4r4nd0md4y's Sandbox Tales

inspiration for future tau-5 aesthetic: https://www.instagram.com/rome_adzan/
perfect nanku: https://www.instagram.com/p/Bb9a4u4Aiec/?taken-by=rome_adzan
henri the fashionista: https://pastebin.com/WkHxPXcW

+ Collapsible code

[[collapsible show="+ Show whatever" hide="- Hide whatever"]]
Whatever text to show/hide.
[[/collapsible]]

Table of Contents

SCP Sandbox
Supersized Project Sandbox
Contest Entry Sandbox
You Are Here
Series Sandbox
Fancy Sandbox
Overflow Sandbox
Third Law Sandbox

Speed Demon Soundtrack

1. The Chosen Few — Quick Fix, JG Thirlwell
2. Morphine Machine — 1993, Scattle
3. Loud, Lawless, and Lost — Acetone, The Crystal Method
4. The Revelation — She Is Young, She Is Beautiful, She Is Next, Perturbator
5. Truth Is Sin — Notorious, Malaa
6. The Vice Girls — Burn, Sister Machine Gun
7. Rise & Repent — Closer, Nine Inch Nails
8. Ecstasy and Exorcism — Cause We're In Love Again, Ministry
9. Hard Machine — It's No Good, Depeche Mode
10. Prey & Obey — Roller Mobster (Scattle Remix), Carpenter Brut & Scattle
11. The Hangman's Wooing — The Man Who Made a Monster, Dance with the Dead
12. When I'm Done — Legend of the Keeper (F.O.O.L. Remix), Magic Sword & F.O.O.L.
13. Leather Pig — SEX, Rammstein
14. Escape Velocity I — Give Yourself Up, Night Club
15. Escape Velocity II — Rock and Roll Refugee, Pig

Hell Bent for Heather

I feel like an asshole in this tiger fursuit. Alliott is turning purple trying to hold in her laughter. But it's our best shot yet at opening a Way onto Natasha's island fortress.

We've booked a conference room on the third floor of the KMZ to go over the heist. The Inside Man hooks up his laptop to the room's projector and opens up his presentation. Alliott tosses him a laser pointer. He tosses it back.

"Oh no," he says, pulling a long thin cane from nowhere. "I brought a pointing stick."

The projector lights up, displaying a birds-eye view of a heavily-developed mountain. At the center is what looks like a giant black lotus flower stretching offscreen. The Man raps the lotus with the stick. "This… is the Lift. Wraith Enterprises use it to shoot stuff into space and bring down stuff they strip-mine from nearby asteroids and the Moon. Slide!"

Alliott rolls her eyes but moves to the next slide, a zoomed-out view of the mountain. The Lift is clearly visible at the peak. A thin grey ring extends around it. The ring is surrounded by a smattering of warehouses, which are themselves surrounded by another thin grey ring running around the island. There's a few roads running from various points around the island's base to the inner ring, but they all congregate at a single road that stretches up to the lotus flower.

"The island around it is called Novagrad. It handles the shipping and handling for the Lift — makes sure the spice flows. And it's what we need to raid. Slide!"

Alliott reads off the occult scripts of power on the whiteboard. The air in front of me distorts slightly. I walk forward into the newly generated Way and immediately regret all my life choices.

There's a sharp crackle as my eyesight is scrambled like a hamster in a microwave. When I regain sensation in my body, I find myself lying in one corner of the metal closet we've been using for our experiments. The Way is gone. The fursuit has been vaporized along with the fake skin on my fingers.

God damn I hate magic hacking.

The next slide is a GIF, tracking a bird as it flies towards the island. Suddenly, the bird's skeleton becomes visible. Its charred remains fall out of the sky, bouncing off an invisible bubble and becoming progressively more scorched until only ashes plop into the ocean.

"First problem!" the Man says. "An an anti-intrusion thaumic net round the island, twice its diameter. Filters out anything with an unapproved thaumic signature… like, say, a portal from another dimension. For all you non-gamers, that means no walking or Ways unless you want to be grilled like peri-peri chicken. Alliott?"

He and Alliott switch places, exchanging the pointing stick on the way over.

"So here's the thing." Alliott raps the screen. "This is a big fuckin' net. No way in hell it's impermeable. There's all sorts of things they'd have to handle perfectly: refresh rate, access method, routing, signature checking… there's too many variables in this equation for there to NOT be an exploit. And if I've learned anything from the Library, it's that you can pipe a Way into damn near anywhere."

Easier said than done. Alliott and I have been cooped up inside a bubble of accelerated time for almost three hundred hours — or twenty-four in realtime— trying to figure out how to defeat the anti-intrusion net around the island. By my count, we've tried a dozen different exploits, including but not limited to sacrificing a cyber-wehraboo, boffing on top of the Way itself, and walking through it in a fursuit.

She also made me watch Jaws, which was a nice distraction.

Not distracting enough. It's hot, unpleasant, unsexy work, made all the worse by the stuffiness of time-dilated ventilation. I swear I can feel the coolant boiling right out of my innards. So when the fursuit hack fails and I find myself wanting to blow Alliott up for no other reason than frustration, I realize that I need a change of scenery.

For me, that change of scenery means hotwiring some dork's bike and doing wheelies in the KMZ parking lot. The Inside Man even found a box of fireworks for me to drive through. It's nice to decompress by blowing shit up with him — or it would be if I could stop thinking about the goddamn hack. I'm even mouthing the bloody activation phrases.

And right as the sparklers go off and I drive through the fireworks, I realize exactly how to hack the field.

Unlike the other, slower exploits, there's no way to test this gently — because it involves throwing myself through a Way at mach speed and hoping that I'm fast enough to bypass the anti-intrusion field's refresh rate. Either the hack fails and I eat asphalt at 1600 kilometers per hour, or I announce my sneaky infiltration with a sonic boom. So I'd better be really fucking confident in this hack.

That, or occasionally prone to suicidal ideation. One out of two ain't bad.

To perform the hack, you will need: one self, one incantation to generate a motion-sensitive Way, and one gravispatial locking flechette for each member of your party. For example, if your party consists of one cyborg witch, one Black Queen, and one motorbike, you will need three flechettes.

Step 0: Find a nice, open area to perform the hack. The parking lot of your local anarcho-syndicalist fashion boutique will do nicely.

Step 0.5: Make sure you're packed.

"You packed enough clips?" Alliott asks.

"Too many," I say. "Fuses?"

"Bandoliers fulla them. How many rockets? Gimme a count."

"Bout twenty."

"Exact…" She narrows her eyes at me.

"…Nineteen."

"Not twenty," she says pointedly. "You feeling limber?"

I grab my left elbow with my other hand, depress a hidden switch, and throw my arm back so it spins around the elbow joint.

"Check."

"You —"

"I'm ready!" I wave her off. She sneers at me.

Step 1: Position yourselves in front of the Way.

Step 2: Stab each member of your party with a gravispatial locking flechette.

Step 3: Recite the words of power. Immediately activate the flechettes. If performed correctly, you will be flung forward into an opened Way at the speed of the Earth's rotation.

Step 4: At the exact moment of passage, deactivate the flechettes. If performed correctly, you will each be decelerated to net zero velocity with respect to the planet you have just teleported onto. If you're a cyborg witch, it'll make your guts feel like an elephant stomped on them. If you're a Black Queen who was smart enough to throw up a kinetic redirector around herself, it won't even sting.

Step 5: Shut off your ears — or refer to the aforementioned kinetic redirector — to avoid having them blown out by a sonic boom. Turn them back on right as the island becomes bathed in emergency lighting and wailing alarms.

Congratulations! You have successfully broken into the loading dock of an otherwise secure sovereign nation located on an alternate Earth. Next time, try doing it stealthily.

On the next slide, a crate bearing the logo of a sliced orange is being carted away by a sleek gray servitor. Pink lines run the length of its body from the tip of its cyberneko ears to each clawed digit to the tip of its dozen-jointed tail. The slide zooms in on its face — burnished platinum sculpted into a permanently smug visage, eyes burning acid green.

"Problem two!" the Man declares, having taken back his stick. "Far as I can tell, Novagrad's run entirely by androids. Not as weird as actual man-cat hybrids, but it's bladdy close. My guess is Natasha and her nyandroids" — Alliott and I boo — "don't wanna risk anyone on the island being bribed." He sneers mockingly at us. "Probably all tied to some kind of central computer. Best option, once you've sneaked onto the island, mind you, is to keep sneaking past the vrotten things. Slide!"

So much for sneaking. But that's fine. I prefer doing things with a bang.

I close one hand around my thumb and yank. My thumb slides back halfway along the arm to the elbow. My fingers splay out along the edge into curved panels. Fins along my arm pop open, and the underside of my arm pushes itself downwards into a stock. A fat silver barrel protrudes from what used to be my palm.

I twist the throttle and the motorbike pounces forward. The road climbs upwards from the receiving docks to a checkpoint manned by a pair of nyandroids — one of many against the steel wall that runs the island's circumference. Bullets rain down on me. A single pump from my arm sends an RPG spiraling into the checkpoint, reducing the guards to scrap metal. I flick my wrist back and my entire arm spins at the elbow, feeding another grenade into the chamber. Another pump of the arm blasts a smoldering crater in the wall big enough to ride through.

The next gate is a kilometer away. I take pot shots at the worker bots as I weave through administrative buildings and warehouses. Within seconds I can see the pearly whites of a sniper taking aim from the battlements. The air snarls. I look overhead as a bolt of lightning splits the sky in two and blows the sniper to bits.

"Sneaking around is gonna be bit of a pain in the arse. There's bound to be some magic motion sensors or something, so you'll want someone to make a ruckus. Cause a distraction. Raise hell," the Man says.

