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

dr. stephen strange (supreme) | what if...? / mcu | ota

[elriche]

I ✦ Mall Rats

[ As promised, a post from Bjurstrom pops up on the mobile-friendly forum with all the pixelated elegance expected of the early 2000's. A girl has gone missing and the Storm Chasers need help finding her. It will be dangerous – who knows what's out there.

Answers, Stephen thinks, and he leaves that night.

The hours on the road pass by in uneasy silence, punctuated by the intermittent burst of a song on the radio, or cracks of lightning in the distance. An ethereal morning glow signs the break of dawn as Stephen pulls over and steps out, squints at the boxy concrete structure jutting out of the landscape, complete with bright retro signs for brands long dead. The sun crests over it, glinting in the hundred windshields of the cars dotting the parking lot, which merges like a Salvador Dali puddle into the road in front of him.

It doesn't take long for him to find a spot for his beat-up Volvo station wagon, and even less time to step through the functioning automatic doors into the mall's atrium. His astral eyes see the dark figures before his vision does – packets of spacetime decayed beyond their eons, so quickly that these people couldn't have known what hit them. Stephen's cosmic senses flex outward, take in the length of the open hall, the shops throughout the levels. An entire complex full of humans – gone. Touched by something old and dark.

Something whose power still lingers, weaved through their molecules like radioactive dust.

Movement in the corner of his eye. Maybe it's you, as you step closer to one of the dark silhouettes. Maybe you turn away from the shadow figure with a healthy instinct for self-preservation, or maybe your curiosity gets the best of you, and you reach for the arm of someone frozen in time. Maybe you manage to touch it, or maybe not – either way, the man in a dramatic cape flourishes his hand and you feel a wave of force push you away from it. ]

Get away from them, [ the man calls out, urgent, as he marches toward you. ] They're long dead and I don't want anyone to join them.

II ✦ Distracted Driving

[ You're heading through Quadrant 1 when you see it. Headlamps approaching from the opposite direction, likely leaving the site of the mall anomaly you're intending to investigate. Seems to be the standard vehicle of another fluxdrift, a common sight across the flatlands of the diffusion zones – although the windows and windshield appear unnaturally dark under the midday sun. Either way, you make appropriate space, maybe flash your headlights, and continue on your way.

Until the car veers violently. Maybe toward you, or maybe toward the barren wastes, then screeches to a halt so sudden and precise that some outside force must have assisted its old brakes. In either case, it's a narrow miss, and the driver's door slams open as it comes to a full stop.

A man stumbles out as dust and smoke billow upwards from the tires, presses a fist to the top of the station wagon. If you choose to pull over, you might notice a strange quality to the way he's hunched over the roof of the car, like dark tendrils are emanating from him, writhing around the vehicle, finding purchase around its windows and doors.

Then you get closer. He turns, and the darkness must have been a trick of the eye. Before you ask him anything, you see the mannequin in the passenger's seat, slumped over like a corpse.

The man continues to gasp for air amongst the kicked-up dirt. ]

III ✦ Test of Faith | Heretic

[ After the third time he tosses the mannequin to the side of the road, he decides – okay, fine, maybe it's time for a break. Maybe the damn thing can stay in the car if that's what it wants.

In truth, he's also intrigued by the structure of this place – a temple? Whatever it is, it's weird, which makes it a welcome change to the more grounded environments of the resort and mall. Not that Stephen thinks this place is native to the diffusion zones – very little probably is – but it's still another data point. A subject of exploration.

He studies the sigils as he nears the gates, commits them to memory. Even as he approaches the temple, he feels the whispers meant for beings less perceptive than him, meets them with invisible tendrils of cosmic comprehension to probe their source and quality. They quiet, but only just – only in a column around him – and reply in turn with astral barriers that feel cold to the touch. Smooth, impenetrable, just like the walls now towering around him.

He takes in the entrance hall – furnished, candle-lit, oddly homey if not for the fact that some alien idol is leering down at him. He leans down, snatches an apple off the table, levitates it over his palm as he studies its patterns and pores. Takes a bite, swallows. Seems real. Huh.

He glances down the hall. Your footsteps echo toward him as you return from your own exploration, or the comfortable room you've claimed – or maybe some other luxury this place has presented. Regardless of which, he twists his mouth up into a smile. ] Honeycrisp. Guess this elder god has standards.

