Threadbare

Interlude: Sociology for Fun and Prophet

No, I expect it's going to be messy for a while, said the man this world knew as Thomasi Jacobi Venturi. One doesn't simply seize a city without consequences.

I mean... they just look so sad, Missus Fluffbear squeaked.

Across the way, in front of where the shattered barbican of Castle Cylvania was slowly being rebuilt by a team of rather happy Masons, a cluster of men, women, and toys sat around the long table. It had taken some work to get it out of the great hall without banging it around too badly, but they'd managed with only about a dozen or so Mend spells required to fix slips and nicks.

The gathered Council, at least those that could be found in the city, were around it. And in the center was the young lad the revolutionaries had picked to be their king. He wasn't wearing a crown now, and there was rather a lot of relief in his face... relief tempered by guilt, as the guards hauled up humans and halvens one by one, for a quiet talk with the rulership of Cylvania. The remnants of the revolution... at least those who hadn't fled

They probably are rather sad, Thomasi said, tucking his hands into his pockets. Some of them bought into the lie, others had misgivings and went anyway, and a few of them knew entirely what they were doing, and tried to exploit the situation. The ones who had the most to gain used them, then fled before they could be captured. This lot left over are going to have to spend the rest of their days among people who knew what they did, and are going to be watching them very closely in case they ever try to do it again.

I was wondering at first why they were not punished more harshly, Jean said, as she scanned the line of prisoners. Ah... that one. That one looks like he will be a problem. She pointed, and Thomasi looked a sour-faced man in workman's clothes over, and took note of the numbered sign that he was holding. Later on he'd check it against the lists that the guards had made up, figure out the man's name for the next part of things. He wrote it down in his notes, just in case he forgot. His intelligence was respectable, but unlike everyone around him, it didn't help with his memory. That part of things was up to him.

When he lowered the notebook, he found Jean scrutinizing him carefully. If I didn't know better, I'd mistake that for an amorous look. But I've seen how she looks at Celia, and there's no comparison, really. He shot back an easy smile. Is there something you need?

Answers, mostly. Jean shrugged. I know the others. You came in with the halven sisters. I do not know so much about them. Or your other companions. There was little time to discuss when you were aboard at first, and afterward I was kept busy telling what I knew of Belltollia.

For which they're grateful, I'm very sure, Thomasi said, nodding at the long table and the dignitaries who were calmly explaining to each and every revolutionary that this whole mess was over, and that nobody was going to die today. Belltollia's on their way here, now. With a bit of a grudge, I assume.

They think the Mercury golem was Threadbare's doing, Jean said, turning her head away. I do not think it is, but... you must admit it is an odd coincidence.

It is. We're going to need Cagna and her cork-board trick to sort this one out. And Chase, too.

We're going to need everyone if it comes to another war, Fluffbear squeaked. Belltollia's got a whole lot more people than we do.

Yeah, but getting them here and keeping them fed is the problem, came an echoing voice from behind, and Thomasi turned to see Garon approaching. For a towering suit of armor, he could be light on his feet. Or perhaps it was a measure of how much Thomasi felt distracted at the moment.

It's nice to have a big army, but get them where they need to be, and keep them fed, then there's not much you can do with it, Garon said, squatting on his haunches to bring his horned helm of a head down to Thomasi and Jean's level. We don't have as much of a problem with that. They have to travel a week or two, and once they arrive we'll be defending our home. Food won't be far, and now that the revolution's been squashed, so we should have friendlies keeping us supplied. And that's not even getting into our golem troops. Don't need to feed us like you do the rest.

I would not underestimate the speed and foraging abilities of my kin, Jean warned him.

Oh, we're not. And we're not completely out of the woods with this stupid revolution drama, either. So I'm hoping that you two and Chase and the other Grifters on our payroll can sort this out fast. Do you have everything you need from us for that part of things?

We should, Thomasi sucked his teeth. I think you're generally on the right track, here. It's far more merciful approach than I would have recommended, but the blatant truth of the matter is that you just don't have the population in this nation to come down heavy-handed. You need everyone you have. Even the ones lost to those... invisible monsters, was it? Even those losses hurt.

Invisible monsters, Fluffbear nodded. That's one reason we're doing this out in the middle of the daylight, to show everyone it's safe now. And to whomp those monsters if they show up again!

We'll focus on the visible ones, Thomasi smiled down at the tiny teddy. You handle the ones we can't see.

We're coming to the end of the line, Garon said, glancing over at the table. It'll be time for your part, soon. You're sure there's nothing more you need from us to get it done?

Thomasi was about to reply in the negative, when he caught sight of a child-sized figure walking up and down the line, offering the waiting ex-revolutionaries a platter of fresh-baked rolls. Actually, there is one thing...

