their lesson, I'd say. No need to get heavy-handed." His face darkens. "If} they're stupid enough to interfere with our operations again, we'll respond in kind." @{(observation > 34) There's an odd little note of judgement in his voice, as if he doesn't approve of such escalation.|His professional demeanour gives little away. You suppose it comes with the territory of his gang.}
                                                
                                                Architect inclines his head. A fraction of an inch. "Then we're done here."
                                                
                                                "Yep. I'll pass this onto Management." Mr. White returns the nod, not quite so fractionally. "Good working with you, Altruists."
                                                
                                                "Urgh. Do you both have to be so polite? This isn't a board meeting—hey!" Architect raises a hand to deploy the Wyrdbox, literally stonewalling them with an energy barrier. Mr. White snorts, and for a moment almost looks wistful.
                                                
                                                Architect steps closer to you. "Come on, $!{mask}, let's head back." He pauses, glancing at Wyrd. "And Wyrd can come too if they promise to behave themself."
                                                
                                                "Oppressor," Wyrd sulks.
                                                
                                                The piper's payment delayed another evening, you all ditch your masked identities somewhere quiet, and then set off for home.
                                                
                                                *if ((libra = 7) or (libra = 6))
                                                    If you simply ignore how fucked you are, then maybe that debt will never come due.
                                                    
                                                *page_break
                                                *goto aftermath
                                            
                                        #Wear her down.
                                            $!{cg}'s more skilled than she is strong, and she doesn't have a membrane to absorb punishment. Even if you get worse than you give, your tank should be deeper.
                                            
                                            Should.
                                            
                                            *label stallitout
                                            *if mc_health > 1
                                                *set libra 8
                                                *set fissionmailed true
                                                Unfortunately, this reckoning doesn't account for your previous injuries. At 100%, perhaps this would work. Not at 80, not at 70.
                                                
                                                $!{cg} comes at you relentlessly, and it isn't long before you go to the well and find there's nothing left. Thrown to the ground with a crash, you try to pull yourself up and simply can't, lungs burning, body refusing to obey your instructions. You can barely lift your head, limbs twitching like a beached fish.
                                                
                                                *if ((connectcg) or (rel_cg > 55))
                                                    "Stay down, Dime. Just... stay down," $!{cg} says in a quiet voice.
                                                    
                                                *else
                                                    "Stay down," $!{cg} growls.
                                                    
                                                All you can do is watch while she runs off into the darkness. Your failing body seems to have given up on you entirely, and you're still sprawled on the floor when you hear footsteps.
                                                
                                                *goto frustratedwhite
                                                
                                            *else
                                                That's what you're assuring yourself as she snags you by the wrist and sends you flying overhead with a throw, continue to assure yourself as she nails a one two three four combination of strikes to your face, and try to hold onto as she slams an elbow into your throat and sets you gasping. Your counters land where you can hit them, but you're not sure it's enough.
                                                
                                                Fortunate, then, that you have backup.
                                                
                                                *label whitecharges
                                                *set business_respect +1
                                                *if (librafail)
                                                    Mr. White charges past you like a big rig, slamming a shoulder into Libra. Coiling acrobatically in midair, they drop into a handspring to gain distance, but the Businessman lashes out with his cluster of wires, which curl around Libra's leg with a series of sharp electrical cracks. They cry out, spine arching backward. Mr. White grunts, jaw clenched and face ashen. As he brings Libra down, he drops to one knee, breathing raggedly.
                                                    
                                                    You don't know what Mr. White's filaments do exactly, but seeing them dig cruelly into Libra's contorted body, you're glad you're not finding out. In fact, the Businessman seems almost as debilitated as the hero, wheezing as he leans heavily against a pillar. He waves you off from helping and before long, footsteps signal the arrival of Wyrd and Architect.
                                                    *goto whoneedsbuildings
                                                
                                                *else
                                                    *set libra 7
                                                    Mr. White charges past you like a big rig, slamming a shoulder into $!{cg}. Coiling in midair like an acrobat, $!{cg} drops into a handspring to gain distance, but the Businessman lashes out with his cluster of wires, curling around $!{cg}'s leg with a series of sharp electrical cracks. She cries @{interest_cg out, and a tremor runs through your entire body, a wash of emotions you struggle to hold at bay.|out, spine arching backward.} Mr. White grunts, jaw clenched and face ashen. As he brings $!{cg} down, he drops to one knee, breathing raggedly.

                                                    *if (interest_cg)
                                                        $!{cg} contorts at a horrible angle, Mr. White's filaments digging cruelly into her body. All you can do is stare, stare and watch her agony.
                                                        *choice
                                                            #I can look away.
                                                                You break your gaze, staring at the wall and willing it to be over.

                                                                *label silverlining
                                                                A scant silver lining, then, that Mr. White seems almost as debilitated as $!{cg} after the takedown, failing to note your discomfiture as he leans heavily against a pillar. He waves you off from helping and before long, footsteps signal the arrival of Wyrd and Architect.

                                                                *label whoneedsbuildings
                                                                "Ah, we weren't needed after all," Architect observes, taking in the scene.

                                                                *if (rentcop)
                                                                    "Tell me about—holy shit!" Wyrd breaks into a run, skidding to a halt next to the dead rent-a-cop. After checking him over for a moment, searching for a pulse that doesn't exist, they look up. "Did you do this, $!{mask}?" Their voice is tight, controlled. 

                                                                    You'd forgotten about the corpse for a second. Or perhaps were merely trying.
                                                                    *goto ohyeahdeadguy
                                                                *else
                                                                    *goto chalkitup
                                                            #Harden my heart. This doesn't affect me.
                                                                It's a fight. People get hurt. She'll live.

                                                                *label remainimpassive
                                                                You remain impassive as a wheezing Mr. White leans heavily against a pillar. It isn't long before footsteps signal the arrival of Wyrd and Architect.

                                                                *goto whoneedsbuildings
                                                            #I'm shaking.
                                                                You thought you were prepared to see something like this. Turns out you were wrong.

                                                                *goto silverlining
                                                            *if (brokenheart < 5) #I want to scream.
                                                                *if brokenheart > 1
                                                                    $!{cg}'s face and body run together with $!{prev_li}'s, blurring and merging, bloodsoaked on the floor of that forsaken place.

                                                                *else
                                                                    There are too many holes in your heart to endure this without flinching.

                                                                *goto silverlining

                                                    *else
                                                        You don't know what Mr. White's filaments do exactly, but seeing them dig cruelly into $!{cg}'s contorted body, you're glad you're not finding out. @{connectcg You fend off a wave of sympathy. You're doing what you have to here.|}

                                                        *goto remainimpassive
                                        *selectable_if (juice > 10) #Hit hard and fast with my powers to catch her off guard.
                                            *set juice - 10
                                            *if fighting_style = 3
                                                *set libra 6
                                                $!{cg} knows a lot about your powers, but you're coming up with new stuff so frequently you don't think that even you know everything you can do.
                                      
                                                Time for a trial by fire.
                                                
                                                You spring towards her, letting your tendrils trail behind you like ribbons. As she blocks your attack, you bring the tendrils around your body in a pincering strike. They rocket forth, you grit your teeth, and with a cry that's as much pain as it is effort, tear them both down the middle. Bisected, your tendrils lash unpredictably, slicing a cut right through $!{cg}'s mask. She flinches, takes another lash on her arm—tearing her jacket sleeve—and then kicks off your chest, propelling herself backwards.
                                                
                                                She lands light, just as she always does, eyes darting, assessing.
                                                
                                                "You've always been creative," she murmurs. "Alright. Show me."
                                                
                                                No further invitation required. You go back on offence, your doubled tendrils whipping and swiping in an undulating assault. $!{cg} is blindingly fast, ducking and weaving through the barrage, scoring hits with the occasional jab or hook. It's still not enough to leave her unscathed, your tendrils punishing any misstep with vicious efficiency. The writhing mass is uncontrollable and exhausting, but you don't need to keep them going for long. Just longer than her.
                                                
                                                Sure enough, $!{cg} switches tack, braving the storm to step close, aiming for a throw. Her hand sinks into your membrane, and sticks.
                                                
                                                [i]Gotcha.[/i]
                                                
                                                Before $!{cg} can pull away, you wrap her in all four tendrils and let out a howl, driving her bodily into the ground. She's instantly limp, and after a couple of cautious seconds ensuring she isn't playing possum, you're satisfied. You've won.
                                                
                                                *page_break
                                                You stare down at her, marshalling and re-merging your flailing tendrils, breathing a little ragged. That stunt wasn't easy.
                                                
                                                *goto yougoodmask
                                                
                                            *else
                                                *set libra 8
                                                *set fissionmailed true
                                                Springing forward, your tendrils unfurl, poised to strike at her from all angles. You plunge them at her in a devastating pincer move, but she somehow isn't there, gliding through your assault with gymnastic grace. You reverse your tendrils' direction to catch her in a grapple, and you feel a thrill of triumph as you seize her in your grasp.
                                                
                                                Sadly, it's short-lived. $!{cg} seems to have anticipated your move, using the opportunity to slingshot her elbow into your jaw. You stagger, reeling, and she loops her arm under yours, slips her leg behind your ankle, and slams you to the ground.
                                                
                                                Your head bounces off the floor with a dull thunk.
                                                
                                                Oh, right. $!{cg} knows your powers just as well as you do.
                                                
                                                Dazed, you attempt to regather your bearings, but it's too little, too late. Her foot connects with your skull, and by the time you're seeing anything but stars, $!{cg}'s long gone. You slump back to the ground, nauseatingly dizzy.
                                                
                                                *goto ihearfootsteps
                                                
                                        #Let's think outside the box. I'll go for the intel.
                                            *label getintel
                                            If you think about it, whatever @{librafail Llibra|$!{cg}} has in that bag is the real objective. Deprive @{librafail them|her} of that, and you can chalk this up as a win.
                                            
                                            But you'd better hold off patting yourself on the back just yet.
                                            
                                            You fix your attention on the bag. As always, your membrane's an advantage for hiding your intent. @{librafail Libra|$!{cg}} can't see where you're looking.
                                            
                                            Then, you rush @{librafail them|her}. Of course, the headlong charge is simply a feint; as @{librafail Libra braces, you|$!{cg} braces—preparing to evade, not doubt—you} suddenly divert past @{librafail them|her}, snatching the tote from right under your adversary's nose. A bitten off curse confirms you're onto a winning tactic, and you take a curving, arcing path through the garage, hearing @{librafail Libra|$!{cg}} hot on your tail, but confident in your own pace. You're slipping past pillars, leaping abandoned tools and barriers, one jump ahead every step of the way. It's almost making you nostalgic for your urbex days. 
                                            
                                            *if fighting_style = 2
                                                *set libra 9
                                                Out of nowhere, @{librafail Libra's|$!{cg}'s} cartwheeling into your path, attempting to snag the bag from your grasp. Instead of pulling the prize away, you simply drop it. @{librafail Libra|${cg}} sails past, and though @{librafail they correct|she corrects} with aplomb, you're waiting for @{librafail them|her} with a forceful front kick that puts an abrupt stop to @{librafail their|her} handspringing nonsense as @{librafail they crash|she crashes} onto @{librafail their|her} stomach.
                                                
