Round: 1
Number of artefacts revealed: 0
Turn order: To be confirmed.
Number of artefacts revealed: 0
Turn order: To be confirmed.
GM
It's as if you were trapped in a dream.
For some of you, the tale of The Toymaster may have been one of mutual understanding and dealership; for others, the tale begins with coercion and force. But whatever the circumstances, the ultimate truth is that all of you awaken in a toyshop. The sensation almost feels natural, as if you're somehow still able to breathe and smell and sense the world around you. But looking at your hands reveals that they were as artifical as the rest of you, trapped within a clear plastic container with flashy and gaudy branding atop it.
You are a toy.
The toy shop you have woken in is remarkably clean and modern. Artifical lights shine bright from a roof much more akin to a warehouse or a megastore than a quaint workshop, closer to a 'Toy's 'r' Us' type store. The store is completely empty of people, the hustle and bustle of customers instead replaced with the writhing and awakening of others, much like yourself. The vast majority of them are new, just like yourself. Awakening from the isles and shelves and erupting from their packaging as they try and figure out what is going on and how to survive. In the shadows, older secrets work.
The calendar on the till's operating system reads late December, but even though it is mid-winter, there is no snow to be found. Instead beyond the glass doors to the outside world a torrential downpour thunders, water blown near-horizontal thanks to howling winds strong enough to make trees buckle. A residual boom of crackling thunder looms overhead.
You must fight to survive.
How and why the thought entered your head is difficult to ascertain, but you know for certain that every toy that has awakened is now your enemy. Whether or not they could ally with you, you realise that only one toy can survive, and only one toy can be victorious. Even if this thought somehow never enters your head, the visual demonstration of two Action Men throwing blows at each other and throwing each other off of the shelves onto the floor is enough of a visual demonstration of the struggle.
And thus, The Battle Toyale Begins.
For some of you, the tale of The Toymaster may have been one of mutual understanding and dealership; for others, the tale begins with coercion and force. But whatever the circumstances, the ultimate truth is that all of you awaken in a toyshop. The sensation almost feels natural, as if you're somehow still able to breathe and smell and sense the world around you. But looking at your hands reveals that they were as artifical as the rest of you, trapped within a clear plastic container with flashy and gaudy branding atop it.
You are a toy.
The toy shop you have woken in is remarkably clean and modern. Artifical lights shine bright from a roof much more akin to a warehouse or a megastore than a quaint workshop, closer to a 'Toy's 'r' Us' type store. The store is completely empty of people, the hustle and bustle of customers instead replaced with the writhing and awakening of others, much like yourself. The vast majority of them are new, just like yourself. Awakening from the isles and shelves and erupting from their packaging as they try and figure out what is going on and how to survive. In the shadows, older secrets work.
The calendar on the till's operating system reads late December, but even though it is mid-winter, there is no snow to be found. Instead beyond the glass doors to the outside world a torrential downpour thunders, water blown near-horizontal thanks to howling winds strong enough to make trees buckle. A residual boom of crackling thunder looms overhead.
You must fight to survive.
How and why the thought entered your head is difficult to ascertain, but you know for certain that every toy that has awakened is now your enemy. Whether or not they could ally with you, you realise that only one toy can survive, and only one toy can be victorious. Even if this thought somehow never enters your head, the visual demonstration of two Action Men throwing blows at each other and throwing each other off of the shelves onto the floor is enough of a visual demonstration of the struggle.
And thus, The Battle Toyale Begins.
“By the Lorcanthic Legions of Lyropia, what egregious effrontery is this?!” Thyerg’Octolys roared in outrage. One moment, he was entering a new reality plenum, ripe for conquest, and the next, he had found himself imprisoned within some form of transparent-walled containment capsule. Even more galling, his myriad tentacular appendages seemed to be tightly bound by several restraining bands, each twisted into knots of fiendish complexity. Yet, even this was no match for one such as he. With a mighty surge of poly-plenumic power, Octolys burst free from his confinement and took stock of his surroundings. As far as he could perceive, row upon row and level upon level of similar containment pods stretched out before him. Clearly, this was a prison of some sort, though what manner of being might presume to imprison him, the Domiarch of the 94837568th Negaprism, Octolys could scarcely begin to guess. Yet, such ponderings would best be conducted at a later juncture. At the present moment, escape was the foremost priority, something several of his fellow prisoners seemed to agree with as they emerged from their own capsules. Yet, it would not do to move blindly into potentially perilous surroundings. Thus, a scouting operation was called for. However, before he could launch a single biomechanical dark matter fighter, a voice sounded within the depths of Octolys’s mind…
It spoke of an artifact of great power, hidden within the center of this place, this “toy store”. It was a mask that would supposedly grant greatly increased speed and reflexes to whomever donned it. A boon, to be sure, especially for his ponderous cannon crawler, but could the strange voice be trusted? Could this not merely be some form of trap? In all actuality, the mysterious voice’s revelation did little to alter Octolys’s plan. There remained only one real course of action. Thus, employing his tendrils to pull himself to the top level of his prison block, and taking care to avoid the attention of his fellow prisoners who had begun barbarically brawling far below him, Octolys gazed across the multilayered labyrinth and, upon locating the centermost point, prepared to launch a scout fighter to investigate the veracity of the voice’s claim. However, to the eldritch being’s great shock, the fighter seemed utterly incapable of flight, its ultra-advanced dark matter propulsion systems completely inactive. Yet, Thyerg’Octolys would not allow such a setback to deter his plans. Instead, he simply wrapped a tentacular appendage around the craft and flung it at its destination. He only hoped that when it arrived, at least some of the veil of uncertainty surrounding these perplexing circumstances would be lifted…
BrokenPromise With Rightious Hands
Member
Seen
5 hrs ago
There are many horrific fates that can befall a sailor, more so a pirate. In addition to the risk of drowning or being eaten by a sea creature, a pirate is also at the mercy of other pirates and their hunters. From Kurosame’s experience, humans could be more cruel than any force of nature. She had heard stories of men placed in wooden boxes and buried where their treasure used to be. While Kurosame was in a box, it was not made out of wood, above ground, and all of her effects appeared to be with her.
