Incident [TEXT]

Duck into the door on the opposite wall. You might be able to peek out and see who's coming. Plus, potential window exits if you need to make a hasty escape.

You take soft steps towards the light shining on the wall, closer towards the voices. You pause at the next corner and lean back against the wall. If you moved to your right a little and turned your head, you might be able to catch sight of the owners of those two silhouettes. As it is, their shadows on the wall to your right are enough company for now.

You hear a male voice and female voice, both speaking in hushed and hurried tones.

“All I'm asking is, what the hell do we do if we end up going toe to toe with Number 6 himself?”
“We don't,” replies the female voice. “We call for backup and distract and corner him until we've got enough people to risk it. Hope to hell that he didn't bring too many people with him. Of course, there's the obvious problem...”
“Yeah, we don't know what he's capable of. If you go by the rumours he could give the Red Queen a run for her money, but we don't fucking know. I just want to know if my heart's going to explode or if I'll just go nuts and start eating my fingers. Y'know?”
“Which rumours have you been hearing? If he's anything like the Red Queen he won't bother with that melodramatic crap. Probably won't feel a thing. But it's a wonder she didn't come down here herself. Word is she was raging when she heard Number 6 had broken in here.”
“Wait, really? I didn't know there was anything in here that was worth something.”
“How about that hostage?”
“I guess. Do you know who it is?”
“No. Kierkgaard has a name and a photo, but she's tightlipped about it.”
“Seems kind of risky. What if one of Six's people poses as the hostage? They could get taken directly to the Queen's right hand man.”
“Woman.”
“Figure of speech. Whatever.”
“I guess they think that risk is worth it. People are guessing either a lover or an illegitimate child. Either way, it's someone that can be used against her and I guess she doesn't want their identity becoming common knowledge. But it's not going to look good if Number 6 gets away with breaking into her property and kidnapping somebody who should be under her protection.”
“Declaration of war, huh? It's weird, I thought Number 6 was for the sparkers. Seems like a strange fight to pick.”
“If anyone can agree on anything, it's that this whole thing is off. Stinks of a trap.”
“And we don't even know how we're going to die.”
They get a chuckle out of that one.
“It looks like they've got the perimeter secured. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah. How many scouts are they sending?”
“Seven pairs, including us. The Old Bank is big, but not that big. One of us'll run into something.”
“Just hoping it's not you and me.”

The two of them fall into silence. You take the opportunity to examine the window.

It doesn't have a lock, which is promising, and the ledge outside is decently wide. About two feet. It's not ideal, but it could be worse. If you unlatch it all you would need to do is lift the sash and climb up onto the sill. Even so... you might only be on the first floor, but it's still a long way down. You'd likely survive. That's the best that can be said for a fall like that.

You take a moment to consider. It sounds like you don't have much time to hide. But it also sounds like you might not have to. If what you overheard is correct, then not only is Number 6 the much bigger deal here, your situation is apparently that of a hostage. It doesn't seem like anyone wants to kill you.

All you need to do to get out of here is waltz up to those two people and ask to be rescued.

But if they decide that you're not the hostage for whatever reason, you don't like the look of your chances.

What will it be?

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SpoilerIncident hit a thousand views! Jubilance.

Well, put it this way: if they see you making a run for it, you're definitely not the hostage. It's worth a shot to claim hostage and hope.

Might as well just stroll out and ask to be pointed to the exit.
You probably look less than your best right now-bruises, lack of sleep, clothes rumpled, hair ruffled, that sort of thing. Besides, if they're already thinking you're your mother's child, they'll probably pick up on the physical resemblances.

Hold up. From the sound of their conversation these guys are sparkers, not humanitarians. Even if they aren't powered themselves, if they work for this "Red Queen" character, then they've got an agenda for being here.

Do you know anything about the "Red Queen"?

Regardless, they're looking for a hostage, and you're pretty sure that is you.

But for someone who isn't a public servant, a "hostage" isn't just some innocent passerby. It's someone of personal value. It'd be nice to figure out what makes you so popular, but not by waltzing right into someone else's custody.

You took a job and that job requires picking up a package from your office, otherwise you'd have no idea how to complete it.

That being said, 6 must have known this "Red Queen" was looking for you, and he knew these people would show up. Why did he pick this location? These people aren't here to fight him, just to scout. Could they just be looking for you?

You won't gain any extra info by revealing yourself to these two. Approaching them and saying "hi, I'm a hostage" is a lousy plan, with too many dangerous variables (more than jumping out of a window).

If the perimeter is secured, then you need to see exactly how, and maybe who has it secured.

Maybe it's time for an interrogation of your own...

> Unlatch the window, and keep your smokebomb cigarette handy. Either approach the two or let them come to you. Don't tip your hand as to who you are. Intimidate them. Make them guess. They're nervous and will want to know who they're dealing with, try and get info on Red Queen as well as who is guarding this place and what their abilities are. Threaten them to keep them from calling in for help. If things get dicey, smokebomb and dart out the window. Don't jump yet though.

