ST LAST TIME… One Bear in the nest is worth two in the bush! ‘Course, that one Bear is currently unconscious and in danger… and our intrepid eye in the sky (or shadow, as it were) is currently faced with terrible toothy trouble up close and personal, waiting on orders. Anyway, our talky heroes introduced themselves to Xelhua (and Tonio), who escorted them into the starry temple, where they found none other than the artist formerly known as Ja-Cuze binding her feet. That is, in a way that’s supposed to make her feet stop bleeding. And that, my friends, is where we will open the curtain…
	ST Alejandra waves her hand in casual dismissal, to indicate that she’s fine. Her palm is streaked in blood. “No point in waiting. This is a regular thing.” Xelhua shifts his jaw, but remains silent. Alejandra looks to him, begins to say something, but thinks better of it. Then she looks up, and says, “Let’s get started, shall we?”
	Sanura Sanura nods her gently to the invitation to being the meeting. She smiles gently and walks over to Alejandra slowly. “Firstly Ms Cruz I’d like to say it’s lovely to see you again, though I think perhaps you don’t recall our first meeting.. it was many years ago after all..” she hedges her tone edged with inquiry as her gaze moves over the other woman’s handsome features. “I wonder if you miss your time as Ja Cuz?”
	ST Alejandra looks over to Sanura, furrowing her brow a bit and narrowing her eyes. “I haven’t been called that in years. I don’t remember going by that name at all, actually, but for a while that’s what people here called me.” She gives Sanura a longer look, more appraising. “How long ago? We talkin’ high school? Trig or something?”
	Sanura Sanura chuckles softly and shakes her head “sorry no,.. I only wish it were something so innocent as school acquaintances. I’d wondered if you remembered me as our meeting was quite unforgettable for myself.” she sighs softly “it was .. perhaps a little over ten years ago.. myself and several colleges were assigned by a mutual acquaintance to help you with a threat to your personage. I’m ashamed to say we fell short of our goal.” she notes softly. “to be clear, you don’t remember myself.. or a time when you were a musician.. a political activist as well?” she questions her expressions serious. “That is the Alejandra Cruz I was acquainted with.. not very long before the world crumbled.”
	ST “Well, I made it out alive, apparently, so I guess I can’t get too mad.” She offers Sanura a dry smirk, but then shakes her head. “I’ve already wracked…” She pauses, hitching on her words, drawing tight for a moment before continuing, “… my brains time and…” another pause, “… time again. I can’t remember anything before Balt—” She draws in a sharp breath and clenches her eyes shut. Her fists clench and her toes curl. “Ahh ahh—Xel, you’re tickling me,” she half-whimpers, her tone light. The giant looks up, clearly unapologetic. “Next time, bleed somewhere less ticklish.” “I’m tryin’ to have a serious conversation here. You ain’t being very fair.” She doesn’t sound particularly chidesome. “No,” he agrees. Alejandra looks up to the group before her. “See what I have to deal with?” She looks back to her husband, watching him with a lingering look. Derrick lifts his chin a little, reserved thoughtfulness tightening slightly around his eyes.
	Ken (To ST) When you have a few moments, I’d like an empathy ping on Baltie. Questions are: how does she feel about us, does she seem to be hiding anything in particular, and what does she want out of this meeting? (for that last one, I’m assuming we have a bit to go off from talking to her while arranging it) roll = 29
	ST (To Ken) She seems quite at ease around you guys on the one hand. But on the other, that ease is driven by something, some kind of knowledge. Perhaps it’s less ease and more resignation? There’s a sense of waiting for something, tension growing with time going by, but also a sense of really appreciating the delay. She seems to especially be taking a lot of time to appreciate Xelhua’s and Tonio’s presences there. Also she’s not necessarily hiding anything—oddly—but there is that thing waiting, whatever it is, like a phrase at the tip of the tongue.

	-She is waiting for something.-
	Ken sends the impression of someone savoring a moment they know will not last.
	Derrick confirms Ken’s statement.
	-I.. don’t like that- .. -thoughts?-
	-None that are good.-
	-I think you should be careful, that is what I think. We don’t know what in hell Tim has told her to do, or when.-

	Sanura Sanura nods her head softly and then gives a gentle little chuckle at the interplay. “oh yes he seems such a terror” she replies wearing a faint smile. “Yes survival is a start to be certain and no small feat considering what I’m told happened during the end.” She pauses “You have wondered then about your past and would welcome steps to return your memory?” she questions softly.
	Ken “I do see. Such trials you go through!” Ken grins at the trio. He looks around the room then, eyes lingering a tad restlessly on the not-a-sky.
	ST “Occasionally,” Alejandra admits. “But, frankly, I don’t think it matters. Who I was clearly didn’t contribute to who I am now. I don’t think I can run Baltimore any better or be any happier with my family with memories of whoever this Ja-Cuze chick was years and years ago.” She gives Sanura a look. “What are you driving at, here?”