Though something was off.
The pirate’s surroundings were not familiar to her. Nor was her body, which seemed to be made out of a hard, wood-like material. Before the absurdity of the situation sunk in, a flood of thoughts entered her mind. Yes, she had agreed to be here. While many of the specifics were left out, she understood this was a free for all and only the winner would get their wish granted, allegedly. Thinking further on her predicament would have to wait until later. Across the aisle she could see someone systematically walking past toys and ending them with a skewer of their tail. There would be no rest here.
Rather than bursting out of the front of her box, Kurosame took hold of her sword and shoved it through the top. She grabbed her hat before climbing out and landing on the edge of the shelf. A quick look around didn’t reveal any immediate threats, so she took stock of her equipment. As she did so, she was starting to understand how her equipment had been altered in this world. Even her blade was a great deal thicker now that it was encased in some crystal composite. It was fine. She had trained with many swords, and just because this wasn’t going to behave like a standard katana didn’t mean she couldn’t use it.
Next order of business was figuring out what had become of her magic. She could feel that she still had it, but she was so… dry. Nothing but air left her lips as she tried to conjure a simple droplet. She would need to hydrate somehow, and the water pelting the glass window let her know how she might do that.
She ran to the edge of the shelf and jumped, soaring across the isle and landing before the window. With a hefty swing, she managed to crack the glass. Part of her would have loved to have smashed right through it, but a simple crack would work for her purposes. She raised her hand to the crack, and the falling rain began to pool over the crack. Then it seeped through, racing down her arm and behind the seam between her face and the back of her head. Before long, the space in her chest would be filled.
In addition to all the curious things going on, a voice told Kurosame of a mask hidden in the center of the toy store. Given how few of the awakening toys were headed in that direction, it seemed safe to assume that it hadn’t been relayed to everyone. Though she couldn’t confirm that it wasn’t a trap of some sort. Maybe another toy had simply whispered such a thing to her, but it wasn't something that could be ignored. If such things existed in the toy store, holding as many as she could would increase her chances for survival.
After pulling as much water through the crack as she dared, she allowed the water to surround her and launch her through the air. She held her breath inside the water droplet as it soared towards Kanohi Kama, unaware of what would be waiting for her.
Divorarel I Can Boogie
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
【 Earlier That Evening… 】
“Your challenge is accepted, Toymaster!” On his journey to find worthy competitors for the Battle Toyale, the Toymaster had invaded the dreams of one Nudara Fah only to find that the dreaded Black Prince was more lucid than originally anticipated. Staring him down from behind the effigy of a one-eyed wolf and wearing a suit of bladed armor. Standing amid what he could only were the bodies of those who had earned the prince’s ire—and there were many—as he listened to the evil god's proposal. “I am already the reigning King of Earth, it is only fitting that I crown myself the King of Toys and bring joy to the children of the land.”
For a moment the avatar's hinged jaw swung open and then thought better of arguing the small details. Its wooden mouth snapping shut with an equally wooden clack and splintering into a smile of mutual understanding as it replied with an out-of-date voice box:
Excellent, just close your eyes and open your mind, our master awaits you.
【 The Present 】
*RIIIIIIIIP*
Somewhere in the back shelves where unwanted toys were kept after their season had passed an action figure’s right hand knifed its way through the front of its plastic prison cell, its left hand joined it soon after, and together the two tore a great gaping hole in the cardboard through which he could step. About six inches tall. Wearing the black leather dress uniform of a military man as if it were a part of his body--because it was--with a felt coat that draped behind his calves and a head full of luxurious long black hair. His plastic face was a perfect mold of the handsome mug shown on television during the Empyrean award ceremony including the eyepatch covering up that wound he’d received from a certain Mayathine demigod that had tried to dig his brain out with a stiletto made of ice. The memory of it brought a smile to his face. Beneath the sleeve of his felt coat one hand seemed perfectly natural (for an action figure) while the left was distinctly silver with coarse fingers that stroked along his chin in loving admiration for all of the handiwork that must have gone into making it so accurate—right before he ruined reached straight through the remaining plastic to grab the six inch metal sword that came included and swung it over his back.
“Alright, let’s do this!”
“Your challenge is accepted, Toymaster!” On his journey to find worthy competitors for the Battle Toyale, the Toymaster had invaded the dreams of one Nudara Fah only to find that the dreaded Black Prince was more lucid than originally anticipated. Staring him down from behind the effigy of a one-eyed wolf and wearing a suit of bladed armor. Standing amid what he could only were the bodies of those who had earned the prince’s ire—and there were many—as he listened to the evil god's proposal. “I am already the reigning King of Earth, it is only fitting that I crown myself the King of Toys and bring joy to the children of the land.”
For a moment the avatar's hinged jaw swung open and then thought better of arguing the small details. Its wooden mouth snapping shut with an equally wooden clack and splintering into a smile of mutual understanding as it replied with an out-of-date voice box:
Excellent, just close your eyes and open your mind, our master awaits you.