"Which is where I come in," Alliott says, hefting a large apparatus onto the table. The most obvious thing about it is a pair of twin turbines with a large antenna poking up from between them. A long, thick cable extends from the turbines to a sleek plastic sniper rifle in her hands. It has a fat stock, thin rectangular barrel, and anachronistic bolt action.

"This," she says with obvious glee, "is a high-altitude positron rifle. The Poles built it to kill Russian angels. It's a jetpack that uses lightning and a bit of magic to smash atoms together and create a focused gamma-ray laser. Perfect for raising hell."

I spare a glance behind me to see Alliott already a kilometer in the air. In one smooth motion, she yanks the bolt action back and retrieves a long glass fuse from somewhere on her back. A scorched black fuse falls from the bolt action into space. Alliott slides the fresh fuse into the newly-empty chamber, rams the bolt action into place, and pulls the trigger.

The sky turns grey. A bolt of lightning crashes down on her.

The antenna on Alliott's back absorbs the full impact. A split-second later, a flat beam of light emerges from the barrel of the rifle, streaking across the sky and reducing a second sniper to giblets. Two more bolts of harnessed lightning; two more mortar cannons spontaneously dissassemble themselves and then become burning battlement shrapnel. I fire two grenades and obliterate the checkpoint. My artificial eyes don't so much as waver as I careen through the smoke at a hundred kilometers per hour.

If I still took breaths, the Lift would have taken them away. Words can hardly do it justice this close up: eight glass towers running the circumference of an enormous black cable, as thick as a hundred redwood trees, ascending into the heavens. Red electricity crackles along its length, the only sign of the deeply occult magicks and esoteric paratechnology helping support its weight. The entire structure resembles a huge black lotus.

Just down the hill is the control building for the Lift — a squat concrete block, marred by a single steel password-protected door and guarded by two of Natasha's kawaii death machines. Their eyes flare like emerald flashbangs and their machine guns spray with pinpoint precision. I yank the throttle into a slide, careening towards the door full tilt at an angle so the motorbike eats their hot lead hate. Seconds from impact, I fall off my ride, leaving my bandolier of rockets on the seat to face the firing squad.

As I roll on the pavement at a hundred kilometers an hour, trusting my metal frame not to flinch, I feel the characteristic pinprick and then breath-stealing swell of an improperly detonated rocket. Heat melts my Kevlar weave into my neoprene skin as I look upon a tiny fluorescent sun birthed of plastic explosive. The sun implodes silently, taking the nyandroids and most of the building facade with it. Air rushes into the void with a clap that jolts me upright to look upon my destruction.

The slide has returned to the zoomed-in view of the mountain. The Inside Man taps a small grey square next to the lotus.

"So this is kind of where my intel starts breaking down," the Man says. "Side note, you'd better fucking appreciate these pics, I had to trade myself a LOT of bladdy favors to get them. I owe me three satellites and a blowjob and I don't even like blowjobs!" He shakes his head rapidly. "Anyways! This has to be the control tower for the Lift. It's not really a tower, more like a bungalow, but what's important is what's inside. My guess is a supercomputer — a really bladdy powerful one, too. It runs the androids and controls the Lift, coordinating with the computers on the counterweight in space. If you can get me access to that computer, I can get you an express to the Lift. Slide!"

The first floor is nothing but a straight hallway of security checkpoints and HVAC closets. Every sprinkler in the building has gone off, drenching the four androids that fill the hall. Burning jade light from their eyes vaporizes the air around them. Their metal faces contort into snarls and their light grey fingers peel back like lotuses to reveal burnished steel claws. I twitch; twin broadswords leap from my wrists and buzz hungrily. Violence ensues.

I put both blades through the first android and flex my elbows as fast as I can. Oil spills everywhere as I split her from the crotch up. Number Two slips on the stuff and I dive forward, slicing her skull into cybernetic sushi.

I roll off her remains and into Number Three's grip. She takes hold of my waist and whips me into the wall. Then she pins my arms to it. I slam my head into hers and see stars. She doesn't so much as blink.

From the corner of my eye, I see Four level a shotgun at me. A few more desperate slams against Three's head only rewards me with a self-induced concussion. Four almost looks amused before her finger closes around the trigger. My ears automatically seal themselves at the crack of the bullet.

Which is strange because it means that I'm still alive.

Three and I turn our heads simultaneously to look. A split-second later, the remains of Three's head splatter against my faceplate. As her body topples over, I see Alliott sitting against the wall near Four's corpse. Her left pant is rolled up to reveal a horribly mutilated limb: the foot has been split open like a lotus flower, and the barrel of a Barrett XM500 sniper rifle is poking out of the stump.

"Where the hell did you come from?" I ask.

"Got bored of shooting things and wanted to see what you were up to. Good thing too, huh?" Alliott snaps the rifle barrel out of the stump, folds her foot-flaps back into place, and slides the pieces of the gun back into her cybernetic leg.

"Why didn't you tell me you could do that?" I say as I walk over to her. I retract my khandas and then pull her up.

She shrugs. "Never came up." Then her eyes widen. "Down!"

We drop like rocks. A hail of bullets fills the space overhead. My hands close around Four's corpse; I spin it in front of me and let it take the full brunt of the next volley. The Desert Eagle comes from my holster and I fire four times. Ahead of us, two androids collapse with bullets where their eyes used to burn.

Another bullet knocks the pistol from my hand. I'm already lunging at the shooter. Behind me, I hear Alliott struggling with an eighth android. I have no time to wonder where these new ones came from because I'm already grappling for Seven's gun.

Seven fires just as I wrench her arm upwards. The bullet embeds itself into the ceiling. I tear the gun from Seven's hand and pistol-whip her with it. She stumbles back slightly and then bounces back with a series of lightning-quick jabs. The gun goes soaring.

Neither of us bother to look at it. Seven is busy trying to punch my head from my neck. I'm busy deflecting and predicting her strikes. She's good… but I'm better. There! I lock Seven's fist against my side and wrench it clean from her socket.

Seven's face contorts into confusion with a screech like a car crash. I reply with a spin-kick to that crumples her head case against the wall. Then I dive for my Eagle and shoot twice more, coring the nyandroid grappling with Alliott. The light in its eyes

"Christ!" she says as she pushes it off her. "Warn a girl before you shoot that close." She wipes oil off her face. "Ahh, you got robot blood all over - behind you!"

I spin around just in time for a ninth android to deliver a series of jabs hard enough to dent my chest. I lurch backwards. The khandas finally come out and I swing upwards.

Nine dodges and rips my guts out. I reel, barely remembering to retract my khandas before grabbing at the gash. Words wash over my brain — corrosion to battery casing detected! — and I'm suddenly faced by the possibility that I might meltdown mid-fight.

Nine sees the way I totter around like half of a three-legged sack and goes in for the kill. She sweeps my legs and knocks me to the ground, then pounces for my eyes.

Desperation gives me inspiration. I kick at her crotch, arresting her dive and pushing her backwards, and swipe at her head with my good hand. Most of my fist slides right by her forehead, but my thumb gets caught on her ear and slides back halfway along the arm to the elbow.

In such a tight space, the explosion is deafening. A hole opens up in the ceiling and a server rack falls through, crushing Nine from the waist down. She takes a final feeble swing with what's left of her body and then shuts down with one claw on my chest.

I stagger to my feet and probe the wound. My fingers close around a thick cylinder with a rough, bumpy surface. Thankfully, the battery isn't cracked. I'll live to see another day.

I look up and see a tenth android pointing her pistol right where my battery is.

I wonder if cyborgs can go to hell.

Alliott dives in front of me, hands sparking. She shouts an incantation at the same moment Ten pulls the trigger.

One bullet bounces off Alliott's arms into the wall. Two more ping off her chest and bite into Ten's. And a fourth spikes neatly off her forehead and drills through Ten's.

Both of them collapse.

I heard five shots.

I drop to my knees and roll Alliott over, pressing two fingers to her neck. There's a pulse there. It's weak, but speeding up.

"Alliott? Alliott!" I cry out.

"Fuck," she coughs out.

I pull her shirt up. There's a half-inch hole through her armored vest. The color is draining from her face.

"What the fuck was that?" I say.

She coughs again. "Thought that… spell would handle it."

I think she's going into shock, the Man says.

"Shock? But she's not bleeding!" I say.

"Internal," Alliott says. "Fuck… 'm thirsty."

"Can't you heal yourself?" I ask.

She clenches a fist slowly. It glows briefly, then dims. "Ohh… that's the aorta. Definitely the aorta. Can't heal that myself."

"You dumb bitch!" I cry. "Fuck! Fucking fuck goddamnit shit!"

Alliott grips my hand tightly. "Hey…" she whispers. "Always have a backup plan, right."

My eyes widen. "Well what is it? What do I do?"

"We need a ritual circle."

"What? What am I supposed to draw one with?"

"You're covered… in oil."

"What?" I rub my face and my hand comes away covered in grease. "Oh."

I hastily draw an oil ritual circle around Alliott. It looks more like an oval and the pentagram inscribed within is hideously asymmetrical. I can only pray that it'll suffice.

"Great," Alliott says once I've finished. "Now we need the… energy source. Everhart resonator." She coughs blood onto my lap.

"Okay okay do you have one? Where do I get one?" I'm becoming frantic.

"Just build one."

"What?" I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams. "How?!"

"Easy. We have… all the parts." She gestures towards the cybernetic corpses in my wake. I'm already scrambling towards Six.

"What do I need?" I shout to her.

"Head. Gunn diode."

"What the fuck is a Gunn diode?"

Microwave diode, the Man says. Used for radio communications. Check their heads.

