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Fantasy New Oasis: Four Heavenly Kings — The B-Sides

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DARIUS KENNEDY
CS Link
SCENE:
Dissonant Ichors
LOCATION:
Alleyway, East District
TIME:
Pre-Arc 1: December 21, 2020 -- Dusk
PARTICIPANTS:
Darius, Shen, Raph
DISSONANT ICHORS

“You think?” Darius panted as he got back up, grateful enough that Raph had taken the spotlight. He couldn’t berate Raph for his recklessness now though. He was actually winning, for now at least. It was a little inspiring. Once again realising he was empty-handed, Darius rushed down the alleyway to see his options. Maybe Raph would handle it himself while he looked for a weapon, but the monster watched his movement.

“You’re on your own for a moment!” He called back to Raph, but wasn’t confident that he would care. The giant growled, taking steps towards Darius.

“C’mon…”

Darius spied his bat at last. The giant took another step, then stopped and wobbled in place. It stepped again, and then buckled, falling to its knees, and then flat on its face with such force that it almost made Darius lose his balance too. It wasn’t done fighting yet, despite the limited mobility. A claw narrowly missed Darius as he grabbed the bat.

“Now’s our chance.”

Darius looked back towards Raph and saw the giant staring him in the face, and it was only then that its size registered. It could bite him in half if it wanted to. He tightened his grip around the bat, but didn’t raise it, nor did he make any effort to approach the beast. He froze in place, trembling.
 
THE POPE
CS Link
SCENE:
Thou Shalt Not Detonate
LOCATION:
Sewers beneath the Pleasure District, East District
PARTICIPANTS:
THE POPE, Lloyd Sorvocah, Renjiro Ikeda, Yonna Kowloong, Aerith Rozárie
Thou Shalt Not Detonate

Behaving autonomously, the singing carpet continued to grow and stretch out before the Dragons. It blanketed every wet surface and some of the thicker areas formed into murky living stalagmites. These spires grew quickly into columns which spanned from the floor to the ceiling of the tunnels, obstructing the advance of their expedition. Overhead the carpet stretched still, attempting to engulf their group entirely like an amoeba encompassing its food. Meanwhile the chanting around them grew louder in response to their talking, as if to overpower their own speech in favor of Its own.

Si nos amas serva nos

Serva nos si nos amas
 
[media]N/A[/MEDIA]
KANNA KATSURA
SCENE:
Growing Pains
TIME:
[Post-Outbreak] July 15th, 2022
LOCATION:
East District
PARTICIPANTS:
Jackson, Kanna, Renjiro, Isaiah, Chiyome
Growing Pains
Kanna watched Xuefeng finish his last plate of food, adding to the stack of cleaned-out dishes that were piled on the food stand counter. She herself had ordered a serving of takoyaki, and extended the offer to any of the other Dragons present. But even so, the child ate more than double than what they could've.

Maybe he wont be able to run away now on a full stomach.

A small smile escaped Kanna's lips as Xuefeng hopped off the seat, beginning to wander off. The Jack gestured to the others.

"Go with him, I'll be right behind you."

Kanna turned to the man running the food stand, offering her hand in helping him clean up and collect the dishes before paying for their meals, thanking him before departing as well. True to her word, she caught up with the others in no time.

While her eyes mainly remained on Xuefeng, they glanced around every now and then to see the different stalls and booths. The Market District was always a bustling and busy part of the East, and attracted people from all over New Oasis. In some regard, it could be considered it's own little city. There was always new shops popping up and others closing down. Only few have the distinct honor of sticking around year after year.

Kanna's cadence matched Xufeng's, noticing that he was headed somewhere. She glanced ahead to see what caught his interest. Up ahead, a crowd had gathered around a particular stall that was in the market today. It wasn't one Kanna immediately recognized, but that wasn't any unusual. As they drew closer, Kanna could eventually hear the words that were being spoken, enticing onlookers to participate in a contest. The Jack's eyebrow raised slightly in skepticism.

Guess what's inside the box?

It was a crude challenge. If not for the example of the prizes you could potentially win behind the man, there was little to no chance anyone could guess correctly. But, that fact didnt seem to click in Xuefeng's head, as he turned to look at Kanna with a silent plea written on his face.

Kanna stared back at the child for a brief moment, before letting out a small sigh and nodded.

"Go ahead."

She followed Xuefeng up the table, standing just a couple feet away. Her eyes watched intently as her arms came up, crossing across her chest.
 
celestine renee cadieux
CS Link
SCENE:
friends who slay together stay together
LOCATION:
the tucker's house, north district outskirts
TIME:
post arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
teddie, celestine
friends who slay together stay together
Celestine nodded slightly as Eliza explained where she got the boots, "I see. Free boots are always a bonus," She tilted her head thoughtfully to one side, "That may not help me much, but that is alright. I am sure there are plenty of stomping boots out there." This did give Celestine a gift idea for Eliza, though, and she sheathed her blade so she could write it down.

"I am not sure his boots would fit me, but I appreciate the thought," Celeste added, looking up at her friend with a smile as she pocketed her notebook. Her attention returned to Teddie as their focus was fully on the tortured man, watching curiously as the man's skin reacted to the heat that Teddie's tar gave off. It was strangely fascinating and Celeste couldn't look away.

But then he took a bite of the man, causing Celestine to recoil with surprise, "Oh." She blinked at Teddie as he turned to look at them with a mouthful of flesh and boiling blood, unable to form a proper sentence at first. Pressing her lips together, she swallowed the laugh that threatened to escape and looked at Eliza.

"It is alright, it just needs a little... extra carving?" Celestine lifted the arm, humming as she considered their options, "We can make it look pretty... Maybe..." She trailed off into silence as she pulled out her knife again and carefully got to work, slicing away the ripped flesh and cleaning it up to the best of her ability.

Celestine squinted at her handiwork before showing it to Eliza and Teddie, "Tada!" It still looked pretty nasty, but considering how bad it had looked before this was somewhat of an upgrade. It definitely could have been a lot worse.

WhiskeyMarten WhiskeyMarten
 
CAMILA GASPARI
CS Link
SCENE:
Taking a Break
TIME:
Post-Arc 3, June 28th 2022
LOCATION:
Camila's Apartment, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Camila, Hiachi
Taking a Break
By now, Camila was done with most of the heavy duty tasks on her cooking, a mittened hand pulling out a rectangular tray from the upper oven, having rested inside it while turned off for twenty minutes now. She chopped away at a small bundle of cilantro and sprinkled it atop. "Sure, one sec." The knife clattered on the kitchen counter as her grip released from its handle. Water poured down from the faucet's filter, filling in a clear glass. Curiously enough, it took Camila a bit more rummaging before she went in for the table.

Hanging from her slender fingers, the thick base of the glass hit the wooden table, the clear liquid within swirling gently, crawling up its walls. "Got some juice or sparkling water if you prefer, though, just ask." The veteran walked up from behind Hiachi, following the serving of water with a basket laid out at the middle of the table, holding a row of cleanly cut slices of freshly made garlic bread covered with a healthy dosage of melted mozzarela cheese, the deep green bits of cilantro contrasting nicely with the yellow and mahogany of the baked good.

"So, you got the envelope, right?" The woman asked, taking her own seat at the table, right across from where Hiachi was seated. She crossed one leg over the other, her wire-like tail swishing elegantly behind her. She looked at the young woman straight in the eyes, proudly carrying her usual air of professionalism. "Hope you didn't run into any troubles, I know that area is pretty infamous." Judging by Hiachi's decent disposition (calling it 'good' would've been a bit of an overstatement, given the girl always looked a hair away from a new panic attack.), it was easy to assume things went well for the most part. The girl knew how to keep her profile low, and should things take on an ugly turn, she was a good runner, and without the idiotic bravado to try and fight, as well.

Her eyes would occasionally shift to the side, peeking curiosity at the glowing red timer on the rice cooker.



@miki
 
Nakazajo "ROCCHI" Chikage
CS Link
SCENE:
Homecoming
TIME:
Post-Outbreak — July 22nd, 2022
LOCATION:
Lower Central
PARTICIPANTS:
Chikage, Eric, Justus, Inigo
HOMECOMING
Moment’s Earlier​
Dust from a recent battle settled.

Chikage and Justus stood together in the aftermath, the Captain’s uniform shredded in places and bloodied in others, his knuckles white at his sides as he trudged across the war torn arena of toppled buildings and subjugated chimerics—once-normal civilians left manic and confused by the violent changes their bodies had undergone, or simply those of NPs who had been waiting for their chance for power all along. Many civilians hated the gangs. However, likewise, many harbored a hatred for the police for their inability to save everyone.

The tang of blood and smoke and sweat carried on a groaning breeze. Glass and rubble left over from the ruinous conflict crunched underfoot, litter strewn about the ground—twisted metal, interior decorations and furniture from collapsed businesses, and various remnants from the shattered infrastructure left in the wake of the recent earthquake.

“Dispatch, this is Captain Nakazajo with Officer Bradley, requesting specialized disaster response and EMS at my location, 10-20 is Passion Avenue LD. Multiple chimerics subdued. Three civilians down and unresponsive, one responsive and in my care. 10-78.”

As he neared the police cruiser just beyond the ring of destruction, the Captain stowed his radio on his belt and spat a thick mess of blood. The rescued civilian within, a woman no older than her thirties, sat in shock, arms around her knees, face tucked in hiding as she awaited the Captain and Officer’s return… or perhaps the chimerics’. For her, there was no telling, but somewhere in the darkest well of her conscience she had accepted the worst of fates.