                                                That's your opportunity to scoop the bag straight back up and resume running. Another curse, footsteps, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see @{librafail Libra|$!{cg}} vanish into the depths of the garage. Apparently, you weren't worth the trouble.
                                                
                                                You slow to a stop, keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of your opponent. Instead, along comes Mr. White, breathing a little heavily. His brows knit together a moment, then relax as he catches sight of the bag. "Stole away the dead drop, huh?"
                                                
                                                Nodding, you allow yourself a private smile.
                                                
                                                *page_break
                                                "Well, well. I thought @{rentcop we—holy shit!"|we were SOL when Libra went parkouring past like some kind of ninja, but is that our $!{mask} with some juicy intel I see?" Wyrd, trailed by Architect, strides into view from the opposite direction.} 
                                                
                                                *if (rentcop)
                                                    *goto intelsuccess

                                                *else
                                                    @{(expressive > 50) "Sure is," you tell them.|You nod slowly to them.} @{(mc_health > 1) Your body isn't only shaking from exertion; your previous injuries are catching up to you, setting your legs wobbling.|} You're still processing what you've done. There will be consequences. There always are.
                                                    *goto chalkitup
                                                
                                            *else
                                                *set libra 10
                                                *set fissionmailed true
                                                
                                                But your good mood gets a sudden rude awakening. Out of nowhere @{librafail Libra's|$!{cg}'s} cartwheeling into your path, snagging the bag from your grasp. "I don't think so," @{librafail they growl,|she growls,} handspringing clear in a motion as elegant as it is infuriating. 
                                                
                                                Worse yet, @{librafail their|her} acrobatics have brought @{librafail them|her} well clear of you, perfectly positioned to make a run for it.
                                                
                                                Which, of course, is exactly what @{librafail they do,|she does,} turning and bolting into the depths of the garage, vaulting nimbly over a stack of materials and vanishing from view. You don't even bother giving chase; even your tendrils can't match parkour like that.
                                                
                                                *goto ihearfootsteps
                                        #I don't have to win, just stall.
                                            Right. Trying to beat her is the wrong approach. What's the point of allies if you don't use them? Slow things down, bring in the cavalry.
                                            
                                            *if fighting_style = 2
                                                *set libra 7
                                                Easier said than done. You've sparred hundreds of hours with $!{cg}. She'll see straight through any delaying tactics, so you'll have to maintain just enough pressure to avert suspicion.
                                                
                                                *if mc_health > 1
                                                    But then here's wrinkle number two to spoil your party: you're not in any condition to go toe-to-toe with her. You'll need to be extra smart and extra cautious.
                                                    
                                                *else
                                                    Oh, and avoid getting seven shades of crap knocked out of you.
                                                    
                                                Your opener is straightforward, scooping a rusty wrench from the ground and overhanding it at her head. As expected, she ducks, and the projectile clatters off into the darkness. You're already moving, tendrils latching onto an exposed ceiling strut, swinging forward, and planting both boots directly into her chest. Launched from her feet, $!{cg} tucks her legs in midair and tumbles into a perfect backward roll, rising straight back up again.

                                                That's fine. It's what she does. And you didn't stop to admire the show. You're circling to the flank, whipping out a tendril—a distraction, nothing more—at her face as you move behind her, blocking off the recesses of the garage. You don't give her the chance to discern the intent of your manoeuvring, lunging at her with a reckless front kick, steeling yourself for—$!{cg} catches you by the leg, braces an arm across your chest, and slams you to the floor.

                                                —Yeah. That.

                                                @{(mc_health > 1) Fuck that hurts. You don't think you have it in you to take any more of those. Still,|Knowing it was coming doesn't wind you any less, but} at least you're prepared to swipe your tendrils at her legs. She nimbly vaults, giving just enough of an opening to regain your feet. Once again you go in with the tendrils, swinging them around your shoulders like flails. $!{cg} dances backward, well clear of getting struck.

                                                Something passes across her face. Her eyes narrow into a glare of suspicion. "Wait—"

                                                *goto whitecharges
                                        
                                            *else
                                                *label youstaller
                                                *set libra 10
                                                *set fissionmailed true
                                                
                                                You open cagily, raising your hands into readiness and then edging forward with shuffling steps. @{librafail Libra|$!{cg}} watches with healthy caution, easily parrying your tentative jab when you finally close the distance. You sway back, feint with a tendril, then deliver a stinging leg kick. @{librafail Libra|$!{cg}} checks it with ease, the hard smack of calf on shin echoing through the air. You retreat a couple steps, continue biding your time. @{librafail Libra|$!{cg}} moves in, peppering your guard with a few quick combinations that you're more than equal to.
                     
                                                Then suddenly, @{librafail Libra|$!{cg}} breaks off, glaring suspiciously. "…you're stalling." @{librafail Their|her} eyes widen. "Oh, you little fuck." @{librafail They turn and bolt,|She turns and bolts,} racing off into the depths of the garage. It's so abrupt that you're left cold, frozen in place as @{librafail they vault|she vaults} over a stack of materials and continues running hell for leather. Before you can even get out of first gear in pursuit, @{librafail they've|she's} disappeared out of sight. You slow to a halt. No point chasing further.
                                                
                                                *goto ihearfootsteps
                                #I'm reasonably confident I'm about to get my ass kicked.
                                    Your Muay Thai @{(fighting_style = 1) may be excellent,|is passable-to-good,} but $!{cg} taught you everything you know.
                                    
                                    *goto gottaplan                                                             
                        #@{introuble I can't afford to provoke the Coven further.|I have to prioritise the Coven.}
                            *set defiance - 1
                            *set rel_cg %+ 10
                            *set trust_cg - 1
                            *set libra 2
                            *set covenstr +1
                            *set fissionmailed true
                            *if doubt_hypothesis > 9
                                *set doubt_hypothesis - 10
                                
                            *else
                                *set doubt_hypothesis 0
                                
                            @{introuble You went to the Zone, lied about it, and got caught. At this point it's damage limitation.|Like it or not, you're working for Hypothesis first, anyone else second.}
                            
                            You lower your voice. "There's someone behind me and others covering the exits. If I let you get away, it has to be believable."
                            
                            *if subterfuge < 40
                                "Agreed. And since @{(subterfuge > 30) you can't lie worth shit…"|you're not much of a liar…"}
                                
                                *label dartsover
                                @{(libra = 3) Before you can make sense of that statement |}$!{cg} darts over to you, slugs you in the face, and then throws you headfirst into the closest wall.
                                
                                Flat on your back and seeing more stars than ceiling, @{(libra = 3) you can't be entirely sure that she murmurs an apology.|you're certainly in no position to track where she goes. }
                                
                                *if (t_cg)
                                    Rgh—! She is such a bitch, and you are [i]not[/i] dazed over anything more than the knockdown, shut [i]up[/i]—
                                    
                                *else
                                    @{(libra = 3) There you go not using your brain again.|Mission… accomplished?}
                                
                                *goto ihearfootsteps
                                
                            *else
                                "Agreed," says $!{cg}. "You're a pretty good liar. I trust you with @{rentcop it. And good luck with the dead guy, I guess."|it."}
                                
                                With that, she darts away.
                                
                                Sighing resignedly to yourself, you sprawl out on the ground and wait.
                                
                                *label ihearfootsteps
                                It's not long before you hear footsteps.
                                
                                *goto frustratedwhite
                        *disable_reuse #What if I persuade her to throw the fight?
                            You've only seconds to make your case before Mr. White or the others catch up to you.

                            Have to make them count.

                            "Listen," you hiss. "They don't want you dead or maimed, just 'taught a lesson'. Take a dive: you don't get hurt and my cover doesn't get blown. @{janklol We both win."|The Coven wins."}
                            
                            *if (introuble)
                                $!{cg} narrows her eyes. "You forgetting how you lied to my face, Dime? I'm not sticking my neck out for you."
                                
                                *goto noarguingtone
                            *elseif (janklol)
                                *set libra 5
                                *set covenstr - 1
                                *set business_respect +1
                                $!{cg} hesitates then curses to herself, nodding. "Fine, but you better @{(subterfuge < 30) keep your mouth shut. We both know you can't lie worth shit."|make it convincing."}
                                
                                @{(subterfuge < 30) Harsh but true. |}You nod and the two of you get to work, exchanging a few punches and kicks. $!{cg} only-barely pulls hers, and you adjust in kind, rounding off with a knee to the gut so hard you basically hit her for real. Obligingly, $!{cg} folds up and collapses right as you hear oncoming footsteps.
                                
                                Mr. White strides up, then inclines his head. "Good work."
                                
                                You nod to him, deliberately not looking at $!{cg}, trusting in her acting. After a few moments of awkwardly staring at one another, more footsteps signal the arrival of Wyrd and Architect.
                                
                                *goto whoneedsbuildings
                                

                            *else
                                $!{cg} @{(rel_cg > 50) hesitates, then shakes|shakes} her head. "Not gonna happen."
                                
                                *label noarguingtone
                                There's no arguing with that tone, and no time in which to do so.
                                *goto libradilemma
                        *selectable_if ((interest_cg) or (connectcg)) #@{t_cg It's idiotic, but|} I can't bring myself to hurt her.
                            *if (interest_cg)
                                *set flirt_cg +2
                            
                            *set trust_cg +1
                            *set rel_cg %+ 15
                            *set libra 3
                            *set fissionmailed true
                            *set covenstr +1
                            *if doubt_hypothesis > 9
                                *set doubt_hypothesis - 10
                                
                            *else
                                *set doubt_hypothesis 0
                                
                            @{(instinctive > 55) Often, your instincts have the driver's seat, and right now they're slamming the brakes and putting the whole thing in park.|Foolishness. Rank foolishness. There should be so, so many better reasons for a decision like this.}
                            
                            You shake your head, @{t_cg refusing to look right at her. "...get out of here."|locking eyes with $!{cg} straight through your membrane. "I can't fight you."}
                            
                            She tilts her head to the side. "Oh, Dime," she sighs. "You gallant dumbass."
                            
                            *if (t_cg)
                                "Shut up and go before I change my mind," you snap.
                            *else
                                @{interest_cg "You got me."|"Just go before I change my mind."}
                            
                            $!{cg} nods, then hesitates. "I hate to do this, but we need it to be convincing."
                            
                            *goto dartsover
        #No kid gloves: I'll hurt him as much as I have to.
            *set brutal +1
            *if libra = 1
                You aren't risking him escaping, nor the possibility of another weapon.
                
            *else
                You don't have time to screw around. He's an obstacle, and obstacles get removed.
                
            @{(libra = 1) Stepping forward, you lash out your other tendril,|Launching forward, you put all the momentum of your charge into a scything swipe of your tendril,} driving it into your hapless victim's neck. The impact's harsh enough to fell him in one shot, choking and clutching at his throat. Not enough, you're @{(libra = 1) ending this here and now.|guaranteeing he won't interfere.} Enfolding him in your tendrils, you haul the @{(libra = 1) ex-Businessman|rent-a-cop} to his feet, twist, and hurl him bodily against the wall with a @{(brutal > 3) satisfying|sickening} thud. 
            
