EVENT ∞ LOG — July 125

[thediadem]

Event ∞ Log

In the Flesh

Jump ⇅ :: Visits — First Contact — Hitchhikers — Notes

∞ Prologue ∞

It's not real, it's not real.

Somewhere in the Blocks, late at night, a young woman repeats the words over and over, fumbling with her room key. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder again, begging her hand to obey. Her fingers are stiff and smooth, and it makes each movement more difficult. Eventually, the door gives way. She stumbles into the apartment, slamming it behind her and locking several bolts.

Leaning back on the door, she lets her key ring fall to the linoleum as she holds her hand up to her face. It isn't just her fingers now. Painted plastic has taken over her entire right hand, spreading up her forearm toward a ball-jointed elbow that creaks painfully. She grabs her neck with her flesh hand, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to steady her heart.

It's not real, it's not real...

She takes another breath, then turns on the light. The bulb flickers. Hazy light flood the room with an incessant buzz.

She freezes.

A figure stands in the opposite doorway. It doesn't move, stuck in a pose with an outstretched hand—one made of flesh and bone. Her hand.

She screams.

Info & Mechanics — NPC Forum Post — Event Interaction ::: ⇅ Top

Strange Visits

Panorama

For the first week or two of July, life goes on as usual. You have a lot on your plate—jobs, loans, rent, that creep who won't stop staring at you when you're filling up your car—and the last thing you've got time for is other people's problems. Or maybe you find room to listen, anyway? Whatever the case, it's mostly a lot of stories and pointing fingers: a shopkeeper accuses his friend of stealing from him, somebody claims their boss must've skipped town to avoid paying the employees, and a woman is frantic about her missing husband. He never goes anywhere without telling her.

If you decide to look into it, none of the incidents seem connected. After all, people frequently go missing in the Diadem, friends betray each other, and businesses often go bankrupt, leaving their workers to pick up the pieces. Funny thing, though: here and there, you swear you glimpse a figure who isn't entirely flesh. Their features are just...a bit odd. Is it your imagination? When you move in for a closer look, something gets in your way and the figure disappears.

On the other hand, you think to yourself, it's not as though everybody on this planet looks standard. If a man can have horns, why can't his skin also be a bit plasticky?

Use the Event Interaction comment any time you need specifics or some direction for an element you're engaging within the event. This can be an NPC victim your character is questioning, an aspect of the diffusion zone your character is testing, or anything along those veins. While you're encouraged to make things up on your own, too, if you're ever unsure of the results or the answers you might get, approach us there!

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First Contact

The Fringes

Inevitably, you take the risk and head back into the Fringes. It has what you need, and the bizarreness in Panorama isn't making the city feel like much of a refuge, either. Besides, long trips aren't unusual for anyone in the Diadem. As you drive, you might even find yourself reluctant to return to the city. After all, there's so much across the multitude of diffusion zones that regardless of how dangerous it can be, perhaps some part of you is attracted to the thrill of the unknown.

If the promise of loot isn't enough, a note on the Forum might be. Here, you'll scroll across a brief message from who else but the ever-eager Felix Bjurstrom, joined by his daughter, Olive "Ollie" Bjurstrom. (Looks like he's got a new phone again!) If nothing else, the investigative or curious nature in you gets you going. What if this is a piece of the puzzle you need to go home?

If you want your character to scavenge items, check how that works. The Map identifies where each Quadrant is located.

Among the Shadows — Abandoned Mall

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 10-hour drive from Panorama, a standard American shopping mall rises through the cracked and broken highway. A portion of its vast parking lot melts into the road ahead and behind. There are cars in the parking lot, each one perfectly preserved: no rust, no dust, nothing.

The mall's lights are on. The moment you step inside, you'll notice that you're not alone. Inside, shadow corpses are everywhere, frozen in time. Their bodies show no signs of distress. If you try to touch them, a dark, ashy residue coats your fingers. You see a young couple linking arms, a mother bending over to pick up her child, and a man ordering his last meal at the KFC. It's as though they all just...stopped. While eerie, whatever force swept through here is long gone.

The upside is that nobody will bother you while you look around—aside from other fluxdrifts, of course. The shops and their offerings are stuck in the 90's. Big electronics are cosmic touched, rendering them worthless, but smaller electronics like cassette tapes, CDs, and Walkmans are all viable. You can also grab clothes, snacks, and (cheap) jewelry.

And, as you pass by the store windows, you see many mannequins on display. That's normal, so you don't think twice. At least, until you swear one of them keeps moving around the store. Though its pose never changes, it almost appears to...follow you? That can't be right. You must be seeing things.

Zone Effects
Touching any of the frozen shadows will cause the victim to believe that their companion(s) have transformed into monstrous creatures. Attempts to approach you will only register as an attack rather than placating gestures, while words will sound like snarls or spoken threats. An induced panic will make it more difficult to think logically and see through the hallucination. The illusory creatures can take the form of anything that might frighten or threaten you the most.

You can break free of the illusion through a variety of methods, including your own willpower, being knocked out by your friends, or seeing/hearing something that makes you realize it isn't real. The hallucination isn't overly intense, but it can cause a bit of havoc among you and your companions...and increase the likelihood a mannequin might make contact unnoticed.

Wall of Refuge — Strange Temple

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 6-hour drive from Panorama—and on the way to the abandoned mall above—stands a geometric structure made of metal and stone. Sharp angles shoot up from the ground to form a distorted hexagon. The gateway is littered with sigils: some weathered by time, others freshly carved into the rocky surface. They glow when you drive forward, beckoning you closer. Come in, whispers an unknown compulsion in your mind. You are home.