Preparing to open the door, gripping the handle, Chikage thought better of it for fear that he might startle her and opted to give the window a gentle, rhythmic knock instead. Through the glass, he witnessed her shoulders stiffen; though, it seemed she couldn’t bring herself to look despite a flicker of hope and relief at the bottom of that miserable well.

Sighing, Chikage spoke loud enough to be heard from within, “You’re safe. The chimerics are down. You can unlock the door.” And, slowly, the woman’s head rose, strands of knotted hair draping her face. When she saw him, the empty pit in her chest swelled suddenly with solace, so much that it could not be contained and found release in the form of dry, muffled screams as tears carved clear paths through the black mixture of soot and blood on her broken face.

In a move to respect her dignity, Chikage closed his eyes and bowed his head, clenching his jaw. A mighty fury burned through his muscles, confined rage beating on the door of his composure. He had to turn away.

“Take your time,” he muttered to himself.

Now​
They had waited for the arrival of EMS and Specialized Disaster Unit before taking their leave from Passion Avenue, Chikage assuming the driver’s seat with Justus beside him.

Heading in the direction of the stress signal, the two sat in silence as Chikage navigated the vanquished remainder of Lower Central. As rejected as it had already been, he still couldn’t believe its present state. It filled him with frustration, cluttered his thoughts, like the kind you feel when you’ve lost something important. A special locket or ribbon. Something you were meant to cherish and protect, yet didn’t.

Even if he had wanted to hold a conversation with Justus, he wouldn’t have been able to, for he’d not taken it upon himself to learn sign.

As they drew closer to their destination, Chikage attentively and smoothly avoided a sizable portion of a building's wall that had fallen across the street, and eventually slowed the police cruiser to a halt several feet behind another vehicle of whom he knew to be Detective Evensen and Sergeant Han.

The engine idled, park brake engaged. Therein the darkness of the cruiser, he plucked his radio from his belt and spoke into it.

“Officer Hyde, this is Captain Nakazajo with Officer Bradley. We have arrived at Detective Evensen and Sergeant Han’s location. Confirming Evensen’s account of the situation. Proceeding on foot.”

Finishing that, he promptly pulled the key from the car’s ignition and exited the vehicle, shutting the door behind him. The light of his flashlight paved a path through the darkness, revealing cracks in the pavement and just as much wreckage as he’d seen at Passion Avenue. Truly, the entire district had witnessed the earthquake in all its savage ferocity and more.
CHIKAGE/POST NOTES​
— —The majority of the front, right half of Chikage's body is badly scarred from burns, stopping halfway up his neck, covering his arm's entirety, ending at his shin. For this reason, he wears a black, leather glove always covering his right hand, and usually wears long-sleeved, concealing clothes. Reference (X)

— —What he's wearing: Tactical uniform

— —POST RECAP: Chikage and Justus arrive at Eric and Inigo's location.

(Interacting w/ Everyone)
(Mentioned no one)
Roda the Red Roda the Red @simj26 thebigfella thebigfella Kameron Esters- Kameron Esters- ​
 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
Three Most Scariest Things To Wake Up To: Someone In Your Bed, A Missed Call From Mom, And In A Coffin
LOCATION:
East District, Taiyōkō Shrine
DATE:
May 29th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
Tak, Hifumi @BluEndings
Three Most Scariest Things To Wake Up To: Someone In Your Bed, A Missed Call From Mom, And In A Coffin


If Tak could bow his head any lower, he would have to shove his mouth full of dirt to dig underneath the soil and stare at worms and scare the hearts out of moles, but luckily, he didn’t need to prostrate himself any lower or raise his ass any higher. As soon as words of forgiveness left Hifumi’s lips, marks above Tak’s head precursed the sharp raising of his upper body as he looked at Hifumi with distended pupils as if he was some type of insect; he looked up at his generosity of being spared with an agape mouth of disbelief.



“R-Really!?” Vocal fry, tremors in his throat, tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes. He was moved, and he had no idea who this guy was, yet he was so forgivable and understanding. Was he some type of saint? For once, Tak considered possibly picking up a religion and repenting, as it seemed God was genuinely looking out for him on this day as he stood up.



Unfortunately, that was short-lived. Back to using his name and in vain and playing with his wiener.



Tak was already looking his head around to track down where all his clothes had gone, prepared to walk over and grab his underwear, which he had spotted hanging from a nearby branch, “I’ll just go ahead and grab my stuff and--”



But as soon as he turned away, Hifumi’s words made him freeze mid-walk. His body twitched like an ice cube just glided down his spine, his head slowly turning back, and his neck creaked as if it needed some oil. He looked at the man with a curved and twisted nervous smile, a small twitch in the eyelids of his tired eyes.



“T-Together?” He reiterated with a high-pitched tone. He felt like he wasn’t going to like the answer.



And just like that, Tak had placed himself back onto the ground, bowing his head again.



“Y-You’re right! This is definitely a team effort, right!?” He blurted out, hoping that his agreement would appease the man and he’d let him off easy.



The next moments were a blur. Soon, Tak was off the ground, and clothes were slapped on him so fast that they fluttered across his body as if they had just landed on him from a freefall. He blinked at his new attire, reaching around to pull at the fabric of the sleeves and looking down at himself. This wasn’t his style, but he would have to deal with it.



“So, uh,” Tak began, intending to question what was going on, but before he could get any further, a mop was shoved into his hands. He looked down at it with it, eyes blinking in understanding. Of course, he would have to clean up the mess he made. It only made sense. If this was the most punishment he got, he’d be OK with that! So long as he didn’t have to pay any damages!



Just as Tak was about to ask where to find a water bucket, his head raised from the mop with barely enough time to see the blur of a fist come towards him; the impact nailed him right in the stomach, making his body bend like a boomerang as the impact caved out from his back, spit flying out from Tak’s mouth as his pupils quaked within the whites of his eyes, disorientation from the sudden attack made the man stumble back, coughing and hacking as he wheezes from air suddenly being force out his lungs, the mop clattered onto the floor as it fell from his hands.



“You bastard…!” Tak rumbled; that spacey look his eyes held had disappeared as he clutched at his stomach, looking up at Hifumi as he took a second to catch his breath. This guy was no saint, and all that punch did was serve as something to piss him off. His eyes narrowed as his fists clenched at his sides, his brows knitting tightly as his slight shift in his feet came with the change of his stance.



With a resounding step forward, Tak’s hand reeled backward, “That fuckin’ hurt you asshole!” He snarled; the sharp increase in his momentum carried his hair in the wind, the sleeves of his new clothes wrinkled as the wind passed through the gap between it and his skin, speed lines hung around his fist as it carved through the air to direct itself right at Hifumi, scuffed knuckles aimed directly towards his pristine complexion.



Tak’s other foot came downward on the ground, landing right onto the pile of dog poop he hadn’t noticed. An audible squish came before his foot propelled forward, losing its friction and, consequently, Tak’s whole body losing its footing.



His eyes lost their fierceness in slowed time, and as his whole body toppled backward, the ground rumbled as he made an impact, his skull landing right onto the cement as his arms and legs sharply rose upward, bent and twitching like a dying insect as the impact resounded through his body.



He held that position for a long moment; dry gargles of pain came from his esophagus before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his whole body fell limp, unconscious. A giant bump slowly grew from his head, protruding from his hair like a balloon.

 
Areith Rozárie
CS Link
SCENE:
To Be Reborn is To Rebirth
LOCATION:
Abandoned Church, North District
TIME:
July 17th, 2022|| Post-Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Areith, Ordelia
To Be Reborn is To Rebirth


A figure approached, and questions arose. You always knew how to act in His image, upon His desires, and His decree. Humanity, you struggled to show it now, or at least you felt. You had become so connected with His energy and manifestation that connecting with those who had yet to embrace the light had become difficult. To walk into the dark is to be blind, and to be blind is to be dead, robbed of not only your sight but your breath.

You shouldn’t; deeper waters take advantage of bioluminescence but swallow all other lights. Yet, something still clings to it because You feel a strong urge to cleanse yourself of sin. To swallow, nay, consume Pride, and leave nothing left? His teachings tell you to act with kindness, and to betray those who have not yet opened their eyes is the same as shutting them yourself.

A hug, would that do? A taste of His warmth? Or a simple handshake? Such thoughts shook what you had always been assured of with his guidance; the life within followers and devouts painted a path that you followed. A small change in direction, a reprieve? Or a road that led astray? Questions, your thoughts overwhelmed.

To err is to be human, yet to forget humanity is to become one with Him?

You stepped forward, your hands splayed wide, arms open, all accepting. The ostentatious fashion taste, her appetite for the grand. Washed up, has-been, defunct, bygone. All such horrible things you would use to describe her vanished from your mind. A life born anew, a connection that could hopefully be shaped within new flesh, so you stepped forward, and then your voice finally found itself again.

“Ordelia! It’s wonderful to see you! I’m happy you made it!” you welcomed, reaching your hands over to place them warmly on the woman’s shoulders, uncaring for the midnight snack she had brought with her. “If I had known you were hungry, I would have prepared some hors d’oeuvres for us. I did, however, go ahead and get us some scones for our meeting. Oh, joyous day! I’m excited to catch up! It has been so long since I’ve last seen you!”

