Hound55

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

<Snipped quote by mattmanganon>

The main punchline of that linked short being that the girl is in obvious distress at the repeated misuse of shaped holes relative to the intended destination of the pieces being inserted is clearly lost on you.

@Roman

I don't click on links... I was talking about his analogy.

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

@Simple Unicycle Again, I am asking less "Hey, can I smash this square peg into this round hole?" More a "Hey, can I put this rectangular piece that is designed to go in this rectangular hole into this square hole that it actually has been shown to fit into."

Or this

@mattmanganon

Hey-hey-hey! @Master Bruce said keep it PG-13!

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

<Snipped quote by DocTachyon>

"What if Charlies Angels were all male and worked for Bruce Wayne?"
Batman.

But it's gonna be weird and require a lot of commitment.
I might go for something smaller scale. Might fuck around and piss Sep off on one of his intended characters.

@Hillan

That's ridiculous...

Charlie's Angels are all mutants and work for Xavier...

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

And the first Hound coding error... We truly are back!

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

How do you know it's a UO game?

@Hound55 has a sheet ready before the OOC is up

@Sep

Who knows..? You might get one with a good sample by then. :

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S P I D E R – M A N

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* * *
^{"You got the hyphen, right?"}

^{_{P E T E R P A R K E R ♦ P E N D I N G ♦ Q U E E N S , N E W Y O R K}}

O R I G I N S:

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The gen-u-wine classic. Accept no imitations.

The perfect character for this setting, webs branching across the superhero community. To set a good anchor line for this RP, we’ll be getting a straight-down-the-line version (with a slight tweak to his affinty/relationship with his own webbing and its creation - see the sample) on the classic – albeit modernised for the technology of the day for the science-enthused teen of the 2020s.

He’s in the last term of his junior year of high school (looking forward to the following year being his final year of high school - the horizon beckons, and his responsibilities loom large). Uncle Ben has JUST died. So I won’t be playing through that beat-for-beat for the tragic stuff, but it’ll likely still pop up in flashbacks… he’s also coming to terms with the fact it’s just happened, and the lesson it beat into him like a drum.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Peter looked down at the bed. The suit lay crisp and pressed.

And as a stark, grim reminder to the lesson his kind Uncle had tried to instil in him earlier that week. The words he'd failed to take to heart when he was in his 'other' suit.

With a solitary heavy sniff, he wiped his steadily moistening eyes and set to task, donning the shirt.

"Not my problem, pal..."

Life had a way of making these kinds of things your problem. The ol' Parker luck was never exactly the best, high-quality, brandname luck... But when you don't want to go tempting fate or karma or what have you with things like that.

Life can change in an instant. And a lot of the time its the decisions you barely even acknowledge at the time as being a decision, which can sometimes make all the difference. To come back and bite you.

"Now come along class, as interesting as Oscorp's great leaps in gene therapy to create the next generation of bioengineered silkworms may be, there's even more to be seen in the Robotics and Cybernetics laboratories."

"But this one's missing..."

He kept looking over the glass case, the silkworm was indeed gone. His hands spread across the glass, as he scoured the case looking for where it could have possibly gone.

He didn't notice the reason it was gone as it slowly lowered itself on thin threads of gossamer.

He had no idea that the genetic elasticity from the bioengineered silkworm was altering the spider's own genetic structure, as the arachnid intermediary would in turn affect the oblivious teen with the plasticity of its own genetics.

It made him stronger, faster, able to cling and climb walls, and gave him this strange afinity with a strange substance he discovered after the incident.

He suspected that wasn't merely a coincedence. But in hindsight, he should probably be grateful he wasn't shooting webs out of his butt, or vomiting them up, like either of the two creatures before him in the predator/prey relationship which led to his newfound spider powers.

The webfluid he'd discovered, hardened rapidly on contact with air. He'd engineered himself some 'web-shooters' which allowed him to fire web-lines long distances, or disperse the web fluid in a few other useful ways. Most interesting of all, and the fact that led him to believe that none of this was a coincedence, was the fact that his affinity for this substance led him to extrasensory feelings around its use.

As a result, he would know where his weblines were without looking, and could even use highly concentrated globs of webfluid to create 'spider tracers' which he could sense where those concentrated globs were from far across town.

For a short while after, he had cursed his powers. But that was the emotion. The rage. The sadness.

They weren't the problem. The problem was that those powers weren't being properly respected. Just as his uncle had said, in a roundabout way. He just didn't know that the great power he'd been referring to... well it hapened to be super.

But that only called for even more responsibility. He could see that now. And he'd live up to it. For Uncle Ben. He deserved more than for it to be a lesson not learned from.

As he pulled his pants on he looked up at the webshooters he had resting on the shelf. Hiding in plain sight, by his homemade lightsaber and his attempt at a hoverboard. If he'd stowed them in his closet it would raise more questions from his Aunt than if they were left out, looking like something he'd made because he saw something in a movie.

He got to his feet and picked up the tie, popping his collar to affix it. As he began the windsor, he saw the form letter from Oscorp. It was signed Norman Osborn CEO, and was a stronghanded attempt to remove all culpability for what happened in the school incident, and whilst it didn't specifically threaten, reading between the lines it suggested that any attempts to get renumeration for damages by civil suit would be met with a countersuit for the damages to Oscorp IP, a reminder of the permission slips for the trip that gave lattitude in absolving the company from liability and the fact that Oscorp has surveillance tapes of every minute every student was on Oscorp property.

He wondered if Norman Osborn was aware he went to school with his son. Or if he even knew what school and class was there that day. Or if he even had a part in writing this letter himself, or even if it had just been electronically signed.

So much for getting his medical bills covered, not that the doctors even did much. By the time they saw him he was already feeling better. So it looks like he'd have to find another way to bring in some money to cover expenditures. Uncle Ben was retired, but he'd do odds and ends in the community for a little extra, and social security covered most things with the house already paid for. But with his death, life insurance just gave the one big lump sum payout, a lot of which went into this funeral. For the most part things would be OK, but things were tight. And they didn't have much for a rainy day in the household.

And the old Parker Luck happened to find every raincloud there was in the sky at the best of times.

There was only one thing for it. He'd need a job. And something that pays off a little better than a newspaper route. But these were thoughts best left for another day.

Staightening his tie, he slung his suit jacket over his back.

"Peter! Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, Aunt May! Just finished now!" He called back.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

- - -

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Various P.R.C.U Campus Locations}

Welcome Home #3.055: Anger Management

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Lillian Morse - Webboysurf's NPC}

Previously: So, Are We Done Yet?

"Well. That was a lot."

Banjo sat and thought about everything that had just poured out of him.

Mad. Anger. Rage.

Not really descriptors he'd viewed himself as, or emotions he'd ever really felt he'd ever held on to.

"Hmm. When you've had incidents. Been disruptive in class. Undertaken... some of the disruptions which I've read about in your past... do you think that those moments have been lashing out with these kinds of angry outbursts."

Banjo sat, staring through the floor, his eyes looking through it. His prolonged comments had clearly taken himself by as much surprise in reflection, as they had Lillian. Now he seemed to be scanning through his own comments and trying to take meaning from them.

His eyes drifted to the right and he shook his head gently.