【 The Present 】
*RIIIIIIIIP*
Somewhere in the back shelves where unwanted toys were kept after their season had passed an action figure’s right hand knifed its way through the front of its plastic prison cell, its left hand joined it soon after, and together the two tore a great gaping hole in the cardboard through which he could step. About six inches tall. Wearing the black leather dress uniform of a military man as if it were a part of his body--because it was--with a felt coat that draped behind his calves and a head full of luxurious long black hair. His plastic face was a perfect mold of the handsome mug shown on television during the Empyrean award ceremony including the eyepatch covering up that wound he’d received from a certain Mayathine demigod that had tried to dig his brain out with a stiletto made of ice. The memory of it brought a smile to his face. Beneath the sleeve of his felt coat one hand seemed perfectly natural (for an action figure) while the left was distinctly silver with coarse fingers that stroked along his chin in loving admiration for all of the handiwork that must have gone into making it so accurate—right before he ruined reached straight through the remaining plastic to grab the six inch metal sword that came included and swung it over his back.
“Alright, let’s do this!”
Nudara Fah
The One-Eyed Wolf
The One-Eyed Wolf
Only to find naught but dusty shelves and dim lighting awaited him.
“Bah, what kind of filthy store is this, I can barely see a thing.”
“That’s because you’re in the back, young wolf.”
A familiar voice graced his ears, spoken as if through a gaping maw and writhing mandibles, Nudara whirled around to find the one-and-a-half-foot tall transforming stickbug towering over him with its telltale haunch. A familiar face then. And a welcome one at that…
“Bah, what kind of filthy store is this, I can barely see a thing.”
“That’s because you’re in the back, young wolf.”
A familiar voice graced his ears, spoken as if through a gaping maw and writhing mandibles, Nudara whirled around to find the one-and-a-half-foot tall transforming stickbug towering over him with its telltale haunch. A familiar face then. And a welcome one at that…
I WILL KILL YOU OR DIE TRYING
Always Shouted, Never Whispered
Always Shouted, Never Whispered
“What do you mean I’m in the back of the store, old man, don’t you see the advertising on my toybox. I won the tournament, I should be in the front, where adults and children alike can fight for the opportunity to bask in my glory—"
“Well as it turns out, being rude to all of your opponents and using dirty tactics didn’t win fans over.” The old bug murmured, as if reluctant to reveal the truth, but compelled nonetheless. “Killing the hometown hero and burning his body to a crisp probably didn’t help either…”
Nudara winced but respected the old one too much to argue, “And you?”
“Aaaah… my debut was overshadowed by a man from the past. And alas. The Tesseract required to mimic my body’s functions was not included in the packaging.” Even the act of speaking was causing the cosmic bug’s body to begin breaking down one flake of plastic at a time, “If you can find one then I’ll gladly support your cause.”
“That might be difficult, old one, I don’t think this planets technology has advanced that far.”
“Oh well, good luck, and may you reclaim your lost honor—oh look, here comes your first challenge.”
Nudara was just about to say something in response when the sound of honking filled the air.
“Serves you right, cocky little punk.” “Trapped back here with the rest of the losers.” “Your hair makes you look like a girl.”
Three voices, honk-honk-hoking their way down the shelf bowling over other toys in the process, divine guardians of the Kingdom of Dawn where the so-called New Gods made their thrones all very much looking like giant white gooses. Because that’s what they were. Whatever idiot had decided to make the heralds of the gods geese surely regretted every day they woke up to the sound of…
“Well as it turns out, being rude to all of your opponents and using dirty tactics didn’t win fans over.” The old bug murmured, as if reluctant to reveal the truth, but compelled nonetheless. “Killing the hometown hero and burning his body to a crisp probably didn’t help either…”
Nudara winced but respected the old one too much to argue, “And you?”
“Aaaah… my debut was overshadowed by a man from the past. And alas. The Tesseract required to mimic my body’s functions was not included in the packaging.” Even the act of speaking was causing the cosmic bug’s body to begin breaking down one flake of plastic at a time, “If you can find one then I’ll gladly support your cause.”
“That might be difficult, old one, I don’t think this planets technology has advanced that far.”
“Oh well, good luck, and may you reclaim your lost honor—oh look, here comes your first challenge.”
Nudara was just about to say something in response when the sound of honking filled the air.
“Serves you right, cocky little punk.” “Trapped back here with the rest of the losers.” “Your hair makes you look like a girl.”
Three voices, honk-honk-hoking their way down the shelf bowling over other toys in the process, divine guardians of the Kingdom of Dawn where the so-called New Gods made their thrones all very much looking like giant white gooses. Because that’s what they were. Whatever idiot had decided to make the heralds of the gods geese surely regretted every day they woke up to the sound of…
THE JERRYS
Divine Malefactors
Divine Malefactors
Before they could loose another honk, the Black Prince’s right hand snapped out, his fingers collapsing the orange plastic beak and trapping its obnoxious voice somewhere in that hollow chest. Immediately the plastic began to boil underhand much to the lead Jerry’s dismay, eyes bulging, heat building up inside of its mouth until a moment later the whole thing exploded in a shower of plastic. Some of the wet loose stuff that was used to cover the harder skeletons of larger toys and some of that harder stuff previously mentioned transformed into little bullets that dented the metal and pierced an unfortunate Action Man straight through the chest before he went tumbling.
“Listen close you buzzards, I’m going to win this thing, and when I do there will be another one of me under every tree and in every stocking every year until they learn to love me. And if you want any hope of escaping your place in the landfill then you’ll stay out of my way. But if you help me out, well, maybe I can find a place for a couple of oversized ducks in my merry band of misfits…”
“Listen close you buzzards, I’m going to win this thing, and when I do there will be another one of me under every tree and in every stocking every year until they learn to love me. And if you want any hope of escaping your place in the landfill then you’ll stay out of my way. But if you help me out, well, maybe I can find a place for a couple of oversized ducks in my merry band of misfits…”
Hubris begets the fall
The wind whistled through the needles of the pines, flowing along the fog-covered grounds. The bristling of the wind felt ominous, dangerous. It felt cold against the flesh and wet in the throat. The dampness seemed never-ending, the swamp-like landscape seemed to sweat. Almost like a living thing standing in the heat, the liquid squished when walked on. The sunlight never touched here, instead it seemed to be blocked away by something. Some force of power, centralized on the tiny, derelict looking building holding it at bad. The solitary structure standing alone in the center of the bog, even the fog seemed afraid to get too close. It held its distance, tendrils touching here and there only to snap back as if it felt some form of pain. The single source of light in the windows danced the shadows along the walls and the ground outside, the pale moon-like light barely lighting the exterior.