	-I’m considering readying for if we must act, using my mothers eyes to enhance my abilities as much as I can, thoughts or objections?-
	-That is not exactly inconspicuous, Sanura.-
	-If we need to ‘act,’ Sanura, we are going to act our way right back to Bakersfield.-
	-then.. I will break the news of her incompletion and see what the result is-
	-You’re the boss.- Ken sends a feeling of an encouraging nudge.
	-I think perhaps the more immediate, dangerous issue would be best to address first.- Though it’s framed as a suggestion, it sure doesn’t sound like one.
	-You mean the danger of Panetaros and his influence?-
	-Yes.-
	-Oh. I thought it was the tickling.- This dry thought drifts over from Mokosits. -Very dangerous, you realize. Especially the feet. You could get kicked in the face.-
	-how would you pursue that without letting anyone in her mind know we are on the alert and possible attack?-
	-I don’t think we can. But we can just do it and be ready.-
	-If Tim doesn’t know what we intend already, then I would wonder how he got as far as he did with his grand plan.- Though Derrick is being mild, he’s also a little sharp. He dials back a little on the focused beam shortly after his thought is sent.
	A soft grimace as she allows he surely must be correct in that. -Yet at least an attempt at subtlety might give us a precious moment or two in order to do our work.- [not sure if this is too meta but Sanura would quickly tell them her planned response and question if it was acceptable “I’m sorry to be vague but a way to tell you what we’ve come to say doesn’t really come easily.” “We believe you’re not entirely yourself as we have seen others who are not quite in control of their whole and .. we would if you would allow it, like to do for you what we have done for many now and reassert your whole self and insure you’ve no longer any shadows about the past and can move on to a fuller future, leading your people and caring for your family.” ]
	-I think perhaps we should just tell her, Sanura. We do not need to dance around it.-
	-Alright.. go for it- holding her breath.
	Derrick squares himself. -Be ready.- Then, a flicker, quickly stifled.

	Sanura She sighs faintly and closes her eyes a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m sorry to be vague but a way to tell you what we’ve come to say doesn’t really come easily.” She rubs her brows with her hand spread, thumb over one and fingers at the other. “Ken please.. you’ve such a way with words do proceed.”
	Ken Ken clears his throat. “You care about your people. That much is plain to anyone who visits Baltimore.” He smiles, and sweeps a hand out in the direction of the unseen coast and town. “But there are things holding you back, ja? We would like to help you break free of those things. There is a small ritual we would like to do for you.” He gives her bloody feet a pointed look, and offers Alejandra a wry smile and a shrug. “Very small, compared to some.”
	ST Alejandra looks at Ken and her expression eases. The darkness cast by the obsidian play off her cheekbones and sockets. She takes a deep, cleansing breath. Xelhua, just finishing up the bandages, senses the change in his wife and looks up, brows furrowed. She looks back at him and offers him a half-smile and a peck, gives Tonio’s head a rub and a kiss, and then looks to Ken, Sanura, and Derrick. “Alright. Yeah. I’m… ready.”

Risk Assurance Team

	ST A half-instant of intent consternation, and then: -Retreat and survive however you can, Ms. Petrov. Report when you get clear.-
	Dovile ((I’d like to roll shadow survival against it to buy more time, 1L for Ken survival and 1L for Mokosits survival. I also wanna stunt so excuse me a second.))
	ST (( Okay! Gotta beat a 19 ))
	ST (( Each threshold success you receive over delays the beast another tick. ))
	Dovile A wave of incoherent cussing. -I need you again.- To Mokosits, and then, in the silence below the tree, in the CoinLink. -And you too, Dane.- The shadows are writhing under her roots, trying to break free as the cat on the other end thrashes and rolls. Dovile peels back her teeth and grolws. Another growl behind her, the hunting cry of her older brother. A light ahead, or a deeper darkness. A path to the beast.
	ST (( That’s seven ticks delayed! ))
	Dovile Dovile breathes out, nostrils flaring. The faint light from the earth’s opening only serves to make the shadows darker. It smells sweet, of fresh growing grass and tired winds. She draws her pistol. Both hands, Doviluzhe. A deep breath, filled with the smell of earth. The taste of chewed tobbacco growing bitter in her mouth. The smell of the Bear, and his thick blood leaking down iron and gold. Dovile takes a slow breath, and the world goes still around her, inside of her. The shadows grow darker. Far away, an engine roars. Two shots, loud in the darkness. ((Rolling to shoot it in the face. Twice. Stunt call?)) ((Also, Eagle Eye (1L) and Shot to the Heart (1L) ))
	Ken ((I like the callback. Yes from me.))
	Sanura [aye]
	Dovile ((36, 29))
	ST (( Full overflow. ))
	Dovile ((38, 35!))
	ST (( 17 and 14 damage after soak. So that’s… ))
	ST (( 31 damage total. Which fills up all its boxes and then some. ))
	ST A flash. Fire. Light. Chasing away the shadows. For one moment, the beast is revealed. Bared teeth, stained with blood. Black tongue, blacker gullet. Ears flattened against a feline skull. Shining black eyes. Half-formed from the shadows. And then, an iron scent, the hissing of liquid through the air, the splatter against the soil. Its face is no more. The shadows splash violently, draw back like water, and then recede, settling back into their familiar places. The only sign of the beast is the shattered remains of an ebon skull, and the fading scent of blood.
	Dovile Dovile breathes out again, turns her back to the beast and sits. Back to the wall, next to Bear’s sleeping body. She closes her eyes. (They’re useless to her anyway, with the quarry in the temple.) Ken’s vision forms more clearly infront of her, the shadows strong aginst the light of the stars.
	Dovile -It’s dead. I’m back in place.-
	ST Another sense of acknowledgement, feelings withheld. -Is there a safer place you can set up?- The question is sharp, businesslike.
	Dovile -Yes.- There was a heavy thicket ten miles away, crowded around a bolder and the edges of the treeline.
	ST -Good. Go there. Report when you’re settled in.-
	Dovile Dovile looks out the thin gap in the earth, spots the hedge and vanishes into the shadows. A moment of darkness, of heavy air. She shifts, and the thicket catches on her clothes, before they begin to grow leaves to blend her in. The shadows are heavy here, cast by the long trees and the clustering branches. Dovile readjusts her direction and looks again for the temple. She pulls the shadows around her, breathing them in. They take to the roots of the thicket, blend with the bark of the trees. (Shadow stealth, 1L 10 Sucesses.)
	Dovile -Settled in.-
	ST Acknowledgement once more. -Prepare yourself, Ms. Petrov. We are springing the trap.-