"No, no. Nothin' like this. I've never been mad like this. I'm not normally angry when I do stuff like that anyway. Stuff-- If it's somethin' big I generally plan through enough that it'd be impossible to hold it as an emotional response."

"That's why..." He realised. His brows lowered and his eyes flicked back to the here and now.

"Well, there are things that we can do. Techniques that can be learned. For anger management. If you feel it starts to interfere with your life and want to try to move forward through it."

"I've been bottling everything up. It's never come to the surface, because I'm never this repressed. This stifled. These Foundation fuckin' flogs..."

"Perhaps next time you're here, we can talk through some of these techniques which might help you, after I've had a bit more time to look into it..."

"Eh..? I thought you're a therapist..?"

"I am."

"Well, why'd'you have to 'look into it'? You've never had anyone with anger issues before?"

"Not every patient--" His brow furrowed at the word. "--is the same. Not everybody's issues with anger stem from the same places. Taking the time to look into things which might be more pertinent and helpful FOR YOU might mean, you're not trying to work with less helpful, or potentially even harmful, more general, broad advice."

"So yer just gonna tell me I'm angry and send me on my way?"

It was clear he wasn't going to be comfortable without hearing something general, even if it would be limited in how helpful it would be.

"Well, first, 'Think before you spea--'

"Wow. What part of anythin' I say, gives off the impression that I don't think before I speak?"

Lillian fought off the increasingly strong, yet unprofessional, urge to respond with a sigh. Replying crisply when she spoke again.

"In the heat of the moment, it is very easy to respond with something you might regret. By taking a few moments, it can prevent this AND ALSO lessens the chance that the person you're talking to, will do likewise."

"So basically, be fake and self-censure."

She chose to ignore this.

"Once you're calm. Express your concerns. State your concerns clearly and directly, so that they can be understoo--"

"Not an issue."

"--in an assertive and non-confrontational way."

"Some problem. A smidge of a problem. Some work required. This doesn't apply when the other person is confrontational first, does it?"

It was becoming increasingly difficult to not sigh.

"You could try exercise..."

"Oh come on! That's part of the problem in the first place!"

"Like I said... giving broad general advice, may not apply, and its why it would have been best to look further into it."

"No, no... Fair enough. Ya did say. What else have you got?"

"You could try taking a timeout."

"Nope. Not runnin' from conversations. What else have you got?"

"You could try 'Identifying Possible solutions'--"

"Well, that's what I'm tryn' to bloody do here!"

"--instead of focusing on what makes you mad, try to--"

"Oh, I see. You're rollin' off a list you've got from memory, and that was just one of-- Fair enough. Sorry."

"FOCUS on resolving the issue at hand, and understanding that you can only change what you can change and that some things are out of your control." She could feel her blood pressure rising, and some small part of her wished he'd go back to being non-verbal in sessions, now that he'd at least provided her with a direction to address.

"When feeling these moments rise, you could try focusing on using 'I' statements."

"Well, now what's the bloody point in that?"

"Well, criticism and the placement of blame can only raise tension. Using 'I' statements removes that direct blame appropriation and instead gets people to consider perspectives. For example, instead of an accusatory 'You keep interrupting me during this session', I could instead offer an 'I find it difficult to properly assist you in my role when you are interrupting me'."

"Well, what's the fuckin' difference?" He asked. Sitting up and leaning in.

"What do you mean? One removes the placement of blame and instead gets you to try and see the perspective of my side of things."

"Well, not really, 'cos it's already implied by virtue of the fact that you're the one sayin' it."

"How so?"

"Well, if you say something which isn't an objective fact, I'm already going to assume it's just something that you think due to the fact that you're tellin' it to me. Like, if you tell me a political opinion, I'm not goin' to take it as gospel. I'm just going to hear it as 'this is some shit that she thinks'. Likewise if you say 'you keep interrupting me during this session'... the fact that you're finding it difficult is implied."

"Don't hold grudges."

"Again, not a problem. What else've ya got?"

"You could try using humour to release tension."

"Not a problem."

"Hmm."

"What? I'm hilarious."

"From the brief times we've spoken, you've seemed to make more pointed jokes at people, and sarcastic jibes at situations themselves."

"Yeah, and..?"

"Well, these aren't really the kinds of ways of displaying humour that generally alleviates tension. In fact, it can heighten it..."

"Well, yeah. I mean, I dunno... It is funny."

"You mean you find it funny."

"Well, yeah. Like I said. It's implied. Hey, now you can see what I meant!" He snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

"Hmm." The therapist murmured, regretting lending more credence to his point.

"I'm hesitant to suggest this to you, with how you've taken the rest, but you can try relaxation techniques."

"Go on."

"Deep breathing exercises--"

"I'm angry. I'm not givin' birth..."

"Meditation or, even simpler, just imaging a relaxing scene. A soothing mantra. Finding some time for yourself in some kind of a peaceful, relaxing activity that lets you express yourself in other ways. Even if it's just listening to music. Some people write in journals. Some people try yoga."

The gears in Banjo's mind churned and spun, thinking about something he did happen to do before everything started to bottle up on him.

"Well, now... Now you might be onto somethin' there."

"Really? Okay. Well, I actually have some pamphlets on yoga--" She pulled a few from a rack on the wall.

"Wha--? No. Not the yoga. That was daft. But the other thing. Relaxing activities that let you express yourself. That bit. Maybe that's been it with the lifestyle thing. I've stopped doin' stuff that lets me-- y'know, get the creative juices flowin'. So I just need to fill that hole and she'll be right!"

"Well, there's not usually a panacea for these things, and it's rarely as simple as just--"

"Nup, I reckon you've just knocked this one for six, Doc. Kickin' goals. Just have to get back in that groove, and then all of this'll just fritter away to nothin' like before. The hour's up. So we're done here, right?"

She couldn't tell if she'd just made things better or worse.

"Hmm. Well, that IS the hour, you're right. But we'll speak more about this with our next session, and like I said, we'll address possible solutions which might be a bit more specific to you and your own situation, rather than broad vagueries which might lend themselves to quickfix solutions without really add--"

"All good, Doc! Next time! Catchya later, Rory'saunt!

Even with only one good leg he was gone before she could get another word in.

Getting to her feet she could have sworn her own blood pressure had noticebly increased, and her heartrate had quickened.

She threw one of the yoga pamphlets in her bag for later.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

The jangle of keys, the echoing clatter of sensible heels on hardwood, as the mathematics teacher of Caulfield Grammar picked up her pace for her first class.

A long disorganised line of students stood outside of the classroom, waiting to be let in.

She'd well enjoyed her break, and the second coffee was just starting to hit, as she fit the key in the lock and turned the handle.

As the door opened something seemed off in the darkness. Wrong. But without the light she couldn't tell what. She flicked the light on and gasped.

Behind her the students started to laugh, others began to sigh in frustration, others gaped upwards in wonder.

"So who's ready to get to work on non linear equations, Teach? Negative transformations today, right?" Banjo asked, from his now illuminated desk.

"Get. Down. From there."

"Negative transformations... does something to the parabola. Can't remember. Bah! That's alright, we'll learn it today..."

"Principal's office. Now!"

"Well... now that might be difficult..."

