[The Grid] Chatper 1: Hardwired

The same sense of deadly coolness she felt earlier flows into Erin.


I understand. I will be ready.


Zipping herself into her fencing jacket and pulling a sweatshirt over it is a moment’s work. Opening the old ditty bag, she takes out her foils and tenderly places what she carries inside. Then she rapidly empties the contents of her knapsack -- stockings, a change of clothing, fresh undergarments -- on top of it. Carrying it in one hand, she quickly dishevels her hair and blinks her eyes rapidly to make the tears come before she unlocks the door and opens it.


“Oh, thank god you’re real! I was so scared -- I didn’t know who I could trust. Please, promise me you’ll protect me from those maniacs!â€
 
The big reveal


Kase

And Patrick, if you want to be present.


After a moment the two odder individuals get their wits back. Lace is looking around baffled, and you don't think she has any more idea what's going on than you. Athena hesitantly releases your arm. "Well?" she asks.


""I don't know," Bob admits, dropping the cagey talk for once. "I really just don't know. Mr O'Connell, my associates and I are going to go inside to discuss something. You may come if you want. If not, I apologize for the intrusion. Good luck with your vehicle." Then he turns and leads the way back into the small room.


There's no ritualistic choice as you enter this time. Athena pours herself a glass of water and moistens her lips before sitting on the edge of the desk. When you and Bob are comfortable, she begins.


"Several hundred years ago there was the final battle of good versus evil. It was one of those few, rare conflicts of nearly pure moral lines; only the second such conflict to occur. In the first, man and god wrested Creation from the grip of the Primordials. In the second, the forces of death rose to end all life in Creation. They won.


"Make no mistake, but life itself lost. Every living thing in Creation died. From men and Exalts to the gods upwards and down. Every animal, plant, fungus, down to what you'd consider bacteria and virus. Everything died. The greatest and oldest cities were thrown down. Heaven itself was broken, the Loom of fate unravelled, and the pillars of Yu Shan were severed that it crashed into the earth. It was their final stroke, the coup d'etat. It fell on the Imperial City itself, core of all the resistance, and destroyed it. So great was the final detonation that the Realm Defense grid, the ace in the hole that all out plans were laid around, was destroyed. Everyone died, Kase. And as a final insult, they dragged the sun from the heaven and cast him into the Abyss. The world was dark and lifeless. It still is."


"We called him, 'Unconquered' or sometimes 'Sol Invictus,'" Bob adds simply. "So long as he lived he was."


"It was a peculiar irony that lead to this," Athena continued her explanation. "There are things, or perhaps processes, called Exaltations. In the beginning, when we made war on the Primordials, they were our greatest weapons. But half of the greatest of them were stolen and corrupted. They were called Abyssals. Lead by their dead masters, they proved capable of overcoming everything else."


"Don't forget the Infernals," Bob mentions.


"I didn't," Athena replies. She turns back to Kase. "Let me explain this simply. There were originally three hundred Solar Exltations. One hundred were taken by the dead and turned to Abyssals. Fifty were claimed by the few primordials who survived, and turned as well. They became Infernals. Yet one hundred and fifty remained strong, and for a while they were enough to hold the wall. Then the Infernals betrayed their masters and sided with the Abyssals. Some say it was for the joy of the kill, but I'm inclined to believe it was pure spite. The combined Abyssals and Infernals picked off their opponents one by one, turning them to evil, until there were no Solars left. When the battle lines were redrawn, the bad guys won.


"Having killed everything, the Abyssals set their sights on ending the world. They made war on the rocks and dirt of the world, but it was here they were finally stymied. If you don't mind, I'll skip over the metaphysics of the situation, but you can think of the world as a kite. Most of it, where the people lived and rocks laid, was the skin. The Poles were the frame. These poles proved resistant to destruction however. With everyone dead, the Abyssals had not the power to break them. You see, they gained the lion's share of their power by killing, and once everyone was already gone, there was no one left to kill. Had they time, they probably could have whittled the Elemental poles away, but their masters were not patient. Initial calculations showed that would take slightly less then forty seven million years, and the Neverborn were not that patient. They demanded results now."