Half an hour later, Karen Mousewife was looking earnestly up at him whiskers twitching on her felt nose as they wound through the halls, down to the dungeons.

Well bless me buttons sir, I'm not sure what use I'll be in this. But it's nice to spend time with you! I don't really know much about you, but you seem like a good man.

Looks can be deceiving, Thomasi smiled. Though I try to be one. I've seen a lot over the last few decades. There's far too much bad in the world, and I try not to add to it any more than I have to.

Karen said, glanced around as they passed recently-refilled guardposts, and got hard looks and nods nods from toys, men, dwarves, and the occasional raccant as they made their way to the cell blocks. It seems to me there's far more good than bad, it's just that when the bad gets really loud, it's hard to remember there's more good.

That expression was so earnest, so unguarded, that for a moment he felt his heart go out to the little creature...

PERSONAL FACTION ADJUSTMENT: +1 GAIN KAREN MOUSEWIFE

...And then the words flickered in his view, and he looked away.

Still a game. Still just artificial feelings.

No less real, even when you knew what caused them. But it cheapened them, reminded him of what he'd lost.

This is what I've got now, he muttered.

Excuse me, sir?

For a second he tensed up, waiting for damage that didn't come, then he glanced back down and smiled. That's going to come in handy.

You're being a bit confusing Mister Thomasi, I hope you don't mind me saying so.

I know, he said, meeting her button-eyed gaze. I know about your deepest secret.

She stopped, stock still, and he stopped as well in that dark hall between the cells.

Excuse me? she said again, but this time there was a bit of challenge in that voice.

I know about your hidden job. I know about the Karens.

The toy went still, all but her face as that part shifted, studying his own with her button eyes.

I didn't, she whispered. Not at first. When I graduated I got to choose a name for meself, and I thought Karen sounded nice. And then it popped up and said I qualified for the Karen job. And I'd never heard of that, so I decided why not?

Thomasi nodded, then put his back to the wall and slid down until he was roughly at eye level with her. This required him to sit on the floor, and he neatly folded his tails out of the way. Why not indeed? You didn't know, he said.

It's just... it's horrible stuff. Horrible stuff. As bad as Cultists, I reckon. Maybe worse. It's all to do with bullying and being selfish and throwin' tantrums and suchlike. Stuff that'd get children sent to their room or paddled. Things that hurts the soul just to think about'em.

Celia tells me you take care of children. You're a midwife. And you bake pies for orphans. Almost anyone would call you a good person.

Oh well thank you sir, but...

Almost anyone would. But I wouldn't.

That shocked her, and she stared at him, mouth open.

You could have swapped the job out. You could have left it at level one, and never used the skills. But you didn't. You kept it. Now why is that?

She shut her mouth, and gave him a hard look. If you knew about the Karens, you could have known that just by me name. But you know I've been leveling up in it. Now how's that, then?

Thomasi glanced up a bit, just above her head where the words Karen Mousewife Karen 12 hung, a message only players and perhaps gods could see. Then he slid his gaze back down to her eyes and smiled. I have my ways. But it was a rhetorical question to begin with. I know why you kept this, and I know why you've been leveling it. You're doing it because it's your guilty secret.

Now what have I got to be guilty about? The Mousewife folded her arms.

But she also looked away, just for a second.

Small tells, tiny shifts of body language... he was a world-class Grifter, but Thomasi didn't need any of those skills to tell him that he'd struck home. And like so many other cold reads he'd done throughout the years, once he had a small opening it was easy to follow the trail past her defenses.

Not much, Thomasi said, honestly. You haven't done many bad things in your life. You've lived a good one, so far. And that's a big part of it. You want to leave the option open. It excites you. It makes you think that you could be a bad guy, you could be a devastatingly wicked person if you wanted to. A lot of very good people keep a guilty secret, because they enjoy the idea that they could trade their goodness for power, if it came down to it.

That was partly true. The other half of the equation was that people who lived good lives often lived boring ones, and a guilty secret gave them a little thrill, added a bit of spice to an otherwise bland existence. It was a harmless thing for most, something most people wouldn't even think twice about. But occasionally it was something more serious.

And in this world, one where the coders obviously had a warped sense of humor, a job based on a popular culture trend and series of memes many years ago had the potential for ludicrous amounts of abuse. Sometimes literally.

I could be terrible, the Mousewife whispered. If it came down to it, I mean. I could be something big and nasty and strong and beautiful, some villain what gets a song in the second act, and maybe has an epic fight where they almost wins. I could be that. If I had to be.

I know. Thomasi said, and knelt down and took her paws in his hands. But you're very good at what you do already, aren't you?

I am, she said, and she smiled up at him. I deliver babies, and I help raise 'em, and I tend to the mums while they're busy. And I remembers the children no one else does, and I give them all the time I can. And I like it, I do. It's only sometimes...