The urge to just give yourself up and get out of this place is almost too much to resist. But you've been pushed around enough tonight. Time to exercise what little power you have.

Taking care to remain as silent as possible, you slide open the window and climb up onto the sill, bracing yourself against the frame. The sounds of the city night stream in. A warm breeze brushes against your face, and you take a deep breath.

The drop to the ground looks even more intimidating from here. You're fairly sure your previous estimate was accurate, though. You'd probably survive, even if it was at the expense of your legs' integrity.

But broken limbs or not, that's still a perimeter breach by an unknown person, right? Maybe that's all the leverage you need.

Maybe not.

You slide the smoke bomb cigarette between your teeth and slip out a matchbook from your wallet. After a moment's thought you ease your handgun out its holster and hold that loosely in your other hand. Give them something to think about. It might slow you down if you want to light the cigarette, but you can probably make it look natural enough.

Maybe.

Taking the bomb out from between your lips, you suck in another breath of night air and whistle as loudly as you can.

You wait a moment, and are rewarded with a burst of dialogue from the two people in the doorway. A figure darts out from the doorway, a long coat swooshing after them, a flash of red at their throat. You catch the faintest of glow of crimson at their fingertips before they suddenly become very, very still. You guess the gun you're pointing at them has something to do with that.

“Good evening. I'd like to talk.”

You smile amiably.

“Preferably with your hands where I can see them, and your friend over there in a similar position.”

As they slowly raised their hands, you take a moment to look over the person in front of you. There's a bright red scarf pulled up around the lower half of his face, but you can tell that he's young. Maybe seventeen, eighteen. His coat looks thick and heavy. Out of place on a night this warm. Thick, dark hair, unshined shoes, chewed nails. You reckon you'd recognise him if you saw him again, scarf or not.

But then the second speaker appears behind him, and you lose interest. It's the white sparks crackling around her raised fingertips that inherit it.

“How's this?” She's wearing the same style of coat as the kid, gently swinging around her legs as she walks towards you, and also has some kind of red fabric covering her nose and mouth. The major differences between them are that her sleeves are rolled up, she stinks of ozone and she's clearly the senior member of the partnership. This is the one you need to keep your eye on.

“I could name a few improvements.”

Your gun drifts towards her, and she takes the opportunity to whisper something to the teenager. As he starts to slide away you switch target again.

“No, I don't think so. Let's just keep this between the three of us. I get nervous talking in front of crowds.”

There's a moment when you think he might make a run for it, back to the door and into the lit room. He runs his tongue over his lips and stares down the barrel of that gun, thinking that he might just make it. But it's the fear that wins in the end, and he sidles back into full view and raises his hands. You nod approvingly and turn to the woman.

“Your turn. I'd like to keep this civil.”

She glares at you for a few solid seconds, the white sparks illuminating those steely eyes. And then in a moment the light is gone, and her face is wreathed in shadow once more.

“Who are you?” she asks flatly.

A good question. How do you respond?

Repeat the question back to her. It's classy. Just like the movies.

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SpoilerAny interrogation is a simple exchange of goods. Both parties want something from the other, and the person who gets what they want first is the one who comes out on top.

Here, you have the advantage, you already know what these two want. They're looking for a hostage, and they'd like very much not to die. They can assume you also want the latter, but other than that they have no idea why you're here. By asking who you are, she is trying to assess if you can help (or hinder) either one of their goals. Smart question, but you're still ahead.

It's important to answer as truthfully as you can without tipping your hand. The best lies are 90% truth. You need to let them think that you're associated with 6 - you know they're afraid of him, but they'd be more amiable if they thought you were at least somewhat independent (both things true)...actually...

...All the big names involved with sparkers seem to go off of some sort of code, No 6, the Red Queen. These two are sure to report back to their bosses after this (assuming you escape - you doubt you could reasonably take them out, though you won't let them know that). You need a code name for yourself. Something that'll stick.

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SpoilerPerhaps "Alice", to go along with the Wonderland theme the "Red Queen" seems to imply. Or, if that's overdone, some other name that belies an investigator of a messed-up world? Or something you recall being unique to you?

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SpoilerEither way, just give them the name, then ask for theirs. Establishing a basic exchange of information should make them slightly more comfortable. Afterwards, try to get them to tip their hand a bit more, you know the woman's ability - some kind of lighting or literal sparking (if her spark lights that smokebomb, make sure to bail). The heavy coat on the kid could just mean he's a punk with no fashion sense - but it's more likely he's an immature sparker with an ability you don't know yet. Ask him if he's cold.

Also, you're on a time limit. If you smell ozone, then the air is ionized, should only take her a couple of minutes to build up enough of a charge to start shocking things - listen for the characteristic "crackle" of static discharge. You want to lull them into focusing on using their words - not their powers.

> Give them a pseudonym. Ask for theirs. Ask the kid if he's cold. Try to ascertain more about who they are in addition to making them feel secure in conversation. Threaten when they deviate from that, encourage them when they comply.

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Spoiler Sorry, are these suggestions too long? I can keep it brief it that's better! Either way I really enjoy this story - it gets me thinking!