You may succumb to the whispers for any number of reasons: sleep deprivation, desperation for a place to rest overnight, or a need to hide from raiders or dangerous creatures lurking in another nearby zone. Regardless, you give in and enter the triangular entrance. The stone gate lifts to grant you passage, revealing an effigy of a multi-limbed being. A deity? A symbol of power? Though you're unsure, you continue deeper. Your footsteps echo across the cavernous halls.

Behind you, the heavy gate slowly closes with a rumbling finality. Despite the chilly entranceway, the interior of the temple is warm and inviting. Candles line the walls. Fountains flow peacefully. You can enter one of the many rooms to find a soft bed, fresh cakes, succulent meat, and fine wine available for you. Behind a silk curtain is a steaming bath lined with soothing floral herbs and oils.

Meanwhile, throughout your explorations, you might sense a figure or a shadow in the passageway. A glimpse of shiny plastic appears oddly out of place in a temple of this kind.

Zone Effects

• If you are a believer and decide to trust the gifts bestowed upon you, then you may safely indulge. The wine will warm you up, the food will fill your belly, and you can sleep through the night. When you awaken, you can safely leave the temple refreshed. Your vehicle will be outside, untouched, as if some power within was protecting your belongings.
• If you are a heretic and doubt the offerings you've been graciously given, the gifts will begin to rot and all amenities will crumble to dust. The more your cynicism betrays you, the more the temple will take until nothing remains except the oddly textured walls bearing down on you. As you examine the surface, you realize the stone is built from a manifold of dozens—no, hundreds—of twisted bodies. Their arms are raised in reverence, piled upon each other like human bricks. Their gaping mouths are frozen in a silent scream. As for you and your companions...what fate will await the nonbeliever?

The Last Stop — Foggy Town

©

In Quadrant 4, about a 3-hour drive from Panorama, east of the currently unused train tracks, a thick mist rolls through the highway. Here, the sky darkens rapidly into night and the temperature drops. If you've traveled unprepared, presuming the heat in Panorama spreads into the Fringes, you'll find that's not so. A chill spreads into your bones and creeps up the back of your neck.

Then the ground rumbles. The tremors shake your vehicle. Maybe it even makes you lose control briefly or sends you swerving off-road, straight into the fields. And in the middle of the fog, you see it: a figure standing in the middle of the field. Behind it are a few houses, making up a tiny rural town. The houses are dilapidated, many crumbling. Supplies within are minimal, and many items are broken or spoiled.

Do you approach? Do you drive past? Merely staring for a second too long will be enough for the hitchhiker to choose you as its ride, but its appearance may not be all that keeps you in place. In the distance is another bigger shadow. A much bigger shadow. It looms in the distance without true mass or form. Within the void of its body, a searchlight sweeps over the misty town. It does not move. It simply looks while the ground shakes. Each time its light catches a glimpse of something that doesn't belong—an animal, a vehicle that drove too deep into the tall grass, a raider that went too far into town—a sonorous howl reverberates through the zone.

Then the shadow will teleport to its target and crush the intruder without mercy before retreating back to its watchful post. And the intruder is indeed crushed: any living organism caught by the Light Guardian will be flattened with a horrifying crunch of broken bones and squished organs.

Zone Effects
While the Light Guardian can't be defeated or confronted, you can outrun or hide from its sweeping beam. If you stop far enough on the side of the road, it won't notice you...but you can still watch as it mangles an unfortunate raider or traveler. Possibly, you see the spray of blood or hear the screams before you run. Perhaps you realize how easily you could've met your own gory fate.

If you've left your car and gone too deep into the town before you realize the danger, you can do one of two things: you can risk hiding in an abandoned house in the town and hope that the sunrise comes. In zones like this, the day/night cycle is unpredictable, and many places are permanently cast in darkness. Or, you can try to run back to your vehicle and pray you don't get caught.

Alternatively, you've plowed directly into the field when raiders in pursuit force you into the zone. Should fortune favor you, they'll be obliterated by the Light Guardian while you flee. The beam tracks quickly, but can only shine in one direction at a time so the key is to bob and weave.

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Hitchhikers

Anywhere

Not everyone who enters the diffusion zone will pick up a mannequin, but the possibility is there. Once you make first contact, you will gain a hitchhiker. Unlike most aspects of the diffusion zones, this one has gathered into a storm, meaning the effects will breach even normally stable and anchored strongholds like Panorama.

Some fluxdrifts will brush off your problems while a few might believe you. Others will offer solutions in their own way, including a doctor who'll pay to obtain strange plastic limbs. Not everyone will pitch in to help. The city's big, populated, and somebody on the street turning doll-like doesn't affect them (...until it does). They've got a job to get to and mouths to feed.

Unwanted Passenger

When do you first notice your passenger? At any point, really. Perhaps it goes like this:

You glance in the rearview mirror and glimpse a figure in the backseat. When you spin around, there's nobody there. Then it happens again. This time, you realize it's not a person, but a dummy. A mannequin. It's sitting upright. And is it...wearing a seatbelt? Or maybe it's thrown itself across the back bench as though somebody tossed it there, uncaring.

This time, when you look back, it's still there. You pull over and dump it on the side of the road. That's taken care of, you think. You drive some more. For a few hours or even a day or two—depending on how long you've traveled—you don't think much of it. Then suddenly, it's back. And it keeps coming back no matter how much you try to get rid of it.

Or it goes like this:

You return from a standard trip into a diffusion zone. It went pretty well, you think. You found some clothes at a creepy mall and now you're ready to get some sleep. When you open your trunk to retrieve your belongings, you notice a mannequin stuffed inside, limbs bent at odd angles. You're a little weirded out, but you decide to dump it on the street and move on.