            *if libra = 1
                Moments later, Mr. White catches up to you. There's a light frown on his face as he considers your unconscious victim. "I suppose that works." He walks over to his ex-colleague, proceeding to gag and tie him with a combination of conventional gear and his spooling wires. Filaments cut harshly into flesh, crackling and fizzing. ""Should have just walked away, Watson," Mr. White tells his insensate captive. "You're not important enough for them to care. Stupid." Slinging the man over his shoulder, Mr. White turns back to you. "I'll arrange a pickup. Thanks for the assist."
                
                *goto funsover
            *else
                *goto watchedthewhole
        #@{(libra = 1) I'll make this asshole regret shooting at me.|I'm putting this moron in the hospital.}
            *set brutal + 3
            *set killer true
            *set accidentkill true
                
            *if libra = 1
                *set watson 3  
            *else
                *set rentcop true
            
            @{(libra = 1) Selling out the Businessmen is only the second worst move this moron made tonight.|You don't have time to fool around. Rent-a-cop should have kept his mouth shut.}
            
            @{(libra = 1) Stepping into asshole's personal space, you wrap|You charge, closing the distance too fast for the poor bastard to react and wrapping} your tendrils around his chest. With one brutal heave, you slam him to the concrete with a sharp [i]crack.[/i]
            
            A crimson pool begins spreading from beneath your victim's head, crawling out across the ground like the oncoming tide. 
            
            He isn't moving. He isn't breathing. @{(psycho > 1) You're transfixed, staring with wide eyes. There's the violence you've craved.|}
            
            *if killthink = 1
                @{(psycho > 1) But... no... no no. This isn't what you promised yourself. You never wanted to kill anyone.|A cloying panic enfolds your chest. What have you done?}
                
                *choice
                    #I have to fix this. I have to fix this. I have to fix this.
                        *set brutal - 1
                        *set guiltkill true
                        *set gottafix true
                        Scrambling to the man's side, you kneel, blood soaking into your brand new pants. Your eyes rove over him desperately, hunting for a magic solution to the problem.
                        
                        There's none. There's nothing.
                        
                        The wound. You need to see the wound.

                        *if libra > 1
                            *set fissionmailed true
                            You hear a flurry of motion. @{librafail Libra's|$!{cg}'s} fleeing the scene, but you don't have the thought to spare on @{librafail them|her}. You have to—need to— 
                            
                        Taking his head in your clammy, trembling hands, you turn it to the side as gently as you're able.
                        
                        You blanch as you're met with a matted mess of hair, blood, and fragments of bone, congealing into an indistinguishable soup.
                        
                        This is beyond you. It's beyond anyone.
                        
                        You're still kneeling there, motionless, when footsteps approach.
                        
                        *label whitedeadguy
                        "$!{mask}?" Your head drifts towards the voice. Mr. White. He looks at the man on the ground. @{(watson = 3) "…I see you dealt with the problem."|"…That isn't Libra. Where are they?"}
                        
                        *if libra = 1
                            @{guiltkill You can't bring yourself to reply.|You nod, not trusting your voice.} Mr. White crouches by the body of his former colleague and shakes his head. "Stupid, Watson. Could have walked away. You weren't important enough to care about." He heaves a sigh. "A success is a success. I'll report this in." 
                            
                            Watson. You suspect you'll remember the name.
                            
                            *page_break
                            *label waonthescene
                            
                            @{guiltkill You haven't yet moved by the time|It isn't long before} Wyrd and Architect arrive on the scene.
                            
                            *if (fissionmailed)
                                The former is grumbling to the latter. "Would have helped knowing that Libra's some kind of urban ninja," they complain. "What's the point of watching the exits when they can just run on the damn walls?"
                                
                                "We should have done better," Architect replies, voice even flatter than normal.
                                
                                *if ((rentcop) or (watson = 3))
                                    Wyrd starts to respond, then breaks off, seeing you.
                                    
                                    *goto wyrdanger
                                
                                *else
                                    "Ugh." Wyrd's attention drifts to you. "'sup, $!{mask}? What a clownshow, huh?"
                                    
                                    *if ((libra = 2) or (libra = 3))
                                        You nod, act frustrated, and go back to playing your role as a good Altruist.
                                        
                                    *else
                                        You nod. Your place in the Altruists may be a role you're playing, but your frustration is very real.
                                        
                                    *page_break
                                    *label wrappingthefailure
                                    There's little else to say. Libra's escape scuppers your agreement with the Businessmen, and Mr. White gives Architect short shrift before vacating the premises. That leaves you and the other Altruists to depart, surreptitiously ditch your masked identities, and then make tracks.
                                    
                                    *goto aftermath
                                
                            *label wyrdanger
                            "$!{mask}? What's going on—holy shit!" Wyrd rushes over to the body. They skid to a halt, reaching out to check for a pulse, adjust their fingers, check again. Their arm drops. They look up. "Did you do this, $!{mask}?" Their voice is tight, controlled.
                            
                            *if not (guiltkill)
                                *goto ohyeahdeadguy
                            
                            *else
                             *choice
                                #My throat closes. I nod.
                                    You can barely manage that much. You certainly can't meet their eyes.
                                    
                                    *label theadmission
                                    The admission burns like a brand. You can't take this back.
                                    
                                #Try to justify myself.
                                    *if libra = 1
                                        "He pulled a gun on me. I was defending myself." You almost trip over your words, rushing to patch your guilt in any way you can.
                                        
                                        "A gun. Sure. Okay." Wyrd's eyes are dark.
                                        
                                    *else
                                        "He walked right into the middle of things. I had to deal with him fast, otherwise Libra would have got away."
                                        
                                        *if ((libra > 4) and (libra < 8))
                                            "So you killed the guy?" Wyrd's eyes are dark.
                                            
                                        *else
                                            "Libra [i]did[/i] get away." Wyrd's eyes are dark.
                                            
                                    Confronted with the accusation in their gaze, your remaining rationalisations shrivel and die on your tongue. It doesn't matter what you say. They've already passed judgement.
                                    
                                      
                                #I won't sink even lower by lying.
                                    Who else are you going to blame? Mr. White?

                                    "I did," you mumble.

                                    *goto theadmission

                                *selectable_if (gottafix) #I look at them helplessly, as if they can solve this.
                                    "I—I don't know how to fix it," you whisper.

                                    "Yeah, well, it's [i]kinda hard to fix[/i] killing a guy, $!{mask}!" Wyrd snaps.

                                    *goto thewhimper
                                #@{accidentkill Say|Claim} it was an accident.
                                    "I didn't mean to!" you blurt, @{accidentkill halfway to panic.|scrambling desperately for an excuse.}

                                    "Great!" Wyrd almost-yells. "That makes it just a-okay, $!{mask}!"

                                    *label thewhimper
                                    You hold in the whimper. Just.

                                #I can't even respond, much less lie.
                                    Wyrd regards you with dark, unblinking eyes. Several silent seconds tick by. "I see," they say.
                                    
                             Architect catches up to Wyrd, placing a hand on their shoulder. They shrug him off violently, fixing you with a glare so venomous you can't help but flinch. For a moment, Catalyst's voice runs through your mind, body trembling as it recalls a thousand beatings, every blow echoing in a terrible rhythm.
                                
                             One, two, three.
                                
                             *label archdiscusslaterw
                             "Wyrd—" Architect pauses a moment, then shakes his head. "We'll discuss this later." His helmet hollows out his voice, tone utterly flat. You feel his eyes on you from within. "We need to do something about the body."
                                
                             @{guiltkill Once a living, breathing person, now little more than incriminating evidence. You feel nauseous, clammy.|At least one teammate still has his sensible head screwed on.}
                                
                             *if (fissionmailed)
                                 "My colleagues and I will handle disposal," says Mr. White, rejoining the group. "Consider it a favour. Libra's escape is bad enough, but none of us wants to get wrapped up in a murder investigation."
                                    
                                 *goto quite
                                    
                             *else
                                 "My colleagues and I will handle disposal," says Mr. White, rejoining the group. "We have @{(librafail = 1) specialists, and Management will want to confirm the body anyway."|specialists, and these things happen. What's important is that we dealt with Libra."}
                                    
                                 *if (libra = 1)
                                     *label quite
                                     @{fissionmailed "Quite."|"Excellent. It's appreciated."} Architect is the picture of calm, as if the subject's taking out the garbage rather than a corpse.
                                        
                                     Wyrd laughs sardonically. "Great. All tied up in a neat little bow."
                                         
                                 *else
                                     "Oh yeah, definitely worth a murder," says Wyrd, sardonic. 
                                        
                                 "That isn't—"
                                        
                                 "Whatever. I'm gonna fetch Ghoul. Let me know when you're done covering for $!{mask}." They stalk off without a backward glance.

                                 Architect watches them a moment, then affixes his attention onto you. "Outside."
                                 *page_break Follow orders.
                                 You're barely clear of the garage when Architect holds out an arm to stop you. He's still and silent for several seconds before finally turning in your direction.

                                 "I won't interrogate you, but that wasn't smart. The Businessmen will keep a secret as long as it's convenient and not half a second more." He pauses, his featureless helmet giving nothing away. "You and I both know you didn't need to go full force at a regular person."

                                 @{guiltkill You hang your head. He's right. You went too far. Yet again, there's no going back.|You tilt back your chin, not quite defiance, but nor is it admission of guilt.}

                                 @{guiltkill "Remember this feeling next time you fight, $!{mask}," Architect says softly.|Architect sighs. "We'll see where the cards fall. For now, it's done."}

                                 He falls silent and remains that way even after Wyrd returns, Ghoul in tow. The latter shoots you a look that's half pained, half concerned. $!{whe} doesn't approach, which @{(romance_wil > 2) bothers you a little more than you care to admit.|you try to let roll off your back.}

                                 You all find a surreptitious place to unmask, and then begin the return trip.
                                 *page_break
                                 *goto aftermath
                                                            
                        *else
                            *set libra 4
                            *set fissionmailed true
                            You can't muster the words, slowly shaking your head.
                            
                            *label frustratedwhite
                            *if libra = 10
                                *set fissionmailed true
                                "$!{mask}?" Mr. White. You glance at him as he approaches, and after a brief look around, his brow furrows. "They get away?"
                                
                                You nod.
                                
                            *else
                                @{(libra = 4) Mr. White growls in frustration. "Amateurs."|"$!{mask}?" Mr. White. His steps grow closer. "…That's not Libra." A frustrated noise. "You couldn't last for ninety seconds?"} 
                                
                            The Businessman half-heartedly jogs past you as if to pursue, then stops, throws up his hands, and turns back to you. "I'll report our failure. I doubt Management will be pleased." He stalks off, pulling out a pager. @{(libra = 4) |You hear him grumble. "Amateurs."}

                            *page_break
                            *goto waonthescene
                    #@{(libra = 1) It's too late.|I can't get sidetracked. I'm here for Libra.}
                        @{(libra = 1) You can't take this back.|Swallowing hard, you tear your eyes from the motionless… body on the ground and look over to your quarry. Focus. Worry later about what you've done.}
                        
                        *if libra = 1
                            Hell, you don't even have to check. You know it with bone-deep certainty. He's dead.
                            
                            *goto whitedeadguy
                        
                        *else
                            *goto watchedthewhole
                        
                    #I should care. But I just... don't.
                        Numbness suffuses you, looking down at the frozen face and glassy eyes of your victim. 
                        