"Why don't you tell me?"

Me? Nobody important. It's none of their business.

Don't let on to the connection to 6 or parents or anything, since we're not going the claiming hostage route, and claiming affiliation one way or another's gonna screw up our independent operating status in the long run.

We should try to score one of those scarves and possibly coat if our own won't suffice; disguising yourself as one of them might let you slip past the perimeter. These guys don't seem like big players, they probably won't know much. But what they DO know we can use to get out. For example, they might have passwords or something. It seems like a big enough operation that they might not know everyone by sight, at least.

“Why don't you tell me?”

“You want me to guess?”

“Mm, no. No, not at all. I just want your suspicions.”

She's silent for a moment. Whatever she was expecting to be demanded from her at gunpoint, it probably wasn't this.

“We came here for Number 6. I suppose... it's possible that's who you are. I've never seen him. He could look like anyone under the mask. But this... doesn't seem quite his style.” She tilts her head slightly, as if imagining someone with Six's reputation perched on a windowsill with an unlit cigarette.

“Not Number 6, then. Go on.”

“He probably didn't come alone. You could be one of his sparkers. There are plenty of abilities that are useful to have around but aren't any good for threatening people.” She shrugs. “Hence the gun. But that does beg the question of what you're doing alone.”

“I'm not a sparker,” you volunteer, and hope that at least one person will believe it.

She shrugs again. “Neither is Kierkgaard. Sometimes people like you are useful to keep around.”

“I don't know if you noticed, but Number 6 is less than keen on normals.”

“You mean those assassinations?”

“That's what I was thinking of. It's enough to make a non-sparker a little nervous.”

That's a point, isn't it? You're almost certain somebody said Dupont was a sparker. Possibly the same person who told you his first name, because you can't remember that either. It wouldn't look good if Number 6 was seen to have started going after sparkers too – is it possible that he doesn't intend to claim responsibility for Dupont's murder, as he did with the assassinations of the normals?

You find yourself starting to wonder just how badly Number 6 wants this cube of his.

It also occurs to you that if you're right about this, he was taking a risk in admitting his part in the death to you. Not that anyone would believe you without proof, but it still seems... odd.

Your attention slips for a moment and the woman starts to move forward again, hands aglow -

You snap the gun back into place and she comes to a halt.

“Please, continue. With a little less posturing and pondering, if you please.”

She raises her eyebrows, but resumes talking anyway.

“If you're not Number 6 or working for him, then you're one of us. But I have my reasons for doubting that.”

“The lack of the coat and red scarf being one of them, I suppose. But perhaps I lost them, rather unfortunately, and finding myself in a building full of hostile sparkers decided that walking back to where we've set up base was a less than brilliant idea.”

You rather like that. The idea about losing your uniform could do some work, but its possible to spin something out of that.

“So you decided to hold two of us at gunpoint?” She's raising her eyebrows at you again.

“I haven't been electrocuted yet. I think I'm doing okay.”

She snickers.

“Are you done guessing?” You shift your crouching position slightly. Being perched on the sill isn't all that comfortable.

“I can't think of anyone else who would be in here with us.”

Interesting. She didn't mention the hostage situation. Perhaps she's setting up a trap – if you claim that you're with the Red Queen's sparkers, you would certainly know about the kidnapping. But since you do know, brandishing said knowledge might be enough to convince her that you're on her side. That would require you to explain how you lost your coat and scarf, but might be your best bet for getting out of here otherwise unquestioned.

On the other hand, you could also claim to be someone else... someone who would also know about the hostage taking, perhaps. If you claimed to have useful information you might be able to buy your way out of here.

Either way, you risk running into Kierkgaard, who apparently can identify you. It doesn't sound like your mother, the so-called Red Queen, is in the building, but Kierkgaard is her second in command and almost definitely would be handling any developments on the hostage situation.

Or could refrain from claiming to be anyone, and string the sparkers along a little more until you figure out how to get hold of a coat and scarf or otherwise.

What do you do?

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SpoilerThis adventure has been going for about two months now, apparently? My hopes of updating daily kind of went out the window in a major way, it seems.

Maybe it's time to bring up the hostages, but no need to claim that you're them. It might solidify your credibility.

Really, you can't think of anyone else that would be here? Did you miss the mission briefing or are you just uncreative?

Bully newbie into giving you his scarf.

Edit: plan!

As for how you lost the scarf and coat...

Have you ever been trying to impress some cutie, and after talking for a while, maybe having a few drinks, they talk you into doing something that seems perfectly innocent, and the next thing you know they've run off with something kind of important?

Bonus points if you have actually gotten uniforms, secrets, or other important items this way in the past, or seen someone else do so. Extra points if this has left the victim having a hard time proving their identity to their own team.

Negative professionalism points but bonus points to plausibility if our hero has let his happen to them before

Bonus style points if we can pull this off without them realizing we are trying to do to them pretty much exactly what we are describing.