You shower. In the bathroom mirror, the mannequin suddenly appears behind you. Over the next few days, this continues. The mannequin appears in a booth across the diner as you're eating your eggs. It's behind a shelf in the corner store. It's in your closet. Each time you check, it vanishes...but then, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's right there in plain view. It'll even let you throw it away, burn it, anything you can think of. But it always comes back.

However it plays out, you realize that people around you do notice it...sometimes. That doesn't mean anyone will believe you that things are just that weird. Most people have better things to do. They don't know you, after all, and even if they did, well, this place does have a habit of driving people a little crazy. Witnesses casually push the mannequin aside and tell you that's a funny prank. Your regular waitress pats your shoulder and suggests you get some sleep. You're not looking well. The shopkeeper demands you take that thing before you go. He's not responsible for your junk.

But there's a small chance you run into someone who seems to be going through what you are. Unfortunately, they seem to actually have it worse and aren't making much sense. Still, you can try questioning them and see what answers you get. At least, before you lose them for good. For some of you, the victim you run into is in especially bad shape...and you have to wonder how long before you end up the same.

Trading Places

For some of you, the mannequins might not do more than be a nuisance. While that's not ideal, either, it doesn't completely upend your life. Others are less fortunate. If you're one of the latter, you'll begin to notice symptoms.

The first time it happens, you're startled to hear the mannequin speak. To begin with, its voice might be guttural and unnatural, incapable of stringing more than a few words together. Then it seems to learn. It talks in full sentences. Its voice smooths out. It starts to sound more and more like you...right down to your speech patterns and accent. As symptoms progress with varying intensity—over days or weeks—you realize with dawning horror that you're losing parts of yourself. When you wash your hands, you notice a part of your skin is smooth and shiny. The next time the mannequin appears, its previously plasticky appearance is more flesh and blood.

Eventually, the mannequin becomes independent. It shops with your money. It steals while wearing a face that looks nearly identical to yours, especially from a distance. It calls your friend and says the things you would never say out loud to them. They're thoughts you've had, sure, but you know better than to hurt your friend's feelings...except apparently, you have. And now you can't even use your own voice to explain yourself. Your leg has been getting stiff. Your joints don't bend properly.

Meanwhile, the mannequin is now striding around smoothly. Its appearance is still uncanny and odd if anyone pays attention, but at a glance, it easily passes as a part of the crowd. As its final act, it's even absorbed small bits of your abilities if you have any. Not all of them, but enough to cause trouble. Throughout everything, you cannot harm your hitchhiker. Some unknown force stops you any time you think about it. You simply can't.

Related Incidents

The impact isn't contained only to those directly affected. The hitchhikers' influence spreads through the city. For some incidents, it's difficult to trace back to the source. For others, that's a little easier. Regardless, these occurrences could help you determine how to solve your own situation. Alternatively, if you've escaped unscathed, you can still find yourself dragged into a situation involving someone else.

Return to Sender

July 11 — The Forum: An anonymous poster contributes this bit of information that might catch the eye of those affected. You can try the same method, but it's a risk going back into the diffusion zones. No one can guarantee the specific zone you found the mannequin in is still standing. Further, you have to remember where you made contact to begin with.

If you decide to try it, be sure to take a friend. The less independent the hitchhiker, the more likely it will stick to your side even as you return it home. If the assimilation has progressed too far, though, you might have to utilize methods such as duct taping inside your trunk or strapping it down with ropes. It may struggle and say vile things to you or your companion.

Victimless Burn Victims

July 14 @ 03:00 — The Pavilion (East End): A handful of troublemakers grabbed some freaky mannequins wandering the street and, in a drunken stroke of genius, set them all on fire for no reason other than that they wanted to. Not only has this resulted in damage to the corner store nearby, but Enforcers have linked the incident to four hospitalizations at roughly the same time. Doctors from Saint Margery's Hospital (located in the Blocks) report that all four individuals suffered massive shock and claim to have endured unimaginable agony as if they had been "set on fire."

Curiously, none of them bear any physical wounds and, by all accounts, are completely fine (trauma aside). Notably, all four individuals were also suffering from various stages of "joint stiffness" and "hallucinations"...which have since completely vanished. You might wonder, is this the solution? Or perhaps the better question would be, is it worth it?

The Sculptor

July 15 — The Pavilion (Medical Clinic): Around July 14 onward, word begins to spread that a Dr. Maggie Wright (who insists on being called the Sculptor, though nobody seems to heed this request) will not only do an amputation for free, she will pay you for your limb if you are boasting an "unusual trophic change to the skin, resulting in a smooth and shiny texture." All she asks is she gets to keep the sample. Her promise is that she will study it to find a more permanent cure and, if she does, she will return the limb to you for reattachment.

Some end up trusting her. You wonder, maybe she could help? Dr. Wright will happily accept you as her patient if you agree. Her methods are indeed proper and sterile: she'll put you under and provide you with plenty of pain meds. She appears to have all of the equipment required to preserve the limb, too.

If you're suspicious, you can also pay her a visit, but you won't have much luck getting her in trouble or sniffing out any evidence of nefarious deeds. Her office hasn't got anything strange, she is indeed a real surgeon, and there are testimonials from patients who've had success under her care in the past. Plus, nobody's going to her who isn't doing so voluntarily (they've signed waivers)—even if you could argue how much desperation plays into their decision. Still...the thing about her "title" is a bit weird, right?

Dr. Maggie Wright is 5'2, Caucasian with a light Northeastern accent and silver hair often worn in a bun. She's in her 50s and looks fairly good for her age. Her voice is soothing. She has intense, wide blue eyes, which some might find unnerving, but that's not necessarily her fault.