It's only sometimes that you dream of how life would be different, Thomasi finished the sentence, smiling back at her. Of how you could fix the world if you had to. If you dared to make the sacrifice and be the villain, even though you know how it would end.

Yeah, the Mousewife looked down. There's some horrible stuff that comes with bein' a Karen. And sooner or later I'd use it, I would.

Well what if I told you you could fix the world, just a little, without going full evil queen? What if I told you you could make things better, by letting your secret come out to play, just for a bit?

I'd say that there's a slippery slope, the Mousewife said, withdrawing her paws.

But she didn't look away, and her tail twitched, just a bit.

Temptation on the hoof, Thomasi thought. But this was far from the worst thing he'd done, and he had enough of a read on her to suspect that it would end well.

Well. Over in the cells that we're about to visit, there are a whole lot of angry people who've done bad things. And they're going to come mostly in two flavors; ones who were fooled by very wicked people into doing those bad things, and those who knew it was all bunk but used this as an opportunity to do bad things anyway. And our job is going to be to sort out which of them were fooled, and which of them were just raging assholes.

Sir, that's a swear! the Mousewife gasped.

Sorry. I've been around Zuula the last few days. When she gets going it's easy to forget manners.

Well all right then. You want me to use me Karen skills to help with the sorting? Is that why I'm here then?

It is, Thomasi smiled. He'd sized her up earlier, and found her intelligence rather lower than his own, but not by crippling levels. He rather thought that this would help with that, help her hone her deductive skills and abilities.

Unlike him, the mental attribute points actually meant something to the Mousewife. She was wholly a being of the game, without a player behind her.

And indeed, as they spent solid hours of interrogating stubborn and disheartened revolutionaries, he could see the difference in her, could watch her grow bit by bit.

Most of them were very much the first type people who had bought into a lie, and failed to think themselves out of it before it had all gone very pear-shaped. But there were a few who tried lying their way out of trouble, and between his Grifter skills and her Karen-ing, they shredded away the falsehoods and got a bigger picture of what was truly going on, here.

And the picture only confirmed his suspicions.

After they finished the last interrogation, he stood up abruptly and walked out. The Mousewife hurried after him, and he could almost hear the worry in her scurry.

Sir? Mister Thomasi sir? What are we to do now?

This is too complicated for Cylvania. There's no way this whole business started locally, or grew organically. This is someone using methods from my neck of the woods. But they're implementing it very, very poorly and I don't understand why.

You're thinking it was that Copperfield fellow.

He stopped, mid-stride, and set his foot gently on the ground, before turning around to gazed down at her.

Those button eyes glittered with more intelligence than she'd had a few hours ago. And why shouldn't they? The title above her head proclaimed her to be a fifteenth level Karen, now. Some stat points had probably come along with that growth.

It has to be Copperfield. I remember him from... a chat, long ago, Thomasi said. He was upset that he had chosen his name while stoned, and the autocorrect switched David to Daffodil.

Sir? I think I understood maybe a fourth of that.

Don't mind understanding, you're helping me think aloud, here. Thomasi massaged his temples. The point is he's from my neck of the woods, using a combination of blatant lies and huckster tactics to fool a bunch of mildly inconvenienced people into thinking they're oppressed rebels. Wind them up, point them at the symbolic target of your choice, and laugh all the way while they burn down their own capital. But... there's no endgame.

Like in chess?

Chess is too generous, this is checkers at best. Or maybe snakes and ladders. It looks like Daffodil got the hell out of town before it all came crashing down, but why? There's nothing missing, nothing to indicate he was trying to steal anything, like that mercury golem.

That poor golem. Wonder what he thought about all that business? The Mousewife said, hugging her tail to her.

Not much, from what I gather. He wasn't sapient, he had no say in what they did Thomasi stopped, as a notion occurred to him. The woman. The monster. The one who probably had the invisible monsters, because they vanished when she disappeared. What was her name?

Lady Marks-Runcible?

That's it. That has to be the connection. It even fits the pattern! Thomasi paced as he spoke, his words speeding up as the pieces fell into place. When he wanted the mercury golem, he made an enormous mess, a whole big show that led to an easily influenced person fighting against their own leaders and getting blamed for his manipulations, while he escaped scott-free with the prize. Well what if Marks-Runcible IS the prize? What if they're on the way to his next bit of mischief, and all this is the distraction?

Then I'd say we have to catch them lickety-split! said the Mousewife, practically bouncing up and down in excitement. Shall I go get the guards, sir?

No, he's a player. You might as well bring trash mobs to stop a raid. Worse, he's an Influencer. Anyone without sufficient mental defenses will be working for him with a few words. We'll need a few people, and come on, we'll grab them as we go. Hurry now, the trail's getting cold!