Unbidden, an image of a small metal switchbox with a bundle of multicolored images appear in my mind's eye. I thank the Man briefly and then pluck Six's eyes from her sockets, using the holes as leverage to pry her braincase apart. The diode is near the base of her skull. I rip it out and drop it by Alliott's head.

"What else?"

"Superconducting magnet."

"Where the hell am I supposed to find that?"

Battery. See if there's one in their chests.

Five's upper body is still intact. I saw into her chest and pry it open, then start digging. My hands close around something so cold that it burns. I jerk back, then cautiously probe the spot. The source of the chill is a small ceramic cylinder wrapped in engraved wire. It's an integrated Maxwell's Demon — the demon inside wraps around the ceramic, eating excess heat and keeping it at superconducting temperature so that it can hold a charge indefinitely.

I carefully pluck the magnet from its case.

"What else?"

"Need a box to keep it in…"

I have a box right in front of me. It's just filled with junk. So I disembowel Five until there's nothing left in her chest.

"OK, got everything! What do I do with it?"

"Get some wire… okay, start with the green wire and tie it around the diode cable." Alliott's voice rapidly wanes to the point that she's practically breathing into my ears, but she's a good teacher. Within minutes, I have a jury-rigged Everhart resonator — an electricity-to-magic convertor — that'll save Alliott's life.

"OK, now just touch these two wires to one of those batteries," Alliott says.

I dig through robot remains for several panicky seconds and nothing. All the superconducting batteries are dead for no reason. I might have killed these things but I know I left most of them intact.

Then I take a closer look and everything falls into place. I did a project on these things in sophomore year. They're far-field wireless power receivers. Something far away was shooting electricity into them, and using the superconductors to maintain efficiency.

But that something is stopped. There's nothing left. My girlfriend is about to bleed to death because of a dead battery.

Dead battery. My brain finally coughs up an idea. I wrap my hands around the edges of my stab wound and start tearing it open. There's one battery left — the one inside me. If I can get to it, I might be able to use it to charge the resonator.

It feels like lava is pouring into my chest. I see stars. But I keep pulling. I'm terrified that if I stop I'll be too afraid to restart.

I pull my own guts open for what seems like an eternity, hearing the warping, popping, and tearing of metal as my innards are exposed for the world to see. I really hope that the battery isn't leaking but that's the least of our worries right now.

"Give me those," I gasp. I snatch the power cable from Alliott's hands and jam them into my chest.

My brain does a hard reboot, going from void black to full stereo ultra-high-def oversaturation. I see Alliott's hands pressed to her body. The pentagram sparkles around her as a bullet slowly worms itself out of the hole in her chest. The color starts returning to her face.

She takes a deep, gasping breath and stands up. The Everhart resonator falls to the floor and immediately shatters to bits.

"Fuuuuuuuck," she moans. "Jesus, my back is killing me. I think that hit my spine."

I stand up and crush Alliott in a bear hug.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my GOD," I babble into her ear. "Fuck! You stupid idiot don't ever do that again! Oh my god I can't believe that worked I thought you were dead -"

Alliott interrupts by pressing her lips to my face. "Hey, hey, hey," she says. "I'm okay. I'm okay. It's fine. My back hurts, but that's every thirty-year-old."

She presses our foreheads together. "Thank you." Then she pulls away. "Hey," she says. "Look at this!" Alliott examines the results of my impromptu self-surgery. "What did this?"

"Had to get to a battery," I say.

"What the hell," Alliott says. "Thank you."

She presses her hands to the gash in my side. The oil around us begins running up my legs and congealing over the wound. Sparks dance across the grease as it hardens into solid metal.

"Whoa," I say as I feel around the seamless surface. "Thanks."

There's a soft noise behind us. I spin around and empty the Desert Eagle's clip into Four's corpse as it slides down the wall. Nothing else jumps out at us. The only other sound is the faint hum of the air conditioning.

I count sixty seconds before finally lowering the gun.

"I think we got them," Alliott says.

If my breathing wasn't mechanically regulated, I would be hyperventilating. "Oh my fucking God. You almost died. You almost fucking died! Oh my fucking God!"

Alliott grabs me by the shoulders and shakes. "Relax! Key word there is almost!" She draws me into a hug.

"Don't you fucking scare me like that again," I say, nestling my head against her neck.

"Hhhhh," she wheezes. "You're kinda crushing me."

The second floor is a single windowless room with a large cylinder in the center: Novagrad's primary supercomputer. I snap back the first joint on my pointer finger, revealing a small universal jack, and jab it into the first open port on the machine. There's a pregnant pause as the software in my finger fucks the computer. Then:

I'm in.

I take out my anger on the wall and carve an unnecessarily large hole in it for us to jump through. Alliott and I sidle around the wall and check out the entrance. At a glance, there's at least two dozen androids with their guns trained on it. Perfect.

"You'd better get outta here," I say.

"What are you, kidding me? After I literally took a bullet for you? Fuck outta here."

"Again - you almost just died! There is no way in hell I am letting you fight more of these fucking things," I protest.

"Oh no. I let you throw yourself against a Way at sixteen hundred kilometers an hour instead of doing things mine," she counters. "And look where it got us."

"I mean," I say weakly, "my Way worked."

"We're doing it my way," Alliott says firmly. "Far as I'm concerned, this?" She points to the hole in her belly. "All you."

She sees the look in my eyes and backpedals. "Wait, wait, wait, shit, I didn't — I didn't mean it like that. It wasn't your fault, it was Natasha's, it was her robots, not yours, I don't blame you — Look, I'll tell you what. I'll hang out in the air, do some more skeet shooting. No way they'll be able to touch me. You take the Lift up, clear the counterweight. I'll come up in another car once I'm done here."

"And you'll be able to ride it?" I ask.

"Please, I'm almost as much metal as you."

"Alliott, I swear to God, if you die again I'm going to fucking kill you."

She gives me a peck on the cheek. The turbines on her back spin up and then she blasts off into the sky.

I quietly pull back from the wall and sneak up the hill towards the Lift. Most of the towers are sealed, and there's no way I'm going to cut a hole in one of them. Luckily, I don't need to wait for the Man to hack them. One tower still has an opened entrance hatch. Whatever the cargo is, it must be pretty important to bring up while the island is under attack. There's only three androids that I can see inside, but I don't want to risk damaging the platform with a grenade.

I reload the Desert Eagle and wait. Above me, the sky splits in two as Alliott brings down the wrath of God on the militia down the hill. The moment I hear a thunderclap, I pop off three shots that are drowned out by the roar of the sky. I don't waste the opportunity, sprinting forward, vaulting over a crate onto the elevator platform and yelling, "Send me UP!" to the Inside Man.

The hatch slams shut. There's a jolt and then several seconds of being crushed against the floor before whatever systems MachineGod installed kick in and I'm able to move without feeling like I'm being squashed under an elephant. I slump to the ground in relief and then notice the three androids staring at me from the far side of the platform.

"Shit."

The curse comes out of all our mouths at once.

"Rukmini?!"

Everything falls into place. The furry androids. The centralized intelligence. And the crates — the label on them is an orange with a mohawk. They're full of Shock Top.

"Diya?"

Return to Babylon

To be honest, I'm glad that Diya jumps right to murder. It's a lot less awkward than talking. Six extra arms unfold from her sides and begin inscribing symbols into the air. My subconscious warns me that there's a lot of oxygen building up in the chamber.

Diya snaps her fingers and six jets of flame lance towards me. I dive out of the way, cartwheeling behind the beer crates as I struggle to stay ahead of her killer hand thing. I'm hoping she'll accidentally hit the crates and throw up a smokescreen I can use, but nothing happens. The Shock Top must be more satisfying than my death could ever be.

This is fine. It gives me time to figure out the best way to kill her.

I try to stifle my bloodlust. My trip down memory lane has left me conflicted about my former clique. I honestly kind of feel bad for them. Natasha's devolved from the anarchist I loved to a corporate stooge. And Diya's gone from tankie bitch to Natasha's bitch.

I think about Alliott bleeding out in my arms and harden my heart.

"Hang on, Amma," someone says. "We'll handle this."

I peek over the crates to assess the situation. The space elevator is a mostly barren metal circle, rocketing up through a thick glass tube. There's a bunch of crates lying about. Diya's pyrotechnics shook them loose from their moorings. The only sign that we're exiting Earth's atmosphere is a faint vibration and phantom queasiness in whatever passes for my stomach.

On the other side of the elevator, Diya's bodyguards take up a defensive stance. They're not the nyandroids Alliott and I fought through on Earth. These are proper cyborg catgirls — Indian ones at that — with furry ears and spiked tails that cautiously lash back and forth. One of them is dressed in red body armor; the other is clad in blue. They both look vaguely like Diya, but have Natasha's eyes.

"Absolutely not," Diya says. Her extra claws are scratching something onto the ground. "This woman is psychotic. She —"

"Tried to kill you and Mum, we know, Ma," Red says.

"Let us take care of this." Razor-sharp talons pop from Blue's hands. "We're programmed for this. You built us for this."

Thank God, they're not actually her kids. Just her androids. But also — who's Mum?

Natasha. It's clearly Natasha. God dammit.

I push those thoughts out of my head and focus on the products of her hubris. On cue, my subconscious feeds me an acoustic analysis of the catgirls' construction. Their claws are sharp and their reflexes primed. Diya's clearly invested, both financially and emotionally, in her robo-kitties. There's no way she'll be willing to risk blowing a fiery hole through either. As long as I can stay up in their faces, I'll have all the time in the world to beat the kawaii out of them.

Diya pinches her forehead. "There is no way in hell—"

"Hello!" Red points a metallic claw at me. "My name is Ingrid Montoya. You killed my mother. Prepare to die."