∞ Notes ∞

• Mannequin contact is not required. Not everybody who goes into the diffusion will make first contact, and many won't. Characters can explore the mall, the temple, and the foggy field without ever picking up a hitchhiker.
• The diffusion zones described are only examples. Others will exist where mannequins can be found, including grocery stores, gas stations, abandoned parks, and more. You can make up your own, but check with us if you have any questions about limitations!
• The speed and intensity of all mechanics are entirely up to you. Generally, the earlier a character makes first contact, the more severe their consequences.
• Investigating the zones or helping others are perfectly fine ways to participate! Since the hitchhikers are meant to be more insidious, it won't be strange if your character isn't in the middle of the action right away or notices things a bit late.

Questions? Ask here

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Comments

logan — xmcu

[carcajous]

— starters below —
plot comment | discontinued | quantifies @ discord

abandoned mall — OTA.

[carcajous]

[ Getting here was more of a pain in the ass than he'd wanted, but about as much of it as he'd expected. He's about a day and half out from the city, managed to find a gas station to fill up at along the way, let a second pain in his ass hitch a ride with him to this damn mall, and at this point, he's questioning his decision to ride out this way.

'Least he's finally alone.

Which leaves him free to wander through the shopping mall, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He's obviously taking shit while searching for a girl who's likely gone by now. If she were here, he'd smell her, but...he's lookin' anyway, seeing as this entire planet's off. Who knows? She might still be around even if her scent's a big gaping void. He's not holding out much hope, though. But it gives him something to do. Part of him's not eager to return to the city, to the motels, to the reasons he took off to begin with.

You can run into him:

• Digging around in the food court for something worth eating. Or he's already found something to eat and now he's chowing down.
• Perched on a bench or table with a lit cigar, smoke drifting from behind some decorative potted greenery.
• Buried under a shelf full of old CDs and VHS tapes in an electronics store. How did it fall on him? What the hell happened here? Hard to say, but he dusts himself off with surprising ease. Might be a couple of suspicious claw-like marks on the floor or nearby wall. Don't worry about it.
• Sleeping on a bench. Well, he looks like he's asleep. Maybe don't poke him to find out.
• Chances are, neither you nor him are the only ones in the mall; if you've attracted some trouble, he might pop up behind you to lend a hand...depending on if you look like you need his help.
• A secret wildcard option of your choice.

[heritors]

[ There are others who are likely better equipped to search for a missing girl, but she ends up driving out to the mall anyway. Not alone, and with every intent to scavenge if their trip ends up being for naught. Wriothesley's starting on the other end of the building to meet in the middle.

So: she's got a Jansport-equivalent slung over her shoulder, the bright orange clashing terribly against her hair. The few stores she's entered so far have either been cosmic-touched beyond use or full of things she doesn't recognize, but surely at some point she'll find some food or—

She recognizes the man just up ahead. ( On his back and mostly still, but breathing. ) ]

— Logan? [ Is that him? It can't be... can it? She starts stepping closer. As her father once said, there are better places to nap than on the ground bench, you know... ]

[carcajous]

[ Logan is, surprisingly, fast fuckin' asleep, the type of slumber you'd normally expect from someone in their own home—as if he hasn't got too many concerns about passing out for a bit in the middle of a spooky mall. Fast fucking asleep for him also isn't the most restful. By the time she calls his name, he's rolled abruptly, on the cusp of jerking awake.

Which he does in the next instant, eyes snapping open. For a second, he just. Stares. Unfocused at first, then with more intention. Who—

Oh. The girl on the side of the road. What was that, six weeks ago? More? The hell'd she come from? (Through the doors, obviously.)

He sits up. The flannel shirt draped over his lap slides off. His hair's flat on one side, but it sorta bounces back into shape when he scrubs a hand through it. ]

What're you doing here, kid?

[heritors]

[ He stares, and she ... stares back, frozen in place. Belatedly realizes that she tensed up the moment he shifted, bracing herself for something that was never going to come. Learning to stop being on edge all the time is a habit that's going to take time to break ( but... the shadows frozen in place aren't exactly helping, either ).

Still, it's just Logan. He looks a little rumpled now that she's moved towards the bench, the sleep obvious in his posture. ] We heard about the supplies here. [ A beat. ] And... they mentioned there was a girl missing. [ So she drove for 10 hours.

Anyway. ] Were you sleeping? I didn't mean to wake you, I apologize.

wildcard — hope this is okay!

[pse]

[ In the latter half of the month, he gets another abrupt message from her. Kimiko is tense and sleepless, her mind unkindly scattered with the vague sensation like exploring a hole in one's where a tooth used to be. Something is missing, or— or something is gone.

She's tired of this voice she no longer recognises. ]

Hello, Logan. It's Kimiko.

[ He knows, honey. ]

I need your help.
Please.

[carcajous]

[ Logan's replies are rarely instant. This time, it comes immediately. ]

Where?

[pse]

[ Where ends up being the lot behind The Dome. Littered with debris and discarded garbage and broken bottle fragments, a few of the parking spots have been overtaken by a cluster of tents with varying levels of stability. Bass thumps from inside The Dome, causing the tarmac to tremble slightly.

Kimiko and her hitchhiker (now fully realised; smiling and self-aware and speaking) are handcuffed together, lingering about a wheel stop. Kimiko is standing, a plastic grocery bag in one hand. Hitchhiker sits on the wheel stop; one arm hangs loosely in its cuff. The other lifts to wave energetically at Logan.

Still beaming, it calls— ] Hey! [ in a medium pitched voice, a slight feminine rasp to the words.