                        He's dead. That's supposed to matter. 
                        
                        @{(libra = 1) And yet you can't muster a single emotion about the corpse on the ground.|Your attention drifts  back over to your quarry. Nothing to be done about the corpse now.}
                        
                        *if libra = 1
                            Not a one.
                            
                            *goto whitedeadguy
                        
                        *else
                            *goto watchedthewhole
                    
            *else
                *label thereality
                *page_break
                @{(libra = 1) You had a target. you dealt with it.|He got in the way, you dealt with him.} You've told yourself from the start that @{(killthink = 3) you have no qualms with killing.|if people die, that's just how it is.}
                
                Confronted with the reality, what do you feel?
                
                *choice
                    #Emptiness.
                        There's no catharsis or release. Why would there be? The man on the ground is a stranger. That frozen face and glassy eyes don't belong to your tormentors.
                        
                        *if libra = 1
                            You stare off into space, your mind's engine turning over again and again, never quite roaring to life.
                            
                            …Ha… life.
                            
                            *goto whitedeadguy
                        
                        *else
                            *goto watchedthewhole
                        
                    #Satisfaction.
                        *set psycho +1
                        A grimace of a smile slashes its way across your face.
                        
                        This is proof of strength, of your power. @{accidentkill Even if it wasn't your intent, you've left an indelible mark.|Agency that belongs to you, and only you.}
                        
                        The Coven may have made a weapon of you, but you're the one to wield it.
                        
                        *if libra = 1
                            Your basking is rudely interrupted by Mr. White, who gives you a dubious look, then crouches by the body of his former colleague. "I suppose that's taken care of." He looks at the corpse and sighs. "Stupid, Watson. Could have walked. You weren't important enough to care about." Once again he eyes you. If your face was visible, you'd fix your smile on him. At length, he just shakes his head. "I'll call it in. Thank you for the assistance."
                            
                            You watch him leave, pulling out a pager. You return to the sickly glow of your own violence.
                            
                            *page_break

                            *goto waonthescene
                        
                        *else
                            @{librafail You turn to Libra,|Speaking of… you turn to $!{cg},} who saw the entire thing and now watches you impassively.
                            
                            *goto playoftheday
                        
                    *selectable_if (psycho < 5) #Horror.
                        *set guiltkill true
                        So loftily you thought yourself above caring, inured to violence and suffering.
                        
                        Stricken, you stare. There's so much blood. 
                        
                        *if libra = 1
                            What have you done?
                            
                            *goto whitedeadguy
                            
                        *else
                            *set libra  4
                            *set fissionmailed true
                            It doesn't take a doctor to know that he's beyond help. Face frozen, eyes glassy. He's dead.
                            
                            You hear a flurry of motion. @{librafail Libra's|$!{cg}'s} fleeing the scene, but you don't have the thought to spare on @{librafail them|her}. 
                            
                            *goto whitedeadguy

        *selectable_if (((killthink = 3) or (psycho > 1)) or (brutal > 3)) #@{(libra = 1) I'll make this asshole regret his entire life.|I'm putting this moron in the morgue.}
            *set instinctive %+ 15
            
            @{(libra = 1) Wrapping a tendril around the Businessman's neck, you begin to squeeze.|Charging at the guard, you drift past a clumsy swing of his baton to wrap a tendril around his neck and begin squeezing.} The man's hands scrabble at your tendril, desperately trying to prise you loose. You simply [i]pull[/i], lifting him off the ground, hanging by your tendril like a noose. He twitches and chokes. Fascinated, you raise him higher still, watching his legs kick spasmodically, his face turning red, then purple@{(killthink = 3) .|—}
            
            *if killthink = 1
                What are you [i]doing?[/i]
                
                You falter, your grip on your victim's neck wavering.
                
                You promised yourself you'd do your best to avoid killing people, and here you are strangling someone to death. 
                
                @{(libra = 1) The gun's gone.|He's not even a proper security guard.} He's no threat to you.
                
                *label gardenpath
                Is this really the path you want to walk?
                *choice
                    #The world doesn't give a fuck about me, so why should I care?
                        *set psycho + 2
                        *set brutal + 3
                        Five years and counting you've been kicked around. Experimented on. Beaten and abused. There's no light at the end of the tunnel, no happy ending around the corner.
                        
                        And you're sick of being the victim. Tired of pretending you aren't the monster the Coven wants.
                        
                        Now it's your turn.
                        
                        *label murdertime
                        You tighten your grip yet further, heart racing as @{(libra = 1) the Businessman|rentacop} kicks and grasps for a single inch of give, an ounce of mercy.
                        
                        And you offer none, squeezing like a constrictor. Harder. Harder. Harder. Something gives under your tendril with a wet crunch, and your prey's struggles cease. 
                        
                        *label killrouting
                        *set killer true
                        *if libra = 1
                            *set watson 3
                            
                        *else
                            *set rentcop true
                        
                        *goto thereality
                    #I want blood.
                        *set psycho + 3
                        *set brutal + 4
                        A red haze surrounds you. Some might say you're lost within, but they'd be wrong.
                        
                        You know exactly where you are, and exactly the path you're heading down.
                        
                        And you're embracing it.
                        
                        *goto murdertime
                    #I'm smarter than this.
                        *set instinctive %- 10
                        Murdering someone in what, a fit of pique?
                        
                        Come on, $!{forename}. You're not a moron, not a lunatic who can't control ${mc_him}self. The list of reasons it's a bad idea to start racking up a bodycount is as long as both your tendrils combined.
                        
                        *goto loosentendril
                    #I'm better than this.
                        *set instinctive %- 7
                        Life's been unfair to you. Cruel.
                        
                        Give in, become the monster the Coven has made of you and you'll lose a piece of yourself.
                        
                        *label loosentendril
                        *if psycho > 0
                            *set psycho -1
                            
                        *if brutal > 0
                            *set brutal -1
                            
                        You loosen your tendril from @{(libra = 1) the Businessman's|rent-a-cop's} throat and lower him to the ground. @{(libra = 1) He's wheezing and clutching at his neck,|He's unconscious,} but alive is alive.
                        
                        Heaving great breaths, you back away. Step back from the brink of something you could never take back.
                        
                        *goto lwrouting
                    #What would @{bestie Beth|Prii|Shauna|Grant|DUMMY} think?
                        *if bestie = 1
                            Murdering a man in cold blood. @{ephalanx Beth's a hero now, but she'd be disgusted even if she weren't.|Beth would be disgusted.} She'd look at you and sadly shake her head. Say she thought more of you than this.
                            
                        *else
                            Murdering a man in cold blood. @{bestie DUMMY|Prii didn't die for you to become a monster.|Shauna would be horrified, heartbroken.|Grant didn't save your life for that.|DUMMY}
                            
                        @{bestie And you can't let her down. You won't. Before anything else, before that night, you were best friends. That matters. So much more than you can say.|Worse, you'd be proving that imitation right. You can almost see the slight smirk tugging at their mouth, the 'told you so' expression on their face. You want to be the version of $!{mc_name} the real Prii could look in the eye. Who still stands up for their memory.|She'd try to justify it on your behalf, is the worst part. She'd offer you excuses, rationalisations. Anything to find a reason better than 'I was angry and felt like it'. She'd believe in you up until believing became impossible.|He'd probably make a joke out of it somehow. Some kind of dumb quip about you getting up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. But there would be judgement in his eyes. You know it.|DUMMY}
                        
                        For @{bestie Beth|Prii|Shauna|Grant|DUMMY}, and for all of them, you won't let yourself do this.
                        
                        *goto loosentendril
                
            *elseif ((instinctive < 36) and (justification = 7))
                Wait. Shit.
                
                You told Dion you have a code. If you kill this guy, you'll annihilate your lie from orbit.
                
                Loosening your grip, you allow @{(libra = 1) the Businessman|rent-a-cop} to spill to the ground, @{(libra = 1) wheezing and clutching at his throat.|unconscious but thankfully still breathing.}
                
                Fuck. What a bullet to dodge.
                
                *label lwrouting
                *if libra = 1
                    *set watson 2
                    *goto notbadmr
                
                *else
                    *goto watchedthewhole
                
            *elseif killthink = 3
                You're atop the mountain. Unassailable, holding the power of life and death in your hands.
                
                *choice
                    #Strangle. Strangle until the twitching stops.
                        *set psycho + 2
                        *set brutal + 3
                        *goto murdertime
                    #Slam his skull to the concrete.
                        *set psycho + 2
                        *set brutal + 3
                        Raising your victim yet higher, you grasp his body with your other tendril, upend him in midair, and then drive him into the ground with all your might.
                        
                        Bone crunches. The man goes utterly limp, a broken doll. Blood washes out across the concrete, inevitable as the tide.
                        
                        *goto killrouting
                    #What the fuck is wrong with me?
                        *if psycho > 0
                            *set psycho -1
                        The thought is a lightning bolt from clear skies, blasting you from your lofty perch.
                        
                        You're acting like a psychopath with a god complex, and why? Because you can hurt somebody weaker than you are? That's not power. That's a child pulling the wings from flies. Will killing @{(libra = 1) a random gangster|an innocent man} let you stand up to Catalyst and Hypothesis? Will cold-blooded murder allow you to break your fetters, escape the Coven and the Juice?
                        
                        Of course not. It's fucking delusional to think that.
                        
                        All you'll accomplish is staining your hands. Lose a piece of yourself to the monster they want you to be.
                        
                        *goto loosentendril        
            *else
                Suddenly you swallow, blinking rapidly. Eyes still locked on your writhing victim.
                
                [i]If some people die, that's the way it is.[/i]
                
                But is this necessary? @{(libra = 1) You disarmed him.|He already dropped his baton.} He's no threat to you.
                
                *goto gardenpath
                
                 
*else
    "Here's the drop-off," Mr. White murmurs. Thirty seconds later the figure re-emerges, minus bag. You catch a glimpse of a pallid, nervous face, and then they're gone. "And now we wait for Libra," Mr. White concludes. He reaches into his chest pocket and taps a button on his pager. "Letting my colleagues know to expect him soon," he @{(instinctive > 55) explains, though you don't particularly care and weren't going to ask.|explains, satiating your curiosity.}
    
    The minutes tick by. You're tense. Poised, membrane flowing across your shoulders and head, tendrils quivering in anticipation.
    
    A second figure strides past your hiding place. Short and compact, full-face mask, hair bundled up in a tight bun. Moving with purpose, they head inside the garage.
    
    Go time.
    
    You launch yourself through the booth's window like an octopus from its hideaway, taking off in pursuit of your quarry.
    *page_break
    You enter the gloomy confines of the parking garage. Heaps of materials are haphazardly piled all around, old tools scattered on the floor, the air thick with stale dust. 
    
    It's not long before you spot Libra. They're kneeling beside a pillar, gloved hands extricating the bag from an open panel in the structure. Their head snaps in your direction, eyes glinting in the darkness.
    
    *if observation > 20
        *set cgstatus 2
        And with a sickening lurch of recognition, you realise you know who they are.
        
        The movement. The shape and size. The fluidity with which they—or rather she—rises to her feet, flowing into a combat-ready posture.
        