"Five outta ten reference, sis," Blue says.

In the split-second I take to register the reference, the two of them are in my face. Two pairs of red and blue fists slam into my chest. I stumble back but they close the distance immediately, pounding me into the floor with simultaneous flip-kicks to the head. I taste phantom blood.

"Kits!" Diya shouts. Her hands scrabble through the air.

As I roll onto my back, the second Desert Eagle comes out. I empty one clip into Red's face and the other into Blue's. The bullets plink off their faces with a harmless rattle.

An orange pentagonal aura glimmers around the two catgirls. They pat their faces in confusion, then look towards Diya. One hand is pressed to her forehead. Six others scribble thaumic patterns into the air. The last keeps writing on the floor.

"Thanks, Ma!" the catgirls say in unison. Protective visors slide down over their faces and light up, sneering at me with twin >:3's.

"Get back here right now!" Diya yells.

"Sorry, can't hear you!" Blue says.

"Ears are shot!" Red says.

The dynamic dumbasses barrel at me again, raining down a flurry of blows that I can barely see, much less dodge. It feels like being smashed between two trucks at once. As I reel back, Blue spins behind me and sweeps out my legs with her tail. Red jumps up and plants both feet in my chest. I skid across the ground at a hundred kilometers per hour and crack my head on a crate of Shock Top. The spider in my brain warns me that it needs to fix my newly acquired TBI.

"Vibe check!" my tormentors chant.

Goddamnit.

Rookie! Alliott thinks. What’s happening in there? You ok?

Ow…

That's a no. Listen, that's a kinetic redirection field around them. You try to grab 'em, it'll zap you off. Bullets will just feed it. You need to take out whoever's generating the magic!

Which reminds me that Diya is still assembling a spell that I know nothing about.

"Shoot her!" Diya says. "You have guns! Use them!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Blue says, mid axe-kick. I roll to the side to avoid it and come up to parry Red's flurry of blows. Red leaves her neck open, so I chop at it with enough force to topple a redwood. My hand bounces off the same pentagonal aura. It hurts like a bitch. I clutch the hand instinctively and then take red and blue backhands to the face.

Owww!

"You're not very good at this, are you?" Red says.

"Focus!" Diya says. "Don't talk, act!"

I don't like my chances with the commando catgirls. I'd rather try my luck on the root cause, who is currently glaring daggers at me. I break and sprint towards Diya. The khanda comes down on her head.

"No you don't!"

Red comes from behind to parry my blade with a magically-reinforced forearm. Behind her, Blue pulls Diya away. She's still scratching symbols into the ground.

Alliott, what's she writing?

No clue. Need a better angle.

"You trick fucking bitch," Red snarls. Her face switches to >:[."Mom's off limits!"

I pull the blade up and stab at her midsection. "Kit, she's not your mom, and this is strictly between us."

She parries again. "Wrong us. Zab!"

Twin machine pistols appear in Blue's hand and she empties them in my direction. I parry a kick from Red and juke. The bullets rattle off her back like raindrops on a tin roof.

"Look," I say, "let's try this again. I'm not going to try to kill your mom, okay? I just want to see Natasha."

So I can kill her.

Red twitches in Blue's direction and my eyes snap to Blue. This is an error. Red's foot snaps up into my chin and she follows up with a spin kick that lifts me off the ground. I berate myself mentally and prepare to crash down to earth. Instead something electric and sharp bounces me up. The world spins up and down as my brain pieces swirling colors together to form Red: lying on her back, metal claws up, batting me up and down like a ball of yarn.

That god damn >:3 is plastered across her faceplate.

I go spread-eagle to halt the spinning and aim both swords for her metal belly. Her tail intercepts mine first.

RUKU!

Alliott's voice rings through my ears. Subconscious diagnostics inform me that Red punctured one of my oil tanks. The pain is excruciating, like a taser wired directly to my liver. My brain bounces around between my ears as Red whips me back and forth. I try to pull myself loose but only manage to shock myself stupid on her force field.

The world goes horizontal for a moment. Then Blue plants both feet squarely in my solar plexus. The blow ejects me from Red's tail and tosses me directly into the Shock Top. The crate doesn't survive our collision.

"Stop messing around and shoot her!" Diya says. "Zabu, watch where you're kicking!"

I let the debris zap me to semi-wakefulness and groggily probe the results of Red's traumatic tail play. It's a perfect cylinder, boring right through me and draining my Castrol blood. My limbs are already starting to feel stiffer, the twin teenage terrors are trailing towards me, and Diya's still putting together her whopper of a spell. I need to patch my wound up and then put the kibosh on her. I need time to think.

Let's make some.

My nonexistent teeth clamp down on the spider in my skull. It protests vigorously and scrabbles for purchase, but I grab it with my mind's hands and seat it atop my subconscious throne. The spider's legs bite into my head — migraine coming out, clamp it down. Clamp it down and focus!

The spider accepts its position and jams itself in. Mind and matter go nuclear under my hood, boiling the cerebromantic fluid pumped through my brain. A twitchy energy floods my nervous system, clashing violently against the grinding gears and slowly seizing servos in my battered bionic body and forces them to spin under its own accord. My mind speeds up. Bottles fall impossibly slowly. The gravity pushing me down lightens and the catgirls become visible as I invade their world of slowed time.

Now how do I handle their shields?

Red's foot strikes out, but I catch it on hopped-up reflex. The orange pentagons sizzle against the oil coating my hands. Both of us look at it in surprise. My head hurts.

"What the fuck?" Red says.

I yank Red to the ground and scrabble to my feet. My head hurts and now my chest burns. My entire body is burning; a perversely cold shock runs through me as I realize I'm overheating. Right — forgot about that. The fucking stuff is boiling out of my belly. Need to block it with something…

I look around desperately for some kind of fluid replacement. Underfoot: my salvation. Shock Top. Red comes at me again, I duck and let her trip over me. She spins, catches me in the gut. Hit the ground, can crushed under side. New plan: hurt. She kicks me a few more times for good measure — every hit feels like pain — then knocks me into a crate. Pettily throw a can at her. Throw a can at her?

I puncture the can, hoping it's still cold, and find the gap in my stab wound where a coolant pipe should be. Red damn near tore it off — that bitch — and I grit my teeth as I slam the can into place. This should stop the leaking. It doesn't, but slows down enough that I don't think I'll boil over before Alliott fixes me. Now. Back to work.

Red throws a punch and I catch it. My grip remains steady and the oil covering my hands crackles. She immediately drives a foot into my crotch — thank MachineGod, he already stole it — but the impact rattles my teeth anyways. I roll with the blow and evaluate. The CPU in my brain cranks even faster, connecting the dots I need before I know I need them. Instantly I realize: the oil must be acting as a barrier, like dipping a hand into liquid nitrogen. It won't go through the field… but there's nothing wrong with a little blunt trauma.

Red comes at me again, but I backflip away and hastily wipe some coolant on my boots. She hops to her feet, >:[ shining on her face, and charges. The bottle in my bionic belly proves an enticing target, but makes her strikes easy to predict and easier to block. Her tail gets too close to the ground and my left boot slams it home, pinning the tail between the foot and heel. Red yowls and tries to pull away, but I'm planted to the ground. Then I punch her in the face.

The blow hurts me more than her, but distracts Red long enough for me to step off her tail and grab it with my hand. I spin her tail around her, pinning her arms to her sides. When I run out of tail, I spin her around so that her back is facing me. I cap off our impromptu swing by bringing one arm around her chest and pinning the end of her tail between them.

"You're not very good at this, are you?" I say.

Red struggles against me, but I've tied her up with her own tail. "Get off!"

"You got it," I say. One hand shoves her away; the other yanks on her tail like a top, spinning her towards her family before she reaches the end of her tether and stops short. I imagine the look on her face as I reel her back in.

Red turns around mid-reel and lunges. I sidestep and let her trip over my foot. As she falls, my hand presses itself to the small of her back. With my other hand, I wrap her tail around her arm and dig my fingers into her claws, locking the tail between our hands.

I wink at Diya. If she weren't half-machine, she'd be half-eggplant at the sight of me dipping her daughter. Red regains a modicum of composure and slashes at my eyes with her free claw. I release her back and catch her wrist a centimeter from my sockets, then slam it back into her own face.

The sound Red's fist makes as it passes through her own protective barrier fills me with frisson. It's like cracking a perfect sixer in cricket or beating a bobby with his own baton. My own hand stops at the barrier, but it's a start.

"Gotta be honest with you," I say as we sashay around the elevator. "You're a rubbish dancer."

Red hisses at me and I bop her in the face. "Don't worry, this dance is easy. Just follow my lead. Serious question — laser pointers. Do those work on you?"

I push her away as she tries to knee me in the stomach, then yank her back in and hit her with a haymaker. "Hey!" I say. "I asked you a question. Blue, what about you? Laser pointers. Yay or nay?"

Blue takes a few half-hearted swings, but she's pulling them for her sister's sake. We dance around them easily.

"If I had to guess… yay," I say. "Diya's anal about those kinda details."

Red's fist bounces off her face again.

"What about catnip. That work on you? Do they make cyber-catnip?"

I shoot a look at Diya. The veins in her forehead throb. She's using two hands to scribble on the ground.

"What's the deal with that anyways, the catgirl thing? Mum's fursona's a wolf, innit?"

I'm mouthing off, but the oil on my hands is drying up. I'll have to release Red soon. Worse, Diya seems content to stand where she is and finish her working regardless of how I disrespect her little girl. I need to do something drastic.

"Ah, c'mon, talk to me!" I say. "You were hammin' it up less'n a minute ago."

Opportunity presents itself with a wink and a plunge dress. The next blow cracks Red's faceplate clean in two, exposing a glare with upsettingly full lashes. I stretch my arms apart as far as they'll go and draw her right up into my personal space.