IV ✦ People Are Strange

[ Stephen grits his teeth, digs his nails through fabric into his chest. Unlike many others affected by the rogue "hitchhikers," the effects of his particular doppelgänger have been invisible on his skin but perceptible in other ways – crinkles and cracks within his spine, stiffness in his gut, as if some portion of the bodies inside him are changing, solidifying, shifting from dense organic mass to something more artificial – less malleable.

He staggers toward you on the street corner, a gaunt man in a strange cape, looking like death – dark circles more pronounced and skin more ashen than usual. ] Hey, [ he gets out, as he grabs the nearby traffic light pole for purchase, ] you seen a guy in a red cape around here?

[ He looks like me, are the words he doesn't say, like the man I used to be. ]

V ✦ Surgical Precision

[ Maybe you're on your way to Saint Margery's Hospital or the Pavilion Medical Clinic – or en route to somewhere else entirely – when you collapse to the ground. Either way, you find yourself immobilized, propped up against the concrete building beside you – either because your leg stopped working on account of the synthetic polymers now making up your joints, or because you're clutching the stretch of skin along your arm or fingers where plastic strands meet flesh and turn your nerves to pure, burning agony.

Something sparks in the air nearby, outside your peripheral vision. Steps approach on the sidewalk and a shadow looms over you – larger and darker than should belong to a human.

Except then the owner of the shadow crouches down, and it's just a man in casual wear that would look oddly new – if not for the blood spattered over its sleeves and pants. ]

Hey, [ he says, forcefully, as a doctor might, as he reaches for your shoulder and grips it gently. ] How you doing? Where's the pain coming from?

[ Given the severity of this particular cosmic storm, sounds like you aren't today's first patient. ]

VI ✦ Wildcard / Planned

[ Feel free to riff off any angle in these prompts if the prescribed hooks aren't grabbing you! If you've got any other ideas for scenarios, feel free to hit me up @ LaCidiana, Discord @ LaCidiana, or PM this journal! ]

IV

[unsunder]

[ Well, this is certainly a much less dramatic entrance than the last time Emet-Selch saw Stephen. Gone are the shadows and the swirling tendrils of something other, which sort of makes the cape sit a bit at odds with the man himself, looking much worse for wear.

Emet-Selch looks him over coolly for a moment, watching him lean on the light pole. The signal turns and the small throng of pedestrians move to cross, leaving the two of them more or less alone. ]

Pick up a new friend, did you?

[ He wouldn’t be the first Emet-Selch has seen. Likely not the last, either, but Stephen seems to be having a particularly difficult time. ]

[elriche]

[ Stephen narrows his eyes at the utterly unhelpful answer, especially given the massive well of power underpinning it. Even his current urgency can't overwhelm his kneejerk urge to reply with– ]

Yeah. You haven't?

[ He glances over Emet-Selch's shoulder and doesn't see any trace of a white-haired clone in the throng of people down the street – although given the way these things pop up when you least expect them, that doesn't really mean much of anything. He refocuses up at the man-god, reminded of a towering friend who looks down on him physically rather than figuratively, grits his teeth. ]

Red cape. Looks like me. [ Except maybe a little more relaxed, a little less green around the gills, less hellbent, crazed, broken. Weaker – or stronger. Stephen already knows which. ] Seen him?

[unsunder]

No, and I think you and I both know 'tis for the best.

[ A double with even a fraction of his power would be... a problem, to say the very least.

He gives Stephen another look, less outright judgmental and more curious, taking stock of the many, many passengers writhing around in what passes for the man's soul these days. It's impossible to know if any have jumped ship to his double, or if the mannequin bears any piece of his soul in general. If it does, that would make it easier to pick out in a crowd — though the cape might be enough on its own. ]

I have not, but if you've a lead, we may as well follow it.

[ Stephen is clearly in no state to do much. What better way to fight a sorcerer, even a copy of one, than with another sorcerer? ]

[elriche]

[ Emet-Selch's not wrong, but that doesn't mean Stephen can't detect an edge of judgment to his tone – part and parcel to dealing with a... whatever he is, although he can't help but remember the Watcher's compassion for the plights of dimensionally-bound beings despite his otherworldly origins. A part of Stephen wonders if there's also a relief implied in Emet-Selch's statement – that he hasn't had a part cut out of himself, twisted, put on display for others to see.