	-Fucking hell, Bjorn is out cold and you just leave him there?!-
	-Yes.-
	-I ordered her to, Ken.- Derrick pauses. -We will go back for him, once this is over.-
	-That will do a damn thing if he is dead before then.-
	-Ken. I will be happy to explain myself later. Right now so much more is at stake than just Bear.-
	Abruptly, the roiling swirl of emotions from Ken disappears. -You do not need to explain. I understand.-
	-what the fu.. - an angry half formed question before her control clamps down, words cut off like breath when a corsets stays are pulled to tightly. Her focus on the moment as she for the moment lets the events outside this room take care of themselves. She doubts she will get a chance to make this right if she fails and that isn’t an option.
	-Together in this then?" she questions of Derrick and Ken “musical accompaniment?” she requests softly. “We hunt the shadows that are not her own and destroy them.” [simple plan but Axis?]
	Derrick sends over nod-feeling.
	Ken communicates his assent.

The Mission

	Ken He nods to Alejandra and glances to his companions for confirmation. “Alright. We will start, then?” Ken sits atop one of the chairs clustered around Alejandra’s table… or alter. Or both? He puts the harmonica to his mouth, and starlight glints off its rune. Music tumbles into the room: the beat of hooves on a too-dark road, the sigh of a wolf’s breath on your neck, the taut chord of an avalanche that has not quite fallen. A wind gathers as he plays, slow at first but growing in urgency as the music hurries it along. It catches strands of Sanura’s hair, ruffles Alejandra’s clothing, and waits on Derrick’s arm like a hunter’s hawk. ((The song)) ((+6 bonus each to Derrick, Sanura, Dovile and Bear. Also stunt call pls!))
	Sanura [aye for stunt]
	Sanura Sanura nods her head softly and removes the combs from her hair, the long ponytail still tightly held atop her head. Feeling strange in the armor but also perhaps a little more cat like in the form fitting suit. Moving to the head of the table She’d take out the vials and packages with the various impliments of the ritual she’d created for this purpose. Oil poured into a lotus shaped bowl, Honey added along with herbs. She looks to Derrick and offers what she hopes is a confident smile. Mixing oils honey and herbs using her combs. She prays silently to her mother, her aunts. Thoth for his wisdom, Sekhmet and Nefertum to guide her heart and mind in this healing. Perfume put aside for her mother, tea for Thoth, a candle for Lady Isis, beer for dear Hathor, and a portion of a red brew for Sekhmet, a lotus bloom set out for Nefertum. A soft glow behind her eyelids, not the usual gold but a silvery white. When she opens her eyes a blue caracal gaze would regard those gathered. Her regard fixes upon Ken a moment as her Ba steps forward, black and silver caracal cat walking over to him and head butting his calf, the creature of power and will glimmers as Sanura turns artfully made up eyes to Derrick and her Ba stalks over winding around his legs before returing to her, yet not fully, power in her combs as they glow with an otherworldly light, the silvery cool glimmer of stars in her hands now as it graces her form, and this place in which they stand. “Gods and Goddesses of my Ib, those with wisdom, knowledge, magic and the ability to bring health to those plagued by illness, or simply joy to the hearts of the suffering as a shining light of joy. I your daughter and of your house entreat you here to this place to restore harmony and balance and true health to this woman in need of your aid through our prayers, hands and Ba working as one.” Upon a nod of consent from Alejandra she would approach the woman and begin soothingly running the oiled and sticky combs through her hair. Her pupils going wide then narrow as she peers into the fluid in the bowl and beyond it for her prey. [Stunt?][Animal Feature: Mothers eyes check , Axis of the heavens for our combined efforts [30 ticks, plus six to Derrick and Ken] , Flaring Legend, Channeling Conviction, Aurora already in place.]
	Ken ((Holy moly. Yes on that stunt ma’am!))
	ST Derrick looks to Sanura and then rises to accompany her. Xelhua stills. The muscles in his jaw flex as he watches the proceedings. Alejandra looks to him. “You got this, Xel. Keep ’em safe.” “I will.” He slides his hand into hers, enveloping it. And then Alejandra nods to Sanura.
	Sanura Sanura sort of extends the hand with the sun comb in it towards Derrick that he might rest his hand on hers as a physical point of contact in the ceremony, though she doesn’t break her focus or the slow meditative stroke of the combs for more than a second. [rolling now]
	Sanura [44]
	ST (( Anyone have an MDV higher than 58? ))
	Ken ((ha. ha. ha.))
	Sanura ]I was super happy about that roll too >< no not higher than 58]
	ST Derrick rests his hand on Sanura’s. And then, as Sanura sends her combs through Alejandra’s hair, the shadows draw out… Clinks. Rattles. Chains. Once, twice, thrice… on and on, from the very bottom to the very top, tight like a vise. It cinches especially around the neck, stifling the breath through a narrow vessel, fogging the head like a pill swallowed. Heat crawls up the back of the skull, viscous heat like a fevered gorge rising. And the shadows flood, spilling along the strands of the mindweb like oil. One by one, everything—and everyone—falls to the chains. The world goes dark, to the bait, to the shadow-seekers, and to those with whom they are intertwined. And then…
	ST (( Alright. Here’s how this is gonna go. We’re gonna do this one at a time. I apologize in advance for how long this is going to take. I promise we’ll be back together in good time. In the meantime, I want you guys to think about something which I will mention to you in private chat. ))
	ST (( Turn order will be determined by age. So it’ll go Mokosits, Ken, Dovile, Sasha, Bear, Sanura, Derrick, Lena. ))