From within the hut came the grating, raucous cackling of a woman. Considerable age apparent in the voice, the air seemed thick with her laughter. Chains rattled inside, and her voice broke through the silence. A high-pitched, grating, raspy sound like a voice spoken through a throat torn to shreds by glass. “Hm..you thought you could come into my domain, young one? You thought to trespass upon this land, hm?” The voice seemed formless, floating from within the hut but surrounding her in a shroud of pure terror. Something about it forced panic to rise through her, and she turned to run - only to stop with a blood-curdling scream.
There stood the Witch of the Bog, Agatha. Her still-attached decaying flesh, rotten and yellowed and barely holding, nearly touching her own. Hair disarrayed, graying and falling out in patches scratched along her hands. Dark, evil eyes peering into the depths of her soul with a single glance. Veronica’s scream broke the silence in the night, a scream so full of terror. She reached for the woman, trying to push her aside to run - only she couldn’t move. Her mind told her arms to raise, her legs to run. Every thing about her brain screamed at her to move, to run. To get away. To fight back. To do whatever she had to do, use whatever she had to use, to get the fuck away from this woman. Yet, her body refused to respond.
The yellowed teeth of the witch appears as she smiled, what could be said to be a warm smile on most never touched her eyes. That dark, soulless gaze kept her locked in place. Clearly the witch used some of her magic, and while Veronica herself was well-versed in the art of the witch, her power was no match for this woman’s.
“Ms. Agatha, I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come here. I was just out for a walk, I had no idea I was entering your domain.”
“No, child? No clue? You didn’t know you were coming here, to this place? You’re a poor liar, my pretty.” The witch cackled, her talon-like fingers - barely more than bone with flesh tones painted on them - stroking down her cheek. “A place only accessible by a very specific path, on a very specific road. In a very, very specific part of the woods. But you didn’t know…it was an accident?”
“Y-yes Ms. Agatha, I promise.”
“So you didn’t come for this…” the witch asked, a sudden flash of her hand materializing a book, “…book of mine? The ‘source of all my power’, the people say?” She looked at the book for a moment, her eyes darting from the book to the young girl held captive. “You don’t want it, then, I suppose. I could just..burn it and it wouldn’t matter?”
“No, I mean yes. I mean…I didn’t come for the book. I didn’t even know I was coming here!” Her voice tried to rise, to voice her deceit as loudly as she could. Yet, it barely came out as more than a whisper. Her body betrayed her, her eyes showed her truth. Darting to the book, then back to the witch, back to the book longingly. Oh, she longed to have that power. To have what the witch had, a life unending. The people so afraid of her that few in a generation ventured to the wood. And only a select few of those returning whole.
“Liar, liar.” The witch cackled into the night wind, and her laughter echoing for what sounded like an eternity. “You want my book, you want my book!” The witch chanted for a moment, then snapped her mouth shut and her face became serious. “I occasionally take apprentices, you know. And I can sense the gift in you, budding and growing. It’s strong. Very strong. Almost as strong as mine, in potential anyway.” She looked at her, cocking her head to one side. “You might be teachable. With a little refinement, with a little direction…yes..hm..”
Veronica stopped struggling, the futile effort sapping her of all of her energy. “You…you could teach me, yes?” Oh, the idea of it. The thought of it was beyond her wildest dreams. Truthfully, she came here for the book. She wanted the power, coveted it. The witch offering to train her didn’t dampen that desire. It strengthened it. If she learned from this woman, if she apprenticed. The witch would spill her secrets, would open her book and her home. Even if she didn’t, she’d be in a position to steal the book much easier.
“Perhaps, child. Perhaps. You have to prove your strength in the gift, first, though. I’ve got a friend, you could say, a friend in a way anyway. He’s having a bit of a bash, you see. A party, in a way. Yes. Yes. A party. A party you’ll go to, you’ll go and you’ll break into his party and you’ll have some fun with it. You’ll display the power inside of you, you’ll nourish your gift. The party is a contest you see, and if you win the contest. If you show me your resolve…yes..yes. I’ll teach you the gift. Come, child. Come.”
Veronica followed her, not of her will but of the witch’s. Her body moved of its own accord. “You’ll not use this body, of course. Your flesh is far too young and supple to let be marred by any mishaps on your part. Yes, yes. I know the perfect body for you. Come, child. Come.”
Inside the shack, the hovel became even more noticeable as abandoned. Filled to the brim with trinkets and toys, mostly made from bone - some of which appeared oddly human, adorned the walls and floor. Littered with dirt and dust, decay and stink filled the air and seemed to seep into every fiber of her soul. “Yes, a body. A good body. Here, it’s here somewhere.” The witch dug through a chest, tossing rotten vegetables and meat aside, bodies of small animals and bones and refuse. “Here it is!” The witch exclaimed, pulling from within the chest a doll of cloth and burlap, dark hair half falling off and oddly human.
“This is going to be my…body? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, dear. I’m sure. It’s not like you really have a choice in this anyway, you trespassed on my land. I know you meant to steal from me, whether you’ll admit it or not. So, you’ll use this body and you’ll go to the party. If you win, you get to live and learn. If you lose…well, I’ve been in need of a nice, young body to replace this one.”
Veronica’s body fell limp, as a bright flash of light burned through her eyes and into her soul. The pain forced a scream from her mouth, and she fell to the floor with an audible thud.