        *if (ephalanx)
            Libra is $!{cg}. No doubt about it.
            
            What the hell is with you uncovering secret identities lately? Ranger's going to turn out to be Mr. White in disguise at this rate.
            
        *else
            $!{cg}. Libra is $!{cg}.
        
        @{ephalanx Regardless, here's|That's} the task that suddenly pulled $!{cg} away from her handling duties. No wonder she's been so ragged and distracted; she's been taking on an entire gang single-handedly. You don't know what this gains for Hypothesis and the Coven, only that you've got a huge problem on your hands.
        
    *else
        *set librafail true
        Fluidly, Libra rises to their feet, flowing into a combat-ready posture. Something about their movement nags at the back of your mind, but you dismiss the thought: you need to focus.
        
    "Hey! You shouldn't be in here!!"

    @{librafail You clench your jaw,|Your jaw clenches so hard you hear your teeth creak,} eyes flicking to your left.

    With the worst possible timing, a man with a monogrammed badge reading SECURITY comes around the corner closest to you, a flashlight in one hand and a baton in the other.

    You've been gatecrashed by a fucking rent-a-cop.
    
    "This site is off limits to the… general… public…" Horror slowly spreads across rent-a-cop's face, comprehension dawning of what he's just walked into.
    
    He's between you and @{librafail Libra, and unless you deal with him, there's going to be problems.|$!{cg}—Libra, and you can forget resolving this heaving pile of mess when there's a normal person in the mix.}
    *goto mallcop

*label aftermath
*if (fissionmailed)
    *achieve fineprint
    
*else
    *achieve strictlybusiness
    
*if (killer)
    It's a long walk back. Mallory refuses even to look at you, their mood casting a pall over the entire procession. @{guiltkill Guilt gnaws a bloody hole in your stomach.|You ignore them. Ignore all of it. You don't owe them anything.}
    
    An interminable time later, you finally step through the doors of the safehouse with the rest of the group.
    
*elseif (fissionmailed)
    It's a dispirited walk back. @{(libra < 4) The others aren't|Nobody's} pleased with the outcome, @{(libra < 4) and you've obviously got to play your cards close to your chest.|the Altruists' first failure.} Eventually, you're back in the safehouse with the rest of the group.
    
*else
    The walk back flies by. Before you know it, the entire group's assembled in the safehouse's front room.
    
@{fissionmailed Dion puts a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples with a finger and thumb. "I need to work out another way of getting that intel. Don't wait up for me." He heads straight for his room, not quite slamming the door behind him.|Dion closes his eyes and lifts his hands to his shoulders, digging his fingers into his traps with a grunt. "I'm turning in, I think. We'll see what the Businessmen have for us tomorrow." He heads for his room, closing the door with a quiet click.}

*if (killer)
    "Yeah, I'm done too," Mal says shortly. Their eyes flick to you for a moment, then they turn on their heel and leave. @{promise_dance Looks like that dance isn't happening after all.|}
    
    *if (guiltkill)
        How can you blame them? Their disgust is a mirror to your own.
        
    *else
        Whatever. Who are they to judge? You're all villains here.
        
    "So, um, what actually happened?" Kay asks. "@{fissionmailed Like, I know Libra got away, but Mal's acting really weird."|We got Libra, didn't we? Why's Mal acting so weird?"} She laughs nervously, eyes darting around like crazy. "Uh, no pun intended."
    
    "$!{aka2} killed @{(libra = 1) the|a} guy." Wil doesn't look at you. @{guiltkill Hearing ${whim} state it outright is like a death knell.|You grit your teeth.}
    
    Kay swallows hard. "Oh."
    
    *if (guiltkill)
        
        *choice
            #@{(instinctive > 55) "I fucked up."|"I made a mistake."}
                Your words are soft, but their truth inescapable.
                
                @{accidentkill A little carelessless,|A moment of callous madness,} that's all it took.
                
                Teddie looks between you all. "…What's done is done."
                
                "Teddie!" Kay cries.
                
                "What? I'm right."
                
                "Yeah, but—" she slumps. "Nevermind."
                
                If only moving on was that easy. Without consciously thinking about it, you begin drifting towards your room, away from this. Away from them.
                
                *label wilhold
                "$!{aka2}." Wil's voice holds you in place. You look around. There's a deep pain in ${whis} eyes. "You want to talk about it, just tell me."
                
                After a moment's hesitation, you nod, turn, and continue walking.
                
                *goto slideslide
            #If I stare at the ground hard enough, maybe it'll open up and swallow me.
                You keep your gaze locked on the floor and remain perfectly still.
                
                "Guess there's always a chance it goes bad," says Teddie.
                
                "Teddie! Come on!" Kay protests. "Someone died!"
                
                "Yeah. Because it went bad."
                
                "That isn't what—" a huge sigh. "Nevermind."
                
                The ground isn't cooperating, so your alternative is to begin heading for your room. Away from this. Away from them.
                
                *goto wilhold
            #"Can we talk about something else? Please?"
                Wil opens ${whis} mouth then hesitates a moment, expression softening. "…You know what? Yeah. Let's do that."
                
                Kay nods slowly. 
                
                It's a pointless victory. There's no conversation to be had, the room cold and lifeless as the grave.
                
                What's to discuss when you all know what you're ignoring?
                
                You don't last long before making a quiet withdrawal.
                
                *goto slideslide
            #Retreat to my room.
                The weight of your actions, their words, their eyes. It presses upon your chest like a boulder. 
                
                Wordlessly, you whirl around and head for your room.
                
                *if romance_wil > 1
                    "$!{aka2}, wait—" Wil's voice almost, almost gives you pause.
                    
                *else
                    "$!{aka2}! Hold on!" Kay sounds upset, a little despairing.
                    
                "Let ${mc_him} go," says Teddie. "It's $!{mc_his} shit to handle."
                
                @{(rel_teddie < 30) For once, you have cause to be grateful to Teddie.|A fleeting, unexpected twinge of gratitude flits through you.}
                
                *label slideslide
                You enter your room, put your back to the door, and then slide all the way to the floor.
                
                It's a long while before you're able to summon the strength to crawl your way into bed, and longer still before sleep comes to claim you.
                
                *goto funsleepytimes
        
    *else
        *choice
            #They're so fucking squeamish.
                This is where they find their moral compass? Weeks after becoming supervillains?
                
                Unlike you, these guys had a choice. There are no ultimatums, handlers, or death sentences looming over Kay and Wil. Dion approached them and Teddie, and they didn't just agree, they [i]negotiated.[/i] They had the others commit crimes and fight the Hounds on their behalf as a [i]condition[/i] for joining up.
                
                If they didn't want to be involved, all they had to do was step away from the table and say no. 
                
                They had a choice.
                
                With a scowl of frustration, you turn and head for your room.
                
                *if romance_wil > 1
                    "$!{aka2}, wait—" Wil's voice almost, almost gives you pause.
                    
                *else
                    "$!{aka2}! Hold on!" Kay sounds upset, a little despairing.
                    
                "Let ${mc_him} go," says Teddie. "It's $!{mc_his} shit to handle."
                
                Teddie's helpful for once.
                
                You enter your room, shut the door, and then slump backwards onto your bed.
                
                Stewing in your aggrieved anger, sleep is a long time coming.
                
                *goto funsleepytimes
            #Bluntly state that this is a reality check.
                *set c_kay 1
                *set c_wil 1
                "Someone was always going to die eventually," you say. @{(killthink = 1) Maybe you shouldn't be so harsh. You were kidding yourself about this right up until it happened.|You prepared yourself for it from the start, and they should have done the same.} "It's not a game. We're villains, and we hurt people."
                
                Wil grimaces. Kay stares at the floor. Teddie is impassive.
                
                You think they might remain in that frozen tableau forever, then Wil sags, one hand gripping the tight fist of the other. Something creaks. When ${whe} speaks, ${whis} voice is hoarse. "Maybe you're right, but…" $!{whe} trails off.
                
                "I…I'm gonna go," Kay mumbles, stumbling off towards her room. Teddie follows.
                
                @{(romance_wil > 1) Wil won't meet your eye, and a mix of emotions you can't quite name bubbles inside you. When ${whe} still won't speak,|Wil remains silent, and with a spike of frustration} you turn away, leaving ${whim} there.
                
                You're right. You know you're right.
                
                You keep assuring yourself all the way until you finally fall asleep.
                
                *goto funsleepytimes
            #I just want to stop thinking about what happened.
                It's over. No justifications or discussions are going to change what you did, and you're tired of playing it back, tired of seeing the body flash through your head with each blink of your eyes.
                
                You already know you'll be revisiting tonight in your dreams, you'd rather not occupy the waking hours in the same way.
                
                Wordlessly, you exit the conversation and head for your room.
                
                Perhaps someone addresses you, but you wouldn't know. You wall out their voices, wall out everything until all that remains in your ears is a dull roar while you stare blankly at the ceiling.
                
                Eventually, you sleep.
                *goto funsleepytimes
        
        
*else
    @{fissionmailed Mal glances at the rest of you and shrugs. "Don't stress over him. Or tonight. Can't win 'em all."|Mal winks at the rest of you. "That's Dion for 'great job, team',"}
    
    Kay huffs. @{fissionmailed "Just wish I could have done something. I felt useless."|"I didn't even do anything."}
    
    "How it goes sometimes. You followed the plan."
    
    She pulls a face. "I spose…"
    
    *page_break Settle in.
    
Kay and Teddie meander off to their rooms, Mal disappears somewhere, @{(romance_wil > 1) and you end up sprawled on the couches next to Wil, chatting comfortable about not much of anything.|and though Wil keeps you company a little while, ${whe} eventually drifts into the kitchen to grab some food, leaving you alone on the couches.}

*if (romance_wil > 1)
    *if ((romance_wil = 2) or (romance_wil = 4))
        "For the record, tonight doesn't count as our first date," ${whe} says.

        @{firstdate "What about in the garden a couple days ago?"|You breathe a laugh. "Agreed."}

        @{firstdate "Hm, fair. Doesn't count as our second date, then."|"We should definitely get out someplace soon. Been kind of nonstop."}

        @{firstdate "I'll give you that one," you reply.|$!{whe} won't get any argument from you.} Wil smiles slightly and scoots a little closer.
        
        *if ((romance_wyrd = 1) or (interest_wyrd = false))
            *goto endeveningwil

        *if ((not (killer)) and (interest_wyrd))
            *if ((flirt_wyrd > 2) or (heatedmoment)) 
                *goto malinitiating
            *else
                *goto endeveningwil
            
        *else
            *goto endeveningwil
           
    *elseif ((romance_wil = 3) or (romance_wil = 5))
        The two of you aren't quite dancing around the subject of one another, but you aren't fully committing either. @{(romance_wil = 3) There are too many broken edges scraping inside your heart to forge ahead without care.|You just aren't ready.}
        
        *if ((romance_wyrd = 1) or (interest_wyrd = false))
            *goto endeveningwil
        
        *if ((not (killer)) and (interest_wyrd))
            *if ((flirt_wyrd > 2) or (heatedmoment))
                *goto malinitiating
        
            *else
                *goto endeveningwil
            
        *else
            *goto endeveningwil
        
*elseif ((not (killer)) and (interest_wyrd))
        *if ((romance_wyrd = 1) or (interest_wyrd = false))
            *goto intruth
        *if ((flirt_wyrd > 2) or (heatedmoment))
            But not for long.
            *goto malinitiating
        
        *else
            *goto intruth

*else
    *label intruth
    In truth, you're not much in the mood to hang around.
    