Mokosits’s Nightmare

	ST Fever lurks at the edges, blurring the corners of sight with sweat that isn’t there. Bright greenery is tinged slightly with yellow. Bright, painful light spills through the leaves and the sharp-cast shadows offer no solace. The scent of verdance hangs thick like perfume. Prove’s voice resounds across the clearing. — Lord Creator Svarozhich, another matter has been settled by your wisdom. By your leave, I will call upon the next point of audit. — A pause, and then: — Yes, My Lord. Mokosits Vukov, come forward. For a moment, there is nothing but white, even as he feels his head dipping low. But then his vision quickly adjusts. Svarozhich sits on his woven throne, the gnarled branches pressing against him. All around the clearing the others sit, unseen but for their looming shadows piercing the circle like the spokes of a wheel. They stab just short of Mokosits, leaving him at the mercy of the burning light. He kneels, pressing his forehead to the floor. It’s warm and moist, like fever-sweat. — The matter of Mokosits Vukov, My Lord. He was begotten in defiance of your Law by Lady Mokosh; therefore his very existence is an offense to your Word. In your wisdom and your mercy, you charged him with guarding the entrance to Peklo, ensuring that none of the children of earth go where they are not allowed. But now Peklo is no more; and the spirits rest in Caer Uir, safeguarded by crushing ocean, Stergti, and a number of other guardians. He is a loose end; what is your will, My Lord? A shadow shifts, coolness pressing on the back of Mokosit’s head and neck. — Please, Lord Creator, he has served us faithf… Mother’s voice, held taut. So taut that it strings his heart. — I will have silence, Mokosh. — Svarozhich’s multifold voice rings like the shrieking blows of a hammer against an anvil. Silence follows, obedient and heavy. — Hear this, Bogovi: my Law is more important now than it ever was. Mercy has no place in this universe any longer. He has served us well, yes; and now he will continue to serve as a reminder of the iron hand wrought by petty defiance. — A pause. — I decree thus: never again will he be seen, or felt, or heard but for in memory. And then, something explodes in the back of his head. Sparks blaze and fall. It’s over in an instant, and in an eternity. When Mokosits rises… he sees no familiar veined arms, no strong hands, no long torso, no scrawny chicken legs, no knobby feet with the long, narrow toes. All the gifts his mother bestowed upon him, gone. But he is not gone. Alive. But better off dead. But… it was inevitable. — Lord Creator Svarozhich, another matter has been settled by your wisdom. By your leave, I will call upon the next point of audit. — A pause, and then: — Yes, My Lord. Yesen, come forward. Dread slams into him, a hammer-blow sailing through his stomach and into his spine. NO!
	ST (( Rolling Legend + Willpower + Integrity; flaring and channeling Loyalty. Difficulty is 17. ))
	ST (( Wow. He got a 27 ))
	ST Yesen steps forward into the clearing, gentle moonlight somehow shining through the harsh, blazing sunlight. Her short hair ruffles gently, moved by a nonexistent wind. Earnestness fills him suddenly, overflowing, overwhelming, spilling from him in a prayer which rolls like rivers glutted on springmelt. He flings himself into silent words from nonexistent lips. And then, Yesen’s eyes fall on him, focusing. And she smiles. With a startled jerk and a doglike yelp, the grove is no longer. Stained walls of a small room, lit by sterile white; a bed which creaks violently at his sudden rocketing upward; a looming, metal door, the viewport closed off. It’s silent, and he is alone. But his arms are there, clothed by a strange, simple, very worn uniform which smells of sweat and fear. As are his torso, his legs, his feet.

Ken’s Nightmare

	Ken You’ve known it was coming for a long time, longer than most people have been alive. But it’s still somehow a shock. And as the teeth of death close over your throat you try to move but you can’t - you have nothing left, and all at once you are standing in the halls of the dead. They look different than you remember. And there, in front of you, stands the keeper of souls. “…because not all of us are fucking pussies, Gabe. There are some real men in this fucking squad.” You pull a cig out and light it off the barrel of your gun. But there’s blood on it - soaked through your pocket - and you cuss the sons-of-bitches who had the nerve to get in the way of your bullets. He looks at you like you are a stranger then. How can he? Ten years and ten thousand miles, and he looks at you like that. It’s almost enough to make you stop. Almost. There are promises to keep though. So many promises. Things you’re not done with yet. “This can’t be right,” he says. You look for doors both seen and unseen, but there are none. “It’s too soon.” But you only shake your head. “I am here, aren’t I? Then it is not too soon. Whether I like it or not. That is the way of things, eh?” And he looks at you, and he looks at his own hands. And he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” “Let them take me.” _You were going to tell him no. Really you were. But he can tell, and he shakes his head. “Just go. I’m no good anyways, you shouldn’t have brought me.” There is not much time to choose: in the distance, the faint thunder of dogs and men. Red blossoms mark the snow beneath his leg. And you open your mouth to tell him you will stand by him no matter what, come dogs or guns or grenades. _ You open your mouth and say… “Okay. I’ll go. But give me your coat.” He lays the offer there on the marble floor. Bare. Disgusting. It is a fair trade, really. A life for a life. One young, one old, but does that really matter in the face of eternity? You look him in the eye. Someone must die. That is the way of things. But it does not matter who, so long as the tally marks up the same. And really - what good will he do, trapped in his cursed body and his cursed mind? You open your mouth to tell him…
	Ken 29
	Ken “No, Brendan.” You put your hand on his, pressing it down so he can’t unsheath the sword. And you slip past the keeper of souls and walk down the hall, into the depths.
	ST Stained walls of a small room, lit by sterile white; a rickety; a looming, metal door, the viewport closed off. Ken is alone. Confined.