The Aisle of Misfit Toys
Veronica opened her eyes to the sound of her own scream. The pain still seared her soul, but her body felt nothing. The light burned, bright and painful. A light unlike anything she’d ever seen, emitting from the ceiling on long tubes. The brightest, most permeating light she’d ever seen. Her burlap hands pushed against…something, a shelf? Lifting her onto her wooden feet. Her mouth, sewn shut and unusable emitted the scream still - as if her soul spoke into the world her feelings. She could feel her gift, though. It remained within her as she stood, and she drew upon the well of power within.
The power seared and burned in a way that felt right, natural. She stood and looked around, taking in her surroundings. A shop of some kind, maybe? It looked something similar to the general store in the middle of her town, though the floor and walls were made of a material she didn’t recognize. Around her lay the broken things, the toys no one wanted. The refuse bin, really, though just a pile not yet sorted through and disposed of properly.
“This must be where the party is…and I’m stuck in the body of some toy, some child’s plaything. A doll so battered as to be considered trash. Still, I have to make do with what do.” She thought, before manifesting her words into the air. “Hello? Hello, my name is Vero. I’m here for the party, or contest. Whatever this thing is supposed to be, I’m here to win it either way. Who will be the first to feel the power that flows through me?”
Pickled Piper Pickled Piper (alt of Spider Pickle)
Member
Seen
10 hrs ago
Some toys are made for entertainment. Some toys are made for edutainment, a dual-purpose physique to allegedly allow kids to have fun while learning.
There sat in a box on the highest shelf of this aisle -- an aisle of misfit toys, it looked like -- an action figure, a hybrid of between the feminist Action Heroine line and the otherwise ideologically benign Full-Mettle series of action figures. The latter was your standard toy line, with the gimmick that its were Full-Mettle™, rather than full-metal of course but they wanted to use the phrase so they turned it into a trademark to avoid lawsuits, the last smart decision they'd ever make. Only the blade, and right arm and elbow, were metal -- stainless steel katana, brass arms with magnets.
The former toy line...
The former was quite the intellectual property. Action Heroine, like Ryuko herself, was both revered and demonized. It garnered media attention for its unique approach to applying feminist concepts to action figures "for boys and tomboys alike". This crossover toy never made it to the shelves, originally. The concept was of a mixed woman ninja assassin named Samantha Carver from Detroit, also a PhD in various STEM fields and a government agent. Suffice to say, the heads behind Action Heroine were among the few willing to make such a profound toy. Not many were ever produced. Few were sold. Plenty of YouTube videos got published demonstrating the figure's unique functionality, and for good reason.
Controversy surrounded this action figure, or "doll" as some would call it, despite being marketed explicitly as an "action figure" for tomboys. Its designers framed it as a robust and progressive new toy with potential self-defense applications. One clandestine handshake and one-night stand, and Full-Mettle gave its full, outstanding support in making this misandrist's dream a reality.
The doll's most distinguishing feature -- it was difficult to even get a patent for, let alone get any factory to agree to produce, to the point they had to simply hand-make what was ironically designed specifically to attack the hands -- the doll's most distinguishing feature, designed to teach a lesson to any boys who happen to be gifted this toy, say, for Christmas, and who were perverted enough to think of sticking their finger up the skirt she wore...
This feature, so aptly, ironically, and idiotically named the Claptrap™, was the brainchild of a certain Susan Deedee Wyatt, who had sought to make "a doll that teaches not to touch the no-no spot".
As expected, many feminists denounced the toy, and the brand, calling Action Heroine "a bunch of faux-minists pushing their agendas". Whether self-described liberal, conservative, or literally anything but that hyper-specific sect of the Far Left -- which was denoted as "the definitive alt-Left" -- almost anyone who considered themselves a feminist by any metrics viewed it as a satirical or self-sabotaging product. The backlash caused many to skew in the other direction, creating a surge in misogyny. Crimes of violence against women rose by 4% in the first month. It was wrested from the hands of young girls, sometimes to be used against them, and public outcry was so problematic that Full-Mettle diverted half of the entirety of their profits in an effort to hire enough lawyers to get seven laws passed or changed, all to protect and distance themselves from this phenomenon. Action Heroine became perhaps the first company ever to be classified as an illegal operation in such a manner. Even conglomerates like Big Pharma, Big Tech, Big What-have-you grew modest and timid in the wake of Samantha "Claptrap" Carver.
On all political, ideological, and moral fronts, this action figure caused destruction and regression like no other could. As the pendulum swung full-force in the other direction, doom was wrought. What were conservatives became "progressives", though distinctly more sexist; What were progressives became "anti-regressives", but even some among them became more misogynist. Witch-burning came back into popularity, much to populists' and populations' combined (and often hypocritical) dismay. Bible-thumpers now actually, literally thumped their bibles, sometimes against the heads of any who might be found owning a Full-Mettle or Action Heroine toy. Time travelers came from the past rather than the future, and they called modern-day humans cavemen and Neanderthals for the chaos that plagued the First World countries. In the year not of our Lord, 2029, former presidents Donald Trump and Joe Biden would fly to North Korea to discuss nuclear annihilation of the human race with Vladimir Putin, the entire Kim family, and then-Emperor of Ukraine-Russia Volodymyr Zelenskyy. God, Buddha, and other deities deemed this timeline the official Bad End and gave instructions in other timelines on how to avoid this fate (one option proposed was to simply eject oneself from the cycle of reincarnation, and, if Judeo-Christian or Islamic, hope to fall into another universe's Wheel of Life).
All this, Ryuko learned upon waking up, and she joined Veronica in a horrific bloodcurdling scream.