"Forty six million, nine hundred thirteen thousand, four hundred and five years," Bob supplies helpfully. "Four months, two weeks, one day, and the math gets a little fuzzy, but my best guess is six hours and nineteen minutes. The seconds aren't specific enough."


"So, basically, they needed someone to kill. The result was this," she waves her hands around. "They made a fake world, built it on a lie, and simply created life again. That really pissed off their masters, but given a choice between that and waiting fifty million years, there wasn't much of decision.


"Kase, they needed power. They get it from you."


"Specifically, your faith," Bob adds again. "There's an odd power in belief. While they weren't demiurges, composed of nothing more then the collective belief of the masses, they were quite capable of using the prayers of six billion people. They created this world you live in, called the Engine of Empirical Divinity, and built it so every time you look at a wall and believe it to be real, your infinitesimal prayer of trust in your own eyes is farmed, collected, transmitted, and used."


"Kase, none of this is real," Athena says, taking the thread of narrative back from her partner. "This is all fake. It's like a computer simulation. You were created by Infernals out of infinite spite for the sole purpose of turning your back on religion. History is a lie. It's specifically created on the back of false gods so that you wouldn't believe in it. They want you to believe in the world. They want you to pray to the lottery gods for money, watch TV to see what's fashionable, and work a meaningless job just to chase money that isn't even real. And it's all hidden in plain sight."


"You see this?" Bob asks, waving a twenty. "This is pure crap. It's not even backed by gold any more, and hasn't been since this iteration of the simulation got started. Why? Because a fiat currency only works because people believe it does, and that gets you in the habit of putting your trust in empty things. Back in the real world people used gold or jade, and in this fake existence, that's held up for mockery as an antiquated idea of the past."


"Everything is designed to make you believe the illusion," Athena explains. "The billboards that you think have been suddenly popping up everywhere, the ones by the Atheist Convocation that preach believe in reality, have been here since the beginning. You are the victim of the most complex hoax in history, either true or false, and you're in it with six billion-"


"Now almost seven."


"-other people, and the only reason you can't see it is the pure audacity of it is too much for the mind to grasp."


"Also, if you do catch on, someone kills you," Bob adds again. Ever the bearer of good tidings, Bob.


"That's reality, Kase. That's what's really going on," she says finally, and offers you a stiff drink.


The room is quiet for a moment, then there's a chirp from one of her pockets. She looks down and blinks as she extracts her phone. "Ug. I never get any reception in this stupid building." Then she glances up and looks at you. "With me? Thoughts, feelings, questions?"
 
Erin


Outside there are two men in police uniforms. Their badges are visible, and they have drawn weapons. Those aren't pointed at you, however.


The one in front has short black hair, and is in decent shape. His compatriot is older with flecks of gray at the temples and bears a significant paunch. It's the younger one who speaks.


"Yes, ma'am, I most certainly will. Thank you for opening the door. Now, I'm going to search you, and then we're going downstairs. You aren't under arrest, but I need to know if you've got anything on you. Are you carrying anything that I need to know about, or that will hurt me or my partner?"

Dex + Larceny to attempt to smuggle things though the pat down. The foil is a -2 external penalty, vs the officer's perception + Larceny roll off. If you want to try to talk him into letting you bring the foil, it's straight social combat. Determine what tact you want to take, and roll accordingly.
 
“No -- well, I have a…a s-stick.†Unzipping her bag, Erin pulls back the layer of clothes.


Underneath lies not a fencing foil, but a beautiful replica of a real saber, made of some exotic wood. The carving and decoration is exquisite -- but someone has crudely scratched ‘ERIN’ on the handle.


“I’ve had it since I was a k-kid, you see,†begins Erin, fixing her tearful gaze on the two policemen and calling on every drama lesson she had at Sarah Lawrence. “I used to have the most terrible nightmares -- I thought there were monsters in my closet. So my parents bought me a toy sword. During the day I played with it, and at night it sat on the table next to my bed, so I could grab it in case the monsters attacked. When I moved out here, I brought it with me…†Her voice conveys tender nostalgia for the foolishness of childhood as she expertly weaves the story, making it real.