Have you gained weight? Have you considered changing up your look finally? Still, holding on to your ancient history? All part of a list of your horrible thoughts, sin-fueled musing brought forth by the demons that continued to hang to your back.

The past should stay in the past, the life you lived before, wrought with all forms of evil and vile acts that only someone of His benevolence could forgive.

You would be better; you would improve. You would forgive.

You would forget.

“Please, come in.” You motioned towards the massive church door before taking the first steps to lead up the dilapidated steps, “I’ve been so busy trying to get used to being back within the North I haven’t had the chance to have a girl’s night like this. I’m sure we have a lot to catch up on.”

And with that, you led the way inside. You walked through the ruins you had turned into your home. The nave had rows of rotting pews and growing moss and fungus within the crevices. Spiderwebs hung in the crevices of crumbling stone pillars, and wind whistled through broken glass.

The building was like a labyrinth, with doors and hallways they passed in the dozens, all weaving to unknown directions deeper within the maze, lit by candles and lanterns to make up for the lack of modern connection. Old stone and ancient carvings, the most well-crafted timeworn agriculture was not meant to be in the grasp of modern hands. Yet evidence of changing times came from more than just twisting vines. Marks decorated walls and painted them onto roofs, a semblance of plans for additions and repairs that would be done to the dilapidated sanctuary in time.

But right now, it was the present, and it was barely hospitable. Yet, amongst the smell of mold, mildew, and muck was the faint aroma of a freshly brewed cup—herbal, flowery, citrus—all such things, joined with the sweet smells of berries and jam.

A door opened, and then they entered. A quaint room, cleaned for the occasion. The tables and chairs were old, and the china that spouted steam of hot liquid from its spout and matching cups seemed even older. A small platter with scones was left set out. Rubble still lined the corners, and a small lantern hung on a small dresser, illuminating the room in a dull light.

“Take a seat,” Areith offered, standing aside to step towards the table, “I’ll pour you a cup.”

 
Last edited:
Libla
CS Link
SCENE:
To live in the shadows
LOCATION:
Field , South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Libla, Charlie Roda the Red Roda the Red
To live in the shadows

A game of soccer was always fun, even if it was on a run down field, you had to make do with what you had, besides there wasn't too much time left of the game and if she was lucky whoever was hunting her would arrive when the match was done. Still she was cautious and a bit distracted, there weren't many people here, but it did have a small crowd gathered here watching. She was completely alert now, and due to that it affected her game a bit as she couldn't completely focus on their little soccer match. Even if whatever person was hunting her came she knew they would need a bit of time to identify exactly who their target was something that could be figured out by either getting close to them or by watching them or the people around them long enough. Meanwhile her only way of figured out who was hunting her was to either spot the person with the tracking device in hand or to notice anyone making a bee line towards them. She had no idea what tactics the person hunting them were gonna use so they had to be observant and at least figure out who was hunting them, if they could figure that out then she would have a easier time in dealing with them. If the whatever trialee played their cards right they would easily be able to identify her as the target and if they played it smart use their advantage to capture her, she had to be cautious until she knew what the person that was hunting her looked like first, then she would be able to play whatever game she liked with them.

Unfortunately she was pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of her teammates yelling at her, "Oh, Right." before running towards the supposed striker with the ball, she closed the distance between them fast forcing him to either try to dribble past her or pass the ball, he opted for the latter passing to his teammates while Libla went on to cover him in order to prevent him from gaining the ball again. She had to switch from attacker to defender so that she would have a easier time keeping track of those around them, even still it was going to be hard to do so, luckily there were enough people around them that it would more than likely cause a bit of a commotion if someone stormed the field after her, giving her enough time to make a run for it if necessary. Still she wasn't going to completely rely on that since that sort of system can be unreliable at times, and that would only work if they were brash and reckless which wasn't exactly too uncommon but still there was always a chance of their hunter being one of the smarter and more cautious and she wasn't going to risk losing by being complacent after all due to this trial she got a entire 12 hours to do whatever she wishes and she wasn't planning to squander that by getting a early game over.
[/justi
 
MILO NAGISA
CS Link
SCENE:
The Guy Who Wrote “Art Is In The Eye Of The Beholder” Probably Did It On The Toilet
TIME:
May 3rd, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
LOCATION:
South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Tak, Milo
THE GUY WHO WROTE “ART IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER” PROBABLY DID IT ON THE TOILET

All eyes turned toward Tak, as everyone took their turn reacting to the raggedy man's... Innovative art piece. The reactions were all flavors of the same sentiments: surprise, appreciation, awe. Apparently, nobody had expected much of the scruffy man in their company. How funny it was how often first impressions were correct...

Then, the perspective panned over to Milo.

His expression had fallen, some. His eyes unintentionally narrowed, squinting in a feeble attempt to shield themselves from the light radiating off of that canvas. A twitch was alternating between his brow and the corner of his mouth, as though it couldn't decide which avenue was the best outlet for his mounting annoyance. His fingers' grip tightened around the wooden brush still in his hand with each new outpouring of praise from the gallery of artists. A globule of jelly wobbled on his shoulder.

Shadows pooled within his eyes' underlids, causing them to sag from the weight. He watched with a tight jaw and narrow eyes as this man just seemingly accepted his apparent talent, as if it were his, as if he'd had it all along. Blissfully unaware of his strings being pulled. Reveling in the cascade of praise. Leaning into it.

He felt a tickle of jealousy.

Especially when looking at his own modest impression by comparison. The colors seemed to him now as dull as his mood. He hadn't expected it to be so tough... In order to do what he'd done, Milo's mind had to split in two. Neither half had received his full attention, and both suffered for it... His, perhaps, moreso.

A single droplet of sweat beaded his brow, before running down the side of his head. He was more than a little exhausted. He was strained. He was— Eep!

Milo had been so focused on observing Tak that he hadn't noticed Kassaki approach him. His mind smoked as it tried to formulate thoughts into words. Eventually, it settled on, "Oh? Yeah! Interesting." He said, hiding his true feelings. He was expending considerable effort to conceal his labored breathing. He hoped the sharp-eyed man didn't notice. His hand felt a cramp coming on...

His awareness splintered again, as Milo watched from the corner of his eye as Barker peered at the piece of work and rendered his verdict.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. Mission accomplished, he reminded himself, shaking all the petty thoughts from his mind.

He had been too lost in thought to realize that Barker had turned his attention to Milo's own canvas. Turning over his shoulder, he peered up at the older man's expression, the way his hand rubbed the stubble of his chin. He felt a flush of embarrassment. Despite what he'd come to believe about the man, Barker was still his hero. And to think, this was the showing he'd presented him with. This half-baked clay.

This—Barker said something. Milo blinked. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd forgotten to listen. It was too late to ask him to repeat himself, he'd already gone on to the next candidate. His heart fluttered with anxiety, with the agony of not knowing. Of never knowing. Of—

Rationally, Milo reminded himself why he was here. He allowed himself a smile. Barker had taken the bait. Now, things could commence. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to do that aga—

"We have daylight to spare. Let's go a few more rounds before turning in for the night."

Milo's expression flatlined. Before knew it, their host had started them on a second round. Like clockwork, the maids replaced their worked canvases with fresh ones, and the exercise started anew.

Staring at the blank canvas before him—and importantly, before Tak—realization dawned quickly that he'd have to do it all over again. And he did.

The same thing happened. History repeated.

Over and over, as the hands on the clock spun overtime. Shadows moved across the floor of the studio as the day waned. His hands spasmed. His expression pinched as sweat flowed freely from his brow. With each cycle ending and beginning as that which came before it. The effort. The reveal. The praise.

The praise. Each word needled him.

Milo's heart sank a notch with each expression of acknowledgment.

This idiot.

A vine of bitterness wormed its way around his heart. The hands of the clock spun and snapped off.

When at last, the final canvas was full, the exercise concluded. And the end resembled the beginning. People were amazed at the talent, the vision, the boldness on display, but not from him.

Milo's own pieces were just fine. His own canvas—modeset, meticulous. It whispered inadequacy to him. For all afternoon, Milo had struggled to name the emotion he was feeling, each time a round ended. Each time he watched that insufferable man hungrily devour the accolades not meant for him.

At this final hour, something snapped, and Milo saw with clarity himself in the mirror of his mind. He was enraged. His own talent had been sacrificed at the alter, in front of his idol no less, for the sake of this scapegoat's burgeoning reputation. He was the architect of each brushstroke. He ensured each composition...

He took a deep breath. The day had begun with such promise. Altering light here, adjusting angles there. Everything to ensure that what that man slapped haphazardly onto canvas would turn into something spectacular.

Now, he was caked in sweat. Both his hands trembled. He'd produced only shit all day. He'd been forced to watch his talentless neighbor soak up the praise and attention like a greedy sunflower, praise that rightfully belonged to him.

Worst of all, he had to put on a happy face. Beneath the surface, he seethed. The injustice of it all.

It was beyond reason.

This idiot. This fucking idiot. He didn't even question it. He actually believed he had talent.

He ground his teeth inside his skull.

He had to do what he did, didn’t he? If not, everyone would’ve known that Tak was a fraud and Barker would’ve passed him over. It had to be this way. He had played his part perfectly, hadn't he? It had to be this way.

His body was tense, a marionette held tight by its own strings. He felt his mind began to fray. His shoulders slumped. Exhausted, he turned to follow the crowd as they were led away from the studio for the evening... Only to be stopped by the sound of a familiar voice grating against his eardrums.