"What else are those lips good for?"

Excuse me?!

I never greased up my face — the barrier jolts me back the instant our lips make contact. A split of a split of a split-second later, laser-thin explosions lance through the air, dicing into the orange pentagrams along Red's neck and damn near blasting both our faces off. In the moment that the pentagrams take to reform, I let go of Red's hand and wedge my own into the gap along her neck. The kinetic barrier seals around it, locking my hand into place around her throat. Automatic morphine deals with the pins and needles biting into my wrist.

"Nobody move!" I shout. "Take another step and I'll put a sword through her pretty little neck!"

Diya mulls over my words. "Ingrid Model — voice override! Shut down!"

The light in Red's eyes dies and the field around her dissipates. I stumble as she ragdolls with my hand around her throat, then look up into a face that will give me nightmares. A skeletal steel hand wraps around my throat as Diya barks out a string of syllables. The symbols on the ground glow and the world spins around me.

Not spinning, crashing. Not crashing, falling. Not falling, spiraling. Fragments of memory wash over me: love, lust, betrayal, cyberneticization. Dimly, I realize that I'm spiraling around inside of someone's grey matter.

"You bitch," someone says in my ear. The fragments are cast aside by the very real visage of Diya choking the life out of me. But this isn't right either. I shouldn't even be able to choke. She's human. I'm human.

Something has gone very wrong here. This must be the spell she assembled.

"You trick fucking bitch," Diya says. Her eyes are twin vertical slits against murky yellow irises, backed by pointy ears and bared incisors. "You break onto my island, hack my elevator, and threaten my kits?" She slams my head against the void over and over. "I'm going to kill you and sell your bits to sex bots!"

I headbutt her and roll away, gasping for air. Oxygen fills my lungs and my vision is restored. Self-assessment: I'm naked. Comfort fashion comes to mind — combat boots, KMFDM tee, and jeans. On instinct, my fingers tighten the straps of the fingerless gloves that I'm suddenly wearing. Pros of being in a lucid dream.

The con? Every square centimeter of the place is a face: mine, Natasha, Zabutom, Tracy Tzu, Red and Blue. Their mouths are open, their eyes lack pupils, and they wail at me silently. Light comes from everywhere and nowhere, filling the monstrous orange bounce house lesbian obsession nightmare.

"What the fuck is this?" I say.

"Hell," Diya says. "Now shut up and die."

Leather Pig

It's worse than hell — Diya's incepted my brain into her subconscious. Every square centimeter of the place is a face: mine, Natasha, Zabutom, Tracy Tzu, Red and Blue. Their mouths are open, their eyes lack pupils, and they wail at me silently. Light comes from everywhere and nowhere, filling the monstrous orange bounce house lesbian obsession nightmare.

My recoil of horror saves my life: I fall ass-first onto another face right as Diya slashes at my chest, then scramble to my feet and run. Thank God I'm wearing boots or I'd fall flat on my face. The ground sinks and crystallizes with a bizarre shrill squeak at every step. It's all I can do to keep my footing and there's so much orange I can barely see where the walls meet the floor. Glance over the shoulder to see Diya's swapped out bipedalism for chimerism. Every step I take puts her predatory grimace — twin vertical slits against murky yellow irises — and bared incisors closer to my throat.

I take one too many glances and slam into a wall of foam-Natashas that harden into glass and knock me on my ass. Diya springs on top of me. No thoughts — act or die.

Act! A palm to the chin knocks Diya onto her back. She spits up a Spinal Tap guitar riff and then the tip of her tongue. Finish her off quick — axe stomp! — but her tail around my ankle pulls me onto my back. Where the hell did that come from? I sit up and then breathe. Nope, should've done that in reverse, there's a tail around my throat.

What's our safe word again?

Diya rolls to her feet and pads towards me; the furry choke chain tightens with every step. And yet? I'm still breathing. I'll take the collar over the Carradine any day, but I've zero experience pretending to choke. Diya sees my face retain its color and her tail unwinds so fast it leaves a friction burn. A pair of feline jaws clamp around my throat.

It's not my life that flashes before my eyes — an explosion of color transports me to a couch on the Moon. A memory? These aren't my hands… or Diya's.

I - she - we take in more details. It's the saggy couch in the main coven: Natasha's favorite couch. Our feet are propped up on the coffee table, with a quarter-full bottle of red wine and coffee mug on their left. The plate is piled in pierogi, slathered in sour cream and pork bits and hot sauce.

Diya quietly chants from the couch on our left. There are bags under her still-human eyes, her still-human hair is a jet-black rat's nest, and she's still in her actually-identically-sized waffle-pattern pajamas. Her still-human hands are outstretched and wobbly.

The TV in front of us is showing me — the real me. Rukmini. Diya must be scrying me through the television. I'm sitting in a bar, nursing a copper mug. Behind me, a mournful-looking clock on the wall displays 11:30 in the AM.

"What the hell are you doing?" a voice says.

We languidly look left to see Tracy Tzu standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips. She's wearing a red floral print sundress and that fancy lipstick she keeps saving for a special occasion. Even did her hair up in a bun. Through the wine haze, we recall she has a lunch date today. Some sports reporter from Three Ports. Wonder if they wear jorts.

"Lookiter," we say. "Can you believe her? It's not even noon and she's drinking."

"What about you?" Tracy asks. "Diya, you promised you'd take the wine home!"

"I did!" Diya says. "I must've missed one and then while I was in the shower she went and opened it!"

"So you just let her keep drinking?" Tracy says.

"I'm sorry! She's been so sad I didn't have the heart to take it away."

"God dammit. Turn off the scrying and pour it out."

"No!" we shout. "Diya, don't even think about it. Keep that screen on or so help me God I'll throw that bottle in your face." We spear a handful of pierogi with a fork and stuff it into our mouth, then wash it down with wine.

Diya looks pleadingly to Tracy. She sighs and walks over to the couch.

"Tasha, you gotta stop torturing yourself like this," she says, sitting down next to us. Her hand goes for a pierogi but we slap it away.

"Come on," she says. "You know this isn't good for you. Don't wait for her. You're better than that."

"No'm not," we say through a mouthful of pierogi. "I wanner back."

Tracy pushes the mug away with two fingers. As if in response, the pierogi-wine cocktail in our stomach comes to a chemical climax. There's a moment, right as our cheeks puff up, where Tracy's eyes widen in horrified recognition. Then she's soaked in a stew of starches, sauces, and stomach acid.

"God dammit. God dammit," she says. "This was my favorite sundress. God damn it, Natasha. Pull your shit together!"

"Hey!" Diya says. "Don't talk to her like that!"

"Diya, for the love of God, don't enable her!" Tracy says. "She can't keep fucking doing this! It's been six goddamn months, being sad is one thing but she's been a wino for five of them! I can only regenerate her liver so many times before it stops being a liver and starts being a tumor. She won't see a therapist, she won't go to rehab, and she won't stop watching Rukmini if you keep on showing her!

"Hey!" we say. "Don't… don't talk to 'er that way. At least Diya wants me to be happy!"

"Natasha, please!" Tracy says. She wipes her hands on her sundress and takes hold of ours. "I lost Rukmini, I lost Zabu. I don't wanna lose you too. I want you to be happy. I do. But you have to meet me halfway!"

We pull away and sulk. "Don't you have a date to be on?"

"Not anymore," Tracy says. "My sundress is ruined and I need a shower."

"I'm sorry about the dress. Okay?"

Tracy rolls her eyes. "Tasha, this isn't about the dress," she says. "This? I can fix it easy."

She stands up and clears a space around herself. "Kaṭikārattai mīṇṭum cuḻaṟṟuṅkaḷ!"

The vomit on Tracy's being extricates itself from her. Time rewinds itself around us as the puke reconstitutes inside our mouth and works its way down our esophagus. It's deja vu and jamais vu and sleepwalking and sleep paralysis all at once and we can't move and —

"AAAAAAAAA!"

Our scream only dies when we run out of air and the choking fit reboots our mind. We're lying on the couch in Diya's arms. Tracy looms behind her nervously and starts babbling the moment our eyes come into focus.

"Oh crap, oh shit, oh fuck I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry about that!" she says. "I didn't think about where the puke would go —"

Panic subsides into resentment and curdles into anger. "Of course you didn't think," we say. "You were just thinking about your stupid dress and that stupid date! You never think. That's how you got Zabutom killed!"

Tracy's jaw tightens.

"That's not fair," Diya says. "Zabu's death was an accident…"

"It was an accident because she got in a standoff with MC&D," we say. "It was an accident she got stuck in the vault cause she didn't have enough narcos to get back out cause Tracy took too many and killed her!"

Tracy slaps me. The humiliation hurts more than the sting. There's nothing more humbling than a palm to the face.

"Hey!" Diya says.

"Shut up," Tracy says. "Natasha… fuck you. Don't you dare hang her memory around my neck! We've done nothing this whole time but support you! Get your fucking act together or so help me God I'll quit."

"Oh, quit!" we say. "Quit when the going gets tough, yeah, quit when I need you most. Quit because you can't handle the pressure. Ditch us like you ditched Zabu, you cunt!"

We regret our choice of words immediately. Tracy's eyes harden. She stands up and stalks towards the kitchen, then pauses in the threshold.

"I hope you get better, Natasha, I really do," she says. "Diya? Spines are in these days. You should get one."

We know instinctively that if she vanishes into the kitchen, we'll never see her again. She'll pack her stuff up and go back home — unless we call out to her. Apologize and beg for her forgiveness.

She's looking at us. Waiting for us to salvage our friendship. Diya looks between us helplessly.