“When...when those guys just started shooting, and I got away and came back here, I was… felt…I was j-just terrified. It was like being a little kid again, only now the monsters were real.†She wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “S-so I got out my old toy sword. I know it’s stupid -- it’s just a toy, it wouldn’t be any good against people with guns. But it helps me…it reminds me that there aren’t any monsters. Or if there are, I’m stronger than them.â€


She looks imploringly at the officers. “Please let me keep it with me? It m-makes me feel safe.â€

The roll is Manipulation (since she’s being deceptive) + Performance (since she’s trying to convince more than one person) + her specialty in Storytelling.


Social Fu!


7d10.hits(7) → [4,4,3,3,7,9,10]
 
((So, so sorry for such a long time this took to reply. I completely lost track of things this week.))


Patrick


"Yeah, I'd appreciate it if I could get the guy's number. I've been idly looking for awhile, haven't found anything in my price range, yet." Patrick chuckles softly at Lace's expression regarding the Challenger. "And yeah, it's what I drive. I had to make a choice, the second car or a boat upgrade, so I went with fixing up the boat first. Racers don't make as much prize money as people think."


At her suggestion of the Split-Window 'Vette being a loaner, he blinks in surprise, and also blinks in surprise (and bemusement, a little) at her poking him. But he starts to nod even as she speaks, so that when she suddenly stops poking him, he's standing there nodding like a bobblehead doll for a moment, before it registers she's looking confusedly at the building. And, the semi-retired racer turns as well.


Spotting Bob looking at him like a landed fish (a look he, obviously, knows quite well), he raises an eyebrow, looks him over, then Kase, then the woman, then finally down at the marble.


"...you know, I've gotten that look before," Patrick finally says, bending over to scoop up the marble, and spinning it in his fingers. "Saw it on Bob Brevak's face when I tore up his Craftman Truck like nobody's business at the Milwaukee Mile in '07. Was his last truck, too.


...and, I believe this belongs to you?" he tells Bob, handing him the marble.


When he mentions that they're heading inside to discuss things, and offers him to accompany them, Patrick nods. "Well, I suppose, since you're looking at me like that, I might as well, right?" Turning to Lace, he nods apologetically. "If you'll excuse me, ma'am? We'll talk about that 'Vette once we get done with this. Won't be a moment."


...and then, he follows Bob and the others inside.


Where, leaning against the side of a chair and crossing his arms, he listens to the tale told.


"...I have to say, that's quite the tale," he finally says, speaking up, when Athena finishes, and after giving a long, low whistle of impressed-ness/disbelief. "So, let's assume for a minute that what you're saying is true. And therefore, let's assume that this," he waves a hand around the room, "is false. What's reality then - a charred cinder of a rock, that we'll be killed for believing it's really real? I mean, pardon me for being devil's advocate here, but it seems like you're saying that on the one side, if we believe in what's really real, well, it's a dead blasted lifeless dirtball, while on the other side, we have a situation where it's all a lie and we're bringing about the end of the world. I was going to say Hobson's choice when I started that sentence," he adds, "but now I think both the weevils here are looking to be the size of elephants."
 
Kase blinked, totally in awe of the story he had just heard. If he'd been told this story maybe the day before, he'd have balked. But now? The marble, the sword out of hell, Athena with that display in the hospital...it was starting to paint a very interesting picture in his mind. And the kicker? It totally made sense in retrospect.


"Well, normally you'd be right. You told me this story maybe yesterday, I probably would've waved you off. But after what's been going on, I'm inclined to believe anything. My thing is that...well, the main question that's been on my mind. How do we," he gestured at himself and Patrick. "figure into all of this, exactly?"
 
Kase, Patrick


Athena excuses herself briefly and steps outside. Meanwhile Bob looks at Patrick placidly. "I'm no longer offering you a choice, son. You made your choice when you walked through the door, and listened to what we had to say. At this point we are only giving you information, and what you make of it is up to you. I suppose the most obvious decision you can make is whether you believe us or not. Kase, I'm not sure if you can still rationally decline, but irrationality is always possible. Mr O'Connell here can always live in a delusion, accept the truth, or do any number of things. The last one we've spoken to found a third option that was...less then fortunate.


"There are things I can do to presuade you of the truth of this, though. Would you like to see a blatant impossibility? It can be arranged.