Kimiko rolls her eyes. As much as she wants to give the handcuffs a warning tug, she finds she can't. Getting them cuffed together was difficult enough, when even the slightest inclination of getting physical with the hitchhiker left the ground reeling below her feet and her thoughts feeling oddly damp, oddly viscous.

For Logan, he's essentially gazing at twins. They're even dressed the same: clothes cheap and grungy and dark, hair curled in the exact loose fashion. ]

[foretells]

[ The others aren't likely too far behind — Sciel had just set out before them, after all — but the mall itself is...much larger than she anticipated it being, with reflective tile and so much glass everywhere on the store fronts. It's a marvel, really, but it's so much. How many stores did one place need? She's wandered past three shoe stores. Do people need that many?

But she does find her way to the food court, if only because food is a necessity, and she hears the sound of someone rifling around. Sciel has no outward weapon but she walks with purpose, following the sound until she finds a man there. ]

Bonjour, mon ami!

[ She grins. ]

Find anything good from your hunting? Anything at the, ah— [ She squints at the sign. ] Chick'n Hut?

[ What an awful name. ]

[carcajous]

[ The Chick'n Hut is decorated in red and white with a big-eyed chicken in a sailor hat as its mascot, waving cheerfully like it's not about to be somebody's next meal.

That somebody's Logan, by the way, 'cause yeah, he did find something. He emerges to lean against the wall behind one of the registers. (The second register down has a dark shape frozen in the act of giving her shadow customer some change.) In Logan's hand is a paper plate, carrying a bun stuffed with cold chicken and shitty tasteless lettuce and tomato slices. He could probably turn on the fryer or something, but he doesn't care enough to do that.

His mouth is full when a woman comes bounding up. He raises an eyebrow. God, that's way too much fuckin' good cheer for a mall full of vaporized shoppers. ]

Nope. [ He's still chewing. ] You want some, knock yourself out.

[ Walk in at the back has plenty of chicken and buns. Is it good? No. Is it food? Yeah. ]

— scott.

[carcajous]

[ The missing girl might be getting attention from the storm chasers, but she's not the only one who goes missing in these parts. Seems like it happens a lot. Enough that Logan doesn't go chasing every mystery. But this one—well, this one's caught the eye of none other than Scott Summers. Teenaged boy, took off to look for medicine for his grandma, hasn't come back. Probably went east, she said. Logan already knows Scott's gonna want to go see what's out there. And he knows Scott's gonna tell him they should do it as a team.

Yeah, he comes. Is he happy about it? Not one bit, but he isn't about to let Scott run off without backup. He sends a text to Charles—they don't usually both take off at the same time—then kicks his bike into gear. Upside of riding this way instead of sharing a car? He doesn't gotta listen to Scott. Doesn't have to be stuck in a seat next to him, either. They just ride, side by side, Logan waiting to see if he picks up any scent worth following.

Few hours in, what they get is a dense fog that blankets the road, night descending like a dark curtain. Maybe Scott stops first or they both end up pausing, but either way, as his engine idles, the mist thickens.

He does have a scent. A strong one. Metal—and blood. A lot of blood. A little siren rings between his ears. Tiny pinpricks crawl up the back of his neck. Something tells him, abruptly, that slowing down was a mistake. ]

We need to move.

[opticular]

[ It was an easy enough reason to go, Scott thinks, when he decided on it. The grandma was incredibly worried and the boy had a noble cause to go and seek something beyond the safety of a stronghold. If he's on the boy's shoes, he himself would also go. The story tugged on his heartstrings. Scott feels like it's a no brainer. And he did tell Logan they should do it as a team, and that they should also let the Professor know they'd both be gone for a little bit to investigate.

The ride is uneventful and they barely exchanged a word, even when the night begins to descend like a cold, dark hand after a few hours. It makes Scott slow down and eventually stop, though, brows knitting together at the strange mist that's beginning to settle around them.

The same pinpricks Logan feels, Scott senses too, and it's enough for him to prepare to rev his engine, so they can resume the ride. Nodding in agreement with Logan's words, he turns to him. ]

Yeah, we should. I think - [ But then, Scott turns back towards the road and he sees something. It's initially a figure of someone standing by the road, the mist concealing their identity for a bit. Brows furrowing further, Scott narrows his eyes, gaze pointed so he can try and recognize who this person is.

The only thing he sees after the mist parts ever so slightly is red hair. ]

Jean?

[carcajous]

[ Think what? Logan's already revved his engine, a hair's breadth from taking off down the road when Scott doesn't move. Then he hears, Jean and his head snaps around. What—?

An icier chill slithers through his veins. Not because it is her but because Scott seems to believe he's seen her, and he already knows how this might go. It isn't, by the way. A woman with red hair, sure, but he'd know...he'd know if it was her. Right? He'd feel it. And God knows it wouldn't be this simple, Jean appearing outta the mist like a damn ghost. She's gone. She's been gone a long time.

(Scott came back, but that's different. He can't explain how it's different. It just is. There's an ugly, selfish part of him that doesn't wanna see Jean return, alive and well and from a time right before she lost herself and he had to stop her. He doesn't wanna deal with it. He doesn't need that wound ripped fresh open again.)

Besides, if she did show up this way—ethereal, otherworldly—then it isn't her. Not really. He's only seen her like that once, and he can't forget how that ended.

He backs up, lining his bike with Scott's. Scott can't smell it, but he does. There's something through that grass that isn't right, and he isn't talking about the silent statue in the fog. In the distance, he hears more engines coming up. Shit. They could be other travelers. Harmless.

They could also be raiders. ]

Hey, look at me. It's not her, okay? We gotta go.