    *goto endeveningalone
    
*label malinitiating
Movement catches your eye, and you glance up to see Mal returning, sidling around the corner of the couch. As they catch your eye, their tongue darts briefly between their lips, and they grin.

*if (romance_wil > 1)
    "Hey @{(romance_wil > 2) lovebirds.|you two.} Mind if I cut in?"

    Wil raises ${whis} eyebrows. "Sure. What's up?"

    *if romance_wil = 2
        "Well, I was hoping I could… borrow $!{aka} for a bit." They make it sound about as suggestive as anything you've ever heard.

        Wil laughs nervously. "Depends on $!{aka}, really."

        "Sure, but it's polite to ask before putting the moves on someone's ${mc_boyfriend}."

        Wil splutters into an entirely different laugh. "That's what this is?"

        *choice
            #Mal has a strange idea of flirting.
                @{(expressive > 55) "If this is you putting the moves on me, I'm a little scared for what comes next,"|"I don't think this counts as making a move,"} you say.

                "Hey, I've got game," Mal replies with a brazen grin.

                @{(expressive > 55) "Doubt."|You raise an eyebrow.}

            #Wait, what!?
                Mal's putting the moves—huh!?

                *if (smooch_wyrd)
                    Like, sure, you kissed before, but that wasn't right in front of Wil!

                *else
                    $!{wname} is like, right there!

            #I don't know. Makes sense to me.
                Mal's clearly aware of the flirty relationship you've got with Wil. and they're checking where the boundaries lie. Nothing wrong with that.

        "Point being…" Mal turns to you. "Wanna fool around, $!{aka}?" They pause. "I mean, I suppose Wil can come too if ${whe} wants." Their grin turns a little sheepish. "Uh, being clear, doesn't have to be sex. Just… craving a little intimacy, I guess."

        You can't tell if this is the smoothest pick up you've ever experienced or just the most balls out confident. Mal sure isn't shy.

        "Thanks, Mal, but I'm good," says Wil, barely recovering from ${whis} laughing fit. $!{whe} glances to you. "$!{aka}, you can do whatever you want."

        "Really?" You're a touch sceptical. Mal just swept in like a whirlwind.

        $!{whe} shrugs a shoulder. "We aren't dating. It'd be pretty classless to get jealous."
        *label inviteC
        *choice
            #Sure, why not? @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                *set flirt_wyrd +1
                Mal's fun, and $!{wname} is right: you aren't an item.

                "I'll take you up on that," you tell them.

                *label stretchinggrin
                Their grin stretches. "Awesome." They turn to Wil. "You're very gracious, Wil. I'll have ${mc_him} back first thing tomorrow morning."

                Wil snorts. "Get out of here, nerd." $!{whe}'s smiling. "You kids have fun."

                Mal blows ${whim} a kiss. Rising, you accompany them to their door.

                *goto malsroom
            *selectable_if (smooch_wyrd) #I wouldn't mind picking up where we left off earlier. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                *set flirt_wyrd +1
                You and Mal have unfinished business. You haven't forgotten the scorching heat of their mouth on yours.

                Meeting their eyes, you give your sternest stare. "For the record, I wasn't done, earlier."

                "Uh oh." Mal's still grinning.

                "Think I'm out of the loop here…" Wil observes quietly.

                "Tell you later," Mal promises, then offers you their hand. "Shall we?"

                @{touchingokay Accepting it,|Declining the offer,} you rise and accompany them to their door.
                *goto malsroom
            #Maybe another time.
                *goto anothertimemal
            #I still don't want to up and ditch Wil.
                "Wil and I are kind of settled right now," you say.

                "Ahh. I snoozed and losed," Mal sighs dramatically, still wearing a broad grin. "Fair enough. Have a good evening, you two." They withdraw, apparently unruffled.

                "They're really something," Wil observes. 

                *goto wrappingupwithwil
            #Yeah, no. This has turned me all the way off Mal. [Block romance/flirting]
                *goto denythemal
            *hide_reuse #They have some nerve after abandoning me in there!
                    *gosub youditchedme!
                    *goto inviteC

    *else

        They glance between you both. "So, you two are together." @{heatedmoment The heated moment you shared with Mal at Masquerade leaps to mind.|It's a plain statement of fact.}

        *if (aro != 1)
            "Not exactly," you say. "I don't really do romance, you know?"

            "Right on," says Mal. "Maybe that simplifies things." They shrug. "Maybe not. Aromantic doesn't mean no commitment."

            "Mal, can you just explain what you're getting at?" Wil interjects, perplexed.

            "Oh, sure." Mal favours the two of you with that broad grin again. "Wanna fool around? No strings attached."

            *goto nostringsmal

        @{(romance_wil = 4) Wil looks at you a moment. "Well. It's early, but… yeah."|"Uh." Wil looks at you nervously. "Well. I'd say we're still figuring things out."}

        "Mmhm." Mal pauses for a long moment. "Alright. Wanna fool around? No strings attached."

        *label nostringsmal
        "With both of us!?" Wil splutters. The reaction strikes you as less offended than surprised. Perhaps even a little intrigued.

        Mal shrugs. "I mean, don't wanna ruin your thing by asking just one, and I like you both, so sure, why not?" They stop, grin turning sheepish. "Being clear, it doesn't have to be sex. Just… craving a little intimacy, I guess."

        *label inviteD
        *choice
            #Well, if Wil's okay with it...
                "Wil?" $!{whe} turns ${whis} head. "I'm down if you are."

                "You are?" Wil's eyebrows go to the ceiling. "I—okay. Wasn't expecting that."

                "Sweet." Mal addresses ${whim}. "Wil? Up to you."

                *goto grimacewil
            #I hesitate. I need to get a sense of Wil's opinion before I say anything.
                You don't respond, looking to Wil in question.

                *label grimacewil
                $!{whe} grimaces, fidgeting with ${whis} fingers. "You know, I'd have taken you up on that in the past, but…" The fidgeting intensifies. $!{whe} grips ${whis} knuckles. Hard. "There's some… stuff I need to work through."

                Mal nods gently. "I get it. Let me know if there's anything I can do. I'll leave you—"

                "Hold on." Wil glances at you again. "I don't mind if you go, $!{aka}." $!{whe} smiles, and despite ${whis} fretful hands, ${whe}'s face is fully at ease. "Seriously. I'm not the jealous type."

                Mal slowly blinks, then also looks to you. The ball's in your court.
                *label inyourcourt
                *choice
                    #That's good enough for me. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                        *set flirt_wyrd +1
                        "Right then," you say. "Guess I'm all yours, Mal."

                        *goto stretchinggrin
                    #I'd feel weird about it.
                        "I dunno," you sigh. "It wouldn't feel right."

                        *label noproblemmal
                        "Hey, not a problem," says Mal. They sweep into a fanciful bow. "Have a good night, you two." With that, they withdraw.

                        Watching them go, Wil laughs softly. "Confidence off the charts. They're something else."

                        *goto wrappingupwithwil
                    *hide_reuse #Wil really won't mind?
                        *set poly_wilk true
                        You turn to ${whim}, frowning. "Hold on, both of us being involved is one thing, but it doesn't like, bother you if I go off with them?"

                        Wil shrugs one shoulder. "I don't get possessive. Honestly, I'm perfectly happy with things being open or poly or whatever. Go have a good time if that's what you want." You can tell ${whe}'s being genuine; you've got a definitive green light.

                        *goto inyourcourt
            #Not right now.
                *label anothertimemal
                "Maybe another time," you say. You're not out and out shutting the door, but tonight doesn't feel right.

                *goto noproblemmal
            #@{(romance_wil = 4) I'm pretty sure this would ruin our thing.|Wil and I may not officially be anything, but I can only see this making it awkward.}
                Whatever's between you both, it's still so new. You don't want to complicate the relationship by adding a fling with Mal to the mix.

                "Sorry, I don't think that'll work out," you say.

                *goto noproblemmal
            #Yeah, no. This has turned me all the way off Mal. [Block romance/flirting]
                *label denythemal
                *set interest_wyrd false
                *set overt_wyrd false
                *set flirt_wyrd 0
                *set romance_wyrd 1
                "No thanks," you say firmly. "This isn't for me, Mal."

                Wil quickly chips in. "Yeah. Thanks but no thanks."

                Mallory's grin turns wry, and you suspect they understand the rejection in your refusal. "Sorry for bothering you both then." They withdraw with a polite nod.

                Watching them go, Wil shakes ${whis} head. "Shot down in flames and still not ruffled. They're something else."

                *goto wrappingupwithwil
            *hide_reuse #They have some nerve after abandoning me in there!
                    *gosub youditchedme!
                    *goto inviteD


*else
*if (dancepartner = 2)
    *if ((brokenheart < 5) and (smooch_wyrd))
        "Hey, $!{aka}," they say. "Was fun dancing with you earlier. I wanted to check in, see where you're at. What with the whole… you know."

        Your bout of tears.

        Thinking on it is a slippery slope to your mood plunging back into the pit, to the return of grief and guilt.

        At least you aren't crying. Yet.
        *choice
            #I tell them I'm fine.
                "I'm okay," you lie.

                "Mm," Mal replies, not believing you.

                "Was there anything else?" you ask just to steer them away.

                "Not really." Mal sighs. "I'm glad you're fine, but regardless, I won't do anything like that again."
                *goto malwontagain
            #Tell the truth.
                "It's not great," you say. You don't have the energy to cover up your feelings.

                Mal's smile disappears. "Sorry again. If I'd known I wouldn't have—I guess it doesn't matter. I won't do anything like that again."
                *label malwontagain
                *choice
                 #Thank them.
                    "I appreciate that," you reply, then hesitate. They may be thinking the problem is them. "It's not your fault."

                    Their expression turns wry. "Well, it sure isn't yours," they bat back.

                    You shrug. Silence falls between you, awkward and heavy.
                    *choice
                        #I could really use some intimacy right now. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                            *set flirt_wyrd +1
                            *goto stillhurting
                        #I want to be alone.
                            "I'm heading to bed," you say.

                            Mal dips their head. "Take care of yourself, $!{aka}." With that, they withdraw.

                            *goto endeveningalone

                 #Object! @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                    "Hey, don't speak too soon," you reply, trying to conjure a smile to puncture the pall over you.

                    Mal's grin is reborn. "Oh yeah? Promise rescinded."
                    *choice
                        #Suggest picking up where you left off. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                            *set flirt_wyrd + 1
                            *label stillhurting
                            You're still hurting. The wounds haven't miraculously healed between now and Masquerade.

                            Sometimes, you just want to block the pain out with something else.

                            "So… want to give it another shot?" you say quietly.

                            Mal's eyebrows rise. "I figured I'd pushed a kinda bad button back there."

                            "That's my hang up to deal with."

                            They pause for a few seconds, looking into your face, and then nod. "You tell me if you're uncomfortable."