<WHIMBREL> Had another sort of idea too, but haven't thought it out very well
<WHIMBREL> Something about like, dropping hints that we've already done some investigating in this area; found some clues about 6 and the hostage, and be like "I'm not gonna just give you the info but if you wanna try to work it out on your own the crime scene's that-a-way"
<WHIMBREL> with the same sort of cheekiness, since if they do go investigate there's some stuff that might get them to figure out who we were when we're already gone [the cigarette butt]

Remember your goal: to get out of here alive, while getting as much info as you can.

Also notice, they may operate in pairs. It would be a risky move to claim that you're one of them. Sure knowing about the hostage is one thing, but you know so little about how they operate that it wouldn't take long for that deceit to unravel.

Go the third-party route. Take her off guard by referencing the hostage, and then imply that you've been tracking 6 for a while. Hint at some of the info you know, that he's been busy, planning something big - including the recent murder. See how they react to that.

Tell her you're an investigator, with high-paying clients. You're willing to share some info with her if she does the same. She'll get the lead on the hostage, and you'll get to chase after 6 again. Ask for their scarves as payment for the info.

Also, toss her the question, "Why did you sign up with the Queen?", as well as ask for their names.

If it all goes well and they leave, tie the scarves together, loop them around something sturdy and safely drop out the window.

Not an update, sorry. Just something I forgot to tag on the end of the last one.

Sorry, are these suggestions too long? I can keep it brief it that's better! Either way I really enjoy this story - it gets me thinking!

I love long suggestions! Seeing people getting invested in something that I made is a great feeling (especially when said thing is a text adventure that's statistically doomed on that merit alone) so yeah, write as much as you want. Reader input is awesome. I might not use it all, but most suggestions influence the updates in one way or another even if they don't get explicitly used.


(In unrelated stuff I'm aware that I kind of fumbled the whole 'protagonist's mother is the Red Queen' detail. It wasn't meant to be a twist or anything, but it wasn't intended to be completely obvious either (mostly because it is obvious to the protagonist, so they wouldn't think about it too much) and shoehorning it into a throwaway comment probably wasn't the best way to go about it. But it's out there now, so I guess all I can do is try better next time.)

You grin at her.

“You're not such a terrible liar. Too bad that I know for a fact that there's somebody else in here. And it would be very strange indeed if you were unaware of their existence.”

“Then tell me. Please. I'm just dying to know.”

“The hostage. Six's hostage. Ring any bells?”

There is a pause. Then she exhales slowly, and that quiet hissing is the only noise for a moment.

“How do you know about that?” Her words are quiet, but carefully spoken.

“I've been investigating Number 6 for a little while now. A little bit of quick thinking and a great deal of luck had me end up in here. What I've found has been most... enlightening.” You smile wolfishly, the enjoyment not entirely faked as you watch her mind race.

Before she can reply you're talking again, at the languid of pace of someone who holds all the cards.

“Being under the command of the Red Queen as you are, and considering the hostage's... connection to her, I think you might find some of it quite interesting.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be able to put this gun away and not regret it. I want to have a civilised discussion. But most importantly, I want to walk out of this building without running into more trouble from the Red Queen's finest. All I need is a little cooperation from yourselves, and I might be able to give you the information that will make it worth your while. How about it?”

She runs her tongue over lips. “I think that sounds possible. But I want to ask you a few more questions. Just to check a few things.”

You shrug.

“You say you're an investigator?”

“That's correct. I'm a licensed PI. People come to me for help,” you reply, still casual, still confident.

“What's your line on Number 6?”

“He's been killing people. Causing social unrest. Y'know. Some people aren't happy with the progress the police and the mercenaries have made on stopping him, so they turned to me.”

“And what do you intend to do?”

“Get myself into places I shouldn't be and look at things people don't want me to see. Standard private eye business. I'm only interested in information, if that's what you're asking. I'm not intending to catch the man single-handedly.”

“How did you get inside the Old Bank?” Her voice suddenly sharpens.

You freeze, but just for a moment. Your outward façade doesn't even waver.

“Every investigator worth their salt has their contacts and informants. I'm not going to tell you exactly who, or exactly how, but I managed it.”

“Obviously.” She smiles humourlessly and stares at you for a few seconds, as if searching for some kind of tell. You keep your smile and gun in place.

“Okay. I'll bite. I'll let you talk. Permission to lower my arms? They're getting quite tired.”

You nod, and ease your gun back into its holster. The talker and the kid drop their hands, and some of the tension seeps out of the atmosphere. A good start.

“Talk.” She chooses to cross her arms now she has the option.

“Not yet. You've made your checks, now let me make mine. I want to know how you're going to get me out of here.”

She sighs. “Okay then. Here's how it works. As you've already noticed, this coat and this scarf are how we recognise each other tonight. I can give you one of each. With your hat and the scarf covering your face, nobody will pay you too much attention. Not to mention the bank floor is crawling with sparkers in the same get up. There's a group of guards at each of the entrances, inside and out, but only the one at the main entrance has the key. Ask them to let you out. You'll have to come up with some kind of reason, but if you've got the uniform they won't really care. How do you like that?”

You like it a lot better than the window option.