— karen.

[carcajous]

[ Karen does, in fact, tell hin when she finds a new job-one of dozens of diners doting the city—and Logan shows up about two days later for a cup of coffee. She looks good. Surprisingly at home behind the counter. That was Tuesday. He disappears for a week after that, drawn to the desolate mall in the wasteland for reasons he can't fully blame on the missing girl. He wanted to find her, sure. There's that. But if he's gonna be honest with himself, it's more than that. He stuck around longer than he meant for more than that.

(Maybe he's running again. Briefly.)

Not that he overstays his welcome. He knows better. By Monday, he's back in Panorama. What he finds on returning is unsettling. Nothing big, just small bits here and there. The bar he was at last weekend is boarded up, owner missing. When he stops into a corner store for a few smokes, the girl behind the counter stinks of fear, won't look him in the eye.

So Karen's text comes as a relief. Familiar. He has missed her. The normality, mostly. Somebody he can talk to without the tons of fuckin' baggage he can't seem to shed.

Still want me to buy you dinner?

Yeah, he decides. Yeah, he does.

He finishes his shift driving around the city to toss out packages, then rides home to the same shitty motel he's gone in and out of for the past six, seven weeks. He makes sure Charles is okay, then walks three rooms down, across shards of broken glass and old cigarette butts, to knock on Karen's door. The intense sweltering heat's not so bad anymore, but it's still warm enough that he's left his flannel shirt slung over his motorcycle's handlebars.

Even before he walks up to her door, though, uncertainty ripples up the back of his neck. Something about her text. He can't pinpoint what it is. Just that the invitation feels...off. ]

It's me. [ No answer. He pauses, then twists the door knob. To his surprise, it gives way under his hand, hinges creaking. Karen never leaves her door unlocked. ] Karen?

[ He peers around the comer. Light shines from under the crack of the closed bathroom door. ]

[pagings]

[ karen does tell him. and actually- he happens to be the first, and only, person she ends up telling. it's a passive sort of realization, that he's the only person she feels like she can update with details about her day-to-day, about her schedules. it's less that she doesn't have anyone else to tell, and more that he's the only one she finds herself thinking of.

and yes - she knows what that means. knows what that says about the little flutter she gets whenever he comes around. but she also knows that after that night in her room, after they came back from the resort, when she'd told him about vermont (though not all of it) and he told her about himself (though not all of it), she'd had a feeling there was something else. maybe a sprinkle of something more.

still - he comes by two days later, and she is excited about it, in a better mood for her entire shift, so much that her face is a bit sore by the end of it. and then he's gone for about a week. she's not sure exactly, noticing it more by the way she doesn't see him around the motel, how he doesn't take that initial invite as something open, and karen... honestly, karen gets a little swept up in the job. in the new people she meets working there, new faces who she's working alongside and then the patrons of the diner itself.

it's while she's working that she starts to hear the stories. about neighbors, friends, violence, missing people. it bothers her, way more than it should, because some part of it feels... too familiar, in a way. it doesn't take long before she's heading out there herself. even less time before she's bringing something back. part of her had planned to ask logan is this is where he'd gone, if this is the same mess he'd gotten wrapped up in, but-

truth is, karen was just trying to get through each day.

she is back in the city, as is her mannequin. she hasn't quite figured out what it's meant to be, or do, but she's starting to worry more and more as each day passes. it just... it looks too different, picking up habits, mannerisms, starting to find its way out of rooms. karen doesn't know if she's really slept since all this started, but she hasn't missed a shift at work.

which is where she is when she realizes she left her phone at home. there's a kind of drop in her stomach, but she's almost at the end of her shift. they might let her leave a few minutes early if she finishes clearing her tables and no one else shows up, but-

meanwhile, back in her motel room, the shower is running. longer than it needs to, really, bit it goes - loose, a complete lack of pressure, and then directly down the drain. there's always the question as to why- what purpose does a running shower serve for a not-so-empty room. but it's also possible that something, or rather, a not quite someone, recognizes the benefit to covering what noises there are, or might not be.

(like a potential lack of a heartbeat).

all this to say, once the door opens, there is a kind of sense of forced still. the door knob turns, the slight creak as it opens. karen? at first there is nothing, no reaction, no sound, except for the running water.

there is a bottle of whiskey sitting out - one that logan might recognize from the resort - and a couple of glasses, not yet filled. it's possible logan could see them as an invitation, to pour them both a glass. there is movement from inside the bathroom, possibly the sounds of the shower turning off, something that could be someone moving inside, drying off, getting ready.

but it also might sound a little too intentional. it all depends on how high alert logan is, and if he'll take the bait. ]

[carcajous]

[ Unlike the others, Logan's only been back for a day, hasn't checked the Forum—he barely glances at his phone unless it buzzes as it is—so he's got no idea something weirder than the usual is going on. He doesn't know that Karen might've been in danger. If she tried to tell him at any point, the message didn't get through, riding out there as he was.

The only thing he's aware of when he enters her room is that the air's stifling, not 'cause of the heat but something else. It's interesting, the way you don't realize how well you know somebody 'til nothing they're doing is quite right. He can't put his finger on it. Not at first. Then his gaze lands back on the whiskey. He frowns. The bottle, the running shower that signals clear anticipation. She asked him over, didn't she? She knew when he'd show up, and the commute from his work to the Blocks isn't a short one. None of this feels like her. She's never been so deliberate around him. He likes her for that reason. She doesn't seem to want anything from him except his company.

And this feels, suddenly, like she wants something.

She's also not answering him.