For his own eyes to see.

Stephen shakes off the contemplation, instead lets an uncomfortable wave of relief crash over him with the man's promise of help. He knows the offer isn't as benign as it appears – the more Emet-Selch sees of Stephen in this weakened position, the more points of exploitation he might spot, the more of an upper-hand he might wield should their interests one day conflict. But Stephen remembers his conversation with Bjurstrom, his texts with Wanda, his words exchanged with the creature in the Macy's department store. Building a united front against a common enemy means sharing resources, information. Trust.

It was easy, in the depths of the Library of Cagliostro, in the endless spacetime of a void that was once his home. Not having to trust.

He grits his teeth. Raises his head and forces himself to stand upright despite the agonizing crackling along his lumbar vertebrae. He lifts his hand, curls his fingers, waves them in a wide circle that sparks orange at the edges. ]

Last I felt it, it was east of here, toward the outskirts – though with this place's interference, it can probably travel faster than I can. [ A portal shimmers into view, its contents apparently no more than a long block away. Stephen's voice comes out oddly strained as he bears the full force of a sorcerer's concentration, a side-effect of this place's hatred for transportation magic in particular. ] If we hop a few of these, we might be able to catch up with it.

[ Embarrassing, how weak this place has made him – but still better than walking. He steps through, calls over his shoulder. ] Let me know if you see anything.

[unsunder]

[ Yes, well, you spend upwards of ten thousand years believing everyone you meet to be mistakes, pale and broken imitations of the real thing, judgement comes as sort of a default. It’s not a habit he’s cared to break, but then, sitting back and soul-searching about what this unwanted second chance at life means for him has not been high on his priority list.

If he has his way, it will never be on his priority list.

All this to say, he might be judging Stephen for having picked up a mannequin, but it’s not intentional. He has plenty of other things that Emet-Selch can judge him for, intentionally.

He watches the man struggle to get himself upright, and struggle again to work some sort of magic – a portal of some kind. It feels like the world itself actively fights the portal’s existence, not too unlike what happens when he tries to teleport, himself.

Stephen steps through, and Emet-Selch follows. ]

I do wonder why this place seems to hate the idea of using magic to travel so much.

[ Anyway, he casts a look around. ]

Nothing as of yet. If the creature has taken on some part of your soul, I will be able to spot it eventually.

V, just cw: limb loss for this entire thread

[kingsroads]

[ Jonathan doesn't exactly know if the vague rumors he's heard about limb re-attachment are true or not. What he does know is that he's tired and still in a bit of pain. No matter what, that's something to bug the hospital about. He hates the idea of getting into even more debt, but hopefully what he's managed to scrounge up from that mall can help cover that.

He leans against the wall of the Pavilion Medical Clinic for a moment, just to catch his breath, when he sees Stephen approach. Jonathan's face brightens for a moment, as he gives the man a nod—though that pain is still very apparent. ]

I suppose it is fairly obvious where the pain is from, [ he tiredly points out, as he raises his left hand. There's four fingers, but where the pinky finger should be, instead there's a mess of gauze and bandages. Whoever bandaged this did the best they could, but time and the drive back to the city have jostled the bandages around a bit. ]

[elriche]

[ Already, he's sending out invisible tendrils from his unseen eyes into the world around him – trying to identify the next civilian with concentrated patches of of unnatural cosmic distortion around their person. Like fungus on skin – sprouting mycellic roots into healthy tissue, except this time, its source is less than organic.

Stephen senses a couple more victims down the block but focuses first on the man in front of him, who's so out-of-sorts that even with his regency clothing, Stephen recognizes the darkness in his aura before he places his face. ]

Strange, [ he addresses him, a little in-joke before he launches into diagnosis mode. In truth, emergency medicine was never his preference nor strong suit – but it was someone else's.

He swallows down the dry lump in his throat and reaches to grip Jonathan's wrist and turn it. His own invisible sensory organs cluster around the bandaged finger. No more cosmic interference, which means... ] I see I got here post-op. [ A beat. ] Do you... know where your finger is?