“Sure. There's a big office, back there.” You gesture vaguely behind yourself. “Can't miss it. You'll probably want to draw your own conclusions, but somebody was tied to a chair in there. Very recently. There's dust everywhere but it's quite clearly been disturbed not long ago. Somebody smoke a cigarette, stubbed it out on the desk. Somebody who was sitting in the self same chair somebody was tied to. It would be interesting if the smoker and the prisoner were the same person. Very interesting.”

“How do you know that's anything to do with Number 6?”

“Who else? Unless there's more than one person being held against their will in this building tonight.”

“Where did they go?”

“Like I said, you'll probably want to draw your own conclusions. But I'd say they went in that direction.” You jerk a thumb at the air behind you. “Is that satisfactory?”

“It's certainly something.” She sighs again, rubbing the back of her neck, and turns to look at the kid. He hasn't said a word in your presence. “Give the gumshoe your coat and scarf, Marco.”

“Why me?”

“You're a warder. You'll cope better with friendly fire than I will. Not that we'll get any while I'm with you.”

Warder, huh? It's a good thing you didn't end up fighting them. Those with lightning powers are dangerous on their own, but they get downright deadly when they have warders to trap their victims in place. That's the thing about walls: they can keep things out, or they can keep things in. Neither are something you want to deal with in a fight.

You accept the clothing from the glowering teenager with an amiable grin, and don't drop it until the pair are out of sight. Then you jump down from the windowsill and return the smoke bomb and the matches to their respective places.

You pull on the coat over your current, notably lighter, one, and immediately regret it. You were absolutely correct in thinking that it was far too warm for this sort of thing. The addition of the scarf around your lower face has the expected result of making the situation even more intolerable.

This had better damn well work.

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SpoilerThe next update is just going to be a ==> but the protagonist is going through the door the sparker pair came in through. If there's anything you want to add then you can suggest, but the next update will probably be quite short. Thanks for reading!

Passing through the doorway, you find yourself in very large room, split into two levels. The upper, where you find yourself standing, is more of an extended balcony than a floor in its own right, but it still has several partitioned desks with comfortable leather chairs and fake potted plants. A mirrored version of your balcony clings to the wall on the opposite side of the room. An elevator across from you offers a way down to the lower level, but this too seems to be out of order. Fortunately, a grandiose staircase of pale marble links both the balconies as well the ground and floor and hence forms the alternative.

You ignore it for the moment and walk to the edge of the balcony, where the scene reveals itself.

Just as the sparker said, there's a large group of people in the long coats and red scarves standing to attention at the big double doors belonging to the main entrance. About half are obviously armed. That doesn't tell you anything. Shooting sparks is all well and good, but some like to back it up with bullets.

There's a fair amount of foot traffic on the ground. Most pass through without stopping, either alone or in small groups, but a few stationary groups have formed apparently with only the intention of waiting around. Of these there are three main ones: six or seven people against the wall near the main door, a much larger one, verging on riotous, crowded around the two statues flanking the bottom of the stairs, and finally ten or so with bare forearms standing in the middle of the room that no one seems to want to go near. Backup, perhaps. All are wearing the uniform. On the other balcony there are two more pairs of the Red Queen's by another door. One of the pairs depart as you watch, and other seems to be making necessary checks before they do the same. More scouts. The other four pairs are probably on a different floor.

They cast you a glance, but the red scarf makes them lose interest rapidly. There are more important things than random allies to think about right now.

You turn your attention back to those moving around on the bank floor. A few are just passing from group to group, exchanging words. Most are moving towards the back of bank, evidently through a doorway or passage somewhere below your feet. Some break away from the groups with this aim. A smaller number are passing behind the bank counters to the right of the entrance, and a few are returning the same way to rejoin the people waiting on the bank floor or to join the main flow of people. It occurs to you that you're watching a sudden exodus, as if somebody just gave the order for the majority to move out to the rest of the bank.

Sure enough, the traffic dies down within a couple of minutes. Some still mill around, but it's dead by comparison.

All you need to do is get down to the guards at the front door and convince them to let you out. Simple.

How do you intend to proceed?

Regarding the group of ten, that lightningbug also had her sleeves pushed up. Wonder if it's a rank thing, or to do with their abilities. Kierkgaard might be in that group or the one against the wall by the main door, so be careful, try to avoid catching her attention. Any idea what she looks like?

As for an excuse to go out...How about: your partner wanted you to check something outside, just a piece of junk on the ground she saw from a window, probably nothing, but she insisted. Won't take long.

Thought: We might luck out even if Kierkgaard DOES spot us--signs point to the Red Queen not wanting our identity to be common knowledge, after all.

Make sure to avoid any unnecessary eye contact or conversations. You want people to dismiss you as unimportant. The worst thing would be to get caught up in a conversation here. Walk downstairs with purpose, like you know exactly where you are going and you know you're supposed to be there. Keep your hat down and your scarf up. The last thing you want is Kierkgaard recognizing you.