"And Kase, your role is simple. Athena didn't address this, but I will. The initial plan to recreate humanity was resisted because there existed a chance, no matter how slight, that a new opposition would arise within it that could rival the state of affairs. Perhaps some new Solar would exalt. There were thus control measures put into place. Three of them.


"The first is that all of the new humanity were created by direct action of the Infernals, and are, in fact, creatures of darkness. They have no souls, no destiny, and with the Loom gone, no possibility of getting one. Secondly, all three hundred Solar Exaltations were accounted for. Finally, to prevent a change in status or more Exaltations from being created, the Unconquered Sun was conqeured, killed, and cast into nothingness."


Bob lifts the small marble that Patrick just returned to him. "This, Mr O'Connell has the singular purpose of finding destiny. And it's yours." He tosses the small thing to you, and you catch it negligently. "That either of you even breathes means that somehow, the threefold bindings of Creation have failed. You exist as proof of that. That is your purpose in all this. I don't know how or why, but you exist to survive, and bring the possibility of that survival to all humanity."


Athena reappers, looking puzzled. "That woman I met last night just called me. I missed it."


Bob looks over. "And this is important how?"


She looks at him steadily. "In the midst of a soul seek, wherein we found not only the impossibility we were looking for but another totally unexepected, a sword fighter of consumate potential-" Pause for emphasis. "In Nags Head" Pause for emphasis. "-calls me. And you don't think that's important?"


There's a moment of silence. "Touche," he admits.


"I think we should find her. Make contact. Give her the test," Athena concludes. "At worst, she'll wonder why we drop marbles around her. At best, we might find something worthwhile. And worthwhile meaning could possibly save creation."


Bob shrugs. "It can be arranged."


"Anyway, I'm sorry to interrupt. You were saying?" she asks.


((Edited: On retrospect I really didn't like this post. This hiccup is too much a belch))


"I was telling Kase his part in all this, while telling Mr O'Connell the nature of his choice," he explains. After a moment he finishes, "Would you take over, please? You put these things better then I do."


"If you want. Pat, Lace calls you Pat so I will too, if you don't mind, we're not here to make choices for you. Honestly, that's the last thing I want. What we're trying to do is aid you in making both decisions, and mapping the roads that you will choose between. What you do from here is totally up to you. We can expose you to the inexplicable, and if you ask we will, but please understand that if you ask us to show you incontrovertible proof of our words, you'll be making a choice to believe us. Once we reveal the man behind the curtain, you cannot unsee him. It may not bring you happiness, and as you can learn easily from Kase, it will certainly not make your life easier. All we offer is the truth, not happiness, not wealth, not even a Subaru SPLAT."


"BRAT," Lace corrects very quietly. She's standing at the door, listening, and trying hard not to be intrusive. Athena smiles at her words, but doesn't get distracted.


"Indeed. Either way, though, your roles are the same. Kase, our time here is limited. Bob and I cannot run around here doing impossible things. Each moment we breath, the guardians of the machine home in on us. It is here your questions coincide. We don't need you two to return immediately to the blasted cinder block of reality. We need you to stay here. Soon, very soon, Bob and I will have to flee. We're hacking in on a pirated connection, and that will attract attention. To be honest, this third participant may be the final straw. Someone needs to make contact with her, find out if she has a destiny as well. Someone who won't attract the stealth team that's lurking somewhere. Someone like you."
 
Erin


The officer looks doutfully at the sword, but finally shrugs. "Very well. It will go in the trunk, though. Now please face the wall and put your hands at head level. Spread your legs, ma'am."


Very professionally, but very thoroughly, he searches you. The other officer watches, and explains his responsibility is to be something of a chaperone. That might be something of a conflict of interest, but the younger man doesn't get any more invasive then necessary.


Afterwards they take you downstairs, giving you time to lock your room up as you depart. From the hallway you hear your phone ring, but aren't allowed to return to answer it. The officer is very firm.


Once they get downstairs you're bundled, uncuffed, into the back of the cruiser, and they drive away.

Break in case you want to add something. Otherwise I'll push forward in the next post.
 