Dovile’s Nightmare

	Dovile The silence is familiar. A moment of peace before— The scent of oil, dry dust clogging the nostrils, human shit, acrid smoke. Dread clogs her being. This is a dream, a memory, and an old familiar one that that. The heat, a component of the air. The greasy smell of baked rock. -Sasha!- But the darkness does not answer. She reaches for her ears. No foot steps in the hall, no river of piano. No humming in the kitchen. Not even the whisper of a turning page. Only— The thrum of helicopter blades, tearing the air overhead. Shouting voices, rough with dust. A distant explosion. Shitshitshitshit. -Sasha! Mokosits! Lena!- But the darkness does not answer. Sweat. Heat. The weight of a tried body. The world fades in. The light stings her eyes, searing off of rock and the pale mud of the houses. They’re coated in cream adobe, looking like they grew out of the stone. Dovilė is running forward, breath burning in her chest. The men in dirty olive ahead of her and behind her in black boots, kicking up clouds of dust. The pounding is audible, a counter part the metal guardian that floats above them. -YESEN! YESEN PLEASE!- But the darkness does not answer. “Petrov! Right side!” “Yes sir!” Like the mission order hadn’t been clear before they started marching. Bastard. She pulls out of the column, glancing behind her to make sure the squad is following. It’s just the dream again. Just this dream. They are. Utkin is, at least, and since he’s the one with the grenades and the aim, she doesn’t care about the others. She lifts her own machine gun higher and speeds up. The hunk of metal, heavy in tired arms, is cool at least. A flash of green in the corner of the eye. Something left out to dry. No people, everyone is hiding. First house on the right, a bright blue door. Dovilė kicks it in, plants her foot in the dark and fires. The machine-gun shudders against her chest like a second, overactive heart. Rattling teeth, rattling the earth. Start on the right and strafe left, then back again. Somewhere close by, there’s an explosion. She’s covered the whole room in shrapnel, and she’s moving forward, eyes still adjusting. Good way to get killed. But they’re in a hurry. Her vision begins to clear. The door into the courtyard is where she expected it, across the room. Something moves to the right. She turns, fires into a lump of cloth and flesh. One body. And three other things. Too small to be corpses. One with a face like sunshine, still smiling. One anointed in red, her father’s stomach, mostly. One curled up like a dead spider, one arm out. Endure. Endure. Endure. The scent of oil, dry dust clogging the nostrils, human shit, acrid smoke. -SASHA!- The darkness is empty and cold.
	Dovile ((24))
	ST (( Pass! ))
	Dovile … … How many times? Shouting voices, rough with dust. A distant explosion. Sweat. Heat. The weight of a tried body. She’d lost count. She always lost count. The light stings her eyes, searing off of rock and the pale mud of the houses. Endure. They’re coated in cream adobe, looking like they grew out of the stone. Endure. Dovilė is running forward, breath burning in her chest. Endure… “Shit, girl.” Uncle Ringaldus, the old laughter in his voice. “You want to be like your father? He’s dying for what he believes in, for his damn ‘Glorious Fatherland’ or whatever the fuck they call it now. He’s doing it by pickling his own liver. You want to do that?” He keeps going, voice rising slowly, the moonlight catching the pale, circular scars that dot his face and arms. They gather near his lips, like he’s spitting droplets of scar tissue. “You wanna drink yourself to death for fucking Russia?” The laughter is gone now. Dovilė shakes her head. “I don’t want to drink myself to death for anyone.” Her voice is quiet, next to his. Barley heard above the noise of moonlight. If they’re caught, she’s the one who will be sent to bed. He laughs. That was why she said it, to get the laughter back. “That’s my girl. That’s my little Dovilaitė.” And he takes another drink. She asks, “Who are you drinking yourself to death for?” “Now there’s a fucking good question.” Silence. The laughter fades from it, the last drops of honey oozing slowly out the upside-down jar. “Uncle?” “Yes?” She asks the Other Question. The one she always asks. “Where did you get your scars?” He laughs now, because now it’s a joke. The question has long lost its sting. “You tired of waiting yet, Dovilaitė?” She stands, because that’s part of the joke, too. She shakes her head, watching the moonlight play off of the water caught in the streets. “No, uncle. But how much longer?” “One way to find out.” And he stands up. The moonlight glows on him, too bright to be real. Dovilė wakes.
	ST Stained walls of a small room, lit by sterile white; a rickety; a looming, metal door, the viewport closed off. A room meant for a prisoner.