Cagna wasn't too hard to find. The orderly dog-woman was helping to organize the RAGs relief efforts to the various city districts. After a few moments of waving, she sent her volunteers off to deliver packages, and studied Thomasi as she approached. You've got that look about you. What's wrong?

Thomasi grinned. Want to track down and catch a villain?

It beats trying to figure out the best grain to water ratios. Let's go.

Once Cagna was on board, it was easy enough to message the other two he needed. Glub met them at the moat, swimming in from the nearby river. Dude. We're going after a mastermind?

More like a provocateur, at least when I knew him, Thomasi clarified. Though it's been a few decades, give or take, so maybe he's turned into an insane genius.

The next one took the most persuading, but eventually Jean left Celia to her own devices and joined the small party.

She's good for now because she's busy, Jean said, glancing back to the commandeered house where the faction leaders were trying to balance securing the city with preparing for the upcoming war. But I do not wish to leave her alone for long. Threadbare did her no service by running off on his own so soon after their reunion.

And we won't keep you long, Thomasi said, glancing around at the group. Just one more, and we'll be ready for this. Cagna, get ahold of Chase, if you please.

Chase didn't respond.

That's unusual, Cagna said after a few minutes. She's running God Squad, she ought to be able to get a Scout pretty easily.

Concern tickled down Thomasi's spine. The false emotions that Chase had built within him, the countless points of faction which translated to concern and caring for her, screamed at him to act.

But he was a player, and he could see the strings. The emotions were artificial, and he was in control. So Thomasi nodded, and said It's possible she's busy with something. Let's check things before we panic. Get ahold of Greta, if you please.

On it. Wind's Whisper Greta, we need you. Meet us at the Castle.

Halfway back, Cagna straightened up and glared at thin air. Okay. Now CHASE is missing. Like we didn't spend six hours looking for Threadbare last night. What the fanculo is it with people this last week or two?

Is she coming? Thomasi asked.

Oh, she's coming, but we need to find Chase before we do anything.

And now that it was confirmed, now that his instincts matched the panic induced by his faction rating, he nodded without surprise. I had a feeling we would. Chase was the last one to see Copperfield, after all. This is probably one of his delaying games.

A pity I'm not in the mood to play games, Cagna said, checking her flintlock pistol and pulling out a familiar-looking headscarf. Follow the Trail.

Thomasi squinted. That's one of Chase's.

I've got one garment or possession for each of you, just in case you decide to get kidnapped by pirates or whatever. Come on, the arrows are pointing south. Looks like we're heading to the old quarter.

The old quarter of Cylvania city was where most of the nobles had lived, before the reign of the mad king and the wars. Slow attrition from intrigues and loss of fortunes had led to much of the land being taken for the crown's usage, and many of the old walled manors had been converted into storehouses, arsenals, and barracks for soldiers.

The end of the wars three years ago had resulted in much of the land being sold to private owners. Efforts were underway to replace empty-but-dilapidated mansions with shops and inns and housing for future generations, and for the most part it had seemed to be successful. Though it would be long before it regained the populace and life of ages past, everyone agreed that it was far more appealing now than it had been in years.

None of that statement applied to the Marks-Runcible Estate.

The small fortress squatted at the edge of the small hills adjoining the quarter like a gargoyle waiting for its prey to stop looking up. It was pure distilled gothic, down to the cross-shaped window slits with bars over them, and the many towers and minarets that bloomed like a fungal forest above the weathered stone walls. It wasn't the sort of place that local children dared each other to spend the night in those sorts of children would have been weeded out long ago, leaving the survivors to safely seek the spurious safety of a haunted barn or abandoned tomb or something it was at least possible to survive. The Marks-Runcible estate obviously didn't have a murder basement; it was a murder basement.

And oddly enough, there were no guards in sight.

Why aren't Garon's people watching this place? he asked Glub.

Pretty sure they are. Through spyglasses. From the old barracks, the fishman pointed. Good angle to see anything that tries to go up into the hills or come towards town. Yeah, the place has a good vantage point to watch stuff, but it cuts both ways, y'know?

I do, he said, eyeing the edge of the city until he found the sign he was looking for. Come on. Let's make a quick stop before we head in.

To a granary? Cagna muttered. We're past second breakfasts, even if we do have a halven along.

Trust me, Thomasi tugged on one mustache. A little flour now might make our lives much easier later.

In a world where a single job was enough to make the carrying capacity of even the smallest individual a suggestion rather than a hard rule, it was easy enough to stock up on grain-related products.

While they did that, Cagna and Glub wandered off to check with the guards, catching back up to brief them as Thomasi lead the way toward the gates.

We're really going in by the front door? Greta asked.