“Can you believe it? That a guy like that could have that kind of ability... Really makes you think, huh?”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Milo turned stiffly to look at Kelsey, the movement making a sound more akin to rigged wooden beams being rotated against their will than any living flesh. A shadow overtook his expression, his eyes intense, his jaw set like a trebuchet ready to hurl boulders, his mouth making an expression so unique and so bewildering that it had never before seen upon a human face, his shoulders rising and falling, his chest heaving with labored, animalistic breaths that produced plumes of smoke with each exhalation; the ensemble sent a shiver rushing down Kelsey in a wave from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. He quickly hurried along past Milo, head down, leaving his question unanswered, inwardly questioning what had come over the once-friendly fellow.


Milo was still thinking about it later in the evening, as he prepared for bed. A hot shower had washed away the grime and the perspiration, as well as much of his rage.

 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
The Only Difference Between Cream and Custard Filling Is One Is Better Than The Other
LOCATION:
West District
DATE:
June 2nd, 2022 || Post-Arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
Tak, Lazlo WhiskeyMarten WhiskeyMarten
The Only Difference Between Cream and Custard Filling Is One Is Better Than The Other


Lou snatched the cash out of Lazlo’s hand, eyes scanning the bills before flipping through them in his fingers, “This might be enough…” he mused openly, flapping the wad in the air to feel its weight.

“TO NOT EVEN PAY OFF HALF THE DAMAGES AND WASTED LABOR!” The man finished his statement with a slap of the cash against Lazlo’s forehead, repeatedly wapping it against his skin as he scowled before taking the money and shoving it into his chest pocket. “You’re gonna need a lot more than that,” he remarked, turning around and casually walking up to a nearby shelf, his arms wrapped around its sides, muscles and veins protruding from his skin as he grunted with exertion joined by the groaning of metal as it scraped across the floor, stopping when it was placed right in front of the door, blocking the exit.

He turned back to look at Lazlo, his bloodshot eyes quaking at the man as his teeth bared like a ferocious monster, gums showing as he turned his head upward to really sell the look of menace, “Neither of you two are leaving until you know just about as much making donuts as my two sons do. They’re brilliant, and they’re only 12 and 11!” He boasted and belittled the pair simultaneously as he crossed his arms.

It was at this point that a pained groan finally came with Tak's rise back to his feet. It looked more like he had taken a nap than been knocked unconscious as he rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head. Weary eyes looked at the demonic baker with a hint of dreading acceptance based on the shadows overcasting his eyes.


“Fuck I gotta take part in this for,” Tak complained, turning to look at Lazlo with a sneer and a sideways jab of his thumb in his direction, “Only reason this happened was that pigs over here started throwin’ shit at me. How about you put him in elementary school with your kids and help him learn how to act like an adult all over again.”

A stony glare from the donut maker showed he wasn’t interested or amused by his comments, Tak only matching his gaze for a moment before letting out a frustrated huff, “Tch, guess I don’t have a choice then…”

With that resignation, it was only a short transition until Tak and Lazlo were dressed in aprons. Tak’s, in particular, was dressed with daisies and tulips, its bright hot pink, which he looked down at in clear distaste, a twitch of his brow as he tried to keep his temper under wraps.

“You don’t have any others?” He weakly questioned, already expecting the answer: a sharp “No” from their new chef, who stood on the opposite end of the table.

Lou glowered at them both, leaning forward on the stainless steel table as he breathed steam out his nose like a bull, “Listen, you two! Until you both make 10,000 donuts, I won’t let you step out of here! I don’t care how long it takes!”

“T-Ten thousand!?” Tak blurted out, nearly falling backward from the shock, “That’s way too many! That’s gonna take us all week!” He tried to retort, sweat beginning to pour down his forehead.

“Don’t worry. We have the perfect equipment for that. I make a batch that size every morning,” Lou said casually and nodded in the direction behind them. Tak raised a brow but then finally turned his head around. As he looked, his eyes widened and slowly trailed upward until they couldn’t trail anymore, and it was up to his head to follow along.

A massive steel bowl attached to a building-size floor mixer, a ladder leaned against the bowl to lead the way up towards the button controls and allow someone to pour the ingredients inside. Tak’s draw dropped, his eyes quaking as his lips twitched nervously. “How the hell does something this big fit in this tiny bakery!?” He reasonably asked; it defied all normal logic. Yet, the reality of their situation was undeniable.

Uncaring for Tak’s bewilderment at the giant mixer, Lou calmly explained, “First, you’ll need about 2000 pounds of butter and 1750 pounds of sugar. It should be in the fridge.”

“T-That sounds like a damn lot! How the hell can you say that so casually?” Tak roared, his frustration leading him to slam a fist on the table before quickly sighing in acceptance, his whole body slumping for a moment before he did his best to pick himself back up.

“If that old guy does it every morning, I doubt it can be that bad. How much is a pound anyway?” Tak felt himself becoming more optimistic about the situation.

In the next second, the hopeful look on his face transformed to what could only be described as someone living through agony; his eyes had rolled back to leave only the bloodshot whites, his teeth clenched so hard that they quaked, blood rushing from his gums, every muscle in his body tensed as veins protruded from his neck and arms, nose distended wide to let out airflow as his diaphragm pushed and pulled. Attached to him with cables and chains was a car-sized stick of butter as Tak scaled the latter, letting out sounds from his mouth that sounded between screams of someone on fire and cries from having a loved one killed in front of you, spit sputtered and squirted down his chin, churning into rabid froth as he scaled another step on the ladder.

“Come on, you're halfway there!” Lou shouted enthusiastically, watching the man’s torture with a twisted smile on his face.

This wasn’t going to be just making donuts. This was going to be hell.

 
Passeri Park
SCENE:
Happy Therapy with Dr. Jacques
TIME:
July 18th, 2022
LOCATION:
Dr. Haman's Office, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Passeri, Jacques
Happy Therapy with Dr. Jacques
She... Didn't get it. Hardly a minute into her session, Passeri had already decided that none of this made so much as a lick of sense. Even putting the Doctor's anachronistic appearance aside, 'Haman's' words and actions made little sense. Each of the Doctor's bizarre explanations went in one of Passeri's ears and out the other. But sensical or not, she was hardly her today to experience the healing process. Whether her time was being wasted in one direction or another was of little consequence to the sullen pop star, and so with a knitted brow she followed along with the Doctor's poppycock instructions.

"Um... Let's see..." Passeri took the printout in hand as if she almost expected it to bite her. She'd heard of these things. They always turned up on television shows and movies, whenever the main character needed to explore themselves, but they'd always been just that. Props on a television show used for some quick exposition.

"This is, like, an interpretation thing right? It's the same way with lyrics..." She commented, puzzling over the splatters of ink as she settled in the equally tropeish lounge chair. She'd mentioned lyrics, but that didn't feel quite true. There was intentionality to a song's lyrics. To the soulful chorus of a ballad or the heartfelt declarations of a classic rock song. But this? Passeri's eyes narrowed to a squint as she turned the sheet of black and white paper over in her hands.

There was no intentionality in this.

"A... Blood splatter, I guess?" And as for what memory that brought to mind...

On second thought, she didn't want to talk about that.

"Actually, no, sorry... Maybe a chicken? A rooster? A bird for sure." A quick adjustment. She had a feeling that she knew how this was going to go if she spoke without consideration. She needed to be the on in charge of this conversation. "Which makes me think of... Um... An old coach of mine? You know- With the squawking. Does that make sense? Whenever we were rehearsing he'd go on and on and on about... Just nonsense, really. None of us liked him, so he only lasted a few months, but he's still the first person I think of in regards to people who won't shut up."

It was a true story, though not a particularly memorable one. The only reason she'd bought it up is because, just a few months ago, that same dance instructor had been arrested for possession of narcotics. That had made her skin crawl, so of course, that was the part that she wouldn't mention.

"So... We do a few of these, right?" She folded the paper in half, and handed it back over to the Doctor Haman. "What's next? Blob A, or Splatter B?"

There was irony on her tongue. This couldn't be over soon enough.

 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
The Guy Who Wrote “Art Is In The Eye Of The Beholder” Probably Did It On The Toilet
LOCATION:
South District
DATE:
May 3rd, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
Tak, Milo ( Elenion Aura Elenion Aura )
The Guy Who Wrote “Art Is In The Eye Of The Beholder” Probably Did It On The Toilet

Savants, prodigies, the gifted few—such figures infiltrated daily life in a small amount, and even fewer would come to realize their latent talents. They would live their days out in poverty or middle class, unaware of their world-class talents.


Tak had never considered himself one of them; the simple concept of being gifted with anything was a childish, immature delusion he had long since given up with, a life of mediocrity he accepted and adjusted himself into. Unimpressed, tired, uninterested, a gaze he gave to so many situations that represented the same old same old, everyday life.


Now, they were filled with precision, focus, and wonder. Tak's eyes scrawled across a canvas as he filled it in with colors and shapes, his fingers tight around the brush as his eyes trailed behind the strokes; his body moved before his brain even understood it, and his creativity flourished on its own without any demand from him.


A tongue stuck out of his mouth to represent his focus. The poet and the quill, the craftsman and their hammer—it seemed to pale in comparison to how interlinked he was with his instrument. He filled in the blanks with nothing but ingenuity and natural-born genius.