Sasha’s Nightmare

	ST Muscles taut, straining. Fire burning like wheels (like the wheel on his skin), embedded deep in flesh. Hands press up at the bottom of a tree, save fingers bent back by rootwork, holding it high above his head. A root creeps down, winding around neck, over shoulder, down the chest. It’s slow, but inevitable. Its tip noses an inked spoke there. And then it nuzzles; and then it digs; and then it burrows. Another wheel of fire alights in a great explosion, searing his pounding heart, sparking the mirrored response of the other roots. Sasha’s knees begin to buckle. The leaves far, far above him shiver. And then some fall. He cannot see it through the thick blackness but he can feel it. The slow drift into the black. The fear leaking out into the nothing. Then betrayal. Then anger. And finally, resignation, before they are gone. He shifts his feet around the precarious peak tip and forces strength back into his knees and hardness back into his aching muscles. The leaves shiver anew and more fall. But then they go silent, and he is still. And for a moment the pain eases to dull, ashen embers. It is then that Sasha cries. Silently, so that he might not shake the tree further with his sobs. Then the roots burrow anew. He pushes his jaw and brow against the fire. The one at his chest nudges his sternum aside, seeking his heart. And another root begins snaking along his neck.
	ST (( Rolling Legend + Willpower + Integrity; flaring and channelling Loyalty. ))
	ST (( 27 ))
	ST sashukas. open your eyes. He does. Far, far away glows a point of silver moonlight. Within it, Yesutė, flanked by wolves of iron and snowblind. A seed rests cupped in her palms. The snowblind wolf begins his patrol. The iron wolf digs, and beneath her paws fling soil made manifest from the dark. Yesutė stoops and drops the seed in. The iron wolf covers the seed and sits sentry beside it. The snowblind wolf winds his spiral down, down, tracing the outline of a hill with his passage. Tears fall again. But this time they carry relief down Sasha’s cheeks. shine, shine, my star. He does, and the warmth envelops the fire, accepting it and spreading it to the corners of all things. As the white fades from his vision, he finds himself free of entangling roots. An off-white, stained ceiling stares back at him. He rises to sitting, and finds the metal door: white, shut, viewport closed.

Bear’s Nightmare

	ST The forge burns hot below the iron heart. It seeks, it yearns, it demands; the rawest of hungers, biting the edges of all things constantly, driving thought and hand alike with heated prods. Thought, ravenously probing, consuming flaw after flaw. Too stretchy. Too vulnerable. Too many points of articulation. Victims, all, inviting death with open throats. And for each flaw, a better way. Improvements: better, stronger, faster. More reinforcement. Consolidated transmission. Greater shielding. Beneath the hands yields metal like flesh, soft and warm and pliant. The moments which lack this touch of a lover send the hunger blazing afresh in the bitter emptiness. It is not long before the sweetness fades; but the keen gaze quickly finds more to work with, seizing that which finds the hands first. And then, after a too-short eternity, it’s ready to be assembled: the human form, improved. Nevermind the taut tension; it strings too easily in inferior flesh. Nevermind the rambling protests; a useless distraction. Nevermind the backing step; there was nowhere to hide. Ken was always irrationally technophobic anyway.
	Bear Bear pauses as he grabs a plate of carbon-steel armor, and checks the attachment points from stress. There’s more feedback in the audio pickup. Is he…crying? “Just keep quiet. Once I get these fixed on, you’ll be thoroughly bulletproof.” He grabs the hot rivet and proceeds to affix the armor panel to the strutwork jutting from the main motor actuator… A spot of moisture hisses on the red-hot metal, spattering steam over the knee. A knee? That’s not a knee anymore, he long since pulled out the useless bone and replaced it with high tensile alloy and a magitech motor assembly.
	Bear More feedback.
	Bear Bear stands, looking into the sensor array and vocoder assembly. Grey eyes shake and drip. He begins to order Ken to stop, but the name won’t quite come out his mouth. There’s another name, another heading for the data on this subject. Something…familiar.
	Bear "What… “Hoss?”"
	Bear Something’s wrong.
	Bear There’s a jumble of bad data here. Missing memories.
	Bear When did he replace his left arm with the tool array? When did he remove his eyes to put in the sensor suite?
	Bear When did he swap denim jeans and a trucker’s jacket for these fireproof lab coat and gloves?
	Bear When did he enter the lab? When did he build the lab?
	Bear When did he decide it was his right to make Ken a cyborg?
	Bear “Something’s wrong.”
	Bear He looks back at Ken, the mess of cybernetics and magical augmentations were almost done. Soon he would be a perfect being…
	Bear But that wasn’t perfection. That was…violation.
	Bear And a line, from a story comes back to him, even as the vocoder’s output clears in his ears…
	Bear “I never asked for this.”
	Bear Bear clenches his fist, and power roars out from him. Machinery retreating from the still-young Titan of Artifice. Leaving Ken in one piece, whole again.
	Bear “This isn’t real. I never took this power. This is a dream.”
	Bear His mind sorts data fast, climbing back to the earliest uncorrupted memory. A hole, with Dovile, and trying to save her life with his own body.
	Bear He opens eyes that are still flesh and ichor, awakening from the nightmare.
	ST Stained walls of a small room, lit by sterile white; a rickety bed; a looming, metal door, the viewport closed off. A room meant for a prisoner.