Our jaw sets. We have nothing to apologize for. The love of our life betrayed us! Tried to kill us. Crippled us. Ruined our dreams. What else is there to do besides mourn?

Tracy should have understood that. But she doesn't. There's no room in our life for people like that.

"Diya? Keep scrying."

We reach for the coffee mug as Tracy walks out of our life.

The memory ends and my consciousness reasserts itself resentfully. It's the worst fever, brain freeze, and hangover I've ever had at the same time. Diya looks even worse than I feel; her eyes are bloodshot and face is half-buried in my neck.

Literally, gouged in there, sunken into the dream-flesh all the way up to her nose. The lack of blood flow to my brain is less opened carotid artery and more catgirl hickey. I don't even feel a bruise.

We blink at each other. My critical thinking skills are at a nadir right now. A sound escapes from Diya's mouth.

"Mew?"

I suplex her off me — face-first — into the wall of foam-Natashas. Their screams are echoed by the walls. She staggers to her feet as I flee past her, deeper into the bounce house of death. Each turn I take is random; I can only pray the next one won't be a dead end, but my luck only holds out so long. I crash into the end of a one-way corridor and turn around in time to face Diya again — half-cat, half girl, all anger. I'm not interested in seeing if my deathlessness holds — I need to distract her and find a way out of this nightmare.

"That's what happened to Tracy?" I say. "You drove her off?"

"She left by herself!" Diya says. "She didn't care about Natasha. I did. I stuck with her. I helped her get over you!"

"Did you ever look into… I dunno, therapy?" I say.

Diya's claws gain an extra inch. "Therapy?" she hisses. "Oh yeah. Hi therapist, I'm an unregistered witch who needs professional help! Don't you have any brains at all?"

"What, does patient confidentiality not exist?" I say. Chunks of face around us ossify and disintegrate with every word. Each one makes me want to scream until my lungs burst.

"For an unlicensed witch who looks exactly like a professional revolutionary? The second time she went there'd be a platoon of pigs inside. She'd never see the light of the day again."

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't ya?"

"Go to hell," Diya says. "I'm the only one she could trust. Every tear, every sob, every time she woke up screaming? Because of what you did?"

I wince. She jabs her chest with a sharpened thumb.

"I was there for her," she says. "I'll always be there for her. I'll be her rock until I die because I love her!"

"I can tell," I say.

Diya snarls. I dive a split-second before she pounces and crashes through the wall of faces. A half-dozen Zabutoms shriek in fear before shattering before my eyes. The first shrink I see is going to make a killing.

I sprint through the newly-formed hole in the wall into a jungle-gym from hell. Above me, the ceiling of an enormous orange dome stretches upwards to freedom. Huge chains of orange faces, large enough to stand on, criss-cross walls of frozen terror. Where the fuck do I go? My eyes flit from point to point like a hopped-up dragonfly. Nothing but screaming faces contorted into horrific neon chains in the center of a basilica of pain. I look back and see Diya. Her eyes dilate.

I go up. My hands hook around a pair of jaws that promptly close around my fingers and suck on them. It's like being groped by condoms full of Styrofoam. Whose faces…

Please, God, I think, don't let them be mine.

No such luck. I consider going mad at that instant — but that would be letting Diya win.

I formulate a plan instead. Climb to the top. Throw Diya to her death. She dies, she wakes up, the spell breaks, I wake up.

Maybe?

I have no better ideas. I fixate a phrase into my phonological loop: none of this is real.

None of this is real — each probing mouth of mine serves as a handhold. None of this is real — Diya sinks her claws into the face-chains and swarms towards me. None of this is real — crawl up the chains of doom to freedom, working my fingers into Natasha's eyes and Holo's nostrils and Ingrid's throats made of brain-foam.

None of this is real. Sure as hell feels real. A soft crackling fills the air: the sound of face after face petrifying as our touch pollutes Diya's mind.

I'm not even sure where I'm climbing. Up, mainly. I forgot how I was scared of heights. That's okay. None of this is real. As long as I don't look down or think about the extremely nettled catgirl stalking me through her own mind, I'll be fine. Just gotta keep climbing aaaaand I've reached the ceiling.

DO NOT LOOK DOWN.

I look around instead and see zero tunnels. Just the all-pervading light bouncing off these god-damn faces that stopped being traumatizing about fifty meters down.

"Oh shut up already," I tell foam-me. To my surprise, it shuts its mouth.

I hold my breath and look for Diya right as she clamps her claw around my leg. I lock a hand into foam-me's face and hold there, gritting my teeth and reminding myself that the aggressively sharp claws biting into my thigh are not real.

Then Diya's actual teeth bite into my thigh. They sure as hell feel real. I scream and let go, falling awkwardly and toppling backwards onto her. We both go ass-over-end, shouting and yowling and bouncing the long way down. Need purchase — something, anything — gouge out Holo's foam-core eyes and arrest our fall into a spin that's even worse — and then there's a chain between my spine and the ground.

Folding is more or less the absolute last verb you'd want to connect with spine, making chain the absolute last noun I want to connect with mine. They meet so fast it feels like a shotgun wedding to the back. The only benefit of explosively separating all of my vertebrae is that I can't feel my collision with the ground.

Aren't those damn things supposed to be foam? Knowing my luck it saw me coming and turned to glass. As has the ground, which promptly implodes under our weight and sinks me into yet another flashback.

I'm — Natasha? She? We? — are lying face down on a blanket, shades over eyes and shade overhead. Our toes dig into the sand. The beach is packed full of people today, but it's free. Free is nice. What beach is this? Mexico Beach… Florida? What kind of name is that? We're not even near Mexico.

Rukmini would've thought that was funny. We hastily focus on the thrill of wiggling our toes and our indignation at Mexico Beach's stupid name. A pair of lotion-covered, slightly chilly hands massage sunscreen on our back — Diya's. We roll over for her to apply it on our stomach. Her hands are running up our chest when some prick storming by kicks a ton of sand in our face. We can't cough hard enough to get it all out of our lungs.

"Hey!" Diya says. She stands up and yells, "Hey! You. Apologize to my girlfriend."

The man glances over his shoulder, throws us the bird, and keeps walking.

"You son of a b-blockhead!" Diya yells.

"Blockhead?" we say.

Diya shrugs. "It's Ingrid and Zabu. Didn't want them to pick up any bad habits."

We hear a scuffle ahead of us. It's the blockhead. Looks like Red — like Ingrid just kicked him between the legs before sprinting away.

"I didn't teach her that," we say.

Diya sighs. "Those two…"

We lounge comfortably for a few minutes.

"I've been thinking," we say.

"About?" Diya says.

"People. The future."

"Oh yeah? What're you thinking?"

We roll onto our side and prop ourselves up on an arm to face Diya. "How do you start a revolution if you can't even trust the people besides you?"

Diya looks taken aback. "You don't trust me?"

"No, you've been good to me. You love me. That's the problem. It's not enough."

"What? Why not?"

"Love isn't enough. Motivation isn't enough. People just wanna walk through life asleep to all the problems in the world. Especially when all the cracks can be papered over by money and magic."

"…Right."

"So why waste time trying to wake people up?" we say." I'm thinking a spell, Diya. A huge spell."

We throw our free arm out for emphasis. "Covering the entire globe, that embeds a compulsion in everyone's minds, that forces them to rise up. Just overnight, like that. And then compels them to organize communes and dismantle global hierarchies and live the way they need to. By the time it fades away, they'll love it. We'll never go back."

"Huh," Diya says. "That's… that seems kinda wrong though. Shouldn't people choose to do it from the start?"

We look her in the eye. "Rukmini tried to kill me."

She pulls back. "Natasha —"

"No, listen to me. The moment she had a taste of power she went fucking bonkers and tried to kill you. She tried to kill me! Me! If that can happen, how can I trust some… some dickhead that kicks sand on the beach? Face it, Diya. The revolution's only going to happen if we can turn the rabble into Rakhmetovs."

"Yeah, but —"

"No buts! Are you with me or not?"

"Of course I am!" Diya says. "I just… shouldn't you think this through a bit? Maybe sleep on it? How are we even going to power the spell?"

"I'll figure something out," we say. "I've made up my mind. I'm done waiting for people. Are you with me?" We hold our hand out.

Diya grips it firmly. "Of course I am."

I wake up and see orange. Who am I… who am I… I'm Rukmini. I'm trapped inside a monument to Diya's gay neuroses. She's trying to make it my tomb. And… I'm paralyzed. Underneath her.

Diya shakes her head slowly, taking stock of the situation the way I would after a hangover. She spots me underneath her and springs up, then leans in closer.

"Are you paralyzed?" she asks.

"…No."

"You are!" She laughs, hesitantly and then rapidly. "You're paralyzed!"

Under pretty much any other circumstances, I'd appreciate being underneath a giddy catgirl. Too bad Diya's my worst enemy. Need to stall her until I can come up with something.

"That's Natasha's plan?" I say. "Brainwash the planet? That's what she's doing with my heart?"

"It's already fucking brainwashed!" Diya says. "Natasha's going to save this shitty rock from itself. She's the only person who cares enough to try."

"Let's destroy all global power structures by using magic to force people to behave exactly as we want them to. Pot, meet kettle."

"How are you this god… damn… irritating?" she spits. "How the hell did we not kill you before this?"

"Between you and me? Natasha likes me more."

"Fuck you! That's the best you can come up with it?"

"Are you kidding?" I say. "This isn't about her goddamn ideals anymore. She literally said she's doing it because of me!"

"Yeah," Diya says. "Because you're such a shitty fucking person that you shattered her faith in… in…"

"See?" I say. "She can't stop thinking about me."

Diya clenches her teeth and steps on my stomach. "You never stop thinking about the day that ruined your life."