There's been no movement in or out, since we retook the castle, Cagna said. This is also the direction the invisible monsters seem to have attacked from, and a few unknown tracks were found here shortly after their assault. The Scouts think they came out of these gates and returned the same way.

We'll try the gates first, and if that fails, then we can look for other ways in. If this fellow is who I think he is, we won't win anything through violence. It'll have to come down to negotiation. Fortunately I've got a few aces up my sleeve for that.

They took a few moments to buff up, then headed toward the gates. Cagna took the lead, sniffing the air and curling her muzzle back. Smells vile, she growled. Old blood and fear.

Third window from the right side of the gate, second floor, Thomasi said as a name appeared through the glass. Too far to read, it vanished as soon as he spoke. We're being watched, of course.

Whoever it was hadn't been invisible. That was one defense that the player abilities he still possessed couldn't penetrate. But on visible creatures, the names glowed and tended to be far more noticeable than the occasionally stealthy creatures they labeled.

Jean proved easily able to pick the lock on the gate, and they made their way into a cramped courtyard. There were no gardens, no greenery, nothing but old, stained cobblestones.

You think the door will be so easy? Jean asked, eyeing the scowling doorknocker, carved into a fiendish visage.

I think we lose nothing by knocking at this point, Thomasi said. Ah... any traps?

I see none.

Mmm. Send in the Clowns.

A sad, honking chorus sounded as four clowns tumbled out from behind walls, ran in from outside the courtyard, and fell from the shorter parts of the walls, tumbling to line up raggedly before him.

Jean and Glub jumped back, but he held his hand up. Summoned creatures. Not truly alive.

I have never seen anything so terrible, Jean whispered, rapier out and on guard.

Oh, there's much worse, he told his allies before turning his attention to his summoned minions. Try the doorknocker, he told the first one of them.

About fifty thousand volts and two charred piles of greasepaint later, they had confirmed that not only was the door trapped, but it was of a reusable sort. Jean led the way around the manor, searching for an alternate route in, with Cagna close at her heels. The last two clowns followed behind the group, dragging their floppy heels and sweating profusely.

I still say that's a horrible skill and you're a horrible person for using it, Greta told him.

You're right on both counts, he told her, but for entirely wrong reasons than what you're thinking.

That kept her silent for a bit, which was all he wanted. This was dangerous ground, and unlike him, none of his companions could respawn. A little inattention could result in a lot of pain.

He was rather fond of Greta. She wasn't fond of him at all, and that took work to do. That was impressive, and he thought a world without her in it would be a poorer one.

There were kennels around back of the manor. Big, too big for dogs. Great chains lay among stained offal in the empty hollows of the structures, and Thomasi looked to Cagna.

Smells rank. No movement, no stirring in the air. Nothing breathing. She snuffed a few times. It does smell a little like the spoor the invisible monsters left behind.

So they ain't here? Glub asked. Probly inside then?

Maybe, Thomasi said, following a trail of bloody tracks from the kennels to the gaping maw of a cellar door. But before we try to find a way past those traps, does that darkness look a little too dark to you?

Dungeon, Cagna confirmed. You think they're in there?

Maybe, Thomasi said. Let me check something.

And before anyone could stop him, he jogged down the cellar stairs, and into the darkness.

It was a risk, yes. But a small one. The second he felt the air change he turned around and withdrew. But the words that rose into his view, filling his sight, kept on rising regardless. Words that only the players of this broken game could see.

THE WIDOW'S LARDER

What the hell were you thinking! Cagna barked, the second he cleared the exit.

Hang on, Thomasi said. I'm not done yet. Check Queue The Widow's Larder.

DUNGEON: WIDOW'S LARDER

DIFFICULTY: 2+

HOSTILE MOBS: 0

ACTIVE PLAYERS: 0

LAG: None

They're not in there, Thomasi said. They probably cleaned it out before they left.

You learned all of that with like, one look? Not even three seconds? Glub asked.

Yes. It comes back to that Player thing. But there's no time for that, we need to get into the house and hope they left some clues behind.

Jean looked up, eyes wide, then back to the group. I just heard a window shut.

We should move! Greta said, and bolted for the side of the house.

They'd barely rounded the corner when a blast of hot air, and a thunderous BOOM echoed through the yard, and a bit of chain flew past Jean's head as she ducked.

They're still here! Glub yelled.

We need to get inside, Thomasi said, scrutinizing the building... and its five towers. The heaviest traps are probably on the ground floor. When the wagon appears, use it to climb up to that causeway.

Wagon? Jean asked, pulling flat against the wall and glancing up at the windows.

Instead of replying, Thomasi smiled, leaned around the side of the building, and pointed at the lowest point on the battlements. Greatest Show!

He'd been forced to downsize a bit from the good old days.