And soon, he stood amongst another finished piece. His self-satisfied joy wasn’t hidden; he was covered in paint of different colors, staining his clothes. The brush hung between his ear and his skull, one leg folded over the other as everyone else ogled at his newest creation, a little peek into his twisted mind.


“I call it “Juice on the Rocks,” Tak explained, patting the side of the canvas like a car salesman showing off a brand new car, and they ate it up like his words were gospel. It was the attention he had never received before, a type of recognition he could never recall getting, except maybe from his mother and her friends after coming home from school when they had art class.


Back then, he wasn’t anything special; even now, he doesn’t understand a thing. He knew nothing about the theory of colors, the biology of paint types, or the ecosystem that shaped finger to brush, but regardless, he presented results.


“I had no clue I was this good,” Tak remarked, a hand resting underneath his chin as he leaned forward, posing as if he were going into a men’s fashion magazine or a hit piece on his new breakthrough in the art world. "Guess all those middle school arts and crafts actually paid off.” He scarcely wanted to give any credit to his education for anything in his life, but the proof was right in front of him.


Still…something seemed off.


Tak was an idiot; there was no doubt about that. He was far from what anyone would call smart because he lacked self-awareness, obtuseness that almost seemed self-imposed, and the rationale that filtered between 70 and 5 years old. But, there was one thing about his brain that worked almost too well. Feelings: disturbances, tension, threats, one might call them instincts, a feeling that rocked Tak's nervous system when something was not right.


And right now, he could feel it. There was a sense of apprehension in the air, a moment when his grin faltered as he turned away from the appreciation of his pieces.


His eyes narrowed, the world around him darkened, and all the talking faded below a whisper, replaced by the faint beating of his heart.


And within the void, only one other figure was illuminated. Tak's lips curled into a frown as he looked up their back, and a mysterious feeling ran through his body.


“...What’s your deal, then?”





With the embrace of night, the groups had been split based on gender, meaning Mina was taken to a separate room from the other boys. Their lodgings were about what you expected from this expensive building, a guest room lined with comfortable king-sized beds aligned in rows like a hostel, dressers next to each to place personal belongings, and nightstands to hold small reading lights.


Each of the understudies committed to their own routine to prepare for bed; Kassaki was busy looking at himself in the mirror as he combed his hair, making sure the bangs were the perfect ratio, 8:4.


Kelsey was doing jumping jacks adorned with a pair of headphones. Metal screamo that didn’t match his vibes at all could faintly be heard through them, and a growing sweat began to form on his brow.


Tak yawned. He was already splayed out on the bed, his usual tracksuit combo replaced with a yellow T-shirt adorned with a pineapple decal in a thong and a simple pair of black shorts. He rubbed his hairy legs together as he watched the other two in boredom.


“Damn, I was hopin’ they’d have some T.V. in here,” Tak complained openly, rolling himself over to look at the ceiling, the bed shaking underneath his movements.


“What, and keep us up all night with it? Just so you can watch some cheesy soap operas? No thanks,” Kassaki shot the idea down, placing a hand on his chin and shifting his head around to look at his hair from different directions. He lifted his lips and took the comb to the edge of his vellus hair.


Tak grumbled something inaudible in response, probably some curses and other insults, but instead of pressing the issue further, he shoved himself out of the bed, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I”mma go piss,” he shared with everyone as he strolled past the beds, shoving his way out of the door as it creaked, before it clicked closed behind him.



There was a long moment of silence between all the members. Kelsey’s jumping jacks, his breathing, and the ruffle of a comb through his hair dominated the scene for a pause.


“...I want in.”


Kassaki looked at Milo from the mirror, tilting his head slightly to look at his face as he spoke. “I don’t know exactly what you have planned. But you’re after the “truth,” ain’t ya?” He continued, letting his comb go to place it on his nightstand, adjusting the collar of his robe.


“Don’t go lookin’ down on us old guys. Your ratios are all off, brat. I could tell what was happening even if I was 20 years older.”


He finally turned around, leaning against the polished wood as he looked towards Kelsey, who was in the middle of his 10th set of jumping jacks, unaware of the conversation around him.


“What about him?” Kassaki gave a quizzical gaze towards Milo as he smirked, wondering his answer.







The sound of a flushing toilet came shortly before the bathroom door opened, the lack of a faucet indicating the unwashed hands of Tak stepped into the hall. He scratched at his ass, lazily slouched over as he trudged his way down the hall. Heavy rain pattered against the windows, and thick clouds obscured the sky.


Dim lights along the hall acted as guideposts, and doors that separated them led into unknown parts of the estate. Tak’s body moved mindlessly, half asleep as he yawned, covering his mouth as tears came out of the corner of his eyes.


“Wonder if they got a fridge I can raid around here?” He wondered, faintly considering the option as he trudged along. As he continued down the hall, the perspective swapped above to a spider’s eye view, distorted like a fisheye lens, akin to if someone was watching him with inhuman eyes.

Unaware, Tak continued his leisurely stroll down the hallway, his calloused feet picking up the carpet as he walked.

And then, thunderstruck.

A flash of light through the windows blinded him and then robbed him of all sight as he was swallowed by the deepest darkness. The roaring thunder that came afterward rattled the windows, like claps welcoming Tak to his new home within blindness.

“Damn,” Tak cursed, a click of his teeth of slight inconvenience, “That sucks.”

He was afraid of bumping into something or stubbing his toe, looking around in darkness as if he would be able to see something even if he squinted, “Fuck, I can’t see anything,” he grumbled the obviously, taking more cautious steps as he tried to keep himself on the trail back to the room.

“I bet blue-boy is in there shitting himself,” he imagined the sight with a smirk, “He’s probably still scared of the dark, like a baby,” a slight snicker came from him; just the thought of Kelsey clutched to something or hiding under the bed like a cat.


“I mean, seriously, who’d be afraid of something like this--”


Tak’s eyes opened abruptly, jaw-dropping with an audible “Ah” as his pupils shrunk. A cloudy, hazy memory grew above his head, depicting a chibi rendition of Tak and Barker. “This place was said to be haunted when I bought it,” Barker shared casually, for seemingly no reason. Earning quite a reaction from Chibi Tak as his whole body snapped backward in fear, “Huh!? R-REALLY!?”


The image disappeared, leaving Tak back in reality. Slowly, sweat grew on his forehead and then poured down his whole face, as fast as rain, as his pupils jiggled and danced in the whites of his eyes, the faint red of veins starting to appear around the edges.


In the next instant, Tak was sprinting; he blazed down the hallway, kicking up carpet underneath his feet as he did, the surroundings blurring around Tak as he breathed heavily, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” he swore up and down as he desperately tried to get himself back with humanity.

He totally wasn’t scared. No way.


His eyes closed as he swallowed, trying to get a balance on his breathing, but as soon as he took his eyes away from the pathway forward, he felt himself ram against something hard enough to send him bouncing away and landing on his back as he skidded across the ground. He had thought he had missed a corner and slammed into a wall, rubbing the back of his head in pain as Tak pushed himself up on his shoulders, opening an eye as he felt the faint pain subsiding, but as soon as he opened one eye, the other one joined it in a wide-open display of terror, his whole body going pale as his entire body turned rigid in fear.


A shadow loomed over him, so tall that it rubbed against the ceiling. Nothing could be made of it until another flash of lightning showered them in light. Long black hair draped over their faces, skin lacking color and life, and long and spindly hands and legs where the skin hung taut to bone.



c04e63caba512bdfd4e7d21924606f5440fac141.jpg

​


A singular eye loomed down at Tak. And a creaking groan came from their lips.



fA6DUa1.gif






The scream echoed through the guest room. Kassaki and Kelsey looked towards the door, the latter removing his headphones to ensure the scream wasn't coming from the song he had on.



“What what that?” Kelsey asked, looking towards both of his fellow understudies.



“Sounded like Tak.”



“Huh…Should we check?”



Now, that was a question no one immediately wanted to answer; apprehensive looks were shared between them.


 
JAVI ONEIRO SILVA
SCENE:
Losers!
TIME:
Post-Arc 3 || June 11th, 2022
LOCATION:
East District, Skate Park
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei, Javi
LOSERS!

Once the smog clouds had been cleared away, it took only a moment, amounting to no more than a single swivel of its strange, vaguely owl-like head, for Rocco to locate Pei standing amidst the dissipating tendrils of gas. Like a killer robot identifying an aberrant biological, the creature's pupilless eyes telescoped in on themselves until they encapsulated the lithe figure squarely within their sights.

Without delay or hesitation, it charged off full-tilt toward the yellow-haired man, its head bowed low like a battering ram, its flipper-like wings trailing behind it aerodynamically, leaving Javi and Luvi behind to eat its dust, kicked up in the wake of its explosive burst of speed...

Rocco ran until the man, whose destruction it sought with single-minded focus, reeled back and seemed to launch some kind of projectile directly into its current warpath. The stoic, wrathful guardian skidded to a halt—having learned quickly to expect tricks from this one by now—as it prepared itself to take on the latest obstacle that would stand in the way of it reaching (and delivering its predetermined beatdown to) this contemptuous disturber of the peace.

"Krrr-kraaach-trreeew." It snarled at the metal automaton, a tinny, guttural rasp. It was a warning, one that would be given only once. Stand aside or be moved aside.