                            You match their nod before rising and following them to their room.
                            *goto malsroom
                 #That would be best. [Block flirting/romance]
                    *set interest_wyrd false
                    *set overt_wyrd false
                    *set flirt_wyrd 0
                    "Thanks, Mal." You say nothing else, allowing the silence to speak for itself.

                    They dip their head in a shallow nod. "Take care, alright?" A little of their grin returns. "Doctor's orders."

                    You nod back, and they leave you be.

                    *goto endeveningalone

            #I'm not discussing that. I can't.
                "I don't want to talk about it," you say quietly.

                "Sure. Sorry again." Mal's smile fades. "I won't do anything like that again."
                *goto malwontagain


    *else
        "Hey, $!{aka}," they drawl. "Was fun dancing with you earlier." @{smooch_wyrd Their voice takes on a mischievous lilt. "And the other thing, that was fun too." You remember the feeling of their mouth on yours, and fight back a flush.|} "Wanna… hang out some more?" @{smooch_wyrd they add, grin shading into a smirk.|You don't think they could sound more suggestive if they tried.} 

        *label inviteB
        *choice
            #Leap at the invitation. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                "Absolutely!" you say, @{(expressive > 55) unabashedly eager.|cringing at how eager you sound.} 

                Mal's grin stretches from ear to ear. "Awesome. Shall we?"

                *label justalittleheart
                With a nod, you rise from the couch and follow them to their room, heartbeat quickening just a little in their wake.

                *goto malsroom
            #I don't know what they're suggesting, but I do want to find out. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
                "Sure. I could… hang out," you reply. @{(expressive > 55) You allow a little of the same flirtatious tone to enter your voice.|In the interest of not making a fool of yourself, you elect not to mirror their flirtatious tone,}

                "In that case, let me show you to my parlour," Mal hums, eyes glinting.

                *goto justalittleheart
            #Politely decline.
                *goto malaww
            *hide_reuse #They have some nerve after abandoning me in there!
                *gosub youditchedme!
                *goto inviteB

*else
    "Hey, $!{aka}," they drawl. @{promise_dance "You mentioned a dance later."| "I know you weren't into it earlier, but now we're someplace a little less crowded…"} They lean in, hands on their thighs, smile growing. @{promise_dance "It's later."|"Wanna dance?"}

    From their tone and demeanour, they definitely mean the invitation as more than friendly.
    *label inviteA
    *choice
        #...Actually, yeah. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
            *set interest_wyrd true
            *set flirt_wyrd +1
            *set overt_wyrd true
            *set agreedance true
            It's some harmless fun.

            "Alright, you've got a dance partner," you reply.

            Mal beams. "Hell yeah. Let's get our groove on."

            Hiding a smile behind your hand, you rise from the couch and follow them to their room.

            *goto malsroom
        #I'd like to spend time with them, but no dancing. @{ftone [Flirt]|}
            "No to dancing." You smile. "Yes to company, if you're offering."

            "Oh?" They raise an eyebrow. "Sure, I can get down with that. Why don't we see where the night takes us?"

            Turning that over in your head, you rise from the couch and follow them to their room.

            *goto malsroom
        #Politely decline.
            *label malaww
            "I'd rather not," you say.

            "Aww." Mal straightens. "Okay then." Their expression is hangdog, though you're almost certain they're playing it up on purpose. "Guess that's goodnight. Take care of yourself."

            With a nod, they head off, totally unruffled.

            *goto endeveningalone
        *hide_reuse #They have some nerve after abandoning me in there!
            *gosub youditchedme!
            *goto inviteA


    
*label malsroom
*page_break Inside.
*set rel_wyrd %+ 20
Mallory's room is almost eerily neat and organized. An array of medical supplies more extensive than anything you've seen outside of a pharmacy is lined along one wall, complete with strips of masking tape to clearly delineate the slots for each item. Cables for various electronics are bundled up and carefully labelled with colour-coded ties. A clothes rail that looks straight out of a department store—how'd they get their hands on that?—is filled with several fashionable outfits.

Their bed's unmade at least. You were beginning to feel like a slob.
*choice
    #Comment on the medicine.
        "That's a pretty extensive stash," you observe. @{(doctormal = 4) Your stint in their care the other day notwithstanding, this|This} goes far beyond simple preparedness.
        
        "Sure is." Mal glances at the row of supplies for a long moment.  "Parahuman fights are dangerous. @{(doctormal = 4) You know that better than most, $!{aka2}.|} I don't want anyone to die because I wasn't ready."
        
        "Who says it's all on you?" you ask.
        
        They meet your eyes and smile without humour. "I do."
        
        Their tone is serious enough that, with a brief nod, you decide to let the topic rest. 
        
        The next words from their mouth hold a rather different note.
        
    #Comment on the electronics.
        "That's a whole lot of gadgets," you observe. You don't even know what a couple of those devices @{(knowledge > 40) are, which is highly unusual for you.|are.} @{(knowledge < 20) Then again, you once found yourself mystified by what turned out to be a GPS. |}
        
        Mal glances at them, then laughs self-consciously. "There goes my cool kid cred. Yeah, I'm kind of a geek."
        
        @{(expressive > 60) "Oh, Mal," you say. "You never had cool kid cred."|"Nothing wrong with that," you say, shrugging.}
        
        @{(expressive > 60) They look mournful. "You know, for a second I thought you were actually going to say something nice."|Their eyes widen in faux alarm. "But $!{aka}! think of my image!"}
        
        @{(expressive > 60) You grin, not bothering to feign innocence.|That earns them a small smile.}
        
    #Sass them about their bed.
        *if expressive > 55
            You click your tongue. "Messy covers, Mal? For shame."
            
            Mal laughs. "You got me. I'll report for summary execution at once."
            
            You nod imperiously, though your poker face swiftly cracks into a grin.
            
        *else
            "What a dump," you say. 
            
            Wait. No. That just makes you sound like an asshole.
            
            Mal glances at you and smothers a laugh. "You'll get this humour thing eventually, $!{aka}."
            
            You suppress a sigh. Someday.
            
        *set expressive %+ 10
            
    #I don't have anything to say.
        You're satisfied with your brief once over, and make no comment.
        
        As always, your own bar is very low.
        
*if (agreedance)
    Mal turns a 360, puts their hands on their hips, and smiles.
    
    "Soo… how about that dance?"
    
    In truth, you're a little embarrassed by how quickly you cross over to their side.
    
    *page_break
    There's no music, just the two of you moving to a non-existent beat. That brings some initial awkwardness, but with a relaxed chuckle and a self-effacing smile, Mal diffuses the tension. They're calm, at ease, and you find yourself relaxing a little in turn, your mind finally allowing you to find the simple joy of moving your body. Mal stays close, within your bubble but still respecting your space. Their expression is unfamiliar, untarnished by the usual hints of mischief or flirtation.
    
    Eventually you both stop, both breathing a little hard. Mal's brow glistens with sweat, and they grin. "That was fun. What now?" A wink. "I have a couple ideas." And in an instant, the mischief has flooded back.
    
    *page_break Hear them out.
    *gosub_scene mal_hookup
    
    *goto aftermalth
    
    
*elseif ((brokenheart < 5) and (smooch_wyrd))
    *page_break
    *gosub_scene mal_hookup
    
    *goto aftermalth
    
*else
    "Soo, now that I've got you here…" Their voice drops to a purr. "What do you say we get a little better acquainted?"
    
    You have a sudden bout of butterflies. "Define that."
    *page_break
    *gosub_scene mal_hookup
    
    *label aftermalth
    
    Restless, thoughts whirring madly, it's another slow slide into sleep.
    *goto funsleepytimes
*label wrappingupwithwil
*page_break
With Mal's departure, the two of you chat until fatigue starts catching up with you. Though part of you longs to remain, the prospect of passing out on the couch, completely in the open sparks a visceral jolt of fear.

*goto regretfulgoodnights

*label endeveningwil
*page_break
You stay there with Wil until fatigue starts catching up with you. Though part of you longs to remain, the prospect of passing out on the couch, completely in the open sparks a visceral jolt of fear.

*label regretfulgoodnights
Yeah, no. It's time for bed.

With a few regretful goodnights you part ways with Wil, heading to your room and flopping facefirst onto the bed.

*goto anotherday

*label endeveningalone
Rising from the couch, you walk to your room, flopping facefirst onto your bed.

*label anotherday
Another day in the supervillain life. Funny that it leaves you just as dirt tired as your old 9-5.

At least you don't have to worry about getting screamed at by entitled caffeine addicts any more. @{guiltkill Just murder.|}

You clamber into bed and are out like a light.
*label funsleepytimes
*page_break
You couldn't say what stirs you from slumber, plagued as it is by whispers, ghosts, and @{killer recurring visions of your victim's face,|a recurring dream of Management angrily demanding you remake her iced coffee,} only that when your eyelids flicker open, you're somewhere else.

A dark street stretches before you, illuminated only by the sickly glow of a single street lamp. The shadowed buildings to either side loom large, details impossible to discern. The sidewalks are empty. Desolate.

And it all feels so very familiar.
*fake_choice
    #I'm still asleep.
    #I have to be.
    #It's that night.
        
Your gaze drifts to your left. A wall of metal extends fifteen feet tall. The outside of the compound.

It's almost reassuring. You aren't kidnapped or sleepwalking. It's just another dream. Another variation of the nightmares, your dutiful companions of a half decade. Who will you see die again? Whose accusation awaits in the dark?

[i]"Miggy! Miggy!"[/i]

Your expectations shatter to splinters around you.

No nightmare's recounting of tonight has ever included the voices of children.
*page_break

[i]"Miggy!"[/i] A little louder, a little more insistent. There's movement in the corner of your eye and you whirl around. Nothing.

Another flicker. Whirl. Nothing.

Another. Again you move, nothi—

A gangly young boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen stands next to you. Tall for his @{mc_height |age: taller than you, in fact.|age: a little taller than you, in fact.|age: not too much shorter than you.|age, though he's some distance shorter than you.|age, though he's not catching you any time soon.} He has a puffy afro, dark skin. 

Dark skin running red with rustlike stains. The marks seems to shift and writhe, forming screaming mouths, blinking eyes.

The boy reaches for your arm, his cracked lips pulled into a lopsided smile.
*choice
    #Step back.
        You recoil, almost losing your balance. The boy tilts his head, looking confused. He reaches again, as if expecting you to occupy the same space you just vacated, his long fingers groping at nothing.
        
    #Don't move.
        *set amlvl +1
        His fingers are cold as ice. Images burst through your mind, too fast to comprehend. The boy's smile grows, more of that rusty fluid spilling from his lips.
        
        Involuntarily, you yank your arm back, breaking his grip.
        
[i]"Play! Playtime!"[/i]

More figures emerge from the shadows. Here, a rail thin girl missing an arm, head and body faced in opposite directions. There, a tiny boy with no head at all, a cloud of purple particles filling not just that space, but an impossible, incomprehensible span around him.

Louder and louder the chatter grows as you're surrounded in more and more directions. A gaunt, red-headed girl appears ordinary, then opens her mouth to join the chanting, and her head is in her mouth, then again in that head's mouth, ad infinitum. A chubby blonde boy covers his face and ears with oversized hands, two huge green eyes blinking wetly from below his fingers.