Erin goes tamely, or so it seems. She blows her nose on her sleeve and continues to play the part of a nervous, over-sensitive woman who jumps at shadows and bursts into tears at the slightest excuse. Which, until today, wouldn’t have been an act.


Inside, however, she is in a state of poised stillness, waiting for the judge to cry “Allez!â€
 
Erin


You don't wait long. The cruiser heads out onto the main drag and heads south. You pass the spot where your chase ended so spectacularly. They're still picking up bits of wreckage, but the semi seems to be unharmed. The damage is mostly cosmetic. Officer Gherin, the driver, looks over and asks his partner "If he's ever seen something like that before?"


"Yeah, a few times. I worked highway for a long time."


Gherin nods, and doesn't say anything else. You drive on by without stopping. Further south, he comes to a full stop and waits at a light when the pudgy officer says, "Hey. You got a message from the Rooster."


"Eh? The who? What's it say?"


"Brace yourself."


Officer Gherin looks at him confused. "That's it?"


"Nothing else, just that. From the precinct-"


Definition: deja vu


"disagreeable familiarity or sameness"


Out the window, you can see oncoming traffic. Looming against the clean blue sky is a brilliant green tractor-trailer, roaring along in complete silence. The thing has to be going a hundred mph or more, yet it makes no noise and slips through traffic like a ghost. It is headed straight for you, and the light of it's headlights is a warm, verdant green.
 
Even as Erin yells a warning to the policemen, she knows it's too late. Tightening her muscles, she braces herself, gripping any handholds and pressing her back and head flat against the seat.
 
Patrick


"You can call me anything but late for supper," Patrick quips from his position against the wall. "So, what you're telling me is that everything I know is a lie, and that it's quite possible for somebody to do twenty-seven impossible things before breakfast."


He pauses. Then shrugs.


"You see some of the crap I've seen in my life, you start to wondering sometimes. Especially that three-eyed fish that one time." He tosses the marble in the air, grins a bit at Lace, catches said marble on the way down, and tucks it into his pocket.


"Eh, I've probably got a couple more 500s - each of them - in me, but running in the back of the pack is no fun anyway. I'm in."
 
Erin


Though the conclusion is foregone, the sad farce of action plays out none the less. Officer Gherin and his comrade turn and yell at you, looking wildly around for the cause of your warning. You see Gherin look directly at the oncoming truck. You see the malignant green glow of its lights reflecting off his eyes. And you see him not react in the slightest to keep looking around in confusion. Then you curl up and brace.


It doesn't hit you completely normal to the cop car. Instead it swerves twice in the last few feet. Once to its left, then again to the right, until it crashes broadside just behind the middle post on the passengers side. That's where the older officer is sitting. You never learned his name. The massive grill of the semi smashes through the door and drags the smaller vehicle with it. You are wrenched thirty feet sideways into a brick building. The cruiser hits on the side and stops, but the semi keeps going. The front of the car is peeled away and discarded, and the great truck thunders by.


It never blew its horn. Movies dictate that trucks always blow their horn. It didn't.


By the time you realize what just happened, it had already happened, and you're sitting in the back seat of a vehicle with no front. You're free.

I rolled a bunch of dice for you and used the results to tell you things you did or did not notice. They were real dice though. Your luck seemed average. Kindly give me a Stamina + Resistance roll. Unless you botch you're uninjured in the Exalted sense, as it only seems to track life threatening injuries, but feel free to roleplay the results as you see fit.


New trope: Semi trucks are wrecking balls
 
Kase merely stood there, scratching one temple in contemplation of this new revelation. Is this what he was meant to do?


He got some of the answers he was looking for, but it ended up only tripling his question count. And it seemed quite likely he'd never get all the answers he wanted, if what Bob and Athena were saying was any indication.


"I've been Fate's plaything for the past week. I've traveled halfway across the country, been shot at, poisoned, and almost got run over by a tanker. I guess we can throw saving the world on top of it," he said, although he was effectively restating it for the third time that day.
 
Erin

Yay for seatbelts.
It takes the stunned Erin a moment to process what has happened. Then she unbuckles her seat belt and climbs out of the ruins of the car. Aside from a small bruise on her upper arm, she is unharmed. Gratitude for “the Rooster’s†prompt intervention wars with icy shock at his methods.