Every desk, every chair, was stuck to the ceiling. The posters that decorated the walls had been turned upside down, even the whiteboard at the front of the room, had somehow been detached and turned upside down in it's place. The markers and duster eraser had been attached upside down to the shelf of the whiteboard, either by glue or tape. Everything in the room had been moved. The attention to detail was impeccable.

"See... I'm wired in up here." He removed his hands from where he sat and remained unmoving, in his chair, at his desk, upside down on the ceiling. His grin widening further.

"OH! Upside down. Negative transformations make the parabola upside down. Write that one down... that'll be in the test, for sure..."

"OUT!"

- - -

A man in a disheveled suit and tie was led around the campus, in conversation by an older, more formal member of the faculty.

"--and as we leave the Science Wing, and pass through the Quadrangle to the otherside, we can now see the new Technical Studies, Electronics, Woodshop and Engineering Wing, which has recently been fleshed out in full."

"Nice. Nice. All above board. Pretty swanky." Banjo's minder said, as he looked around at the recently revamped facilities for the wing they evidently took so much pride in.

"Yes, I'm sure young-- what did you say his name was, Mr Ablett?"

"Errr-- Garry. Junior."

"Hmm..." Came the Principal's skeptical murmur.

"Two 'R's. I know. I hear it all the time. 'Isn't that like--?' No. No relation. Never heard it before we came to Melbourne, now it's all the time. 'Oh! Your name's like that footballer bloke'. 'Wha--! No. Two 'R's. But it's very similar.'"

"Anyway, I'm sure young... Garry. Ablett. Junior. Will make great use of this wing. Appeal to a lot of his fancies, yes?"

The Principal pointedly asked 'Garry Ablett Senior', holding aggressive eye contact until he finally caught the man's attention.

"With his... GREAT INTEREST in personal engineering and construction projects..."

The Butler finally caught the less-than-subtle pointedness of his comments, but was unable to place the why.

"I'm sorry. We'll be unable to accommodate your son at this given time. Please collect him from outside of my office on your way out..."

The rejection was met with bafflement.

- - -

"Wha-- What di-- Hooooooow?" The Butler stammered and stretched out, as the pair sat in the front of his car, presumably in search of a new school for the boy.

"Three day weekend." Banjo replied glibly, reaching up his sleeve, to try and uncoil cabling, before throwing it in the back seat.

"That's not a bloody answer!"

The boy furrowed his brows. "Isn't it?"

"How do you get yourself kicked out when I'm just getting the tour of the school?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you were too busy to do the tour until after I'd already started... I'd been there like a week and a half."

"THAT'S NOT... ...that's not the point I'm makin', mate. And you know it."

"I'm more surprised they kicked me out, rather than had me fix it first... They're gonna wreck that room tryin' to take it apart now. So dumb..." A slight melancholy hint on the statement despite having been there for such a short period of time.

"Need your bloody head read..." The Butler muttered re-doubling his focus on the road with a shake of his head.

- - -

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: P.R.C.U Campus - Lillian Morse's Office}

Welcome Home #3.033: So, Are We Done Yet?

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Lillian Morse - NPC}

Previously: Cheap Wine and a Three Day Growth

Banjo rested his hand on the door handle, reading the name plate of Rory's aunt, Lillian Morse. Holding a beat, before he turned the handle and stepped inside. Closing it behind himself.

He sat down in the chair and turned to look back at the door and saw the bare patch where the hanging clock was missing. He chuckled to himself.

Awkward silence. More of the awkward silence, and trying to use the weight of the social situation to get him to speak.

Seven... Eight... Nine...

"Now, last time you were here, we discussed that I would have a look at the feed from the Trial setting. You didn't decline, which as has been stated here is a tacit agreement to my doing so."

Banjo gave a wide smirk, and his nostrils flared with a single sharp exhalation.

"We also discussed that if you weren't willing to open up and respond, that I would be making enquiries about you outside of this environment, with the purpose of... coming up with enough information, that I might be able to do part of my job here. That being, come up with suggestions, comments, thoughts that might make things easier for you to come to terms with things in your life. Again, without declining this was accepted as tacit agreement."

His eyebrows raised and the smirk didn't budge as he waited for what would surely follow.

"Well, I've since begun to undertake... both of these things."

"And I haven't spoken to Rory, because I felt given the circumstances there may be some form of conflict there, and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. But we'll start with the latter."

"So what I hear is that you--" "So, are we done here?" "--have a longterm girlfriend called Calliope DeLeon." She read off of her notes. "By all outside accounts you're very happy with her, and should be. You're majoring in Law. As is she. A lot of people have... very strong opinions on you." His smirk widened.

He wanted to say "Is that it?" but bit his tongue and just sat and let the words wash over him like a rock before the incessant tides.

"Does that all sound... accurate?"

Another question to draw response. Met with obstinate silence and a mildly amused expression. Lillian let the question hang for an uncomfortably long time.

"And I'm assuming that your decision to come here dressed in that uniform is probably either some kind of statement, or call for attention."

Banjo kept tight-lipped about the fact that he'd seen Rory wearing his own, although he couldn't be certain that in Rory's case he hadn't merely forgotten. He kept tight-lipped just in general.

"Would you like to move on to the events of the Trials?"

Another uncofortably long silence. Eventually punctuated by another singular nostril flared exhalation.

"So, what exactly is your relationship with this Haven Barnes?"

Another uncomfortably long silence. A provocative question. Getting desperate for response now, he felt.

"The two old--" "So, are we done here?" "--er men who appeared..? Were they both teachers of yours?"

Another lengthy pause of awkward, uncomfortable silence.

"How long have you had claustrophobia?"

Banjo's expression went from a cocky smirk, to one of disappointment.

"Really? We both know THAT would be on file."

He rocked his head back and stared at the ceiling. Amusement starting to wane and giving way to disinterest.

"I notice your limp is still there. Is there anything you want to share in regards to that?"

Complete disinterest.

Just pull the file. We both know you could just pull the file.

"Are you harbouring any resentment regarding that? Especially since it appeared to come from someone sharing the appearance of Calliope? Do you feel there was anything subconsious there? Again, do you think there could be any ties to how you view this Haven Barnes person?"

She pepered a few questions in. More provocation. Obvious provocation at that. The interest returned in the form of humoured amusement.

"The people older than you, all seem to take up antagonistic roles in your own Trials and how you see your life. Do you think this rings--?"

His head rocked back with a bored snap and he just stared at the ceiling shaking his head at it all. She interrupted her own question, she was so taken by the dramatic act of boredom, since it was an actual response to what was being said.

"So, are we done here?"

She checked her watch. Thirteen minutes. He'd gone early. What did that mean?

"What exactly are you hoping to gain from any of this?"

More prolonged painful silence.

"There are a few therapeutic methods to dealing with claustrophobia, if you would like us to possibly visit some of the--"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

He cried out. Breaking the silence.

"You know... you never realise how long an hour is, until you just keep repeatedly getting subjected to the same bullshit over... and over... and over... and over again. And then you can see on the horizon, that that same bullshit will be coming around next time as well."

Lillian looked shocked as he finally broke the social surface tension of the wordlessness.

"I get told I talk a lot... and I do. But I can take the awkward, prolonged silences. They're a doddle. I can handle them standing on my head. I can appreciate the provocative bullshit as an effort to get me to say anything, even in anger. It's just the repeated gearshift... crunching... back to the stupid... and tedious... It's bloody brutal." He gestured changing through the stickshift, and double clutching.