Ask to be let out without giving a reason first, (don't be rude, just ask in a way that expects that they oblige you). If the "saw something suspicious out the window" excuse doesn't work, or if they question it too much, follow up with a "confession" that you were looking out an open window and dropped your smokes. (or if you think they'll find out that you actually have cigarettes under your coat, make up some other item of interest, like a pocketwatch.)

You pull down the brim of your hat and push up the scarf. Act like you don't expect to be stopped, and it probably won't happen.

With the purposeful stride of someone who has places to be (but not so quick so as to seem panicky) you head for the stairs and step around the people sat on them. The conversations wash over you like water, but nobody directs any of it at you. As you pass by the two statues at the bottom of the stairs you notice that a few people have found a pack of cards and have started dealing them out. Unlike everyone else on the stairs, the dealer turns to look at you. You pretend you don't notice and keep walking. You can hear the gentle thwip of the cards as they hit the floor. The dealer hasn't missed a beat. You can feel his stare on the back of your head, or at least you think so, but the thwip, thwip, thwip, of the cards doesn't stop.

But you don't break pace and nothing happens. It's only as you get out of earshot and exhale that you realise you'd been holding your breath.

The stench of ozone hits you hard, even through the scarf. Keeping a respectful distance from the people in the middle of room does nothing to alleviate it. Looks like your suspicions were correct. Lightning shooters and pyros have a tendency to roll up their sleeves, on account of damage to clothing. Neither ability is particularly neat or predictable; a fact that keeps everyone else far away, but seems to drive such sparkers together. Pyros that hang out in groups like this usually wear facemasks in an attempt to deal with the ozone fumes, which are bad enough around 'clean' bolters and worse around the kind of delinquent associated with rolled-up sleeves. The headaches and nausea are worth it, apparently. Too bad the uniform makes it impossible to tell the composition of this particular group.

Nobody here so much as casts a glance in your direction.

And so you make it to the door largely without incident.

The door guards look towards you as you approach. A few of them briefly glance at a blonde with a buzz cut cradling a submachine gun. You assume she's the leader of this little group.

“I need to get outside,” you say as you come to a halt in front of her.

She chooses not to reply for a moment, instead taking the opportunity to look you up and down.

“No can do,” is the eventual languid reply.

“Look, I dropped a packet of smokes-”

“Take it up with Kierkgaard.” Somebody sniggers. You look at the blonde, and she stares back with unshakeable indifference.

“So where can I find Kierkgaard?” There are a few laughs. Even the leader raises an eyebrow. Nobody moves, their eyes on you.

Suddenly she jerks a thumb in the direction of the bank counters and shrugs.

“Kierkgaard wants a runner anyway. Doesn't sound fun to me, but it'll get you out.”

You begin to walk away.

“Hold up.” You turn back and she looks you dead in the eyes. “You owe me for this. Your name?”

“Alexus Silk,” you reply, without hesitation. Naturally. It's your real name, after all. You don't have any intention of meeting this person ever again; you doubt it's going to matter.

She nods, and you walk on.

You pass behind the bank counters, explain to a couple of guards what you're doing, and enter into a somewhat stark room. An out of place table takes the centre of attention, in addition to the playing cards, cash, chips and mobsters situated on and around it. There's a tense silence dominating the room as you walk in. Most of the players have thrown their cards down, but two opposite each other are clutching at theirs and grinning. There's a mountain of chips between them. The stakes are high. Quite literally.

But it's the statue in the corner of the room, leaning against a gleaming steel door, that catches your attention. It looks like it might be marble, but someone's splashed it with red paint and pinned a piece of paper on it. Naturally, the statue is that of a queen.

Kierkgaard is standing in front of it with her back to you.

What's your next move?

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SpoilerThis adventure surpassed 10,000 words at some point. Huzzah! Have a wordle.

Remember the role you're playing now: a subordinate in a room full of superiors. You are currently a literal redshirt. Make the wrong step and there's little chance they'll forgive you.

What you want is to get out of here. You'll need to talk to Kierkgaard to do that.

Wait in the corner. Watch for the current hand to play out. When the atmosphere is a little less tense, approach Kierkgaard, but don't stand too close. Give her the space you would expect an underling to, someone who has only heard her name spoken, but never spoken to her. Try to act a little fearful. (sure, you're nervous, but not for the same reasons the person you're pretending to be would)

Of course, there is a very real concern. If the ramblings of the two you held up earlier were correct, then Kierkgaard can recognize you. You don't want Kierkgaard to recognize you.

You have smoked pretty regularly, so you probably have a bit of gruff in your voice. If you can exasperate that gruffness without making it sound fake, you should. Try and sound like someone, who at one point, inhaled a lot of smoke all at once. (of course, if you aren't confident you can do it convincingly, then don't bother)

Address her as "Sir", it's formal, and awkward, appropriate for the type of person you're pretending to be. Don't ask, just state the fact. "I was told you needed a runner."

If you are lucky, Kierkgaard is someone who conducts business quickly and efficiently, and manages a lot of peons. She'll give you orders and send you on your way.