Once, that particular skill would have unpacked a full train of circus wagons, several tents ready to be propped up, and whatever other odd props, animals, or circus-related items he'd tucked away in the otherspace that the skill provided.

Now, all it called was a single wagon, and one elderly horse that the halven sisters were moderately fond of but Thomasi considered quite disposable.

But in this case the horse wasn't the issue. He needed to put the cart in front of the horse. Follow me! he called out, and stuck close to the wall as he ran around front, clambered up onto the wagon, and managed to snag the edge of the battlements.

STR CHECK FAILED!

Cursing, he dropped back and crouched, shouting to the others. Come on! I'll need a hand up!

This wasn't the first time he regretted his overall lack of exercise. If you were inactive long enough, it could soften your muscles, and he'd spent a long time in captivity trying to keep himself sane instead of working out.

Fortunately, the rest of his party hadn't had to deal with that sort of situation. Moving fast, they got around to the wagon and up, and Glub and Greta helped haul him the last few feet just as a window slid open below them.

Get Dobbin out of here! Greta yelled in his ear.

Show's Over, Nothing to See! Thomasi called out, and the wagon disappeared just as another blast of heat and light singed his coat tails, as he rolled over the edge of the battlement.

Standard issue fireballs! Cagna barked. They've got a Blastomancer or a wand or something!

Yeah bad news either way, Glub called back from the nearest tower. Jean! Do the sneaky thing on this roof hatch!

With a leap Jean bounded over, pulling tools as she went.

The side! Cagna barked, as wood slammed on stone.

Thomasi threw himself down as heat seared past overhead, grunted as his back broiled a bit.

BLAM!

He knew that sound, and the sound that followed; the attacker's body collapsed to the ground, and he peered up and over in time to see a charred stick clattering down the tiles past him.He tried to snag it...

DEX+1

...and grinned as his fingers closed around it just before it fell. With a second, he called up the item interface. With another second he read over the details. And with a third second he pointed it at the next goon who popped out of the farthest tower, and saidActivate Fireball.

The man let out a pretty good wilhelm scream as the explosion flung him from the tower. Thomasi glanced down at the wand again to check the charge level, then scrambled over the roof to the near tower, to huddle next to Jean.

Traps? he asked.

I don't see any! she screamed back, twitching, obviously a heartbeat from panic.

Mm. Step away for a moment. Send in the Clowns.

It WAS trapped. The extremely-compressed springboard that was the hatch flipped up and sent the clown wailing hundreds of yards into the air, while the rest of the party watched it go, their mouths open.

All except for Jean. She wasn't much of a Burglar, but she was professional enough to keep her eyes on the prize. It's not resetting!

Good! Get in there, you lot! Thomasi sent the three remaining clowns wobbling down the hatch, stumbling and falling all over as they went. Let's go!

Another gunshot spoke to another sentry silenced. They were coming piecemeal, which was good. This meant that the guards were spread out over the mansion, having to get to the roof from different areas.

A few distressed honks and a mighty growl sounded from below, and Thomasi reached into his pocket and threw a bag of flour down into the turret, then caught the ladder and slid down, leading the way.

He stopped ten feet below the bottom, staring at the flour-dusted shape that filled the air, as it looked up from the remnants of a clown.

WHEREDIGO 18

Before he could act, it lunged up at him...

...and stopped, dusty claws a foot from his groin.

Wheredigo Fritz attack stopped by your Beast Truce!

They're beasts! Thomasi called back up. Mop up and move safely, I'll run ahead and find our quarry!

He descended the ladder as the formerly-invisible beast backed away, growling uncertainly.

It growled louder when an angry Greta jumped on its back and started beating it to death with a frying pan. The rest of the party followed, and Thomasi left them to their fight, taking the open door at the bottom of the tower and heading into the halls. Send in the Clowns! he shouted again, before pulling out a mana potion and downing it, waving his living trap detectors ahead of him as he raced through the dark halls of this decidedly dreary domicile.

And he found that despite it all, he was grinning.

It had been far, far too long since he'd cut loose and just enjoyed the game. Too long since he'd been trapped in this mental maze, too long since he'd let consequences be damned and just played.

Yes, it had originally started as research for an academic paper, but it had evolved into a favorite pastime. There was so much to hold the attention of an intrepid sociologist, and when you got tired of talking to new cultures, well...

Activate Fireball, he said, nuking two very surprised guards as he took a corner, and ran down the stairs they'd been watching.

There were more invisible beasts along the way, but none could break his Beast Truce. All that time and development he'd poured into charisma, it would have taken far more willpower than these things could bring to bear.

It all went well, up until he ran headfirst into someone's knuckles. Four or five times.

Coughing, sputtering, Thomasi found himself staring at the ceiling, watching a set of red '20's escaping into the tiles, and seeing a blurry shadow above him drawing a blade from its waistcoat.