Its ultimatum issued, Rocco deigned to allow the creature before it to make the first move; as it stood ready, ripples of seismic energy coursed up and down the length of his alien form, awaiting a worthy challenge.

Though, when the robotic creature did not immediately attack it, Rocco let his guard lower slightly. He went on to watch with mounting confusion mixed with curiosity, even cocking its head this way and that, as its latest opponent began some kind of peculiar pre-battle ritual, the likes of which Rocco had never seen before, and thus had no idea how to interpret.

"Chrill, chrillilloo?" It warbled a question in its untranslatable language. After some time, it concluded that this did not seem like a threatening display. Did this being not intend to fight? If so, then it had better get out of the way.

Rocco moved to step beyond it—step through it, if that was what was required—even as the robot's erratic behaviors continued. More had joined it, now, though if Rocco was concerned that the tin can man had summoned reinforcements, it did not let it show.

Then came the fire.

Rocco retook its battle stance, plumes of fire reflecting across the warped mirrors of its glassy, lustrous eyes, as Pei unleashed his torrents of angry flame upon his own playmates. One, burned nearly to cinders, crawled toward Rocco's flipper-leg, snatching at it weakly, perhaps in search of a reprieve.

Rocco stared down at it with an impassive calm, his eyes reflecting the flicker of flames as they devoured the fallen playmate. With mechanical efficiency, Rocco advanced, stepping over the charred remnants without a second glance. Approaching the blazing barrier undaunted, Rocco crossed through the inferno, the flames dancing around its luminous carapace, clawing but finding no purchase. They licked toothlessly against his glowing form, which shimmered like an opalescent gem.

Meanwhile, still trilling along in time with the melody of the robot's song—having gotten it stuck in her head, despite the performance's rather climactic ending—Luvi puttered by over the scene of carnage like a floating blimp, lazily gumming up the remainder of the crooning robot’s flaming backup dancers, sticking them to the concrete in the various poses they'd struck as part of the impromptu choreography. She simultaneously doused any of the flames that continued to burn them, inadvertently saving them from becoming their own funeral pyres.

"Chrr-chrr-chrr." Standing defiant amidst the blaze, Rocco warbled a prideful insult at Pei, goading him in its own haughty way. If Javi had been around to hear the call-out, he’d surely have been scandalized. He'd also have been hyping him up, hooting and hollering his encouragement and slinging insults across the divide. Though, Javi wasn’t there, so he didn’t hear it. He'd been M.I.A. in the wake of a vibrant green flash that had coincided with Pei's sudden bout of pyromania.

Its path once more free of opposition, Rocco continued its march forward, only to be waylaid a second time, this time by a feline swordsman. Its expression scrunched up, crest appearing like a brow knit together in frustration. Enough roadblocks. He wanted to beat the blonde man's head like a drum.

"Zrarrr-Chreeeee-Kaaaw!!" Rocco blared a battle call in response to the swordsman’s words of resolve, a primal shriek that reverberated across the skatepark's ruined topography. Rocco slammed his flippers together. Drums of rolling thunder. It beat its chest with its flippers and roared its fury. Then, it charged.

Tearing ahead with redoubled vigor, Rocco faced the forest of slashes head on, meeting each with a seismic flipper punch of its own. He batted one slash aside. Then another. And another. Until his balled up flipper fist met the very real steel of the cat’s honed blade. Thus, their battle, a battle of might and skill, commenced.

Though, theirs wasn't the only fight that was about to begin.

"Yo, ass-hole!" A voice shattered the silence from Pei’s periphery, where only open air had been visible to the naked eye moments before. Suddenly, that very same seemingly empty space began to shimmer. The atmosphere began bleeding a lime green, as what appeared to be tarp of shimmering scales seemed to materialize from out of thin air as it began fluttering as if caught in a wayward breeze. As the scales shimmered more intently, they formed into a shape—a mantle with a distinct, vaguely reptilian-looking face seemingly painted on its surface.

The camouflage swiftly peeled away, and the neon green creature snapped like rubber back into its original form, a floating orb the size of a tennis ball being orbited by smaller particles of a similar color and material. No longer concealing itself or its passenger, the creature hovered inertly in the air.

Y1E3ZRR.png

Just as Javi burst out from behind what was now apparent as some kind of cloaking ability. He gripped his skateboard in both hands, cocking it back behind his head like it was a baseball bat, and he was a bigtime slugger about to hit a career-defining homerun. With a fierce exertion, he swung the skateboard with all his might towards the side of the mad joker's head.


 
Zentsupa Pei
CS Link
SCENE:
Losers!
LOCATION:
East District, Skate Park
TIME:
Post-Arc 3 || June 11th, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei, Javi
Losers!

Sparks flew as a fist met blade; the momentum and weight of each of their strikes clashed, Rocco’s and Bushineko’s force colliding in an epicenter that left the rest of their bodies to quake.

“Hmm! Looks like you have a bit of discipline to you-zarunyan!” Bushineko applauded the tiny creature’s strength, a slight grin on its fuzzy features. A visual cue of his thoughts was presented with the rising of his tails; they shot upward and went rigid, and on cue, Bushienko shifted the weight of his blade to twirl himself to the side, lifting off the ground as he twisted through the air in an airborne cartwheel, landing a few feet away as his soft paws squeaked against the ground.

With a sharp glare behind him, slitting his yellow eyes, Bushineko readied his blade within both of his paws, his body twisting as he drew a half circle across the ground, settling himself in a sprint-ready stance before bursting off the ground, quickly closing the space between him and his adversary once more.

Blows of seismic proportions clashed with swings of shimmering metal, flashes of light, and sparks of heated steel danced around the battlefield as blows traded in the deadly dance.

“Damn!” A curse of frustration came from a familiar voice. There was Brut again, a large slab of cement stuck to his pompadour, hobbling along as pieces of the ground were still attached to his arms and legs like cinder blocks, “I ain’t gonna let you guys do whatever you want! This is my turf!” he shouted, raising a fist towards Rocco and Bushineko as they engaged in their quarrel.

...In fact, weren’t they getting closer?

Sweat began to form on the Playmate, taking a cautious step back as he still tried to vocally hold his own, “O-Oi! Are you two listenin’!? Stop it, you’re messin’ up my park!” he declared. Still, the rampage didn’t stop until all of a sudden, both of the combatants were above him; his jaw dropped as he only got a second to look at them before he was swallowed in what became a dog pile, the combat transformed into a cloud of dust with only paws, flippers, and Brut’s bruised face coming out from the smog of war.

“STOPPP!” Brut cried as he tried to pry his head out from the carnage, only to get swallowed back in, letting out grunts of pain before his head came back out on the opposite side, his pompadour frazzled and a purple eye, “Someone please help meeeee!”

Ultimately, his cries were unheard, and he was dragged back inside, his torture continuing on for a bit longer before the cloud dispersed, Rocco and Bushineko glaring at each other before jumping off to continue their battle, leaving the beaten and battered Brut on the ground, letting out a groan as he rolled to his side.

“I think it’s time to throw in the towel…”

“Kekekekekekekek,” and of course, there was Pei, watching the whole thing go on with a pleased grin. He stood there, undefensive, as the world moved on around him, anticipating and waiting. He had noticed the disappearance of his “opponent.” His eyes scanned around, prepared for him to make an appearance.

And almost on cue, his eyes shifted to the corner of his peripheral. The corner of his lips rose only slightly in response as he saw the air distort as if reality was breaking down. Changes of color, alterations of shape, and camouflage dispersed to return its inhabitants back into the same breathing plane. Pei’s eyes briefly gazed upon the floating creature. A coarse giggle left his throat as diagonal letterboxes went over his eyes.

“That’s number 3,” he counted, theories and probabilities rattled off in his head for only a moment, taking the focus he had to raise his hand against the side of his temple, anticipating what was coming next without giving Javi a once-over.

His grin had one last second to show off before the force of the board slammed against the side of his skull, distorting his expression as all his flesh and muscle were pushed in the opposite direction, his neck abruptly jutted into his shoulder, and momentum carried him off his feet, a twirl in the air as his arms and legs twisted into a spiral as he launched, before slamming against the ground and skidding across the cement.

Pei lay against the ground, unmoving. For a moment, it might have seemed unconscious, but he only allowed a breath before he made that hope fade away. A crackly snigger came from him, his form jostling as if from the result of the laugh coming from his gut.

“Kekekekekek! Camouflage, huh?? Guess my guess was off. Nice play.” Pei lifted his upper body upwards to sit up like it was nothing. The only sign he had been damaged at all was the large bruise on his cheek and the blood rushing out of his nose. He raised a sleeve to wipe it off, leaving only the faint trickles of it underneath his nostrils as he stood up, his form shaky as his arms waved around weakly.

“Kekekekeekek! Interesting! I guess I’ll show you my own trick in return!” Pei announced, and he placed his finger and his thumb together. “Get ready.”

And with a timed snap of his fingers:








Nothing happened.

A slight breeze passed through them both, the expectation of an explosion or some ridiculous weapon, but neither came. It was like nothing had happened.

Well, that was until Javi noticed a pair of giant, bulging eyes coming out from his skateboard and blinking at him.

And then, it spoke.

“Kya!~”

Or, more so, it screamed with its non-existent mouth. It began to squirm and wriggle in Javi’s grip, its wheels acting like arms and legs as it bent like a cartoon, its newly opened eyes closed with exertion.

“Lemme go! Lemmmeeee gooo! Pervert! Pervert idiot! Someone helllp! He’s touching me in weird places!”


“KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEK!” Pei laughed wildly at the scenario, pointing at Javi as he nearly keeled over at how humorous he found the situation. Tears came out of the corners of his eyes as his lungs seemed like they might collapse.

Every second, things were getting more ridiculous.

 
Callista Reinhart
CS Link
Scene:
Bitter Aftertaste
Time:
Post- Arc 3 - June 7, 2022
Location:
The Cerulean Orchid
Participants:
Callista, Eric Roda the Red Roda the Red
Bitter Aftertaste
The damsel watched as Gregory deliberated over his choice of question, the gears of his mind turning. When the mention of work arose, her eyes widened briefly before she let out a laugh, carefully setting her drink down onto the table. "Out of all the topics to explore, you choose my profession? You truly have a knack for surprises, Tyler."

"Very well, then," Callista murmured, leaning in with an air of secrecy, as if about to divulge a well-guarded secret. "I oversee a small family-owned business, though I've delegated the more demanding tasks to capable professionals. It affords me some freedom to enjoy life," she explained, her smile warm yet tinged with a hint of mystery. It was a partial truth; she only omitted the true scale of the business, which far exceeded the designation of "small".

As for the clandestine activities she undertook for the gang, some truths were better kept a secret, especially given Gregory's occupation as a law enforcer. However, despite the risk, Callista's penchant for danger and intrigue couldn't help but find excitement in this game of cat and mouse. It was precisely because he was a cop, sworn to apprehend criminals like her, that she found him so compelling.

"Not the most thrilling response, I admit. But let's steer our conversation away from work," Callista declared, reclining back in her seat, her gaze intent on Gregory's face. "What, pray tell, is your ideal type?" she asked, tapping her fingers lightly on the table, anticipation evident in her demeanor.
 
SHEN YUE
SCENE:
The First Day
TIME:
[Pre Arc 1] March 2018
LOCATION:
East District
PARTICIPANTS:
Shen, Kanna
THE FIRST DAY

Shen accepted her answer without complaint. "Suit yourself!" Shrugging his shoulders, he waved to Mister Chin before turning back to his path. The fruit cart owner waved until Shen's attention shifted elsewhere, as he stared forlornly at the missing fruit from his cart... Only to start with surprise should Kanna still be looking his way.

Shen slipped one of his hands into the other above the small of his back as he strode further into the District markets. Wind whistled through the eaves of the stone buildings, the music of chimes tinkling across the air. Shadows traced a familiar path along the worked ground as the sun moved through the sky overhead.

Next, the Dragons came upon a group of children playing a game in the beaten road. The game involved two teams and a rubber, inflated ball. The rules were unknown. One child kicked it wide, sending it whistling over the heads of the far outfielders. It landed softly in Shen's waiting palm.

A hush fell over the throng of children, all eyes squarely on their ball in the hands of the Dragon King. Their expressions held no fear, only anticipation. A smiling Shen bounced the ball from one knee to the other. He popped it high, catching it and balancing it on the tip of his nose, eliciting a round of giggles from the crowd. Shen smiled warmly, passing the ball down from his head to his waiting foot, sending it soaring back into the awaiting arms of the young child who had kicked it.

"Bye-bye!" He waved to the children who waved back to him before continuing their game. Shen walked on, humming a simple tune.

 
Passeri Park
SCENE:
The Idol Fanclub Trials
TIME:
Pre-Arc 2
LOCATION:
Highreach, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Passeri, Takakazu
The Idol Fanclub Trials
"Hey hey hey! Pause the record on that one, please?" Another call from the peanut gallery. Passeri sat now with her chin sat upon bridged fingers, a furrow on her brow and a tinge or proper disappointment in her voice.

"Let's slow down why don't we? Scruffy here has a point, don't you think?" What happened to the multiple choice? Right? Right? Even if Passeri wasn't particularly invested in the outcome of this little charade, she still wouldn't let this slide. Especially if this whole ordeal was being involved in her name. Consistency. That was the most important part of any contest. Without that, what was all this? Downright unprofessional.

"A through C, yeah? That's how the first question went. So the rest should follow the same, don't you think? Or do you want the today's victor to be taking home a hollow trophy? How about we wind back the clock and lay down some ground rules, yeah?" She eyed the captain of this little ensemble. Of everyone here today, Scruffy included, he seemed to be the only one with any real sense around him. "Let's keep it consistent. Multiple choice, three answers. First the ring their buzzer wins, and... Hey, do you guys watch much TV?"

Passeri shuffled forward in her seat, and her eyes stuck the captain with a conspiratorial glint.

"Do you know that show? Do You Want One Billion Dollars? You know that thing they do? With the lifelines? How about we throw a few of those in. They're so good for the drama." And were just about the only way she was going to be able to communicate anything through Scruffy's thick skull without drawing any attention. "How's two? Phone A Friend and Ask The Audience. Nice and simple, yeah?"

That, and she was sure that Scruffy could still fuck up a 50/50.

"Or if that's too much, how about we just stick with the multiple choice? That much is only fair, right?"

 
MIRZA KARTAL
CS Link
SCENE:
Whispers at Dusk
LOCATION:
Taiyōkō Shrine, East District
PARTICIPANTS:
Mirza, Hifumi
WHISPERS AT DUSK
Mirza stopped himself from taking offence. It’s to be expected that people would act irrationally after something so frightening. He didn’t disagree with her but assumed they had different ways of thinking. He wished the Dragons had more of a presence, only then could this have been avoided.

“We understand how you’re feeling right now.”

Mirza carried on where Shuwei left off.

“But to investigate effectively, we need to acquire individual testimonies. We promise not to take up much of your time, I know a lot is happening at the moment.”

He stepped closer to the group and looked to the most assertive one.

“May I speak with you first?”

Best to take the opinionated one out of the group first. He motioned back to where they entered for her to come with him. He hoped she’d realise no wasn’t an answer.
 
TEDDIE TUCKER
CS Link
SCENE:
Friends Who Slay Together Stay Together
LOCATION:
The Tucker's House, North District Outskirts
TIME:
Post Arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
Celeste, Teddie
FRIENDS WHO SLAY TOGETHER STAY TOGETHER

”Oh, Celeste, thank you! I’ll go grab a plate and save this for later unless you’re hungry now?” Eliza skipped to the kitchen, and the sound of far too much crockery being tossed around could be heard as she searched for the perfect plate.

”IF YOU EVER NEED A SECOND JOB, WE COULD USE A PERSONAL CHEF!” Eliza called from the other room.

“We don’t believe in money.”

Teddie shook his head at the idea, still chewing on his food. “But we could pay you in other ways.” He let himself finish the meal, not elaborating further.

Eliza returned soon afterwards with a plate. It had an uncharacteristically elegant design but predictably was chipped in several places. It was holding itself together well enough though, and Eliza wasted no time collecting the carved meat. As she did that, she noticed something that seemed obvious by now. The man was no longer moving, not even twitching. She placed a bloodied hand on his neck, at first to check for a pulse, but then to playfully jab a finger into him. No reaction, and now his neck bled as she removed the finger.

”I think the bastard’s dead… We did it!!”

Eliza leapt, nearly losing the flesh, and did a little dance of joy. ”Oh isn’t it nice to see a bad man get what he deserved?”

”The Dragons are so weak. So, so weak.”

Teddie had finished his meal now and reached to pick the body up.

”Must find space in the freezer.”

”Think you could help us clear some room for the new kill?” Eliza asked Celeste as the couple walked towards the kitchen, where several freezers sat.
 
Passeri Park
SCENE:
Playing With Fire
TIME:
July 17th, 2022
LOCATION:
Discreet Van, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Passeri, Dagger, Vulken, Yong-Yut
Playing With Fire
The bridge. That made sense. Of all the places that she would've been likely to run into a Phoenix, that was the first and foremost. That had been the point of the whole day, after all. Yong-yut. From the bridge. She connected the face to the name, and then tucked both safely away in the folds of her memory. She wouldn't be forgetting her again.

"Bit of both, actually!" Passeri relaxed an inch as she answered Vulken's question. They were talking. Even hidden away here, away from prying eyes and free to be as violent and belligerent as they saw fit, they were still talking. She supposed she should've taken the presence of the young girl as reassurance of that, but... You could never be quite sure in this city. She knew that much from experience.

"The grapevine is really quite tangled over here in the south, you see. I've heard some things... And I'd like to see where some cards fall, you know? But not on empty stomachs!" On cue, a server entered the room. For a moment, Passeri's attention turned to the side. Despite her insistence, nobody had yet bothered much with the menu, so...

"Could you start us off with a sharing platter, please? The one with gyoza and, um..." She paused a moment, and plucked a menu from the tabletop. "...Eda...mame? And... Karaage... The chicken. The Fried Chicken. With some salads, please?" The quick, practiced flurry of a pen jotted down the list of orders. "...And would any of you guys like to order your mains now? I'd like your chicken on rice, please. The um... Grilled chicken donburi? With a glass of water, please."

The pen moved again, and then paused. The server's eyes rested expectantly on the rest of the crowd.

"Are you getting anything, Alisa? You like steak, right? I think they do that expensive kind that you see on all the travel shows here... And some kind of beef on rice? How about you, little lady?" She shot Amelie another smile. "They have a kids menu... Or are you a big girl? Maybe you can share something with big bro or sis?"