"I was actually gonna talk today, and then I got distracted by seeing how this was goin'. I thought there might actually be somethin' reasonable to discuss before I came. So how about I kick off?"

"My leg hurts me. For the most part it's okay. I got given painkillers but I don't much like the thought of taking them because I know what can happen. It doesn't normally start to hurt until I'm about two or three hours overdue for one." He rattled a small pill bottle. "But the pain isn't what's fucking hurting me. This is buggering up m' whole lifestyle. Diet. They've got me on a bullshit exercise and physiotherapy regime... I'm expected to do not only in my own time, but they also want me going for a daily physio session where I'm subjected to fresh Hell, because of the exercises they want me to do and they want some of it supervised so that my solo form isn't doing more harm than good. I hate it. As a general rule, I want to be left the fuck alone. And everything to do with THAT and this." He went from pointing to his leg, to swirling his finger around gesticulating to everything in the therapist's office. "Is not my bloody scene."

Lillian scrawled as fast as she could trying to take it down.

"I feel guilty because I feel I got off light compared with everyone who was stuck in there, and because I figured it out... twice. And then got overconfident and let this happen to me. So now I get to deal with the product of my own stupidity, branding me and screwing me over for three months, possibly longer. I usually am one to get irritated in life from time to time, but right now, I'm mad all the fucking time. Even when I don't show it."

Mad. Feelings of anger. She double underlined.

"I'm madder than a cut fuckin' snake. But I feel I got off light, and everybody else around me, if you've seen them, has clearly had it worse. So I've no right to shove it in any of their faces. I feel I owe it to them to keep things light around all of 'em, and it's worse for everyone else I come across who didn't go through it because 'Fuck 'em. Someone's gotta eat it'. And the worst part is, I'm mad about shit that most people have to deal with on a daily basis. What right do I have to be mad about having to eat right, exercise, and not use powers that most people on the fuckin' planet don't have anyway? So I'm mad. I'm mad about shit that I KNOW is stupid to be mad about, and it's the only thing relating to all of that which is still really bothering me."

"Calli's awesome. But somethin's askew. We're not talkin'. Not really. But again, I know she's been through worse than me, and I'll be damned if I'm going to dump my shit on her when she hasn't had time to process her own yet. To repeat, she's great. And if you say shit about her again, or imply shit with Haven, I'll shut down and get transferred and I don't give a fuck how much stupid I have to eat and keep my mouth shut through."

"And Haven's basically been like a sister to me. We came up through similar shit. Maybe you'd like to ask that question to your nephew instead. Likewise about the uniform. Fuck 'conflict', you want me to talk, you get the good with the bad."

"So, are we fuckin' done here?"

Finally, there was another pregnant pause in the room. But despite how long it hung in the air, it didn't feel nearly as awkward of uncomfortable as any of the previous. Perhaps it was that Lillian filled it with the scratching of a pen, or perhaps it was because it meant there was momentum now. A direction.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

"Nerve damage?"

"That's right."

Banjo rubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes, working up to easing the bridge of his nose, before running his hands through his hair.

"The medical term is 'Peripheral neuropathy'. Irony of it is, that it could have been caused either by repeated deep shock from the Augmented Reality suits, or by an actual icicle through the leg."

Banjo stared blankly.

"Okay. Too close to it to appreciate the irony." Murmured the doctor to himself. "The next one and a half, to three months are going to be all important in your recovery."

"So you want me to keep off of it for a month and a half..."

"Oh God no! No. No-no-no. That's the worst thing you could do. No, this is going to take rehabilitative work. A lot of exercise. A steady amount of work to keep blood flow to the region..."

"Wait-- You said it's the nerves. So what if I just gave it the full bloody sun clea--" He looked down at his legs and got to his feet.

The doctor held out a hand to stop him. "Well, with what little we've been able to ascertain about your powers that COULD possibly clear your nervous system from this issue, but--" The doctor gave an uncertain wince. Banjo didn't care for the familiarity in his bedside manner.

"But--?"

"Well, it COULD clear your nervous system of the issue, but if it failed at that... the way your powers work, it could also possibly fall short. Not fix the problem, and then your body treats its current state as the new normal. Making the damage more... long term." Banjo scrutinized the doctor deeply. "Possibly permanent."

"So wait-- You're saying, I'm not just going to be expected to rehab and exercise the leg, but you're telling me to lay off my powers altogether until the rehab's done?

"Well, that depends. When you use your powers are you able to isolate them to different body parts, prevent your legs from being used and affected?"

He screwfaced at the question. "Well, I mean, a bit, yeah. I can't just turn it off for one leg though."

"We wouldn't want you to anyway. Your body would be assymetrically developed and more prone to other injury." The doctor turned and started writing on a pad.

"What are you writin' now?"

"Oh, umm... since you won't be able to balance your nutrition with your powers as you normally do, we're going to actually have to put you on a strict diet as well. Anything else we should need to know, where you lean on your powers for?"

"You're saying I shouldn't be smokin' anymore."

The doctor laughed. "Well, as a doctor, I'm NEVER going to tell you that you should be smoking, but for the next three months, don't even think about it."

"Now, I've got a script here for a steroid, but it'll likely take a while for it to make it's way here. We have a hyperhuman here who can create chemical compounds, but he goes off the island in the holidays, just got back and he's working on backlogs. The steroid's not urgent to your rehabilitation anyway, but when it's done we'll call you in. I'm leaving you some literature, follow it, to the letter."

"How about alternative medicine?" Banjo asked dourly, as he read 'Limit blood sugar' and immediately translated it in his own mind to 'Avoid Flavour'.

"What did you have in mind?"

"A bullet? Right between the eyes?"

"Ha! It's not that bad. At most three months." The doctor got to his feet in a not-too-subtle-suggestion that Banjo should get the fuck out of his office.

"You can be a good boy for three months, can't you?"

The last thing Banjo got out before the door closed behind him.

"I really wish you phrased that a different bloody way..."

- - -

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Various P.R.C.U Campus Locations}

Welcome Home #3.012: Cheap Wine and a Three Day Growth

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Myriad NPCs}

Previously: Black The Sun

Banjo's room cracked open. Zimmerman and Big Steve turned to the door with a half gasp, before realising they'd stopped what they were doing and going back to continuing with their early morning preparation.

Banjo stepped out with a subtle limp in a full Strigidae uniform, nodding at the pair and opening the refrigerator, before closing it again, realising he couldn't eat anything in there.

"Coffee?"

"Fun fact: Coffee is a stimulant which can inhibit nerve signals and worsen peripheral neuropathy." A fake broad smile dropping into a dour grimace.

"So that's a... 'No'..?"

"That's a 'No'. But cheers, I would've loved one. So... points for askin' I guess."

Mornings had been difficult of late. The leg was less of an issue by this point for his getting out of bed, than the lack of caffeine had been for keeping him out of it. Similarly, the occasional shooting pains were far less of an intrusion on his life, than the way it affected his diet and lifestyle.

If the joker in the Mess Hall tried to tell him one more time that 'tuna is brain food', he was gonna take old mate's boat out to sea himself, come back and club him with a yellowfin.