If you are not lucky, Kierkgaard is someone who likes to know the people she oversees. She may be surprised to see an unfamiliar sparker. She may want to ask you questions. She may want to see your face.

If she starts questioning you, keep up the responses (don't give her your real name though). You can handle interrogation, at least from most people.

If she asks to see your face, respond respectfully with, "I'd rather not. I don't like people to see the scars." Hopefully, she'll back down at this, respecting the privacy of a sparker who has potentially burned a good part of their face. If she presses, however, then crap...should've gone out the window.

Dang, horrible luck that their security's tight enough that we haveta see Kierkgaard to get out. Don't interrupt the game, try not to catch Kierkgaard's suspicion, etc. Can't decide if her seeing through your disguise is worst case or best case scenario.

There's no need to announce your presence. Instead, you cross your arms and lean against the wall so you can watch the game.

The showdown is a disappointment: both of the hands have equal value, and the huge pot ends up getting split evenly. That takes a little while to count out and the murmur of conversation rises up. You take a glance at Kierkgaard, but either she's deep in thought or there's something fascinating on the front of that statue. She's barely moved since you came in.

Eventually the chips are sorted out and new cards are dealt out.

“Hey, Kierkgaard! Your turn!”

She turns to the table. “I'm not in the mood to play. Put me as all in.”

The one who shouted pushes a pile of chips to the centre of the table.

“What if you win?”

“All in again. And again until I lose.”

As she turns to leave, she notices you.

“Hello there. What are you here for?”

You peer at her from under your hat. You've heard of her, but never seen her for yourself. She's bare armed, like the sparkers out there, but for a different reason. Kierkgaard's a normal, and she makes up for it with muscle. As well as intelligence and a ruthlessness unparalleled even by the Red Queen, but the rippling muscle is the most noticeable. Her scarf hangs around her neck rather than covering her face, and a crooked smile is visible which her nose matches: it looks like it's been broken at least once. Her dark hair is worn in a plait braided with spikes.

Powers or not, Kierkgaard isn't someone you want to get into a fight with.

You have to moisten your lips to reply.

“I was told you wanted a runner, sir,” you tell her with a little faked gruffness. If she asks to see your face you might be able to get away with a story about a fire...

She laughs. “Sir? We're not the mercenaries. While I appreciate the sentiment, we don't use their words here. But yes - there's a message for-”

Kierkgaard stops abruptly, and you realise she's looking at you very intently. Her gaze is locked onto yours and for a moment you do nothing. Then her eyes narrow and, before you can stop her, two fingers snake out and lift the brim of your hat. Kierkgaard's expression darkens, but only for a fraction of a second.

“Let's not do this where we can be overheard,” she says pleasantly. Turning to the table, she motions at one of the players. “Hey, Shadow. Give us some privacy.”

A woman with wild blonde hair gets up from the table and unsheathes a couple of shortswords. Your eyes widen at the sight of the archaic weapons, but nobody else reacts with anything more than cursory interest. She walks up to the two of you, salutes to her superior, and sends a white flame running down the metal of her weapons.

That makes sense. Most sparkers with active (rather than passive) powers use their hands to visualise and direct their powers, but anything can be used. Or nothing at all, if you're focused enough. The best sparkers don't need to move a muscle to use their powers.

Without a word she uses the fire to sketch out a square. As she closes it, the sound of room is immediately cut out. Shadow resheathes the swords, salutes again, and walks back to the table.

“Now no one can hear us,” Kierkgaard remarks. “Alexus Silk. You know, the resemblance to your mother is surprisingly good. A little eerie, even.”

Stabs of fear run through you.

Kierkgaard watches the sparker resume their place at the table before putting an arm around your shoulder and forcibly turning you so both your backs are to the table. She motions behind her with her free hand.

“They might be loyal to me, but they're also curious bastards who can read lips.”

You don't say anything. You're struggling to get your heart rate under control.

“Six is gone, isn't he?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Makes you wonder what he wanted with you in the first place. But you know what I'd really like to know?”

“What?” You glance at her, but she's looking at the wall in front on her.

“Why you haven't encountered an accident in some dark alley, somewhere. A tragic, fatal accident. These things happen all too often in our fair city.”

Even through two layers of coat you can feel her fingers digging into your shoulder. You let her keep talking. She obviously has something on her mind.

“See, your existence is essentially awkward. Tonight is an obvious example: somebody who previously wasn't an issue kidnaps you, and two indifferent factions become deadly enemies. All because of you. People are going to die, in all probability, and it's your fault simply by existing. When I first heard about you, my first reaction was to put a bullet through your head, and if anything that urge has only gotten stronger. Fortunately for you, Ms. Ashe wants you to keep living and I respect what Ms. Ashe wants. But that only goes so far. Don't get any ideas. Don't kick up a fuss, don't draw attention to yourself, don't try to benefit from your value. Do that, and if you're lucky that accident will find you before someone with a big idea does. Understood?”

“I think I get what you're driving at, yes.”

“Good.” She releases her grip on your shoulder and drops her arm back down. “In which case we need to talk about what you're going to do now.”

“Do you - do you still need a runner?”