Her voice hitched -- she cut it off, shutting her mouth. Hopefully no one would have heard her or would disregard the noise, which had stopped as fast as it had started. She hyperventilated, then forced herself to take slower breaths... then realized she didn't really need to breathe at all. She didn't have lungs, after all.
What she did have, she didn't want to activate at all. She'd only use the blade of her katana in combat, and no other blades.
At least she had pants on... She hoped it covered the Claptrap.
Memories returned; A deal in the backroom of a strange office building in Okinawa, one even the Yakuza dared not go near. Like Ryuko and her family in her own life, this Toyfix© RYUKO TANEGASHIMA™ Full-Mettle™ Action Figure would have to propel the brand to the top of the ladder through surreptitious means: This battle royale.
But why this toy? Why?! she thought. She didn't want to think about all the similarities between her and this toy, which seemed like a parodic knock-off of herself. It was for the sake of that strange man in the backroom, whose features and mannerisms only now registered as distinctly off, inhuman, that this toy must hit the tops of every chart known to (wo)man.
In order to do that, she needed to escape the confines of her package.
She was restrained by form-fitting transparent plastic, but there was enough wiggle-room to contort herself, as she might with her real body, sideways and scrunched up to thrust her fist out at full force. The plastic caved in under her fist. She reached, tore, and stretched a hole in both layers of plastic. Then she was balancing on the edge of a pseudo-industrial shelf.
Now outside the box, she could examine its packaging. Irrespective of similarities, the yellow-dominated print displayed Samantha Carver's image and her name in proud bold outlines. This was her fight, but not her success she was fighting for. To either side stood the actual doll, each in their own boxes. Each was lifeless.
Someone spoke. She turned to face her; It was the other doll that'd been screaming. This "Vero" appeared... weak.
A good first kill.
Ryuko pulled the black cloth up to over her painted-on mouth, then tore the stainless steel katana out with her one hand. A magnet on her back secured it in place -- she needed to, because her right arm, all of her right arms, were severed and locked in the plastic cell she was held in. She was swift and efficient in her retrieval of them. Only one would fit on at once -- she chose the sawblade launcher. It held an actual steel sawblade of bite-sized proportions, though completely blunt, owing to its cartoonish appearance.
She gathered the rest in her arms and descended, shelf-by-shelf, hanging by her legs each time and dropping in a back-flip onto the next, until she was on the floor. I'm going to be needing a paperclip, a key chain, or maybe a wire...
Now grounded, she turned to face Veronica. Her voice was as sultry as ever, but her tone was mocking. "Vero, huh? You don't sound very sure of yourself," Ryuko taunted her; A lie, but only as an insult to attract Veronica's attention. "Let's see what you're truly capable of."
And in case she was capable of much -- Ryuko hadn't enough hubris to disregard the chance of hidden strength -- Ryuko settled into a wide stance with slightly bent knees, like an athlete. She held her spare arms in her right arm, clutched to her chest; She bent forwards, left arm raised to rest a hand on her katana.
There sat in a box on the highest shelf of this aisle -- an aisle of misfit toys, it looked like -- an action figure, a hybrid of between the feminist Action Heroine line and the otherwise ideologically benign Full-Mettle series of action figures. The latter was your standard toy line, with the gimmick that its were Full-Mettle™, rather than full-metal of course but they wanted to use the phrase so they turned it into a trademark to avoid lawsuits, the last smart decision they'd ever make. Only the blade, and right arm and elbow, were metal -- stainless steel katana, brass arms with magnets.
The former toy line...
The former was quite the intellectual property. Action Heroine, like Ryuko herself, was both revered and demonized. It garnered media attention for its unique approach to applying feminist concepts to action figures "for boys and tomboys alike". This crossover toy never made it to the shelves, originally. The concept was of a mixed woman ninja assassin named Samantha Carver from Detroit, also a PhD in various STEM fields and a government agent. Suffice to say, the heads behind Action Heroine were among the few willing to make such a profound toy. Not many were ever produced. Few were sold. Plenty of YouTube videos got published demonstrating the figure's unique functionality, and for good reason.
Controversy surrounded this action figure, or "doll" as some would call it, despite being marketed explicitly as an "action figure" for tomboys. Its designers framed it as a robust and progressive new toy with potential self-defense applications. One clandestine handshake and one-night stand, and Full-Mettle gave its full, outstanding support in making this misandrist's dream a reality.
The doll's most distinguishing feature -- it was difficult to even get a patent for, let alone get any factory to agree to produce, to the point they had to simply hand-make what was ironically designed specifically to attack the hands -- the doll's most distinguishing feature, designed to teach a lesson to any boys who happen to be gifted this toy, say, for Christmas, and who were perverted enough to think of sticking their finger up the skirt she wore...
This feature, so aptly, ironically, and idiotically named the Claptrap™, was the brainchild of a certain Susan Deedee Wyatt, who had sought to make "a doll that teaches not to touch the no-no spot".
As expected, many feminists denounced the toy, and the brand, calling Action Heroine "a bunch of faux-minists pushing their agendas". Whether self-described liberal, conservative, or literally anything but that hyper-specific sect of the Far Left -- which was denoted as "the definitive alt-Left" -- almost anyone who considered themselves a feminist by any metrics viewed it as a satirical or self-sabotaging product. The backlash caused many to skew in the other direction, creating a surge in misogyny. Crimes of violence against women rose by 4% in the first month. It was wrested from the hands of young girls, sometimes to be used against them, and public outcry was so problematic that Full-Mettle diverted half of the entirety of their profits in an effort to hire enough lawyers to get seven laws passed or changed, all to protect and distance themselves from this phenomenon. Action Heroine became perhaps the first company ever to be classified as an illegal operation in such a manner. Even conglomerates like Big Pharma, Big Tech, Big What-have-you grew modest and timid in the wake of Samantha "Claptrap" Carver.