Out of a mixture of human decency and hard pragmatism (for Erin is more like her invisible rescuer than she is willing to admit) she forces herself to look for whatever is left of the two policemen.


After all, her bag is still locked in the trunk.
 
Kase, Patrick


Athena looks to Kase first and smiles. "Of course you are, dear. You've already decided that, and we know you're not the kind of person to renege on your words. I was only answering your earlier question about what your role in this is."


"Gentlemen, things are going to begin happening very quickly," Bob interrupts. "We're going to take steps to insure you come home without waiting for the third in the bush. to that end I'm going to go activate an extraction team. To put it simply, I'm unplugging the both of you from the Engine. It won't be easy or simple, but it can be done. I'll need to return to the real world to start the process, so this will probably be the last time you see me until you open your true eyes. Athena will remain here. She knows how to contact me if necessary. Do you have any questions before I go?" he asks.


"You haven't told them what we'll be doing in the meantime," Athena points out with dry amusement. "How then can they have questions?"


"You already mentioned it," Bob counters. "The four of you will be making contact with Athena's friend and testing her for destiny."


"Specifically," Athena adds, directed at the two young men. "You three will be doing it. I am going to withdraw to the nethers and will be operating. That way my essence signature will be vague enough that anyone looking for me won't find you. Lace will be remaining here in full insertion. She'll be the one who's really helping you through all of this."


"See? Simplicity. The extraction shouldn't take more then a few days. If she's in Nags Head, that should be more then enough time. You got anything else for me?" he asks.


"This will be your first time to act unencumbered by the normal rules of the engine," Athena says. "Since your complete extraction will take place shortly, don't worry about credit card debt you can't pay or jail time. It won't matter. But you must be discrete enough not to get the feds called on you, or have that surgical team take a personal interest. I will be a phone call away to offer any advice I can, but this operation will be more or less in your hands. How do you intend to go about it?"

Basically, Bob's leaving. If you need help from him, speak now or hold your peace for a while. Athena's going to be removed, so she won't be able to do any insanity for you. It's up to you guys. How do you want to make contact, and what will you need?


I imagine by now you've figured out more or less what's going on. Try to avoid using ooc knowledge if you can avoid it, but hopefully the dramatic irony is amusing.
 
Erin


Not far from the wreckage is the truck. It kept moving until being arrested by heavy, stone pyramid. The monument advertises for a local builder, and proclaims that Drake Construction Company's houses will last like the pyramids of giza. The pyramid itself is smashed, and chunks of granite, sandstone, and marble have been cast about in all direction. The nose of the cab is wedged in the wreckage, with bits of masonry knocked all around. The cop car itself must be in front, compacted between the stone and steel.


A man in jeans, boots, and an old Alice 'n Chains shirt comes around the side. He looks vaguely southern, with short blonde hair and a cigarette hanging between his lips. He has an insolent expression and carries two five gallon jugs under each arm. Spotting you he stops, puts them down, and unscrews the lid on one. With a deep puff on his Camel he starts sloshing gasoline over the truck.


"Erin, right? I'm the Rooster. Have you ever wondered what's wrong with you? I mean compared to everyone else."
 
"All my goddamn life," says Erin. "Right now, though, I'm wondering why an ancient god and his followers seem to be taking a close personal interest in me, and where that might lead, and how much bloodier it's going to get. Don't mistake me, I appreciate the rescue. I don't think those cops did, though." Her voice is sharp and hard and totally unlike her normal soft tones.
 
Erin


The Rooster throws his head back and laughs, a riotously unhealthy sound full of viciousness and delight. "Your tone is right, babe, but the words are all wrong. Still, you've got the steel in you. We'll get along just fine. Want to see a magic trick?"


He emptied the first jug while you were speaking, and tossed it through one of the cab's broken windows. Then he pulls out another and cracks it open. After a few vigorous puffs the cigarette's cherry is glowing a brilliant red. Grinning, he spits it directly into the open mouth of the gasoline can. Nothing happens.