[ The answer is obvious – on the mannequin that took it, but depending on where the mannequin itself is, there might be a number of possible outcomes for Mr. Strange's prognosis. ]

[kingsroads]

[ The answer is not obvious at all. And really, Jonathan should not look as smug as he does when he pulls out of his pocket, a ziploc bag full of ice. Ice and a finger. His finger. The finger has a plasticine texture, like that of a mannequin, but looks damn close to Jonathan's normal fingers. ]

I have found a way to dispatch the mannequins, [ he says, a manic gleam in his eyes. ] If one removes the afflicted limb, it dispatches the creature itself. And really, it was much more efficient to remove the finger before—

[ Nope, wait, he's swaying again. Somebody at least needs painkillers. ]

[elriche]

Hey — careful. [ Stephen says as he leans forward to grab Jonathan's shoulder and ease him to steady footing. There might be an odd sensation – as if a few extra limbs are grasping Jonathan along his back and arms, just out of his sight – but it's gone just as quickly as it manifests. ] But okay – great, glad you... took care of that, means I can reattach.

[ Stephen guesses he shouldn't be surprised Jonathan took care of his own mannequin (especially given it probably didn't get up to nearly as much... trouble as Stephen's did), but it's still a testament to the guy's resourcefulness. Did he try some kind of immolation spell first? Settle on a summoned blade? Or use just plain weapons? Stephen's curious, but also keenly aware Jonathan's mortal body is on a ticking clock as far as medicine is concerned.

Stephen reaches forward, gingerly takes the bag, gives it a quick once-over before he gestures it into a suspension state over his shoulder, disappearing the ice and encapsulating the finger in a precisely climate-controlled bubble. ] Need to get somewhere a little more sterile first – here, [ he reaches forward again for Jonathan's shoulder, ] come with me, think I can put something together.

[kingsroads]

[ If he notices the sensation of being carried by multiple limbs, Jonathan doesn't mention it. His gaze isn't exactly focused, despite his best efforts. It's obvious that he's been trying to keep going, trying to stay calm and collected and focused, but he's hit his breaking point, he's hit the straw that broke the camel's back: it's been a very long few days and he doesn't have much in the way of painkillers and ouch. ]

I didn't know you could re-attach it to begin with, [ Jonathan muses, as he walks towards Stephen, more than happy to lean on the man as they walk forward, towards the hospital. ] I simply kept it because what else was I to do with it? Besides, there are uses to keeping one's finger. A fairy I once worked with took one as a token from a young lady. He brought her back to life from the dead but demanded a token in return, most likely something to bind her to him.

[ Jonathan's yapping is a tired, dazed sort of yapping, very much a person talking just to hear themselves talk, talking because at least when you're talking, you're focused and paying attention. ]

V: eliot spencer remix (cw for blood and gore)

[retrievalist]

[ If nothing else, at least grocery shopping still works the same here. Eliot's whistling a little, twirling his car keys around and around his index finger as he makes his way down the street towards the store. The parking lot had been rammed so he'd had to park a little ways away but it's a nice enough day; a little walk won't kill him. He almost makes it there too, but he passes a small auto shop and—

He shouldn't have been able to hear it, is the thing, the frantic muttering, the high-pitched whimpers. Not over the midday traffic, the rush of people. Must have been a sixth sense or something—and Hardison did say he was more animal than man once—the way he happens to glance over just as something red splatters across the floor of the loading bay and, well, even at a distance he knows it's not paint.

Hello?

Eliot approaches on careful feet, shoulders rolling carefully in case he has to crack some heads.

Get it off, get it off.

The voice is clearer now that he's inside the shop proper. More blood splatters, and there's the squish of something wet, and Eliot breaks into a sprint, rounding the sedan locked into the bay and crossing the rest of the distance in seconds.

Get it off.

It looks like a crime scene, blood and hair and what looks like chunks of flesh everwhere. And a man, slumped up against a cabinet, gouging holes in his legs again and again and again.

Get it OFF.

Hey, knock it off.

Eliot has no idea what's going on but he's pretty sure this can't be good. He lunges for whatever the hell it is the man has in his hands, not really thinking anything other than make it stop. He skids through blood in his hurry and the man shrieks and tries to crawl away and in the end Eliot has to knock him out to get him to stop mutilating himself.

(He's coming, please, he's coming, I have to make it go awa—)

It takes him precious moments to find something to turn into makeshift bandages, and then he lifts the man into his arms and hurries back out onto the street, and then the main road. ]

Hey. [ It's loud, barked out at the first set of people to pass by him. ] Where's the nearest hospital?