I'm going to die. God damn it!

He raised the wand, and started to slur out words. Act...ivate...

Will you kindly stop? Someone said from the side.

The figure above Thomasi hesitated.

Thomasi froze, blinking until it resolved in his vision. A human wearing a bowler hat and a victorian-era suit. Vaguely in style for Cylvania's clothing choices, unless you caught the little nuances. Things they didn't have, like cufflinks and sewn linings. The label above his head said, simply:

EIDOLON AGENT 38

Fuck me running, said the voice again. Didn't think they had any players in this postage stamp kingdom.

It took a bit of effort for Thomasi to turn his head.

Daffodil Copperfield, I assume, he said to the wooden man.

It was a rhetorical question. He could see the man's designator hovering right over him. The name was a particular shade of green, unlike any other name he'd seen in this land. Green like fireflies, the hue reserved solely for players.

DAFFODIL COPPERFIELD

INFLUENCER 33

The brown wooden man grinned, and showed white birch teeth. In the flesh. More or less.

Kill him! A woman's voice commanded, and Thomasi dared to raise his head.

Nah, Copperfield said, stepping aside. See how we feel at the end of the ritual.

It was a pretty good evil underground temple, as they went. He'd seen a fair amount during his gametime, and this one had plenty to separate it from the others. Oh, there were the standard niches full of skulls, sure, but the altar stood in the center of a highly-grooved stone floor. Blood spilled from it in syrupy waterfalls, forming gory patterns all while heavily-overloaded candelabra shown purple light on the gruesome mess below.

A woman covered in viscera and entrails stood in a pretty stock-evil dress. Black, revealed far too much, had little pentagrams sewn into it. She even had a headdress with horns, for the love of god.

Several bodies of decidedly servile looking people hung above the altar, dripping blood down onto it.

And there, kneeling before the altar, was Chase.

Thomasi's breath caught in his throat.

Faction Check.. Aid Chase!

There came that urge again, that artificial urge. You like this person, it told him. You care about them. They're real. Love them!

But Thomasi knew it for what it was and pushed it aside, studying his friend.

Aside from a vacant look in her eyes and her posture, she seemed fine. And she was wearing her fox stole!

For a second his heart leaped... but then he realized that there was no name above it. If the stole were Renny in disguise, then Renny's name would be hovering just behind Chase's head. There was nothing. This stole was just a stole.

While he'd been busy, the woman returned to her work. Snarling, she reached up and pulled the hanging chandelier of bodies over like a bunch of bananas, and started carving into it. More blood flowed, and the pattern on the floor rose higher, filling with crimson.

So what's your story? Coppefield asked, coming over a bit, but keeping the Eidolon Operative between himself and Thomasi.

I played a game at the wrong time, Thomasi shrugged. Been trying to make sense of it ever since then.

Okay. Do you have any stake in Cylvania?

Not a bit, Thomasi said, and he was a hundred percent honest. He'd done quite a lot to help this place, and seen very little reward for it.

Come with me. We're going to a land of ice and snow. Midnight sun where the hot springs glow. White teeth flashed again.

Why should I? If I die here or I die there, that's all the same. A few tokens down either way.

Ah. Have you heard of my guild?

I have. And I've got a lot of questions about that, Thomasi said, locking eyes with the man's painted orbs.

Pat... our leader... he knows something. But he's not sharing. He's content to waste us one by one, throw us away and whittle down our tokens. Most of the smart ones quit early on. And I'm pretty sure some of them know something. Copperfield squatted down to better meet Thomasi's eyes. One of them's gone full native up north. That lady over there is a bigtime fan of her. Between the two of us, we should be able to talk to her, get some answers. Figure out how to stop this insanity.

Thomasi sat up. Really now? This is the first good news I've agh!

The Operative shoved him to the floor with one foot, casually stepping on his ribs until they started to bend. The pain was excruciating, and Thomasi grunted, tried to get a grip and push him off...

Would you kindly knock that off? Copperfield told the Operative, and the man eased his foot away.

Bioshock? Really now? That's an ancient callback, Thomasi groused, slowly easing up.

Pat's a traditionalist, and it works. There's more to it, mind you. Inflection and cadence and things, so don't go getting any funny ideas. And oh, by the way... Chase, would you kindly kill Thomasi if he tries anything suspicious?

Chase's head rotated like a hawk spotting prey, and glazed eyes considered him.

Now how the devil did you do that? Thomasi said, brushing his jacket free of dust. She usually sees this kind of trouble coming.

Wasn't easy. But it's a recursive thing, kind of like a virus. It starts as a condition, and when it expires or gets removed, it creates a buff. And when the buff ends, it slaps the original condition back on. The only way to get rid of it is to transfer it without ending it, and she did that herself. Just like we wanted her to.