"Gas ain't that flammable, believe it or not. It's the fumes that have the kicker. If I tried this on the empty I just used, we'd both be crispy critters." With that he returns to dousing the wreckage. The non-sequitor is odd, and utterly incongruous. He makes no mention of it again.


"No, Erin, the short answer I'm looking for is 'Who cares?' The long one is 'because I'm just fucked up' and possibly 'fuck you, too.' You're wrong because your creator was all wrong, and if someone's got a problem with it, fuck 'em. Ever hear that old expression, be yourself because the people who matter don't mind and the people who mind don't matter? Too many words for me. I say who gives a shit.


"First of all, fuck the sun god. He's dead and gone, so good riddance. Second of all, fuck the world. If it has a problem with you, then it has a problem and that's no reason for you to care. Whatever you've got to do is what you've got to do, or whom, or where, or whatever. So let me break this down Barney style." With that he tosses the second empty can into the wreckage and starts on the next.


"You aren't connected. You've known that all along, but you probably thought it was because there was something wrong with you. I'm sure there is, but I don't really give a shit and it's irrelevant anyway. What is relevant is that you are going to be a problem, and the fastest way to isolate a problem is isolate you. I bet you don't know your family too well. They maybe dead already. If they aren't yet, well, I wouldn't stress Christmas presents this year. You have a job at a law firm, don't you? Watch the news tonight. I bet you won't by morning. You got a lover? By tomorrow night your anniversary is going to be an academic point. And as for you, let me assure you that if you go anywhere you are known or intend to speak to anyone who is known to know you, you might as well climb into the cop car when I torch this puppy off and save yourself some time. You dig?"
 
Erin folds her arms. “First off, I wasn’t expecting any Christmas presents from the parents anyway -- one of them I haven’t spoken to in months, the other in years. Second, I hated that stupid job with every fiber of my being. Third…†she pauses for a moment, “I had a lover, before I moved to the middle of nowhere. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder, as it turns out. And regardless of all that, there’s no way in hell I’d put any of them at risk by communicating with them now. I knew that much from the moment Mr. Pin and Mr. Tulip started shooting at me.


“In fact, before those cops showed up, I was packing my bags to leave town on the next bus. Which brings me to my fourth point. My stuff is still locked in the trunk of the other half of the police car. I want it back, so don’t go all pyromaniac on me yet,‘kay?â€
 
Erin


The Rooster smirks at you. You think at some visceral level your answer pleased him greatly. "Stone cold bitch," he compliments you and starts laughing. "Though there's no reason to worry about putting them in risk. They'll all be deader then Lennon by morning. All right, babe, let's go get your stuff."


With that he drops the third empty gas can and hefts the last. He holds it negligently in one hand while he lights another cigarette. You notice he's smoking Camel Lights and sparking them with an old zippo. Odd. After a second glance, you notice the lighter says "Dare County PD" on it, and that answers several questions. He walks with you around to the back of the truck before putting down the gas can to open the double doors.


First you notice your own dead body, tumbled into a pile by the movement. Then you tunnel vision in on that, and barely glance around the rest of the truck. It's perfectly flesh-like, and the skin on the face is soft. When the Rooster swings it down and over a shoulder, the hair sways naturally, and it even has the fresh bruises from sparring practice yesterday. They're still rising on your own skin. With the cadaver dangling over one shoulder, he reaches in and withdraws a large, sealed manila envelope.


"Yours, right?" he asks, handing it to you. "At least, it's addressed to you. Here." It's heavy, and feels full of paper.


He flicks the lighter a few times with his free hand, then lights a bit of string running forward into the shadows of the trailer. Once that's complete he turns, pockets the zippo and picks the gas can back up with his free hand. You two resume walking towards the broken car.


No one watches you. No one looks twice, nor considers the vehicles and the scene of the collision. The property damage is incredible, strange engine fluids are leaking out to turn the parking lot asphalt rainbow colors, and no one looks twice. Traffic on the main highway is busy, but you feel oddly secluded.


"That's the person who tried to have you killed. And as of now, they succeeded," the Rooster explains as you walk, with a jut of his chin towards the envelope. When you get to the car he drops the dead 'you' into the back seat before walking around back. Instead of jimmying the trunk, he just grabs it and yanks. Bolts squeal and break, and the lid pops open. Your saber is safe and secure inside, tossed against a wall by the impact but unharmed. "Nice blade. You know anything about using that pig sticker?"
 