[i]"Where did you go?"[/i] 
[i]"Play with us!"[/i]
[i]"Yes! Please?"[/i]

Their voices pound at your temples, echo in your skull. The darkness presses in, filling your lungs with suffocating weight. A presence sits on your shoulder, in your mind, taking your eyes and ears for its own.

Closer they come. Closer.
*choice
    #Panic.
        Everywhere you look is another of the children. Everywhere you turn, your passage is blocked.
        
        Terror grips your throat in its clammy claw. You have to get out of here. You have to get out, get out get out getoutgetout—
        
        [i]"Stop it!"[/i]
        [i]"Bad! Bad!"[/i]
        
        A clangorous clash of disjointed cries reverberates through your mind. You stagger and fall to your knees, eyes rolling backward, sensing the walls closing in, the hands reaching, clawing—
        
        *goto comeaway
    #Lash out.
        *set aqt -1
        You don't know what the fuck this is, only that you're done with it.
        
        Messed up and inexplicable as they are, they're only children. The red-headed girl grabs at you and you simply shove her over. Backward-head tries next, and you send her spilling to the ground.
        
        What comes next is far worse than mere babble.
        
        Wailing.
        
        A cacophony of crying children splits the air, your ears, your skull, overlapping and merging, rising towards a fever pitch. You stumble, stagger, and drop to your knees, vision blurring, colours streaking and running together. Shadowy silhouettes crowd around you, smothering what little light remains in this place. You're choking, drowning on the darkness—
        
        *label comeaway
        [i]Come away from there.[/i]
        
        It's not a voice you hear so much as a thought directed [i]at[/i] you. 'Stop that' and 'Behave yourselves' and 'No' distilled into a single sharp command. @{(aqt = 0) A ripple of uncertainty parts the clustering silhouettes,|The clamour abates a little,} and then another of those not-words, not-thoughts.
        
        [i]Now.[/i]
        
        There's an unhappy murmur. Your eyes refocus. The children retreat, just a little.
        
        *goto anewfigure
    #Remain calm.
        Can't lose your composure. Can't let this get any more out of hand.
        
        You focus on what you know, what you can control. Your body. Your space. The red-headed girl steps closer and you step away. The headless boy reaches for you and you sway just enough to elude his grasp. You dance aside and turn, barely stopping short of colliding with the first boy. This time, his hands remain at his side as he regards you silently, rust-red rivulets streaking down his cheeks.
        
        Before you can grow transfixed, you move, feeling a whisper of a grasp slide off your shirt. The dark seems to crowd in around you as you retreat, keeping all five kids in your field of vision at once.
        
        And your back bumps against metal.
        
        [i]"Goodbyes are hard,"[/i] says a small voice at your side. Your head snaps around, and a fragile latine girl looks up at you, meeting your gaze with big brown eyes. [i]"Sorry."[/i] There's an aching sadness to the girl, palpable grief emanating from every pore.
        
        [i]Come away from there. Now.[/i]
        
        It's not a voice. You don't hear it so much as feel the thought. There's urgency, worry, a 'stop that' mingled with a 'don't you dare', a sharp command blunted by a smear of concern.
        
        The girl sighs, face falling as she looks over her shoulder. She takes a tiny, reluctant step away from you.
        *choice
            #Comfort her.
                *set aqt + 1
                *set amlvl +1
                Something unknown compels you to try to ease the girl's sorrow, even without knowing the source, even without knowing if you're capable.
                
                For a moment, your mouth doesn't seem to work, tongue moving without sounds. Then, and you don't fully understand what it is you're realising, you grasp how you must speak.
                
                "It's going to be okay," you say. You're quiet, and yet somehow it carries, whispers on a non-existent wind.
                
                The girl stops walking and looks back at you. She sniffles, eyes filling with tears. [i]"Thanks,"[/i] she says thickly.
                
                Then, she resumes her shuffling steps and simply… fades.
                
                *label watchandwait
                The other children remain in a loose perimeter in front of you. Watching. Waiting.
                
            #Let her go.
                Why would you stop her? More distance from these eerie little kids is exactly what you want.
                
                The girl takes a shuffling step away, another, a third, and then simply… fades.
                
                *goto watchandwait
            #What is that voiceless speaker?
                It's almost like you've heard them before, which makes no sense, because you're not actually hearing anything. Even still, they're somehow just a little familiar.
                
                Are they speaking straight into your head? Perhaps that's the explanation.
                
                Unfortunately, your thinking time is up. Walking away, the girl simply… fades.
                
                *goto watchandwait
        
        
*label anewfigure
And there's a new figure. Lean frame. Mousy hair. Shabby clothes. Their face

*page_break Their face
The figure looks at you and you look back. The children cluster around them, those with eyes staring intently.

*if aqt = 0
    [i]Leave.[/i]
    
    It's a thunderous [i]demand[/i]. You tumble backwards, darkness swallowing you whole—
    
    And awaken in your room at the safehouse, sweat-drenched and gasping for breath.
    
    *goto awakenfrom
    
*else
    [i]Go back to sleep.[/i]

    The thought-words hit with a wash of fatigue. That's an order.

    One you won't heed. You won't allow them to dismiss you so easily.

    [i]Back home. Come on.[/i]

    The kids respond without words, disappointment pulsing from the group in waves.

    [i]That's enough.[/i]

    Stern, but not harsh. One by one, the children turn away, trooping down the street. The figure moves last, shepherding the group ahead.
    *choice
        #Follow. I need to know. I need to understand.
            *set amlvl +1
            *set aqt +1
            It's hard to move, like you're wading through tar. You persist, forcing one foot to lift, then the other.

            You close the gap quicker than you should. As one, the children hesitate. As one, they turn and face you once again.

            A blur of emotions not your own rushes through you. Longing and excitement, fear and happiness. 

            [i]"It's you!"[/i]
            [i]"Stay! Stay!"[/i]

            The figure pauses then, turning back. You feel a smatter of surprise.

            [i]Sleep, I said.[/i]

            Tiredness crashes into you like a truck, far more insistent than before. You sway unsteadily, the dark world spiralling around you. Something tugs at your mind, and you know intuitively that you're about to be expelled from this place.

            *choice
                #Fight it.
                    *set amlvl +1
                    Concentrating as hard as you can, you make a mental wall, blocking out the fatigue, throwing off that tugging sensation.
                    
                    You step forward. And again.
                    
                    The figure tilts their head.
                    
                    "I'm impressed," they say—yes, say. Their voice is husky, worn, and almost emotionless. They stretch out their hands, open palmed, beckoning you forward.
                    
                    Another step. You're close, now. Close to uncovering what this— 
                    
                    Fingers whisper around your skull. You stop your advance cold, even begin to reverse course, but your legs are suddenly frozen.
                    
                    Still those fingers probe, seeking a way in. The tension builds in your forehead, rising to a blinding, agonising crescendo.
                    
                    And then as swiftly as the pain appeared, it's gone.
                    
                    The figure smiles, an exhausted, joyless smile.
                    
                    "Sorry, $!{forename}, but it's time for you to leave."
                    
                    [i]"Bye bye!"[/i]
                    [i]"Awww…"[/i]
                    [i]"Come back!"[/i]
                    
                    You black out before you hit the floor.
                    
                    *page_break
                    
                    *goto openeyes
                #Take the escape route while it's there.
                    Who says you'll find another exit? This may be your only chance.
                    
                    You let your mind move with the force instead of against it, and tumble into the dark.
                    
                    so, so dark.
                    
                    *page_break
                    
                    *goto openeyes

        #Hang back. I could be in danger.
            @{(instinctive > 55) Caution isn't your usual watchword, but this isn't a usual situation.|Caution tends to be your watchword, and if there was ever a moment to be on guard…}
            
            You remain where you are, body tense, ready to react. Neither children nor figure stop, slow, or look back, darkness slowly swallowing the procession.
            
            And the more distant they grow, the more… sluggish… your mind… seems… to… get
            
            You pitch over backwards, tumbling into the dark.
            *page_break
            
            *goto openeyes

*label openeyes
Your eyes open. You're lying in bed at the Altruists' safehouse.
    
*label awakenfrom
Long, slow blinks in the gloom. You can't tell the time. Not yet morning.

Your mouth is dry. Your temples throb. There's a scratchy feeling behind your eyelids, a greasy malaise clinging to your @{(amlvl > 1) consciousness, like you've emerged from a bad dream.|consciousness.}
    
*if amlvl > 1
    *set dreamforget true
    A minute drifts by, seconds floating on the barest of currents.
    
    Your eyes gradually slip closed once more. Come dawn, you don't even remember what happened.
    
    *finish
    
*else
    Then with a lurch, it all comes rushing back.
    
    You know your dreams. That wasn't one of them.
    
    That strange figure. The children. Nothing makes sense.
    
    *if (photo)
        Those kids… Wasn't there… something? You're certain you didn't recognise them, and equally certain that you're wrong. All so strange. All so hauntingly familiar. @{logs And... the name. There was a name. You know there was. And you can't... quite... remember.|}
        
        *if ((forename = "Miguel") and (logs))
            *goto yoursandnot
        
    *elseif (logs)
        There was a name, you suddenly remember, suddenly forget. A name, but…
        
        *if forename = "Miguel" 
            *label yoursandnot
            Yours? No. Yes. Yours and not, both at once.
            
        *else
            whose? Someone you don't know. Someone you do.
            
    You're trembling. Trembling from head to toe.
    
    *choice
        #My old ghosts don't seem so bad right now.
            At least you're accustomed to them. At least you know what they are.
            
            You never thought that children could frighten you so.
            
        #On the contrary, it beats reliving that night again.
            You've been through that night over and over. Over and over. Over and over.
            
            Anything is better than another loop of your life's worst moments.
            
        #I'm not ranking my nightmares.
            The new's no better than the old. It's a waste of mental energy, and you have precious little to spare.

Staring into the darkness, the strange figure returns to the front of your mind. The odd one out. Your recollection of them is somehow… greasy, details slipping from your grasp. They wore no mask, and yet you can't picture a single facial feature.

Who were they?

Your fitful thoughts hold no answers, and slumber is long in returning.

*finish

*label youditchedme!
"Hold on, are you just going to pretend you didn't bail on me back there?" You glare at them.

"Uh." Mal's smile freezes over a little. "Sorry?"

*choice
    #Grill them.
        "You should be!" You narrow your eyes further. "What was so important anyway?" @{(wyrdmeet = 1) A question you already know the answer to. Will they lie?|It was so abrupt, the way they left.}
        
        "I had something I needed to do. Time sensitive," Mal smoothly evades.
        
        @{(wyrdmeet = 1) Sure. Okay.|How wildly informative.}
        
    #Let them off the hook.
        "Apology accepted," you say magnanimously. "but you better make it up to me."
        
        Mal laughs. "I'll try."
        
    #I'm still mad about it.
        "You'll have to do better than that," you growl.
        
        Mal sighs, and then drops to one knee, pressing their hands to their chest. "$!{aka2}, please accept my sincerest apologies. I solemnly vow to never again leave you to fend for yourself in a mask club."
        
        @{(romance_wil > 1) Wil stifles a laugh, you|You} roll your eyes.

There's still their offer to consider.
*return