Alex had been incredibly excited to grill him after it happened. Mainly because the rest of the student body had been led away and he'd heard the 'Force' were on the scene at the eventual rescue of his team from the Trial. A fact Banjo neither was aware of, nor gave a shit about, and had nothing to tell them about what they were like.

Mornings with him had been like walking on eggshells.

"Oh! They pulled the uniform! You know you... don't have to... wear that anymore, right..?"

Halfway through the question, Alex saw Big Steve shaking his head and making a 'Cut it' gesture with his hand by his neck, but it was too late.

Banjo walked up uncomfortably closely to him. "Zimmerman... I appreciate that you think you're givin' me helpful information. But right now. My life sucks. Fuckin' with these people is pretty much all I have right now. That and my girl. So don't suggest takin' fuckin' with these people away from me again. Cheers, mate."

He turned and walked out the door.

"Yeah, he... he already knew about the uniforms."

---

Banjo limped around the A.R.C to get to the farm from the backway. Within its heavy structure resided the equipment to create another scenario similar to what they'd all endured, and if it had been used in the few days since, he suspected it was just for a full diagnostics testing run to ensure that the issues within the temporary augmented reality facility they constructed on the plateau hadn't found their way here.

Waiting in their usual spot were the four freshmen in plain clothes. Their houses would have been a mystery if they hadn't chosen to wear corresponding coloured handkerchiefs around their arms, with team armbands on the opposite side.

It hadn't been a schoolwide trend, but he supposed for the first years it probably helped make things clearer, maybe even a conversation starter.

They clammed up as he started to approach with a conspicuous silence, which bothered Banjo more than their usual nattering.

"Alright, what is it?"

The mousey brunette spoke up for the group, after the rest held tight-lipped silence.

"Umm... is your name Banjo?" She asked. He suddenly felt eight eyes glued on him awaiting an answer to confirm things they'd heard. He'd been waiting for this moment. And not with excitement.

The name listed for the supervising person on duty for the farm, in charge of monitoring their Community Contributions was 'Andrew Olyphant', something he was in no hurry to dispel these few freshmen from believing - contrary to his usual behaviour. Because he suspected his treatment would have them complaining or asking about him to older kids, and that name was almost an afterthought for how long-timers thought of him after his five years here.

He stuffed his tongue in his cheek as he considered how to answer it, whether he should lie, and how long he'd get away with it undiscovered of he did.

Finding the juice to not be worth the squeeze he thought better of it.

"Yeah, why?"

The four conferred excitedly in front of him, as if he wasn't standing right there. He sighed loudly. This was going to be a distraction. They were going to do that stupid thing where they stare at him, like he can't realise they're staring at him. Or the worse thing, where they'll whisper to each other right in front of him.

"Alright, there's four of you. One question each. Then we either get to work or you piss off to class, I don--"

"You don't need any of us."

"You're damn right. Lonely Hearts? Wanna kick us off? Or is Next-to-blondie feelin' bold today?"

"Did you punch Hyperion in the face?"

"What? That rumour's like five years old. Lemme guess, it was some pig-faced lookin' senior over in Lutra who told you that one? No. I've never punched Hyperion in the face."

"Her name's Bethany."

"I didn't say a name. Or give a gender. But all of you note that Lonely Hearts immediatiely knew who I was referring to from that description. Who's next?"

"Did Hyperion's ghost stab you in the leg in the Trials the other day?!" 'Hugh' more exploded, than asked.

"That's an even dumber question than Lonely Hearts'... and another Yes or No question to boot. You're not very good at this, are ya?" He said to the group with a laugh.

"So which is it?" He re-directed back to the question.

"Did I get stabbed in the leg by Hyperion's ghost a few days ago..? No." He shook his head in a state of disbelief.

"Is there really a place here where kids can get drunk, and where is it?" Blondie asked.

A wry smirk crossed his face, part in relief that it wasn't just all descending into bullshit they'd heard people say about him.

"Yes. Better question too. See, stick with Blondie, she'll do right by ya. You know that building you were livin' in until they figured out what House to shove ya in? It's in around there. Sound-proofed too. It'd bloody wanna be. Bloody Ryan's caterwaulin' once she gets a skinfull..." He exhaled deeply. Lonely Hearts went tight lipped as if he'd been told some kind of secret, and Next-to-Blondie snickered at the way he was discussing one of the Reps.

"Well, what exactly happened in the Trials? We got told that it was something to do with Hyperion and you and some janitor who worked here." Next-to-Blondie finally asked her question. A re-worked open question that looked into rumours they'd heard which apparently started this whole thing.

"As far as I know..? Someone dicked around with the inner-workings of the thing. Pulled the safeties. Played into the fears of a lot of good people. And also me. But Hyperion? I dunno. When I was younger, and I suspect you lot heard this much, he came on down here with his goon squad about the same time of year, and I told him in no uncertain terms to kindly go fuck himself - with or without the kindness. His response was to tell me he was comin' back for me, and hurl my sorry arse into a hospital bed for a good while. He wasn't a subtle sort, and neither were his followers, best I could tell. I mean, he'd plan. But when he'd make a move the message was big. Big show of force. The way I figure, if they were makin' that kind of move they'd have come at me hard. If it were them trying to make an example of us, I'd have figured they'd have made it their business to get in my face about it."

He looked at the group and they seemed disquietened. It hadn't occurred to him before that the school's line kept things 'neat'. There was a bad guy. The bad guy died. He ad some followers. They were caught and apprehended and the main one blew himself up. Neat bow. Questions and doubts as to whether they were actually the ones behind it all in the first place, muddied up a lot of waters. And left a lot of scared people unsure of how to feel or act. He'd never really considered things like that before. Questions were just questions. The means to find answers. When he was young he never really gave a shit about those questions scaring peole like him and his own age. But now he was five years older, and the people being scared seemed more--

"Or maybe I'm just an idiot and concussed... being on the inside wasn't exactly the best place to see what was goin' on anyway."

--seemed a lot more vulnerable.

"Gotta get stuff fed and milked anyway. So if you're stayin' you're workin', if you're goin' you're goin'. Only have half as many legs worth a damn at the moment, so I gotta make a move."

The four split into their pairs and fed the chickens and milked the cows in relative silence.

---

Lillian Morse shuffled through her files and paperwork as she planned out her day's sessions. Earlier it had been intended that her nephew Rory Tyler would assist her with this in the mornings, but he'd apparantly been given additional undisclosed duties and had been quite rattled by the events surrounding the Homecoming Trials.

Coincedentally, the first student she'd be seeing today was one he happened to be familiar with.

Probably far more familiar with than she was at this point, despite the fact that this would be his third session.

Lillian was the fifth therapist he'd been moved to at this point, and so far he had said no more than sixty words in a session.

No less than that either.

So far, the two sessions prior had mimicked what notes relating to his last few therapists stated they had taken.

He'd sit in the chair. Uncharacteristically say nothing, even when queried, and every five minutes, just as the second hand swept passed the twelve he'd utter "So are we done now?" whether or not she was talking.

The last session she removed the clocks from the room. He counted the seconds in his head and still did the same.

They'd told him he wouldn't be allowed off the island because of the lack of progress in therapy. He didn't display any visible signs of caring.

Jim had transferred him to Lillian's patientload under the logic that being Rory's aunt and guardian might lead to him seeing her more as a person, and less as an 'other', therapist or faculty.