"That's the person who tried to have you killed. And as of now, they succeeded," the Rooster explains as you walk, with a jut of his chin towards the envelope.


Erin rips it open, stares at the dossier inside: Stephanie Whitfield’s. Her throat suddenly dry, she rasps, “I can’t say I’m surprised.â€


When you get to the car he drops the dead 'you' into the back seat before walking around back. Instead of jimmying the trunk, he just grabs it and yanks. Bolts squeal and break, and the lid pops open. Your saber is safe and secure inside, tossed against a wall by the impact but unharmed. "Nice blade. You know anything about using that pig sticker?"


Erin reaches into the trunk of the car, noticing that her hand does not shake and vaguely proud of that fact. The phrase “dead as Lennon†keeps looping over and over through her mind like some satanic message.


What she pulls out is not a toy, though the unfortunate policemen were easily convinced that it was. It looks like a sword -- not a fencing foil but a heavy, broad-bladed weapon -- carved of some polished tropical wood that gleams in the sunlight, hard as iron and heavy as lead.


For an answer, she walks over to the dead body that wears her face. With somewhat more tension in her wrist than Laszlo would have approved, she brings the ‘waster’ down on the corpse’s skull in a practiced sweeping motion. There is an unpleasant sound, like someone dropping a melon from a great height.


When she looks up, her face is chalk-white, but her voice is as quiet and cold as a winter’s night. “I cannot accept that everybody I ever knew is doomed. I will not accept that. So you just tell me what I have to do to save them. Or I will kill you and try to find them myself. You and yours have been playing games with me for days, now. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as much to blame as anyone for drawing the attention of these people, whoever they are. If you won’t help me, I won’t hesiate to split your goddamned skull.â€
 
Erin


The Rooster looks you dead in the eye and laughs in your face. His voice is full of limitless conceit and malicious happiness. He's like a social cancer that grows by infecting others.


"It's all in the file, babe, all you need. And me, I haven't played you for shit, because straight up, I don't care. But if you want a title shot, I'm ready to dance. I'm not like the Castle who talks to you and tells you everything's going to be okay. I'm not going to help you through a damn thing. I'll kill you, real or simulacrum, right here and now, and both together is just icing on the cake. Have you been played? Fuck yeah. All your damn life. Everything you know is a lie and it's all based on the central conceit of fucking you until you die. Is it my fault? Sure. Why not? It's mine as much as anyone's, and that certainly includes you.


"So if you want help, I already pulled you out of a cop car. I'm covering your tracks, and thank you for killing your own corpse. You saved me the trouble of bashing your head open against a rock or something. If you want to know who the hitters were working for, it's written down right there. But if you want me to do your work for you, make your choices for you, and tell you everything you want to know before tucking you in at night and kissing you on your widdle head, ha!


"So you want more from me? Ha! Let's do it!" he yells, and swings his arms wide, offering his chest and head invitingly. "You think you're good enough? Come to daddy, little girl."

There was much discussion behind this. I'm not going to post something this offensive to anyone without a little backstage discussion first.
 
Erin looks him up and down, her face twisting in disgust. She longs to see if he bleeds real blood, but somewhere a clock is ticking.


“Screw you. You’re not worth it.†Her voice changes. “Who is the Castle? And come to think of it, who the hell are you, anyway?â€
 
Erin


"I'm the Rooster, baby. And you know he ain't gonna die!" Even more freakishly, now he breaks into song, belting out the last sentence in coarse tones even while arranging your corpse in the back seat. Then he douses the entire thing in the last gas can. By this point whatever he did in other wreck has combusted, and you see ugly red flames ripping up from the debris. After stepping back to tastefully consider his work, he snaps his fingers a few times. "It needs more. Something to push it over the edge, something that will- Gotcha."


Pausing, he's looking across the parking lot. On the far side is a small, Mom-and-Pop grocery store, and out front is a selection of propane canisters. A viscous, evil smile crosses his face. Without answering your first question, he turns around and walks away. You don't think you'll get anything else from him.


And honestly, would you want to?

 
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