@simj26 @Nobody Special @gxxberkit
 
(NPC) Debora Hillclad
CS Link
SCENE:
Everyone's a Critic
TIME:
Post-Arc 3, July 9th 2022
LOCATION:
Feralia Art Gallery, Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Camila, Takakazu
Everyone's a Critic
Time began to slow down, coming down to a fraction of what it was. Debora's delicate lilac-tinted eyelids slowly crawling high up as much as it was physically possible, the deep, long sound of threads tearing apart assaulting her eardrums like a cacophany of unbridled terror. She stayed silent, her mouth ludicrously open as she focused on the massive hole left on her artwork, her expression continuing to remain unchanged even as the critic blatantly tried to cover up his fuck-up.

Her brow furrowed, her teeth clampered with an audible screetch, a low snarl coming from deep within her throat, a single vein bulged from her forehead as her face attained a few shades of red. It looked like she was about to morph into some kind of demonic being, with wings and horns and hooved feet begging to spring up into reality at any second, her breathing was agitated, her chest expanding and contracting at an accelerated rate.

And then, it all stopped. The woman took a deep breath, serenity overtaking her once-vehement visage. "N-No...I don't think that's gonna happen...Good suggestion, though!" Truthfully, Debora had just been a mere step away from unleashing her wrath against the man, call security to have him taken and beaten in the most secluded section of the gallery, and then have his arm twisted until every cent he'd own her for her loss was rightfully sent to her pockets, with interest. She now possessed a newfound hatred for the man, and wished she didn't have to see his stupid unkempt face, smell his horrid cheap cologne or stare at his atrocious attire ever again.
But at the end of the day, reason emerged victorious. Unfortunately, he was still of great potential benefit, should she be able to squeeze those precious keywords out of his mouth, and tragically, torture and manipulation never worked to extract them properly. She'd tried before, it was a useless endeavor.

"O-Okay!" She chirped in a blatantly fake cheerful manner, clasping her hands together, forcing a questionable smile as her forehead glistened from her previous ire. "Don't worry about it, though! I've plenty more to show you!"

Within the area that had been behind the courtains, Debora reached for one of its corners, a large veiled object lying dormant. With some visible struggle, she managed to pull the piece and move it to a better location for view, a hand pulling at the grey cloth to reveal what it had veiled.


d1e675ff41f5ac53c4bc179e8c1da48f.jpg


It was entirely made of brass, and about waist-height in length, Debora carefully caressed its head as she looked up at the critic. "It's 'Love thyself to Mercury', So what do you think? Like, I'm just really interested in what kind of WORDS come to your mind, you know?" She thrust her open had forward, gesturing at the man with an awkward grin. "Just please, PLEASE keep your distance this time, please." Something told her that not even something made entirely out of (admitedly relatively soft) metal was safe from the clown-fitted maniac.
 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
Everyone's A Critic
LOCATION:
Feralia Art Gallery, Central District
DATE:
June 30th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
Camila ( Roda the Red Roda the Red ), Takakazu
Everyone's A Critic

Tak had anticipated that the artist would explode in ire, that the ruination of her piece would quickly lead her to let the filter drop from her mouth and show her true colors. Unfortunately, despite the visible effort she had to undertake to hold in her frustration, nothing ever left her lips.

“Tch,” an audible click of Tak’s teeth, as the color in his eyes darkened with a brief scowl. It seemed like she had more self-control than he anticipated. His hand reached up to adjust his collar, giving him a second to hide his expression as he tried to think of his next move. He supposed he’d need to change his plan a bit.

With a snap of his fingers, he turned to look back at Hillclad with a smile, just as faux as her chipper voice, as he strolled over to follow her, “Yes! I’m very excited to see what else you have in store!” He sounded tantalized, his eyes already eying the curtains. He kept his distance as the next art piece was unveiled, from a dull tarp to a shimmering bronze; Tak placed a hand on his chin, nodding his head with pursed lips as if he understood what he was looking at.

Of course, internally, he was squinting with a look of confusion before giving a shrug as a question mark appeared above his head and walking off like he was disappearing off a set, leaving his brain empty except a black void.

“What words come to mind?” Tak reiterated her question, placing a hand on his hips as he kept his distance as requested, circling around the sculpture as he hummed, taking a magnifying glass he had somehow got into his pocket at some point and examining the sculpture from his distance, just to put it away and then pull out a pair of binoculars like he had a magic pouch of tools on him.

Next, he pulled out a calculator, a protractor, and a stenograph. He even started to take notes, and he took a moment to look at the calculator, looking out the window to see where the moon was in position with the stars.

And then, finally, he breathed, “This piece…”

His arms rose to cross one over the other, and he closed his eyes in deep thought. “Yes, I can feel it,” Tak said, finally opening his eyes as he turned to look at Hillclad.

“This almost seems like a self-portrait of yourself. The metal curves in all the right places,” Tak made motions in the air as if he was sculpting clay in the shape of some womanly hips, “But, a bit older, more well-rounded. A sculpture of fertility, perhaps? Inspiration of your mother?”


Of course, Tak was bluffing; he had no clue what he was looking at. But, unbeknownst to him, there was a change in some way he couldn’t yet understand.

An empty field, grass stretched into the distance. Silhouettes of towering buildings that curved and twisted, shadows of inhuman creatures walking around with outlines that almost mimicked mythical monsters of legend. Yet all of it was ungraspable within a dense fog, barely able to see in front of yourself.

Yet, as the correct word was said, almost as if it was the key to the phenomenon, the haze began to fade, if only slightly. Sunlight now peeked through the unknown, piercing through openings and the most minor gaps within the fog. Even sounds began to break through: the chirping of birds, the cries of dragons, and the sounds of rushing waters. A wonderland of creativity awaiting beyond the gates.

An oasis of imagination.




In the real world, the oblivious Tak rubbed underneath his nose, giving a long, deadpan look at the sculpture. Then, the feeling of needing to sneeze suddenly came over him, his mouth opening wide as his diaphragm pulled in.

“Ah…ah…ah…..!”

“ACHOOO!”

His body shot forward like a bow as a massive snot rocket blew from his nose, nailing the sculpture and covering it in ectoplasm, ruining its shimmering sheen with mucus.

Tak blew his nose into his sleeve, sniffling as if he was completely unaware of what he did, “I must be coming down with a cold…” he mused, running a hand through his hair.

This guy was a walking disaster.
 
RAPHAEL SHAW
CS Link
SCENE:
Reparations
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, July 21st, 2022
LOCATION:
Ruined Bridge, North/East District
PARTICIPANTS:
Bash, Shen, Kisara, Kanna, Sang-cheol, Celestine, Sabrina, Peyton, Raphael, Ruriko, Lloyd, Jesper [Guardian], Sylvaine
REPARATIONS
"By show of hand which of you is the stoic, silent type? What's that? All of you? My, my. Your parties must be a bore." Raph drolled jeeringly, letting his acid gaze trail along the line of Dragons, most of whom had the good sense to pay him no heed.

When Kisara piped up, Raph lent her his ear, if not his rapt attention. That remained squarely focused on the Dragon duo before him, the only ones who seemed willing to engage with him (even if it was only via cutting looks from the one). With one hip cocked to one side, the unpredictable Serpent glanced from one sullen-looking face to the other, as if deciding which would make for the tastier morsel, his smile widening, spreading like a scar across his mocking face.

"I’m just being neighborly," he called over his shoulder in a lilting tone. Shrugging, he looked the pair of bristling Dragons in the eye, one after the other, before he added with a derisive glint in his eye, "Who knows? We may be exchanging fruit cakes after all this is over. ~"

To him, this was all just foreplay.

"Like what you see?" he asked the man with the searching gaze. Raph didn't hazard a guess at what thoughts swirled behind those cyan eyes. Instead, he took in the mask, and imagined what glorious chaos might unfurl if he simply plucked it from the man's face and shattered it on the ground.

Alas, it was not to be, as the second Dragon spoke to him directly. Raph's smile quirked to conceal a prick of irritation at hearing the man's curt words.

"Oh, but you. You want to hit me so bad don't you?" the snarky man asked rhetorically, not bothering to wait for a reply. He splayed his arms, hands, and fingers wide, opening himself up in a display mocker's display of magnanimity. "Go on. Take a little swing. I’ll let you get one free hit. ~"



 
SHEN YUE
SCENE:
Reparations
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, July 21st, 2022
LOCATION:
Ruined Bridge, North/East District
PARTICIPANTS:
Bash, Shen, Kisara, Kanna, Sang-cheol, Celestine, Sabrina, Peyton, Raphael, Ruriko, Lloyd, Jesper [Guardian], Sylvaine
REPARATIONS
Shen's attention flitted momentarily from the Serpent Queen to the altercation evolving between the two parties. When he looked back, another Serpent had stepped forward. Her skin was pink. He didn't think anything of that.

Shen watched as Peyton stepped forward. He watched as Kanna barred his approach. WIth a sad smile and a soft shake of his head, he answered his former Dragon. “Hugs are for friends. Peyton. You are no longer my friend.”

From then on, he listened quietly and carefully to everything that was said to him by the Serpent Queen, before he took a moment to consider, brows furrowed in brief contemplation.

Then he spoke.

“There is no bargain we may strike that you can be trusted to keep.” Shen said with finality.

“Return to your district and you may remain there. We will not hunt you.” This was his offer. “You may leave this place in peace. That is charity enough for your many crimes.”

 
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