It wasn't the worst idea, the notes in his file over the years showed an intense distrust for faculty, therapists, reps and basically anyone who would enter the teaching profession.

But it wouldn't be enough. She'd have to find another angle if she was going to make any inroads at all of getting him to be in any way receptive to therapy. He was quite possibly the most stubborn case she'd ever encountered.

Every aspect had complexities to consider, and balance. Even things that would usually be not only straightforward, but mundane. Right down to his name. Should she refer to him as 'Banjo' as he has made it abundantly clear he prefers, or is this ceding too much to him? Also, to call him 'Andrew' could be seen as a breach of trust due to the connection of that name to his past from a former therapist. She'd been open and transparent about not only her own powers, but also the limitations of those powers.

That being, that she was a telepath - an issue for him, because of a previous therapist - but also her limitations, that she could only utilise it through touch. Which seemed to prevent it from becoming a larger issue. He still wasn't receptive, but he didn't seem openly hostile or defensive as the revelation of her telepathy brought out in his expression at first.

It was transparency necessary to bridge trust. But whatever trust that had bought, was so far yet to pay off. Still sixty words a session. Every session. She'd have to try something new, or he'd be transferred again, not that the next person would likely fare any better. They were starting to run out of qualified therapists on staff. More troubling still, he was smart enough to know it, and probably more than a little curious about what they'd do once he'd been through them all with no results. Another thing to work against.

Last session she said that if he wasn't willing to talk about what he'd experienced in the Trial setting, that she would have to view what he'd endured. It had been difficult, and only moreso because it also made her wish she could also be made privvy to what Rory endured as well, but he was not a patient, and there was a conflict of interests there which prevented that from being possible.

She'd also told him that if he wasn't willing to open up and talk in session, she'd have to ask more questions ABOUT him OUTSIDE of this setting.

She'd laid the foundations, made it clear and kept things as transparent as possible, he seemed completely unperturbed by this at the time, but she had made some basic inquiries.

He had a girlfriend, long-term, named Calliope De Leon who was also on his team and been in the same tragic incident. His behavioural records seemed supported by peer comments, if anything they were perhaps underdone in the records. And he divided opinion, although most were overwhelmingly negative in their opinions of him based on interaction.

A few people closest to him suggested his mood had seemed a little darker of late.

The question was now how to use this information.

He walked in the room, closing the door behind him and sat down in the chair.

She noted he was dressed in full Strigidae uniform, despite the dress code having been lifted.

Probably in spite of it.

He looked over the door. The clock was still gone. He chuckled to himself.

She was pretty sure he'd started counting.

So what now?

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Calliope strode forward, looking for any indication the others were nearby. If she got through her room, surely Banjo and Gil did too. Though if it was anything like hers, the torment and trauma was nothing to sneer at.

Her footsteps echoed along the walls until she heard a voice and....was that a click of a gun?

It happened in a blur. The fear, the panic, the confusion. She knew it had to be an illusion. Another figment courtesy of whoever locked them in here. That didn't make it any less real. Or less painful as a moment of relief was soon shattered like glass as the gun went off.

---

Calliope felt pain, unlike anything she had experienced before. The sides of her vision darkened as she looked around. She did everything in her power not to look at her leg, knowing if she did it would unnerve her more. Butler's words still danced around in her mind. Again, the simulations knew what to say to dig into her fears and worries.

"G'day love. Seems you found yourself in a pickle."

The voice came from beyond her scope but she recognized the accent. She wanted to cry out, both from fear and hope. He had found her like she knew he would. She heard his footfalls get closer and closer until she could see the shadow form. She looked and saw....well...it was Banjo all right.

But not her's.

The Banjo she knew was not this put-together. She often joked how he would roll out of bed and just tackle the day, but it was true more often than not. She had to be the one to beg him to wear actual decent clothes when going out. This Banjo was well-dressed in a dark blazer and colored button-down shirt that accentuated his frame. Tailored slacks fell upon loafers that Banjo would never be caught dead in.

Much like how Frigid and the other Katja came into the scene before, this had to be Banjo's twin.

"Got you good in here, didn't they? Say the word, love, and I'll whisk you away from here."

"B-Banjo?" she asked through labored breath.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Always hated that nickname. It's Andrew, love. You can admit it, you hate the name too."

Calliope tried to move to see better but she felt her arm buckle a bit, knowing if she tried further she would just hurt herself more. Banjo, or Andrew supposedly, stepped around, kneeling down to face her. "I don't know what you see in us, darling. You have to know the messed up stuff we went through. Your's is a cakewalk compared to ours. Let's call it what it is: princess slummin' it to stick it to daddy. Am I right?" His question was punctuated with a grin.

Calli clenched her fist. Andrew seemed to pick up on it. "Hit a nerve, did I? You're too good for him and you both know it. There's no effort there. If I had you to myself I would scream it to the world. When is it Calli's time to get her flowers?"

Calli took some deep breaths, feeling angry and scared in equal measure. "I..don't need...to be in..the spotlight...content...with where I am.."

Andrew tsk'd her. "We both know that's not true. Sure, you tell everyone within radius you're fine when we all know you need that pedestal. How else are you going to be saved if no one can even reach you?"

Calliope closed her eyes, willing Andrew to go away. She needed to think, to figure out how to save herself before she bled out.

"One day you will realize the toxic nature you both perpetuate being in proximity of each other. I only wish you figure it out before the damage is permanent. See you around, love." With a flick of his hand he turned and walked back down the corridor. Calli wanted to call out. Even he wouldn't just leave her here.

She reached out into the inky blackness that remained. Someone had to find her. To...help her.

Someone. Anyone.

---

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Southern Plateau, Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean - Present}

Welcome Home #2.052: Black The Sun

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Calliope - @PatientBean}

Previously: Horror Movie

Breathe.

"Dead... She's dead..."

Shut up. Sack up. Breathe.

Banjo stopped stammering and shaking and concentrated on breathing.

Breathe first. Then think. Then move.

He straightened up in the duct, and got his bearings. Looking behind him was a walled up section, which made it an easy decision as to what way to go.

This place is all augmented reality. Maybe she's not even dead. Maybe it's bullshit. But everyone IS in trouble. So you've got to move. But everything in order. Breathe. Think. Move.

After a few more deep breaths he started to crawl onwards through the ducting. It bent hard to the right up ahead and he paced himself, nervous of the sound he made as he progressed, and unsure how vulnerable that noise made him.

Rounding the corner he came to a section of ducting that was filled with small pinholes of light on all sides, and the far end of the ducting showed light at the end of the tunnel.

Buoyed with optimism for a possible way out he crawled faster, until a voice echoed in his ears.

"G'day."

"All good, champ. I've got it figured from here."

"Not why I'm here..." The disembodied voice of Mamili's uncle called back. Darker in tone this time. Banjo sensed the shift. "And did you just 'champ' me..?" The dark voice ominously asked.

"Aww Hell..." Banjo muttered, realising his error from the breached social taboo from back home.

Suddenly the pin prick lights started to swirl and change shape, colours and forms burst from the black walls like the canvas of the night's sky.

"Want another tale, white boy? More of our culture to misapprorpriate? Wasn't enough your ancestors slaughtered and enslaved us in bunches... stole our children..."