Damn. Thomasi closed his eyes. That's clever

Something in his tone must have caught Copperfield's attention. You give a shit about this one?

She's useful as hell, Thomasi said. But I'm guessing you knew that already.

That fortune... that was a true one. Not this gods bullshit they have here, or any of the divination magics. There were... Copperfield turned away, pacing back and forth.

In the distance behind Thomasi, a crash echoed through the halls, followed by a dying roar. The rest of his group was coming, he knew.

The woman glanced over, then got a move on, slashing and cutting with a butcher's efficiency. The blood patterns started to glow.

And Thomasi's eyes caught something, from Chase's direction.

He glanced back just in time to see the fox stole shift, just a little. It had moved!

But how? There was no name?

Thomasi studied her, hard. Studied her until he caught the smudges in the air, little traces that would be oh so easy to miss if he didn't know what was going on.

Clever boy, he murmured. Alone among the group, Renny had followed him after the meeting and asked about players. About what set them apart, what they could do. Now he'd used his illusions to mask his name, and it had made all the difference.

Hm? What? Copperfield looked back at him. Sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment there. I guess I should be monologuing instead? God knows I've been the villain of this piece.

That's the part that confuses me. What's the point of this? It was a half-assed rebellion at best, doomed to fail in the long run.

Don't know, Copperfield shrugged, then grinned. I was just following orders. We could have done a way better job here, but we didn't, and I'm not sure why. But now... now I'm off the reservation. Gonna take my toys and go do my own thing for a bit. The sweep of his arm indicated Chase and the Operative... and the Cultist, too. She didn't miss that reference, and shot him a withering glare as she carved out a circulatory system, and wrung it like a cow's udder.

Your own thing. And what would that be?

I told you. Getting answers. Finding a way out.

How long do you think it's been? Thomasi raised an eyebrow. Do you think we're still alive, back home?

We have to be. We can still think. We can still go against the code, Copperfield spread his hands. I have to hope. Don't you?

Thomasi sighed. I don't know. One of the reasons I was here in this game was to study AI and human interaction. Not programmed artificial intelligence, mind you. I'm talking about wild AIs.

What? Those old creepypastas? You're full of shit.

Another crash, louder now and closer. A racket began to rise, something like a stampede. Copperfield looked back through the open doors and grimaced. We'll have to table this. Lady? You almost done?

Almost. Give me the waystone, now!

Copperfield hauled out a crystal and tossed it to her, looking back at Thomasi. Time's up. You want to come or not?

I don't think I have much choice, Thomasi said, looking at Chase... and at her fur stole. Even if I said Would You Kindly, and ordered her to do something, it wouldn't work. I'd need your voice and tone and inflection, wouldn't I?

Yeah, pretty much, Copperfield said, moving closer to the gory woman as she raised the crystal up and the rune circle started to glow. Just hold still and you'll come with. Or the door's that way. Get clear of the circle and stay.

You're not going to kill him? The woman hissed.

No need, Copperfield said. Just finish this... before.... uh. What?

He was staring past Thomasi, and the Ringmaster turned, turned to see a massive shimmering horde, some flour-covered, others just doing the predator thing, surging forward down the hallway. Behind them charged his friends, the Mousewife in the lead, and she was shrieking over and over again:

I WANT TO SEE YOUR MANAGER!

The blood circle blazed high, and Thomasi whipped his head around. Renny! Now! Would You Kindly her!

Then he dove to the side, out of the room, out of the circle, noting absently as one of Chase's cards missed his throat by inches

and Renny spoke. That Je Ne Sis Quois, Phantasm!

Would you kindly run out of the room and follow Thomasi wherever he goes! Copperfield's voice boomed, even though the man's lips were shut. Wooden eyebrows climbed a jointed face, and he scrambled forward, grabbing at the fleeing halven and missing as he sputtered No! Would you kindly

And he was gone, lost in a flare of red light as Chase leaped into his arms, and hugged him, crying. For his part, Thomasi rolled to the side of the hall and hugged her, trying to shield her against the stampede of Wheredigos.

He got a kick or two, skidded down the hall into the now-empty room, but with their leader now evidently gone, the things milled and Karen's compulsion lost its effect.

He watched his team mop up, chasing the remaining beasts away, stroking Renny, petting Chase's hair as she cried into his shoulder.

I'm glad you got here, Renny said, freeing himself from the seams of her dress as he straightened up and looked at the others. But what do we do now?

Thomasi started to reply, then stopped, as he looked down at the now-empty ritual chamber, and the single crystal glimmering in the center of it, right where all the magically consumed blood had once been.

I have a notion, he said, standing and putting Chase to the ground, as Greta came in and hugged her sister tightly. But I think it's better left to proper heroes, for a change. Come on. We've done our part. Now it's their turn.

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