[elriche]

The Blocks – although unless he's dying, I don't think Saint Margery's will care.

[ The voice comes out of nowhere, a few feet behind Eliot's shoulder with an edge of aggravation to its tone. If Eliot turns around, he'll see a man approaching in casual wear (clean, not yet stained with any blood... hmmm). He raises both hands in a disarming motion, as if aware of the suddenness of his own entrance, before glancing over the civilian – the makeshift bandages made out of terry cloth, the uneven circles of blood already soaking through. ]

Dr. Stephen Strange. They're out of beds at the hospital, [ he elaborates, quickly, ] we could try the Pavilion clinic, but it depends on how much blood he's got left in him – can I take a look?

[ The guy definitely gives off the air of a doctor – the urgency, the way one hand is already moving toward the stranger's neck to assess pulse, just ahead of Eliot actually giving permission. But there's something... weird about him too. Something about the way he appeared from nowhere, about the way his shadow moves, about the color of his skin, a little south of pale.

But maybe he can help. ]

[retrievalist]

[ Eliot turns.

He doesn't startle though, despite the fact that he didn't sense anyone there, because he's been in this place long enough to know that some of the people here aren't quite what he's used to, but it does mean that he's on edge. And once he actually sees this Dr. Stephen Strange, the feeling magnifies ten-fold. It's like he's in a sniper's crosshairs. Like like he's being stalked, run to ground, herded into a trap, snare about to snap shut around him, and Eliot finds himself two steps away before he even realises that Stephen has reached out, no fight, just pure run run run away. He has to force himself to close the gap between once more. ]

Hard to say. Whole place was covered in blood when I found him but he was still conscious and hacking off bits of his legs. Was able to put up a struggle before I— [ knocked him out ] —subdued him.

[elriche]

[ If Stephen notices the instinctive aversion of the man in front of him, he doesn't do anything to indicate it – or maybe is too focused on the potential patient to notice. He frowns, presses two fingers to the unconscious man's carotid, then hovers his hand over the man's legs and waves it, slowly, up and down. He frowns, gestures again and apparates what look to be two medical-grade tourniquets made of bright blue nylon. ]

Heart rate's up, which means he's lost enough blood for it to be a concern – here, [ he says, as he indicates the other man should adjust the patient in his arms. As soon as he does, Stephen twists his wrist once more, and the tourniquets fly toward the unconscious man to wrap tightly around the topmost portions of his upper thighs, belting themselves closed and clipping securely on plastic tension rods. ] Concussing him probably wasn't ideal, but we can deal with that too – just... keep his head elevated and follow me.

[ Stephen turns and gestures once again – this time toward the vacant warehouse nearby. After a moment of concentration, he nods and walks toward its side door, then whips it open to an oddly white interior. ]

mall time maybe a little wildcard

[mechatheism]

[Viktor and Jayce travel to diffusion zones together--once there, they split up to better explore. He's reluctant to leave his side, but he can at least concede that they'll cover more ground and find more supplies in a shorter amount of time if they divvy up the work. Besides, this place seems like an old shopping arcade. He's hard-pressed to think of something that could be any real danger, in a place like this, taking advantage of his intimidating stature to keep any other Fluxdrifts away.

That is, until he senses...something. It feels like many somethings, which is his first indication that there might be trouble. Thanks to his connection with Jayce, he can more-or-less determine where his partner is, and there's some relief in knowing it's away from this thing, but Viktor isn't about to wait around for the distance to close. He'll seek out the source of this power, whatever it is.

He doesn't prowl, exactly, given his height and the weight of his metallic footfalls, but he does keep to the shadows, not wanting to expose himself. Of course, he has no real way of disguising his own power, and he isn't even sure what he'll do, if he finds this thing first.

Viktor ends up stalking through rows of clothing, every shifting shadow making him flinch, slightly--unbecoming, of something such as him.]

[elriche]

[ There's something about the department store in particular.

Blinding fluorescent lights throw sharp contrast on the the dark figures peppered throughout the aisles of colorful 90's fashion – a woman's hand on the sleeve of a cardigan, a man at the cologne counter, a cashier pulling open the till. Stephen walks down the thoroughfare between the escalators and children's section, feels his boots stop on the white tile when he spots the silhouette of a small child, mid-run toward a toy display.