On all political, ideological, and moral fronts, this action figure caused destruction and regression like no other could. As the pendulum swung full-force in the other direction, doom was wrought. What were conservatives became "progressives", though distinctly more sexist; What were progressives became "anti-regressives", but even some among them became more misogynist. Witch-burning came back into popularity, much to populists' and populations' combined (and often hypocritical) dismay. Bible-thumpers now actually, literally thumped their bibles, sometimes against the heads of any who might be found owning a Full-Mettle or Action Heroine toy. Time travelers came from the past rather than the future, and they called modern-day humans cavemen and Neanderthals for the chaos that plagued the First World countries. In the year not of our Lord, 2029, former presidents Donald Trump and Joe Biden would fly to North Korea to discuss nuclear annihilation of the human race with Vladimir Putin, the entire Kim family, and then-Emperor of Ukraine-Russia Volodymyr Zelenskyy. God, Buddha, and other deities deemed this timeline the official Bad End and gave instructions in other timelines on how to avoid this fate (one option proposed was to simply eject oneself from the cycle of reincarnation, and, if Judeo-Christian or Islamic, hope to fall into another universe's Wheel of Life).
All this, Ryuko learned upon waking up, and she joined Veronica in a horrific bloodcurdling scream.
Her voice hitched -- she cut it off, shutting her mouth. Hopefully no one would have heard her or would disregard the noise, which had stopped as fast as it had started. She hyperventilated, then forced herself to take slower breaths... then realized she didn't really need to breathe at all. She didn't have lungs, after all.
What she did have, she didn't want to activate at all. She'd only use the blade of her katana in combat, and no other blades.
At least she had pants on... She hoped it covered the Claptrap.
Memories returned; A deal in the backroom of a strange office building in Okinawa, one even the Yakuza dared not go near. Like Ryuko and her family in her own life, this Toyfix© RYUKO TANEGASHIMA™ Full-Mettle™ Action Figure would have to propel the brand to the top of the ladder through surreptitious means: This battle royale.
But why this toy? Why?! she thought. She didn't want to think about all the similarities between her and this toy, which seemed like a parodic knock-off of herself. It was for the sake of that strange man in the backroom, whose features and mannerisms only now registered as distinctly off, inhuman, that this toy must hit the tops of every chart known to (wo)man.
In order to do that, she needed to escape the confines of her package.
She was restrained by form-fitting transparent plastic, but there was enough wiggle-room to contort herself, as she might with her real body, sideways and scrunched up to thrust her fist out at full force. The plastic caved in under her fist. She reached, tore, and stretched a hole in both layers of plastic. Then she was balancing on the edge of a pseudo-industrial shelf.
Now outside the box, she could examine its packaging. Irrespective of similarities, the yellow-dominated print displayed Samantha Carver's image and her name in proud bold outlines. This was her fight, but not her success she was fighting for. To either side stood the actual doll, each in their own boxes. Each was lifeless.
Someone spoke. She turned to face her; It was the other doll that'd been screaming. This "Vero" appeared... weak.
A good first kill.
Ryuko pulled the black cloth up to over her painted-on mouth, then tore the stainless steel katana out with her one hand. A magnet on her back secured it in place -- she needed to, because her right arm, all of her right arms, were severed and locked in the plastic cell she was held in. She was swift and efficient in her retrieval of them. Only one would fit on at once -- she chose the sawblade launcher. It held an actual steel sawblade of bite-sized proportions, though completely blunt, owing to its cartoonish appearance.
She gathered the rest in her arms and descended, shelf-by-shelf, hanging by her legs each time and dropping in a back-flip onto the next, until she was on the floor. I'm going to be needing a paperclip, a key chain, or maybe a wire...
Now grounded, she turned to face Veronica. Her voice was as sultry as ever, but her tone was mocking. "Vero, huh? You don't sound very sure of yourself," Ryuko taunted her; A lie, but only as an insult to attract Veronica's attention. "Let's see what you're truly capable of."
And in case she was capable of much -- Ryuko hadn't enough hubris to disregard the chance of hidden strength -- Ryuko settled into a wide stance with slightly bent knees, like an athlete. She held her spare arms in her right arm, clutched to her chest; She bent forwards, left arm raised to rest a hand on her katana.
Alucroas The Raging Singularity
Member
Seen
15 min ago
He was soaring, riding upon the wind with dark wings spread wide over the rise of a warm up draft lifting him higher and higher until, at last, he felt safely removed from the world down below. The feeling of separation, of being alone with only his animal instincts to guide him had a distinct calming effect on his psyche, like a feline wandering the woods by itself, or an eagle surveying the lakes and fields in search of prey. It was a peace that was prevalent throughout nature, persistent across time, and thrived in the blood and bones of all beasts, whose primitive minds endowed their bodies with the strength and resolve necessary for surviving in the world.
Neither man nor deity could ever hope to emulate this pure state of life, not without sacrificing something in the process.
In the midst of his tranquil flight, he could see the clouds starting to dim, their fluffy whiteness shifting toward off-gray, to full-gray, to pitch-blackness, their vaporous forms stretching away from him as they were sucked into a rapidly opening hole in the sky. The anomaly offered no light for him to see what lurked inside, but it did cast rays of darkness which beckoned all living things to enter its depths, luring them to a place that did naught but provoke primal fear, and a deep hostility that caused the jagged, dark-green scars on his arms to glow in preparation for what was to come. Roaring into the abyss, the he found himself falling victim to the machinations of the entity, swallowed whole as he felt the composition of his insides transmute into a different substance.