Errors have been made. I think I hear some ribs crack. I definitely feel them.

"Would it help — hhh —," I wheeze, "if I said I was sorry? Because I really - guh — I really am."

"Sorry?" Diya's smile dissipates. "You had your chance to apologize. You could've apologized five years ago and Natty would've forgiven you. I might've forgiven you."

"I was… I was scared," I say between gasps. My voice is rapidly dwindling. "I didn't know how to apologize. I didn't think she'd forgive me."

Diya's eyes dilate and her hands tremble. "That right there!" She squeezes her fists in fits and starts. " That's what I hate about you. You had so little faith in Natasha that you just ran away! She waited for you for a whole year!"

She presses harder and scoffs as a chew-toy squeak escapes my mouth.

"We all waited," Diya says. "You ran away and left us to pick up the pieces of our life. There's no place for you in our new world."

"She still loves me!" I croak. "Wants to get back with me."

Diya pauses and inadvertently lets up her foot. "What?"

"She's been spying on me for years, Diya," I blurt out. "When I robbed Oneiroi. She tried to brainwash me into her — "

"You robbed Oneiroi? Oh. Oh oh oh oh. You almost got me." Diya waggles her finger. "You almost got me. You almost had me for a moment, you fucking liar! I love Natasha. She loves me. We're engaged! Hear me?"

She pulls back and raises up, looming over me like a fortune teller holding a crystal ball.

"She still loves me!" I say frantically. "She wants me back and you'll let her have me!"

"No she doesn't," Diya says. "Not after everything you did to her, after everything I did for her! She's going to be my wife and you're going to be in hell!"

Her maw fills my view — and then a pale white hand tears her off me. A second one plucks me from the ground.

Deus Ex Natasha.

"You see?" I shout, dangling limply by my KMFDM tee. "She won't let me die, Diya. She loves me!"

Diya's wail envelops me in one final memory.

The air smells of disinfectant, the sounds are of a hospital, and the eyes I'm behind are Natasha's. There's a bed in front of us, across from which are our cybernetic daughters, Ingrid and Zabutom. The three of us watch the thing on the bed intently: a catgirl-shaped mass of bandages, plastic molds, and metal casts.

A pair of bright red eyes open up and the mass speaks through a grilled faceplate. "Mrrrr…uhhh?"

We perk up. "Diya?"

"Mom!" our daughters cheer.

"Natasha? Kits? Whuzzgoinon?" the mass says.

"You were in an accident," we say. "One of the cables at the site collapsed. You were crushed under it."

"Hwuh?"

"You were maimed, you were going to die! I couldn't let that happen. I had you borged."

"What?!"

The mass shakes slightly. Ingrid and Zabutom take a half-step forward.

"Don't move!" we say as we press the bedside pager. The paralysis spell inside the bedframe triggers, locking Diya into place. The fingers close in as the palms squeeze around us and the ringing grows louder.

"Mom, you gotta stay still!" Ingrid says.

"You need to let the implants calibrate and the blood welds settle," Zabutom says.

"Blood welds…?"

"You lost a lot of blood," we say. "I couldn't lose you, Diya. I love you."

"I'll… I love you too." Diya settles back slowly, then tries to sit back up. "Natasha? What's on my head?"

"Cat ears!" we say. The ringing is loud enough to burst our eardrums but we can still hear everything else.

"What?!"

"You always talk about how you want to be a cat girl, right? I thought if this had to happen, why not try to make you happy along the way?"

"Natasha…"

"Wolf girl, cat girl, what's the difference? Both good. Catgirls," we say, pointing to Ingrid and Zabutom, "better. You trust me, right?"

We lean forward, wrapping our hands around one of her tractioned claws, and kiss her on her chrome forehead. Our lips are cold for a moment and then rapidly heat up.

"I trust you," Diya says.

The ringing in our ears reaches its apex and becomes a scream that shatters the memory. I blink into the bright orange present and see Diya, shaking as Natasha's hand grips the scruff of her neck.

"I know!" she screams. "I know." Her scream peters out into sobs as she struggles to wipe away tears. "I'm not stupid… I've seen how she looks at you…"

"And you've known for…?" I say.

"Five years," Diya says. "Five fucking years and you're still the one she… You left her, everyone left her. Not me! I was there. I fixed Zabu and Ingrid, I founded Wraith Enterprises for her, I designed the plagio spell. And then you walked back into her life! Why couldn't you just stay gone? "

"Diya… she came after me."

"I know that," she hiccups. "I've done… I've done everything for her. I — I gave her everything I had. Why does she still want you?"

Wish I could shrug. "How the fuck should I know?"

"Why does she love you more?" Diya glares at me through watery red eyes. "What do I have to do to make her love me? Do I need to look like you too? I'll do it."

"God dammit, Diya." I don't even have a clue. "What the fuck does she have to do to make you hate her? Kill you?"

Above us, the lighting grows stronger.

"I can't help it," Diya says dumbly. "I love her."

There's a brief weightlessness and moment of shock as the hand drops me into acid house hell. I'm heavy metal again. Cyborg half-cat-girl. My limbs have been torn off — for real this time — and there's an unpleasant weight around my throat.

I look around me at the lathe of hell.

The capstone of this burning bone forge is the monstrous magic mecha:

It's Natasha's pipe dream. The one we laughed and joked but I knew she semi nursed a crush on. It's here and it's real.

<>

Let's Do Damnation

Natasha's back is to me but i can still see the halves of her face. The front of her body is entirely split open, like a lotus flower peeled back. A thousand tendrils snake from within, their source mercifully hidden from view.

Natasha blinks at me. Each half of her mouth turns up. I can practically hear the creak. The tendrils pause and curl up slightly, as if sizing us up, then retreat into Natasha like infantry running for cover.

Her body folds back up and she spins around, treating Diya and me to a fiendish smirk. I can't even see the seam that has to run down the middle of her perfect face. But it's impossible to miss the toxic green glow emanating from the sphere embedded where her heart used to be.

"You like it?" she says, gesturing around.

I'm impressed despite myself. "How much free time you have, Mrs. Tokyopop!"

"It used to be a throne room," she says. She turns. Her body folds outwards and tendrils race to the monumental mecha.

"Way back when. You remember our first demonarcotics? Ground Belphegor's blood into ours. You killed the prince of hell and made us heirs to his throne."

The machine's eyes light up.

"I don't need a throne. I did want an airier workshop. Somewhere to relax in the certainty —" multiple steel screws screech into place by themselves — "of machines that always do exactly what you tell them to."

< >

"When we were together… I was happy. I was happy and for once I thought I was earning it." She touches our foreheads together. "That little bit of you that wants to be good. I thought I could grow it. Use it to make the world a better place. You a better person. I thought I could do that and… and then you took that from me. My magic, my love, everything I had. You stole it and never came back. You ruined the one dream I thought I deserved."

"Natasha—"

"I fucking hated you, you know that?" she says. "I couldn't even go to sleep some nights thinking about how much I missed you or wanted to kill you or kill myself. Head empty, no thoughts except how I could get back at you. Until I realized what you'd given me."

"A real head case?"

"Your focus! It was like a switch tripped in my head. For the first time in my life, I could actually focus on a problem. Fixate on it. Do everything in my power to tackle it and never once feel the need to shift away from it."

The glow reveals itself to be a sphere. A bright green orb, in the center of this weird hell. My heart-shaped void throbs. I feel lightheaded from anticipation. The buzzing in my head builds to a fever pitch. I'm almost there —

"It's like a little bug, right?" Natasha says.

The buzzing stops dead.

"…Yeah."

"It's a bug. You can't tame it — so bottle it."

There's something inside the sphere. A silhouette of a woman, somehow an even sharper green against the sphere's painful lime itself. Some external force shoves me against the bubble, straining to break its membrane. I look the silhouette dead in her eyes.

"When I pulled it out of you, it spoke to me," Natasha says. "Begging me to use it, to succumb to my id. And I listened! I was on a bender for a week, tearing a hole in every city from New York to the Chugoku Cellar. Had the money to cover up my destruction, ironically. I woke up, wanted to kill myself for being torn away like that. Stupid, stupid, stupid, selfish, selfish, selfish of me to get carried away like that, so selfish and miserable and wretched — and then I realized it had done that to you."

The bubble lets me in. I float in front of the silhouette. It's Natasha — her oversoul, her true self, whatever you want to call it, it's her. She holds me by the shoulders.

"That was what happened. It turned you into a walking id machine, something that played on your deepest fear. The whole time, you were so desperate for my affection, so worried I would leave you, so pent up over the slightest hint of my disapproval that it didn't even need to push you. The bug gave you exactly what you wanted — an excuse to disappoint me."

She pulls me into a hug.

"God that was so much more cathartic than I thought it would be. Rukmini, you're the biggest disaster I've ever met in my life — but I could never stop loving you. Not when you still keep finding ways to help me out."

Oof.

"You still have that seed of goodness," she says in my ear. "I'm going to grow it. Fix you. Strip away your selfishness. Peel away your impulsiveness. Burn off your self-destructiveness."

I swallow.

"And then I'll fix the world. I'll become their conscience. Give them the choice: make a heaven down there or burn in hell up here."

"That's not how this works and you know it," I say. "What about the people who can't work towards it? The poor and the sick and the one's your revolution is supposed to help? You're condemning them to burn for no good reason."

Natasha seethes. Her skeletal fingers flex and curl over and over, the way I crack mine when I'm trying to burn off a burst of homicidal rage. Then they freeze.

"That's not how it'll happen," she says. The skull never moves, but the green flame in the sockets blazes even brighter. "I'll show you. I just need you to see it my way."