It's horrible, what happened to these people, the destructive force that swept through this place and stole their lives in the same breath that it preserved their last moments. But as Stephen thinks of countless lives erased in a single stroke for reasons known only to the dark entity that took them, he finds it's not horror but a different emotion that colors his thoughts, that dries his mouth and makes his throat raw.

The second of weakness is enough to distract him – until he feels it.

He whirls around, cape catching wind with the motion, eyes narrowed toward the luxury goods section. Its black walls and low lighting contrast with the rest of the store – aspirational purses on pedestals, under spotlights and acrylic cases. Something moves in the shadows behind a Prada bag.

Stephen's tendrils of perception expand and hit something volatile – atoms radiating in sequence, buzzing with power similar in nature to Maximoff's but alien in origin – different from his and hers in the same way as everyone else he'd met from outside his multiverse. Although this is... different even from them. Larger, interweaved with cosmic power unknown. Stephen hasn't felt anything so potent since the white-haired man in the resort cabana. ]

I know you're there. [ Although projected for the large space, his voice comes out even – though his fixed stare on the two points of light in the darkness betrays his apprehension. ] Willing to talk if you are.

ii ;

[diplomatiste]

[ Alphinaud has the car today in hopes of doing some light investigations of the temple out in Quadrant 1. It seems a straight-forward solo mission without too much excitement, and he'd promised the others that he wouldn't stray too far or fight any fight without them. It was just as well; he isn't really suited to one-on-one brawling anyway.

He hasn't even arrived at his destination when something appears out of nowhere to swerve directly into his path —


— and it's only quick reflexes and a swooping panic in his stomach keeping him alert that allows him to twist the steering wheel out of the way of the oncoming mass, narrowly missing his car, and brake to a stop. It really, really wouldn't do to lose this one; it would leave him and his sister with no car to share between them. (tl;dr — his car was totalled on their first day in this place after a rather unfortunate little run-in with a man who is not an Ascian or a primal but not a normal mortal either, and now he and Alisaie manage to split their time between this 'dark cherry pearl' Honda Odyssey-replica.)

It takes him a moment to gather his wits about him, hands still knuckle-white on the steering wheel. But emerge from his own vehicle he does, in order to check on the other car. He can't imagine the other vehicle meant to barrel into him on purpose. In fact, he more or less refuses to believe it.

A small teenaged boy with pointed ears and a long white braid steps forward cautiously to join the man now partially slumped over, the last of the dark tendrils fading away so that Alphinaud has to question whether it's just part of the kick-up of dust or something else entirely.

He ... keeps a polite distance, just in case. ]

— are you all right, ser? I can help you.

[elriche]

[ ooc: oh my god alphinaud yOU TOTALED YOUR CAR??!!! YOUNG MAN– ]

Fine, [ Stephen gets out. Any strange shadows that may have clung to the edges of the car's aluminum frame dissipate into its cracks as the he turns toward the voice, one hand still clenched into a fist on the car's roof.

He refocuses for a second, as his hazy vision takes in the short, elfin figure, then the van some yards away. Tendrils of ethereal awareness reach out, shakier than usual, to appraise the state of the vehicle and of its presumed driver. The kid's alone, but unhurt, and more importantly seems to be untouched by whatever cosmic influence that has claimed Stephen's... passenger. ]

I... [ He shakes his head. Swallows down patterns of repetition jolted like adrenaline through his prefrontal cortex. Wheel, truck, cliff. Wheel, truck, cliff. Wheel, truck, cliff– ] Sorry. My fault – I... been a while since I drove, before all this.

[ His eyes slide slowly toward the plastic figure in the passenger's seat, motionless, an elephant in the room. ]

[diplomatiste]

[ ooc: tbf there was a bit of sibling squabbling involved and alisaie at the wheel, so ,,, REALLY ,,, he's innocent in all of this and gets first dibs on scheduling for alisaie's car ]


[ Hmm.

The plastic mannequin in the passenger's seat does not miss Alphinaud's notice, and in fact provides a little more context for what may or may not have happened had things gone just a hair more awry.

He's still more concerned about the man he'd nearly had a collision with, but we're going to circle right back to it in a moment. He studies Stephen for any obvious injuries, and then satisfied with his assessment, quickly turns back to his car, clicks a button on his keyring to lock the thing with its signature beep-beep!, and then his attentions are back on the other man.