Metal replaced bone, battery acid replaced blood, strangely woven fibers took the place of muscle, and though his senses told him he still had organs, they remained only quasi-functional; present and performing their vital functions, yet somehow he knew their destruction would not hinder his capacity to move. All of this he could feel as plastic restraints tied him to the inside of a cardboard container, neck, limbs, and tail pinned with twin apertures for his horns to slide neatly into. The packaging he was contained in was considerably larger than the others, more fit for a small cat than for the plaything he was turned into, his form stripped of the beauty nature had blessed him with, and replaced with parts artificial, able to smell all the foul chemicals used in constructing his monstrous form.
Thoroughly enraged at what had been done to him, at where he was taken from, his body sparked with industrial grade lightning, melting his plastic bonds, jaw opening wide to unleash a second pair that was part of a miniaturized drake skull, punching a hole through his transparent sealing. Evidently, this was not enough to fully free him, for after ripping his way out of one cell, he found himself skull bashing the glass of a sliding cupboard, not knowing he was set up to be featured in the more expensive electronics section. Spotting the lock, the dragon reared back its tail, thrusting the sharply curved, four inch bone between the mechanism keeping him inside, yanking and screeching furiously, claws digging into holes in the shelf grate to give himself better leverage. Finally, the glass began to flex, cracks forming as his anger let him rip the lock free, followed by him flinging it off his tail hard enough to break parts where the panels overlapped, weakening the structure for one last violent charge, ramming his way through the barrier and spraying shards all over the white tiled floor.
The moment he landed outside his prison, the whole electronics section started blaring, bathing the department in a red alarm glow. Although the creature preferred the wild, he had fought in enough civilized environments, places run by man, and alien alike to recognize the sound of impending danger, promptly leaping onto the side of a sales counter, and quickly scaling it to gain a higher vantage point with which to spot any incoming threats. Sprinting across the surface, and knocking over several flyers, and mini-stands for prepaid membership cards, a sudden, loud, penetrating beep startled his ears, setting his armored scales abuzz with blue, crackling bolts.
A semi-large monitor with a smaller, black screen on top lit up in front of him, displaying an electronic poster image of his whole body on a brown background, emitting lightning as he fought what looked to be a combination of decked out super soldiers with high-tech weaponry, and hovering drones showering his body in a hailstorm of bullets that appeared to be curving around the contours of a very powerful electromagnetic shield. Snarling at the image, and the outrageous price of $229.99+tax, he let his jaws part and fired a beam of condensed electricity, pumping the circuits full of energy until the whole thing exploded, screeching and roaring as the electricity drained out of the dying monitor, which displayed the monster’s name.
The Abominable Alucroas!
Neither man nor deity could ever hope to emulate this pure state of life, not without sacrificing something in the process.
In the midst of his tranquil flight, he could see the clouds starting to dim, their fluffy whiteness shifting toward off-gray, to full-gray, to pitch-blackness, their vaporous forms stretching away from him as they were sucked into a rapidly opening hole in the sky. The anomaly offered no light for him to see what lurked inside, but it did cast rays of darkness which beckoned all living things to enter its depths, luring them to a place that did naught but provoke primal fear, and a deep hostility that caused the jagged, dark-green scars on his arms to glow in preparation for what was to come. Roaring into the abyss, the he found himself falling victim to the machinations of the entity, swallowed whole as he felt the composition of his insides transmute into a different substance.
Metal replaced bone, battery acid replaced blood, strangely woven fibers took the place of muscle, and though his senses told him he still had organs, they remained only quasi-functional; present and performing their vital functions, yet somehow he knew their destruction would not hinder his capacity to move. All of this he could feel as plastic restraints tied him to the inside of a cardboard container, neck, limbs, and tail pinned with twin apertures for his horns to slide neatly into. The packaging he was contained in was considerably larger than the others, more fit for a small cat than for the plaything he was turned into, his form stripped of the beauty nature had blessed him with, and replaced with parts artificial, able to smell all the foul chemicals used in constructing his monstrous form.
Thoroughly enraged at what had been done to him, at where he was taken from, his body sparked with industrial grade lightning, melting his plastic bonds, jaw opening wide to unleash a second pair that was part of a miniaturized drake skull, punching a hole through his transparent sealing. Evidently, this was not enough to fully free him, for after ripping his way out of one cell, he found himself skull bashing the glass of a sliding cupboard, not knowing he was set up to be featured in the more expensive electronics section. Spotting the lock, the dragon reared back its tail, thrusting the sharply curved, four inch bone between the mechanism keeping him inside, yanking and screeching furiously, claws digging into holes in the shelf grate to give himself better leverage. Finally, the glass began to flex, cracks forming as his anger let him rip the lock free, followed by him flinging it off his tail hard enough to break parts where the panels overlapped, weakening the structure for one last violent charge, ramming his way through the barrier and spraying shards all over the white tiled floor.
The moment he landed outside his prison, the whole electronics section started blaring, bathing the department in a red alarm glow. Although the creature preferred the wild, he had fought in enough civilized environments, places run by man, and alien alike to recognize the sound of impending danger, promptly leaping onto the side of a sales counter, and quickly scaling it to gain a higher vantage point with which to spot any incoming threats. Sprinting across the surface, and knocking over several flyers, and mini-stands for prepaid membership cards, a sudden, loud, penetrating beep startled his ears, setting his armored scales abuzz with blue, crackling bolts.
A semi-large monitor with a smaller, black screen on top lit up in front of him, displaying an electronic poster image of his whole body on a brown background, emitting lightning as he fought what looked to be a combination of decked out super soldiers with high-tech weaponry, and hovering drones showering his body in a hailstorm of bullets that appeared to be curving around the contours of a very powerful electromagnetic shield. Snarling at the image, and the outrageous price of $229.99+tax, he let his jaws part and fired a beam of condensed electricity, pumping the circuits full of energy until the whole thing exploded, screeching and roaring as the electricity drained out of the dying monitor, which displayed the monster’s name.
The Abominable Alucroas!
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