This time, he knocks on her bathroom door. He can smell her shampoo, the light scent of her makeup or hair products. The things that make her her, in part because he's standing directly in her room, surrounded by her clothes and her things. ]

Karen? [ Deciding decorum isn't his first priority right now, he tries the doorknob and, if it isn't locked, starts to nudge open the door. ] You okay?

[ What's going on in there? ]

— cable + deadpool.

[carcajous]

[ When he gets no response from Wade, Logan goes searching. Really not what he wants to be spending his goddamn night doing, but here he is, tracking down a guy who smells distinctly of sickness. Which is funny for someone perfectly healthy, far as Logan can see. He figures it's got something to do with his mutation—whatever's caused him to look...well, like that.

Was healthy. No idea what's happened to Wade. Logan wishes he didn't give a shit, wishes he could just ignore the lack of response, go to sleep, forget about any of this. Unfortunately, he can't.

He's checking out the places he's seen Wade at before, only 'cause Wade keeps inviting him to grab a bite, drags him for a drink. A couple times, Logan's agreed. It means he knows Wade better than he wants to admit. Outside the inner city laundromat is where he picks up Wade's scent. He follows it several blocks east, the smell of blood and rot growing stronger by the second. So does his concern.

Concern that morphs into alarm when he turns the corner and gets a full view of—

Jesus fucking Christ.

For a second, he just—sees it, you know, bodies strewn on the streets, strung up and drowning in their own blood. It sets his teeth on edge, a flare of heat sparking inside his chest. His claws are out before he even notices that they are. He's already thinking of who might've done this (if they did it 'cause of what Wade was; visibly different, obviously not human) when movement out of the corner of his eye blows all that straight out the goddamn water.

That's.

Wait.

Hang the fuck on.

He drops down beside the gory scene and grabs Wade's wrist, which is moving. Gripping a phone in one hand. And. Is the asshole fucking texting?

Bewildered, Logan blinks twice, three times. Somewhere in the back of his head, he hears Scott ask, he's like you? And Logan had said, Doubt it. Freaked out when he thought he was dying.

Yeah. About that. ]

cw: gore

[primepool]

[It's mere coincidence (and sort of bragging rights) that has Wade texting Logan right up until he was face to face with Frank's roid rage. And wow, what a rager it was!

At some point, he misses out on the fun. Enough bullets in his head and even someone like Wade is in dreamland or, like, the unconscious medium between being alive and being dead, except it's not cinematic or meaningful or metaphorical and it definitely doesn't have A-Ha playing in the background. It's sort of just black, and his brain doesn't remember it, anyway.

He wakes up with a gasp and in a lot of excruciating amounts of pain, and worst of all: there's blood in his eyes and he can only feel one of his arms. At least it's his blood this time. You can't re-give yourself an STD, right?

Wade groans, using his one (attached) arm to lean up a little. Miracle upon miracles, the Punisher really is only about Punishing and not about Thievery of a Corpse, because his phone is laying on the (blood-soaked) ground next to... what seems to be only, maybe, a third of his pretty pink intestines. It's possible he could have been also carrying sausages before this happened; his brain's still knitting itself back together.

He picks up his phone, flicking to the first name in his contacts list. Lucky for Cable! That's a place of honour. (Maybe it won't feel that way once he sees what Wade texts him.)

At least he managed that until his hand started cramping. He falls back and stares into the sky, wondering if Cable just said he's coming but he's really gonna make him wait here until he has baby legs to crawl away on, like a centipede... with only two legs. Maybe Cable would hold him up high enough to see Frank's work, considering he's pretty sure he has... two limbs. One? Does a head count as a limb? He has the feeling it's got real Vogue vibes. (How's a guy supposed to appreciate the Punisher turning his various limbs and organs into a cool skull motif if his head's still on the ground?)

He might've blacked out again. When he opens his eyes again, the bullets have probably exited his brain, and -- oh, that's Logan.

He drops his phone.]

I. [shitshitshit] I can explain.

[He panics. He can't explain, actually. He never -- ohh, shit. He never mentioned the... the healing factor.

His head flops back down and he pretends to be dead, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Nope, definitely dead this time, so he doesn't have to be in this situation. (Maybe possums had the right idea about this.)]

[sodark]

[The only truly surprising thing about this situation is that it's only just happened. Cable keeps tabs on Wade, enough to know that he is so thoroughly annoying if it were a paying career they wouldn't be sharing a bed.

He also doesn't want Wade to be in the habit of texting him to bail him out of his own holes. Cable doesn't want anything to do with Wade's holes. Truly. But he also doesn't want to ignore a message of true importance.

What he has ascertained from the message is that Wade is cognisant but in physically critical condition. Cable is aware that this means something different for Wade than any other idiot, he's also seen what happens when he regenerates from scratch. He really, really hates it. If he can mitigate that, he'll be doing himself a favour.

He has also ascertained that there is an assailant at large. Wade never gives an answer when it might be useful or personally embarrassing, so there's suspicion in Cable's approach. He moves quietly, approaching from another level of the mall so he can scope before wandering into what could be a trap.

At his vantage point, he can see the scattered remains of Wade and.. Logan. With his claws out. And Wade is pleading, potentially. It's hard to parse, but he's done dawdling.

Cable drops behind Logan with a soft thud, swiftly kicking Logan's legs out from under him. Once he's grounded, Cable grapples him into lying on his front. He rests a heavy knee on his back, pinning Logan's wrists with his hands and staring at the back of his head. Then his claws. They're awfully clean. Fuck.]

If you had nothing to do with this, I'm gonna apologise and get off. [A beat.]

Get off you.

— wade.