(You see, there was a whole thing where Alisaie's car had then been taken for a joy ride by some nameless, faceless masked man in red just after the incident with Alphinaud's ... anyway, since then they've been more careful about leaving the car unattended.) ]

It's quite all right. I'm just relieved no one was hurt. [ He's genuine when he says it. ] And I do not mean to presume, but I cannot help but think that perhaps it has something to do with the companion in your car.

wildcard idk just throws something at the wall

[haemophile]

[It's a night just like any other, an ordinary and completely normal night, if not for the slowly growing mannequin horde that appears to be taking over Panorama in bits and plasticky pieces.

Also normal: two men standing on the pavement, talking to each other. Abnormal: one of them has a shovel, for some reason.

The reason becomes apparent quickly when he hauls off and whacks the other man in the face with it. There is an ambulance parked nearby, which is very convenient for the situation at hand, even though... oddly... the beshoveled man doesn't really seem all that bothered? He reacted to the momentum of the blow well enough, but he doesn't seem hurt at all. By all accounts, his head should be a little less head-shaped, at the very least.

So this night isn't very normal at all. One might say it's actually... quite Strange.]

[elriche]

[ It's a night just like any other, an ordinary and completely normal night, as a man named Doctor Strange in an exaggerated warlock bat cape and a body made of 100,000 monsters strolls down the road and sees something kind of weird.

Stephen stops, squints down the sidewalk. Also normal: Tendrils of unfathomable cosmic perception spreading out from his writhing ocean of astral essence to identify the odd thing ahead – one threaded with magic subtle and unknown, the other soaked like a kerosene rag in the warped cosmic atoms of this malevolent universe. Abnormal: ...Is that a shovel?

Stephen frowns, steps into the shadow of the brick building beside him, a patch of darkness cast on the alley by the fluorescent glow of the streetlight outside it. A massive form crawls across the face of the building, over poster bills and graffiti, silhouettes of countless limbs – tendrils, wings, bony joints bent at impossible angles – as the monstrosity slinks into a patch of shadow a couple yards behind the man with the shovel. The man raises it for another strike and– ]

Oh. [ Stephen lets out a sigh of relief, now standing in the same streetlight's cone of light, a perfectly normal man in perfectly normal attire at the perfectly normal hour of one AM. ] It's a mannequin, I – sorry, thought something weird was going on.

iii

[alwaysme]

[She wanders her way in, off-beat rhythm to her step, dragging nails along the wall nearest to her for the tactile feel. The metallic scrape from her middle finger's prosthetic makes the most signal to her approaching presence.] Neat trick. [With the apple.

It was a bit of a scuffled detour for Jinx to end up in this place. One dead raider (ran over), another maimed (she broke his arm while half hanging out of her driver's window), and the (1) scavenged pocket knife she found a week ago through the windshield of their vehicle--

Well. She could've taken them if she wanted to sacrifice her own vehicle.

And she wasn't willing to do that.

So she had skidded over through the gate and all but danced into the structure, immediately feeling a shiver run down her back at the geometric shape that had been her entryway. (She snapped a few pictures on her way in. Of it and the sigils.)

It's fine.

They're not the same.

She just wants to hold onto the reference. Just in case.] I'm not too interested in fairy tales. What do you think this one did? [She gives a derisive snort. Just another Janna, huh?] Held everyone up with all their arms?

[elriche]

[ Stephen narrows his eyes at the scraping sound down the hall, as the silhouette of a young woman ambles toward him with an oddly unsettling gait – uneven, playful, more like a child's than an adult's. He can't quite get a read on the energy of her aura from this distance – maybe because of the power of this particular temple, or maybe because of this universe's perpetual limitations, which don't seem to affect any two situations exactly alike.

Either way, the girl seems about as unimpressed with this place as he is. Stephen waves his hand to disappear the apple for now and walks toward her. His boots echo against the stone floor as he considers the question. ]

Depends. [ He turns, appraises the statue with his human eyes, although invisible tendrils of perception stay firmly planted on the girl. ] Could be a creation god. Could be a mortal from history who was deified after the fact. Or could just be something someone made up to get people to listen to them.

[ He pauses, allows a half-smile as he glances toward her. ] Maybe all three.