"God damn it! I called this! The real one's thousands of miles away! And this isn't even close to what he was like!" Banjo tried to grab hold of the sides of the duct to steady himself as the lightshow swirled and disorientated him.

"In the beginning there was the Rainbow Serpent..." Swirls of lights combined to form a multi-coloured snake, which coiled and sprang at Banjo through the darkness. He ducked beneath the snake with a clatter as he sprawled onto the floor of the metal tube. His breathing and his heart rate spiked.

He glanced behind him and could see the snake wasn't done with him. Somehow, despite being born from the lights that surrounded him it had gained physical form, and an ability to exist beyond just that flat plane.

It reared up and hissed aggressively, rainbow coloured coils of pinks, oranges, greens and yellows finding purchase upon themselves.

"Shit... Again." He slid to the right as it struck out with another lunge again. Once more only finding air before landing with another thump on the metal. But how long would that be the case while his movements were limited in this enclosed tube?

"A supposed snake out of myth and legend... what're the odds whoever's runnin' this picked a venomous one to play your part?"

The snake hissed, and turned back on itself again.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Don't suppose you'd like to go find y'rself some kind of rat or other vermin in around these ducts, eh?"

It once again arched itself up on it's coils and held a menacing demeanour, ready to strike.

"I take it ya mean you like the look of the vermin ya picked already, eh? Well... shit."

It lunged again, and once more, Banjo flattened himself against the floor of the duct and let it pass by overhead.

"Can't keep doin' this. Sooner or later I'm gonna pick wrong."

Banjo turned to face the snake, as it re-positioned itself for another attack. Squaring up and staring straight at his serpantine aggressor.

"You would FIGHT the Rainbow Serpent?! The Creator?!" The voice of Uncle Motlop screamed. It was a barely human distortion of his voice, which made Banjo almost sick to hear.

But it hadn't played it's last card. Lights swirled. The snake coiled. Uncle unleashed a blinding flash. Strike!

Banjo snatched at the snake with his left, grabbing it just behind the head, mere centimetres from his face.

It wrapped it's coils around his wrist and writhed to free itself, unable to get leverage on it's head to sink its fangs anywhere.

"Heh. Heh-heh-heh. How'd ya like that? Gotcha."

Slowly at first, the snake started to expand. More coils wrapped up his arm, as the snake then grew in width. It grew bloated and wide, and the duct seemed to shrink even more than Banjo already felt it had. He had to clutch the snake with both hands. Then wrap himself around it's back, behind its head to keep it from striking at him.

"Aw f'r fucks sake..." He was now stuck riding the thing, as it's coils slammed themselves and him into the sides of the duct, trying desperately to pry him off. Unless he could think of a way to--

Oh.

Banjo breathed, then let his breathing halt, as his body turned black and he felt the familiar rush, he soaked in the light Uncle had filled the duct with to try and blind him. His body turned cold, and frost began to cross the snake's face, as it listed far slower in its movements. It began to enter a hibernation state. Shrinking back to its previous size again. As it fell limp, Banjo threw it down the duct with a black arm. It landed with a thud and didn't make any moves at all, until the colours faded, and its light was once again taken and repurposed for this place.

"Lawlessness. You would kill the order bestowed by the Rainbow Serpent?"

"Piss off." Banjo grumbled. He was tired of this. Watching people he knew twisted and perverted for use, if they weren't being killed horribly in front of him as some sort of a message. He tried to power down.

"But then that was alway going to be your role. Destroyer. Devourer. ...Tiddalik."

"Tiddalik..? Are you takin the piss--?" Suddenly 'Uncle' shifted the lights, the whole duct went bright and pulsated with light so strongly he could feel it in his throat and in his ears. He kept feeding. For some reason he found himself unable to stop.

"You know your place in this world..."

His surroundings went black and he was taken to a place. A city. A dour dystopia of huddled masses in thick clothes struggling for their last moments of survival. Those poor people who were still alive tried to flee. Banjo was feeding. More. Above a building, from a dying world's skyline he could see what remained of the sun - the darkened embers of it's core struggling to hold flame in the face of entropy.

"Heh. Ha ha..." Banjo slowly chuckled.

"So this--" He swirled his finger around, gesturing at everything. "Let me get this straight. This is what you've got on me? Hahahaha..."

"I was brought here to teach me how to get a hold of my powers. And THIS was never a concern. Not a real one. The fear of a dumb kid who didn't know better, maybe. But not really. I just didn't use 'em because I was scared of it. Heh-heh."

Actually seeing his fear from so long ago actually play out in front of him made him realise how absurd it actually was. How foolish. Made even worse by the fact that it was still a nagging little fear toying with the back of his mind on occasion - as evidenced by the fact that it had been brought to the fore here.

"I was a dumb, naive kid who was smart enough to be an idiot. I learned about the nature of entropy and the heat death of the universe and thought it could be theoretically possible I could play a part in it. But two things; first, I couldn't do this by myself, and second, it wouldn't happen like this if I could. This is all you have though, isn't it? You're working off of fears and insecurities. Doesn't matter if they don't make any sense. Just like my stupid nightmares. And I'll tell you right now, it's havin' the same effect. You're just pissin' me off."

"And you're blendin' stuff, to the point where it no longer makes sense. I get the vents... playin' up to my claustrophobia. Smart. But the Rainbow Serpent... it's a creator myth. It's movements create rivers and terraform the earth. It's not fittin' in a bloody air conditionin' duct."

"And Tiddalik wasn't a kookaburra, like the old bloke you're playin' long tried to beat into my head. He was a big arsed frog. Heh-heh-heh."

Banjo gave a wry smirk.

"And when he laughed, everythin' went back to normal. BA HAHA HA HA HA!" Banjo erupted into obnoxious laughter, hoping to break through its own programming. He kept cackling with laughter until...

He found himself powered down and back in the duct.

"Ho-lee shit. That actually worked." He started crawling again.

Just goes to show... It's all about mind over mind over hard-light not-really-matter. It plays to your fears, but if you keep your wits about you, a clear mind, its not really that hard or unsaf--

The airconditioning duct crashed twelve feet to the floor below in an open hallway. Banjo groaned and rolled out of the broken metal, onto his back.

"Uggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

Thoroughly battered and bruised, like he'd been left in a clothes dryer. Every part of him ached. Slammed and smushed against the sides of the duct with the snake, mentally drained from watching the rest of his team in turmoil or taken by death, and now dropped from a great height with no hope of a soft landing.

His body ached everywhere.

Through hazy eyes, he can barely see two legs and a slim lower half running towards him out of focus. The figure runs up to him and kneels down next to him. "Banjo? Oh my God, are you Okay? What the Hell happened? Please say something."

"Hun? Shit... Hey. You made it through. We both... made it through. You in better shape than me, by the looks..."

She shakes her head. "They really messed me up, Banjo. Made me see things, question things. What are we even doing? There's no point continuing this lie we keep pushing forward. Everyone on the team thinks it. Fuck knows I've had my doubts for a while now."

"Lie..?" The word, the question, caught in his throat, as he struggled to turn over to face her better, through no small amount of pain.

"We are two different people, Banjo. We come from messed up backgrounds. There's no future in that. I was quick to be with you to stick it to my father and I fell into the belief we could make it work. What kind of relationship could there be?"