Sanura’s Nightmare

	ST They are coming. Familiar mechanical ticking, metal creaking and groaning, scent of oil greasing the air—all writ large, loud, growing louder with each passing moment. Coming in from seemingly all sides. A gash on the horizon. Mechanical children of Svarog pouring through the wound like blood. Swarming the land and leaving nothing in their wake. Below, the Bakersfield police force coordinating their militias, throwing furniture and pushing scrapped cars onto blockades, shouting at each other over the din. Their weapons are crude and makeshift, baseball bats, empty rifles wielded like clubs, metal scrap strapped to broom handles, cobbled-together launchers of rubbled concrete. At the forefront stands figure casting a dome of bright golden light like sunrays, enveloping a dozen other figures and casting their shadows over the skyscraper walls like giant ageless sentinels, all waiting to meet the charge of the clockwork horde. Derrick. Standing in file alongside Oskar, Aida, Angela, Susan… and Brendan, Moe, Sofia, Carmen, Shawn… Alvaro and Johanna among them. The horde approaches, limping, clicking, wheeling, creaking. Derrick’s shining wings begin to spread, as if welcoming them into a deadly embrace—or as if welcoming death with open arms. All this grows smaller, as the VTOL begins to lift from the roof of the shop. Sanura watches the scene below through one of the many windows throughout, in relative safety.
	Sanura 22
	Sanura Her nails dig into the window ledge and her teeth are set on edge as a low growl rumbles inside her. The same claws that had formed when she’d been separated from her team when they were in danger come to the fore. Ephemeral and unreal and yet embodying the fierceness she would put to anyone who came against her family. None would be welcoming death this day. She pushes the door open and takes to the rooftops to join those she would live and fight beside and die for if need be.
	ST Then, as the metal legion descends upon them, the scene cuts… Stained walls of a small room, lit by sterile white; a rickety bed; a looming, metal door, the viewport closed off. A room meant for a prisoner.

Derrick’s Nightmare

	ST « … your eye. » Of course. Derrick nods, accepting the statment. « But how? » The language falls like the hissing of a river’s gentle movement. He fingers the gold-and-lapis collar over his chest, idly feeling its smooth, grooved texture. « You tell me. » Her voice holds humor, a dark ethereal veil over a sense of knowing. Of familiarity. Isis’s fingers come up to ease his. The green and gold feathers that line the edge of her hand create a milky trail of stars which glitter before fading into the night, save the delicate silver chains of light that emerge from her fingers. She moves around him, passing across his right side, fully into the black. Beneath her bare feet springs glowing green grass that spreads outwards for miles around and quickly fades at her step’s passing. And then she’s out of view, behind him. Her hand emerges briefly from the corner of his left side, bare of feathers, skin highlighted by Khonsu’s moonlight, tapered fingers preparing to divest his throat of the collar. Derrick tries a different tack. « How did your son learn? » Silence provides space for a smile he could feel, like the warmth of a body coming close. « Various ways. » A flash of irritation. « Lady Isis, am I to trust that the leverage you gain due to my ignorance is more important than my ability to perform to my utmost as the sun? » Another silence, utterly still. Isis’s hands hover at the nape of his neck, poised to finish opening the clasp. « I could tell you the Ren of your eye, Abirakhet. » The veil has lifted. Though her words are gently spoken, their gravity falls heavy upon him. « You would learn it on your own eventually. But I can tell you now. » Isis removes the necklace and circles back around to the front, from his left side. The stars that follow her have drawn tight around her head, concealing her face. Derrick turns to regard her with his left side, but her expression reveals less. « Be warned: that knowledge cannot be taken back. Is that something you wish? » It wasn’t even a question. « Yes. » She puts a hand over his eye, obscuring his vision with silver chains. And then she draws close to his ear and whispers it to him. The word churns like sunfire. Something falls into place. She removes her hand and draws it away. A silver chain draws back with it, leading from her finger to his neck. But now, wrapped around her heart, is a shining gold chain. All around him, in fact: a network of gold chains, like delicate sunrays. « There. » Isis turns from him, placing the necklace back in its case. « Now you see. »
	ST …
	ST The network of golden chains spreads even in Bakersfield, snaking under doors, up walls, disappearing into buildings. Slight unease fills him, sending half-formed impressions burbling to the surface. But soon he will be in the shop, among familiar faces for dinner. As he raises a fist to knock on the door, the chains rise, following the ascent of his hand. Derrick stares for a moment. Then he knocks. The chains shake, and then fall still as his hand comes to a rest by his side. “Hiiiii Humperdinck!” Galen opens the door, a half-smile on his face. He stands as himself, bright, opaque but still somehow a little ghostlike. Derrick knew that smile. The wry tilt, the raised eyebrow, the slightly amused affectation in his eyes. That was the about-to-give-a-faux-scolding smile. This would be the third one he’s received for knocking before entering. One of the chains shakes, tugging at the top of Galen’s head. “This is the third time you’ve done that! You don’t have to knock, you know. You can just come in.” He turns aside, to let Derrick in, and begins forward to the stairs. Derrick goes still. He brings his hand up again, to examine the chains. His thumb runs along his fingers, feeling nothing. The chains lie dormant, moving only as his fingers do. Galen tilts his head, puzzlement tucking his brows. “Are you okay?” More half-formed impressions rise, and Derrick’s unease grows. But he… was not prepared to leave just yet. He offers Galen a slight smile of reassurance and continues on up the stairs alongside him. “A little unsettled, but I’ll be fine.” Curiosity, shining there in his eyes. He hoped Galen wouldn’t ask him to elaborate. He’d prefer to… understand what he was seeing better before he tried to explain it to anyone. Perhaps he should take this opportunity to ask Galen about his pegasus riding ventures. The chain shakes again. Galen brightens. “Suze let me ride Phobos at a canter today!” Dread tightens and burns in his stomach. “Did she.” Despite himself, Derrick continues up the stairs. This was merely confirming what he’d already suspected. He would inform Lisa at first opportunity, after the dinner, and work with her to determine an appropriate course of action. But… he didn’t like the number of chains that seemed to crawl up the stairs, under the door at the top of the landing. Shaking. The door opens. He’s greeted by a hug from Hunkules, her sunwhite harp strings strumming in time with her chain. Lisa, a mere phantom, looks up from her poetry discussion with Leanne, a pale girl with hair the same color as Maureen’s, slowly being overcome by clay, both preparing to greet— No, don’t let me interrupt —and they both look back to each other and continue, without skipping a beat. The dread pulls tighter, hotter, burning from his stomach into his pounding chest. Zuko, ablaze, ever ablaze, forever bleeding drops of liquid fire from dozens of wounds, looks at him in concern, and opens her mouth to speak. No, don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask Self-doubt and seizing anxiety twists her expresion and she closes it again, pressing her lips together with concern. Derrick staggers away. He has to— His eyes roam the room. They find more chains, one for each person. Jayne, Ken, Maureen, Carmen, Sofia, Ruben, Senbast, Summer, Leliana. He must— He needs— He needs Pinkie Pie’s hug— her teasing him about thinking too much— he needs Sanura’s smile— her touch— Two chains begin to swing and whip in time with his pounding heart. The door to another room opens, and a familiar step pads down the hall, heralded by swirling stars. The shadows in the corner deepen and whorl.
	ST (( Rolling Legend + Willpower + Integrity; flaring and channelling Conviction. ))
	ST (( 27! ))
	ST Evening gown of milky starlight, swishing with every step that lights on the floor as if it had been made for her. Stars, nestled affectionately in her hair, tamed neatly back to reveal her smooth, slender throat. More stars dance around her, gathering around those in the room. A smile tugs at the corner of immaculate red lips. A silhouette deeper than the dark, save the point of light burning in the middle, sauntering quietly forth, hips a-sway, as if nothing in the world mattered. Around her the people become brighter, sharper, more overwhelmingly unignorable. Arms begin to open to greet him. And golden chains, connected to them both, pulling with the force of his need. Derrick stills, certainty blazing in his throat. Before the embrace— before the smile— He tells them the word which churns with sunfire. The empty black and the celestial lights stop beside each other. Pinkie Pie and Sanura stare at the violently swinging golden chains that binds them to him, that holds their hearts in a trap. Sanura’s hand touches upon hers in awe, in horror, and the chain falls still. Pinkie Pie watches, and then closes her fist over her own, certainty filling her. It breaks clean with a violent jerk and a glaring flash. Sanura snaps a look to Pinkie Pie, and then decisively follows suit. They regard him anew. A stranger stands reflected in their eyes. Derrick sinks to his knees before them, and holds his hands out in supplication, the golden chains dripping from his fingers, shivering as if wracked by sobs. “Please. Break them all.” They do. Painful brightness fills all things. And then… White. A room. 7×9. A bed. A metal door, designed for a prisoner. Derrick slides his legs off the bed, rests his socked feet on the floor. A stain in the corner catches his gaze, seeming to summon forth all his thoughts. He slides his elbows to his knees and runs his fingers through his hair. And then, when his head comes to a rest, he grips, his whole body becoming tight.