[carcajous]

[ A week or two ago, Logan squished Wade Wilson back together. Then he left him to his pal Cable. Yeah, he's ticked off Wade lied to him. Mostly 'cause there didn't seem to be a point to it except that Wade felt like jerking him around. And it forces him to confront the idea that he would've been...unhappy if Wade died for real.

Whatever. It's nothing. He's got no love lost for the guy. It doesn't mean he wanted him dead, and especially not torn up by some freak imitation. That's all. It's different when mutants were dropping like flies in his time, carved up and afraid; in a way, saving one—saving Wade—had meant something to him, maybe more than he realized until he found out he hadn't actually done any saving at all. And he's aware the feeling's absurd, that it's bullshit. It shouldn't matter. He's hinging too many fucking emotions on the situation. Maybe that's why he's gone the avoidance route so he doesn't have to untangle what he's feeling or why.

Texts from Wade have gone ignored since. He hasn't got anything to say to him, alright?

Should've known the stubborn motherfucker wouldn't give up. Should've known it was only a matter of time before he came home to find Wade in his damn room.

Humming. Creeping through. Carrying—

Logan lets it go on for another minute before he slams the door shut behind him. In a flash, he snags the wires connecting to Wade's headphones and yanks. ]

You have three seconds to explain to me what the hell you're doing.

[primepool]

[Wade's not so stupid that he doesn't catch on that Logan's pissed with him about something. Thing is, he's already either forgotten what it could be or can't attribute it to any specific thing -- was it the whole Humpty Dumpty scenario, or the cannibalism joke? He didn't even kidnap this one!

(Sometimes, the way he misses home hits him like a fucking big, drowning wave. Home made sense. He had his place, he had Blind Al giving him sage wisdom when he fucked up. He had people he could count on to show up for a surprise party who he wouldn't kill on sight. He could do a merc job, go home and Logan would still be there, crashing on his couch. Mary in her little bed by the door. God, he misses his dog.

Hope Logan's still taking her out for walks...)

Anyway, when you think about it, the love Wade has for his dog is the reason he's broken into Logan's apartment and is Army crawling across the floor while outwardly humming the Mission Impossible theme, headphones over his ear, the cassette playing the soundtrack through the Walkman attached to his hip. Courtesy of the haunting fucked up corpse mall, thank you. Duh duuuuuh!

He jumps with a squeal.] Ow, careful, careful! I can't replace those! [Well, not easily. He rubs one of his cauliflower ears, sitting up.] I'm sneaking into your apartment to surprise you, obviously, but you ruined it.

[He pauses. Kind of fucked up that Tom Cruise made this seem so easy.] Uh. Here.

[Wade holds up a six-pack of beer.] I got this feeling you were pissed at me.

[carcajous]

[ Logan's eyes narrow. Surprise him with what? The beer?

He pauses. For a second, he's unsure of how the hell he's meant to take Wade's appearance. Yeah, he's not happy with Wade. He also didn't expect Wade to notice nor care, never mind show up inside his room with an apology gift. What for? Listen, a lot of people piss him off. They don't usually bother apologizing for it, and Logan doesn't expect them to. He knows what he is. He knows who he is.

Now this idiot's lookin' at him like a kicked puppy.

He sighs, dropping the wire. (What's it playing, is that...?) ] Next time, knock.

[ Would he have let Wade in? Probably not. He grabs the six-pack and sets it on the counter. ]

You got somethin' to say, let's hear it.

— alisaie.

[carcajous]

[ By the time Logan finally locates his damn bike that Clint's twin pal ran off with, by the time all the bullshit seems to have calmed down a hair, he's ready to sleep for three fuckin' days.

He doesn't actually sleep for three days.

He does go look for someplace to drink, though, stops off at a hole-in-the-wall joint that announces itself as an Irish pub but inside for some reason has got walls painted with scuffed seaside scenes and the menu offers Taco Wednesdays, which he stares at for a good five seconds trying to make any sorta sense out of that one.

The quietest corner is a table beneath a mounted elk head. (Who the hell decorated this place?) That's where he's headed when he passes by a familiar white braid and a set of pointed ears. He doesn't plan to bother her at first—she's probably looking for some peace and quiet, too—but the way she's got her head down or in her posture makes him pause.

He backtracks a couple of steps. ] Everything okay?

[argumentiste]

[ That the proprietors and staff don't even bother to stop her or card her should probably say a lot about this establishment. Alisaie is no ordinary teen however and frankly didn't even have any desire to drink. Truthfully, she had drifted in here on a whim, determined to find a place so odd and juxtaposed that it might make her feel better.

It hadn't worked. At least thus far. But if not even the prospect of receiving a tacky sombrero should she finish the "bottomless nacho challenge" feels like it would lift her spirits or distract her from the fact that she feels like some sort of failure.

(Then again, she hasn't tried. The nachos have yet to arrive at the table.) ]

Hm? [ She lifts her head, an act that gives off the impression that it's the heaviest thing in the world, from the table to look bleakly at Logan. ] Oh. It's you.

[ Her forehead meets the table with a thunk. ]

Everything is fine. Otherwise why else would I be face down on a table that probably hasn't been cleaned in the last five years?

[carcajous]

[ Alright, okay, Miss Drama Queen.

Logan glances to his left, sighs, and pulls out a chair. What is it, something serious or did a cute boy turn her down? ]

You wanna talk about it or... [ Logan eyes her rag doll impression. She looks like a dog that's given up after a day in the too-hot sun. ] ...you wanna mope in silence?

[ Should she even be in a bar? Probably not, but considering an occasional murder seems to be no big deal around here, he doubts anybody's bothering to card a teenager. Whatever. As long as she's not chugging a bottle of tequila, he's not gonna hassle her about it, either.

Maybe he'll order her a soda. ]