“I do. But don't worry, this'll be easy.”

“Ah. Go on.”

“Observe: a red queen.” Kierkgaard points at the statue, still splashed with crimson paint. “Number 6 left that at the entrance for us to look at. I'm sure you know what he was getting at with that. I'm sure you also know how much Ms. Ashe hates that nickname, so you're not going to mention this particular detail. I'm going to give you the note. If anyone asks, you're delivering it to her. But once you leave here, go home. Sit tight until tomorrow. You've got lunch with her, at the Blue Rose. Lucky you. There's a three month waiting list for a table there, as I hear it. Bring the note. Don't fuck up. And remember what I said about taking advantage of your position. Any questions?”

For the majority of this oration Kierkgaard was looking straight ahead, presumably to irritate any lip readers. But now she turns to look at you. She's smiling, but only with her mouth. Her eyes are blazing with utter hatred and you have an uncomfortable premonition of that rictus grin being the last thing you see.

“N-no.”

“Then we're done here.”

Victoria Ashe. That's the name of your biological mother. While she's technically married to your biological father, Markus Daltroy, she chose to keep her name and prefers the use of Ms to Mrs. It's understandable. As you hear it, Ashe and Daltroy were rivals in a power struggle following the death of the previous leader of the mob. Each were evenly matched in terms of supporters and power. Rather than fight it out and risk weakening themselves too much, they chose to join forces. They sealed the deal with marriage. The way it's told they were actually crazy over each other, so it wasn't quite as unorthodox a solution as it appears. But it was still representative of the truce, so taking Daltroy's name could have been viewed as symbolic defeat. Hence Ms. Ashe.

Kierkgaard turns and snaps a signal at the sparker. The sound of a raucous victory over the cards suddenly greets you and you wince at the rapid departure from that eerie quiet. Kierkgaard, apparently unfazed, reaches over, rips the envelope from the front of the statue and hands it to you.

Once you accept it, she walks back to the table without another glance at you. You're no longer of any interest to her.

That suits you just fine.

The guards at the front door seem to have anticipated your arrival. There's probably a telepath somewhere relaying orders, but that doesn't matter to you anymore. The one with the buzzcut pushes one of the doors open for you. After you pass through it you hear the door shut and lock behind you.

There are a few outside guards who look at you with unconcealed curiosity. You ignore them and walk down the low steps of the Old Bank's façade. Crestbridge Street is reasonably busy this time of night, and you're contemplating trying to thumb down a taxi when you hear the yell.

You initially don't give the shout any attention, but a chorus of others join it.

Whirling around, you catch sight of Number 6 about sixty feet above you, falling through the air. You don't stare for long before a flash of yellow light blinds you, and you screw your eyes shut, hand shielding your face. Someone barks an order somewhere. When you look again several sparkers – winged and otherwise – are jumping from the roof of the Old Bank. Rather than falling, they carve through the air like swimmers in water. Fliers. Your gaze following their direction, you finally see it.

High over the city, somebody is gliding in lazy arcs with wings of brilliant yellow light. Their wingspan must be over fifty feet. And judging from the lack of splattered Six on the ground in front of you, it must be Number 6 who's doing it.

It won't take the mercenaries long to catch sight of this. Considering that they're the only ones who are legally allowed to use sparker abilities, as well the presence of the wanted criminal and the mobsters flying after him, this is definitely about to get interesting.

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SpoilerI know what you may be thinking. (Unless it's 'Wow, this is a fucking long post' in which case I wholehearted agree, being the one who had to write it.) Was this all preordained? Was there any way to get out of this building without the protagonist revealing themselves to Kierkgaard? Was there any point to trying to keep away from them? Will Alexus Silk ever meet someone who neither speaks abnormally little nor tries to talk them to death?

In response I'll just say that the initial plan was for Alexus to leave the office immediately and sweep through onto the bank floor while everyone looked on in astonishment, and stride out into the street like a hardboiled badass. Nobody to hold them up for more than the time it takes to deliver a witty one liner, and no real sense of danger. This current state of affairs makes more sense and was more fun, but took thousands of words. That's the payoff, I guess. It definitely wouldn't have turned out like this without the influence of the suggesters, so you're not powerless at all and your input is appreciated to the extreme.

With our escape from the Old Bank (FINALLY) this first chapter is drawing to a close. There's just a couple of matters to clear up, but it shouldn't take more than a few updates.

Now I just need to figure out how we're going to find the Myriad...

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SpoilerI have to say I loved the "sense of danger" you managed to cultivate here. The card dealer portion was exceptional, and Kierkgaard's discovery was particularly engaging. I sort of wish that her description was given when we first saw her - it certainly would have heightened the anticipation of our encounter, but maybe it fits better where it's at, given the story as a whole. Regardless, I'm greatly enjoying this!

> stride out into the street like a hardboiled badass

then get out of sight, ditch the red-queen-army getup and get home. Expect a messenger from six in the morning. Maybe catch a news report on the way home (is this a world with TV? would the media report on six? how would they comment on the sparker flight through the city?)