Lena’s Nightmare

	ST A four-posted bed with an elaborate, colorfully embroidered canvas. A vast room, walls painted in green and red and gold and blue and… A firebird of steel feathers, clockwork softly ticking away, the slight groan accompanying the quirk of the head and the scrape that resounds with the metal blink of a jeweled eye. — Lenchka! Wake… She knows this place. This place behind the place; surrounding it; suffusing it. She knows this place. She summons the taste of vodka, the burn of fire down the throat, sharp vapor up the nose, the chemical dryness of the mouth. Its warmth seeps down into her stomach, enveloping her center and spreading to her limbs. The glow begins. And then Yesen takes in a slumbering breath, opens the window, and exhales as she steps out into the night. Fever lurks at the edges, blurring the corners of sight with sweat that isn’t there. Bright greenery is tinged slightly with yellow. Bright, painful light spills through the leaves and You’ve known it was coming for a long time, longer than most people have been alive. But it’s still somehow a shock. And as the teeth of death close over your throat you try to move but you can’t The silence is familiar. A moment of peace before Muscles taut, straining. Fire burning like wheels (like the wheel on his chest) over his skin, embedded deep in flesh. Hands press up at the bottom of a tree, save fingers bent back The forge burns hot below the iron heart. It seeks, it yearns, it demands; the rawest of hungers, biting the edges of all things constantly, driving thought and hand alike with heated prods They are coming. « … your eye. » In each she shines as a lantern, reaching for her family, her friends. But she finds that her hand is immoble, her speaking breath constricted. So instead they flash before her, taunting. And then… An off-white ceiling. Black mold staining the ceiling corners, dripping down like eternal water. A heavy gray metal door, stained with orange-and-red rustpowder. A slot at the bottom, open, making way for a thick, heavy chain. Yesen’s arms are pressed painfully to her sides, her legs bound together, ankle bones digging into her flesh. Chains press at her skin. Her sharp inward breath binds her tighter. Panic’s flocked wings begin to flutter at the edges.
	ST (( Rolling Legend + Willpower + Integrity; flaring and channelling Duty. ))
	ST (( 19! ))
	ST They had to be found. The pursuit must continue. Yesen forces out her breath then takes in another, more welcome: two sharp in, two sharp out. Again. And then one in, deep, as much as she can stand and more. The chains creak and groan under the strain. And then she releases the breath, pressing herself tight. The cocoon of chains slacken. She slips out like a sigh, and they clink gently in her passing. Yesen turns to the door and pushes it open without a second thought, withholding her next breath as she steps through and looks around with wide, alert eyes.