"Oh. That." He accepted it without question. He'd been waiting for that coin to drop for five years.

But now..? We're going to do this now? I'm in bloody pain here...

"But nothing's changed there. That was the same case before. And you even took time to reconsider things when you realised that the first time."

"Yeah, and do you know how long that's been weighing on my mind? The looks people give me? Everyone knows our relationship started on a lie. I rushed into it. No..."

She pauses a moment.

"You pushed me into it. It was bad enough I felt so guilty, but you made me feel worse. The clinginess. The secrecy. Hell, I didn't even know where you came from for a long time and even then, even now, you secrets from me. Tell me honestly, can we recover from that? Should we recover from that?"

"I can't imagine how people look at ya. Because I've never really given a pinch of shit how anyone's looked at me. So I guess I'm sorry for that. But secrecy? I didn't know where I came from... and as soon as I found out, I told you. And ONLY you. Nobody else 'round here knows any of that. The main stuff I don't tell you is stuff I don't know, so what else is there to-- oh."

He grunted, shuffling slowly to get his free arm to the inside of the AR suit, through the leg of the pants.

"Hold on. Nothin' suss..."

He pulled out the crinkled pack of Winfield Blues and his zippo.

"I smoke. Is that what ya talkin' about? Because that's about the only thing I can think of that I haven't told ya. It gives me somethin' to do with my hands. Helps me think. And my hype power cleans it right out of me. Thought it was pretty victimless. You want me to kick it I could. Anytime. Juicin' cleans the nicotine right off my synapses. But that's about the only thing I can think of..."

"God Banjo, how stupid can you be? It's not about some fucking cigarettes. You expect me to believe there's a world you know nothing about and, what, I'm supposed to just accept that? You know everything about me but you hold so much unknown. For all I know, you were a serial killer child who messed up animals. I care about appearances, Banjo. That should have been obvious Day 1. Look at you, and look at me. We come from two different worlds. This isn't a Disney movie, we don't deserve happily ever afters. You certainly don't."

"Well... for one, if I were some child psychopath, then there'd probably be some signs of that in the time since where I have had my memories. But yeah, everything about me that I know... you know. Can't argue with what I deserve, but. So I won't. Is that what this is? Appearances? Reckon you'd be happier with someone else?" He asked, laying out breadcrumbs.

He shook the crinkled box until the end of a single smoke popped clear, and put it to his lips.

"Of course! You know the way Gil looks at me. You don't think I see your jealousy whenever he so much as greets me? He would be ideal. Someone my father would actually appreciate. You're not exactly ' Family Dinner' material."

He lit up, and rocked his head back. Confirming something to himself.

"Hell, can't argue that, neither."

He took a long draw.

"Though I will say... I don't much care for the fact that Gil ties into my fears and insecurities in any bloody way at all."

He blew out smoke.

"...or maybe the fear is that you might see it as that way."

Calliope looked at Banjo in shock before she let her face fall. Shaking her head. "Guess I laid it on too thick, huh?"

"Hey, I was just givin' you enough rope to hang yourself by pivoting from the pair of us not deserving happiness, to contradictin' yourself that there'd be someone else. You're the one who went full blown Daddy's Girl. Nup. Not my gal. No way, no how."

Calliope, no... Frigid let the facade drop as she stood up, blue highlights now appearing as she turned to him, a sneer on her face. She lifted her leg and stomped down on Banjo's knee. "Good, then I can do what I actually want to you. I can even make it hut more by telling you what's actually happening to your precious Calli."

"Nggg!" He grunted in pain. "Juicy bloody chrysanthemums" He exclaimed, clutching at his knee.

"I know... that my first source for news... Is one that will lie to me from the moment it bloody sees me, just to hurt me. So yeah, sure. Have at it."

He rolled to one side and kneeled shakily on his good leg, sizing her up.

"You really take the bloody fun out of bein' right, and solvin' puzzles. You know that?"

Frigid kicked him in the side now. "Lying to you would be easy. It would defeat the purpose of seeing you suffer in here. After all, we know what your fears are."

"So let me lay it out for you. Right now your girl faced one of her biggest fears. I could lie and say she is suffering eternally, but you wouldn't believe me. So no, she got through her room. Scratched, bloodied, beaten up, but she's alive. Though....gosh...not for much longer."

"You see, she tried to find you, bless her. But someone found her first and really laid into her. She didn't see it coming. Let's just say she doesn't have a leg to stand on. And the longer you take sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself, the longer she bleeds. Last time I checked, humans carried only so much blood before," Frigid made a cutting motion across her neck.

"I have an idea!" Frigid quickly formed an ice sword and drove it into Banjo's left leg, plunging it deep. "Look, twinsies!"

Banjo's howl echoed through this desolate place.

"Well, this was fun, but I have to go. Let's see if you can find her in time. Killing you would be easy, but watching you slowly die inside as your girlfriend slowly perishes is all the fun I need. Good luck!" As if to rub salt in his wounds even further, she slowly walked away into the shadows, leaving him to clutch his leg and bleed.

"Nggg... Shit." He rolled himself onto his back and scooched over to a wall.

The ice sword was in deep enough that it held its own weight. Drawing a furrowed brow from Banjo who contemplated removing it, or whether it would be better to leave it in.

"That one's probably best served stayin' put. If the doctor's tell me to stay off it and ice it... well... sorted."

He gradually stood up, leaning back against the wall to keep his weight off the other leg.

With one arm against the wall, he started hobbling down the hallway.

You know she was probably lying to you, right? He thought to himself.

"Doesn't matter."

He hobbled on. "What's the down side... Ya find out she's fine sooner? I can live with that."

Calliope had moved somewhat from her original spot, a blood trail following her. She needed to get out or find someone who wasn't some created fixture in this simulation. God, it hurt. She could only imagine what the others were going through. Would she be the only one severely injured? She doubted it.

As she neared she heard something or someone. God she hoped it was someone. "H-hello? I need help..." she attempted to yell, but it came out softly.

Banjo hobbled onwards. Considering whether it would be better to call out in this place, where his fears might target him again in a weakened state, and whether anyone however close would actually hear him.

He realised he didn't care.

^{_{"CALL-EEEEE!"}}

^{_{"CALLLLL-EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"}}

His voice started to rasp, from shouting so loud.

Calli heard his voice and nearly broke down again. Surely this wasn't the other Andrew messing with her, but she couldn't be sure. The voice sounded like it was in pain. She had to risk it. She kept crawling despite the pain shooting through her nerves.

The sounds grew closer until a shadow formed in front of her. She stopped crawling and looked up, focusing her gaze. The figure materialized and she knew.

"Banjo...thank christ.." Tears began welling up in her eyes.

"We. Have... Seen better days. But you're still a sight for sore eyes. Sore eyes, sore everythin'." He hobbled over and held her.

"I reckon its about time we weren't here."

"So whaddaya say, you lean on me, I'll lean on you, and we keep goin' til we get gone?"

Calli nodded her agreement, reaching for him. "Going to need...more support probably. On account of the fact, I don't have a leg. And The Butler did it..." her attempt at humor. He brought out the best in her.

He laughed. Broadly. Then felt slightly ashamed at how loudly he'd done so and the timing of it all. Until he saw the smile it brought to her face.