I have just enough time to realize what's happening before being dunked into the bubbling morass that is God-Empress Natasha. Concentrated love and affection blanket me in a narcotic haze; a billion tiny hands tear at my exoskeleton, shaving away my physicality. Part of me wonders frantically what'll happen when they hit my nuclear battery. The rest of me is too far entangled in a shibari of the soul to care. Enough current runs through my brain to watch a nuke float out of my chest and dissolve into an aborted star. It's the last thing I see before my vision shuts down. Not a bad way to go, but then death has always gotten my engine running.

The dull overbearing warmth of Natasha's love is shattered by the metaphysical agony of my soul being torn apart. It's an instinctual recognition, a defense mechanism to warn me that I am being killed — utterly and eternally. I can't see or hear or even feel anymore, but I can still burn. The God-Empress peels me apart, wrenching metaphorical fingers into the pieces of my soul and trying to rip them off.

---

This isn't me. I won't let it. Giving my choices over to someone else is cowardice, and I'm no coward. Who am I?

I'm Rukmini motherfucking Mahakali. My choices are mine. My failures are mine. My destiny is mine. If I'm going to hell then it's going to be with a gun in my hand. Focus! Bear down on the core of my soul: vice, tenacity, focus, killer instinct. Tear away the falsehoods foisted upon me by Natasha Tokyopop. Topple her empire. Take back my heart.

Force of will puts the soul in solar fusion. Scattered, disparate memories congregate around the gravity of my self-actualization as I explode into a star that burns at the heart of God-Empress Natasha. My inner fire burns through her core of protective eternity, into the center of her own private Hell.

I break through the morass into a hollow space and splashdown. My fist is monochrome red, glowing like hell and illuminating a crushed bone beneath.

---

"NO!" My voice is so loud it surprises even me. My mind shovels memories into the solar furnace powering the machine, illuminating the night. Alliott pauses inside me; my fist halts over Natasha's head.

"I won't… Back down, both of you, or I'll put my body and soul into this machine. I'll burn myself out of existence to blow us up if I have to. Alliott. Safeties on. Natasha… my heart. Half of it. You're smart, you only need half."

Memories of my birthday fuel the fire of my soul. What's next?

I had a grandmother once, on my mother's side. I think I hated her. I'll never know again.

I met a man, back in Sidhetown. Loved him? Goodbye. Burn, baby, burn.

What's next? My stellar oversoul becomes blue.

Natasha sighs first. A split-second later, Alliott.

"Fine," they both say.

Natasha takes up her heaven cracker once more. A final star shoots out of it, then falls to ground, shearing itself away into a perfect arrowhead that shatters Natasha's oversoul with a concentrated thermonuclear pulse.

I'm presented with a writhing, pulsating, shrieking bug. The demon that was my chest engine — a beetle-shaped mass of agony that was half of my heart. Natasha holds it out in one palm, hand shaking with impatience.

Alliott allows me to take back the controls. I gently pick the demon up and stare at it. Flashes of blue streak across its surface — bits of me that became it over the years. As fair a trade as I could hope.

I burn away things that aren't important. The bug that used to be my soul shrieks once before flash-igniting and dying horribly in my palm.

Alliott and Natasha gawk at me.

"Why the —" they begin.

"I'm done being its little sycophant," I say.

---

•ARD> The rookie barters an uneasy truce between herself, Natasha, and alliott by threatening to burn her soul into oblivion unless they made nice
•ARD> They agree, buying her bluff, and leave as enemies
10:37 PM <•ARD> Then alliott breaks up with her because that’s sociopathic

---

I'm alone again. That's fair. I wouldn't wanna date someone who holds themselves hostage.

I'm okay with that. I have to be. I will be.

Besides, I'm never quite alone. I clench my hand and drag an unholy soul out — bits of my chest engine that became me over the years. My fingers open to reveal a small, cherry-red plinth, shaped like a twisted screw, hovers in my palm. Given time, it could grow. It might not. But it'll certainly come in handy — for example, as a little reliquary for my soul.

Now what do I want to store it in?

Leather Pig Outline

Each flashback in part 2 needs to be foreshadowed by part of the convo in part 1. maybe an inverse build? first convo -> last flashback sort of deal

What if Diya genuinely doesn't know what Rukmini's doing? She doesn't know where Natasha got the heart from.

Flashback: natasha explains her final plan to diya, how she's going to get the revolution going. it all comes back to the way rukmini damaged her and her obsession with her as a result.

Flashback: natasha and diya building androids. suggesting that natasha still misses rukmini and uses diya to cope.

Flashback: natasha watching rukmini drink. drives tracy away. natasha takes advantage of diya's affections for her to indulge her affections for rukmini.

Convo flow:
diya pauses. meditates. enters her happy place and calms herself.

• diya: what the hell are you even doing here?
• rukmini: whaddya think? i'm taking my heart back.
• diya: your heart — that's what that is??
• rukmini: duh. what, did natasha not tell you?
• rukmini: what're you even using the stupid thing for?
• diya: none of your business!
• rukmini: it's definitely my business, it's my heart.
• diya: make a new one, you psycho!
• rukmini: are you kidding me? it's mine, i'm not leaving it behind.
• diya: you had no problem ditching us.
• rukmini: that's different. i'm sorry about that.
• diya: fuck you. i'm getting out of here and killing you before you wake up.

important! insinuate that natasha was responsible somehow for protecting them. diya can say something like 'she's watching us right now! she's fine with…"
then stop and realize.
"she stopped me from killing you."

• FLASHBACK: Natasha and Tracy have a falling out. natasha's reached her nadir: a fat, depressed wino being enabled by diya.
• rukmini snarks that natasha should have seen a therapist. diya gets pissed, notes that natasha doesn't and couldn't trust them. only person she could trust for years was diya. diya was her rock, her shoulder, her sponge. she absorbed all natasha's pain and carried it for her because she loves her. she absorbed the pain of natasha's heartbreak for her.
• FLASHBACK: natasha works on the androids to get out of her slump. diya helps natasha complete the androids. natasha and diya share a moment — broken when natasha remarks that she wishes rukmini was there to celebrate.
• rukmini tries to apologize again. tells diya that she was afraid to come back. didn't think natasha or diya would accept her back. diya's even more incensed. it shouldn't have been about acceptance at all! it should have been about owning up to her mistakes. hell, they still /would/ have accepted her back. they waited for rukmini for years, but she gave up on them immediately.
• FLASHBACK: Natasha explains her final plan to Diya: the revolution will never happen. individual action and organization never seem to work, bureaucracy degrades into totalitarianism, and the few socialist societies that do exist will be perpetually shoved under by magicapitalism. people just can't be trusted to do the right thing. only natasha can. so she's going to enact a global spell to put everybody under her control for one year. she enacts global socialism, people realize they like living this way, the revolution wins.
• rukmini points out that everything natasha does ultimately comes back to her. clearly she's still obsessed with rukmini and doesn't really care about diya. so why would diya follow her?
• diya breaks down. she knows that Natasha still loves Rukmini and doesn't understand because it's the same way she loves natasha. she's desperate to make Natasha love her more through sheer commitment to the cause — oh. now she understands. natasha loves rukmini the same way diya loves natasha.
• diya is about to kill rukmini when natasha plucks her from diya's brain. natasha's transformed into… something. she greets rukmini like a long-lost lover.

LDD Outline

things to foreshadow in previous tales:

rukmini getting closer to her heart. feeling the connection.
have her sense it the moment she lands on novagrad.
have it call out to her in the space elevator.
maybe it can help guide her through diya's brain instead of the inside man telling her which way to go.

points to resolve throughout:

the bug in rukmini's head! what is it?
why is natasha obsessed with rukmini?
alliott and rukmini have to break up.
how do i resolve natasha + rukmini?
plot outline:

PART 1 is is about love, focus, and obsession.

Setpiece: Natasha working on her giant robot.

Set inside the moon, big cybernetic hell.

Natasha is extremely frustrated that the rookie likes Alliott.
Diya and Alliott are extremely frustrated that Natasha likes the Rookie.
The rookie is frustrated that she likes Alliott AND Natasha.

Natasha confronts Rukmini about taking advantage of Alliott.

Rukmini confronts Natasha about taking advantage of Diya.

Alliott yells at Natasha for killing her copy.

Diya accuses Alliott of taking advantage of Rukmini.

Re-listen to Grand Inquisitor.

Neither Alliott nor the Rookie love each other — they love what each other can do.
7:09 PM <vezaz> my problem is, Rookie doesn't do anything sincerely
7:10 PM <vezaz> she doesn't seem to enjoy anything without a protective cynicism
What's at the root of this cynicism?

•ARD> see the thing about batman for me is his purity of focus
1:28 AM <•ARD> everything he does is to be a better batman
1:28 AM <•ARD> bruce wayne exists to serve the needs of The Bat
•ARD> anyways the root of natasha's obsession with rukmini
1:30 AM <•ARD> is that same admiration of focus
1:31 AM <UraniumEmpire> so like
1:32 AM <UraniumEmpire> rukmini is basically constantly feeding the rookie?
1:32 AM <•ARD> yeah p much
1:32 AM <UraniumEmpire> and that's what natasha loves about her?
1:32 AM <UraniumEmpire> dark
1:32 AM <•ARD> rather ironically speed demon is about rukmini coming to the surface
1:32 AM <•ARD> versus the rookie
1:32 AM <UraniumEmpire> "babe it's so hot when you spiral into a hedonistic mania"
1:32 AM <•ARD> it really is though
1:42 AM <•ARD> holy shit
1:42 AM <•ARD> i might actually be able to pull a tarantino ehre
1:43 AM <•ARD> you know the superman speech from kill bill
1:43 AM <•ARD> i might be able to do a batman speech for natasha

•ARD> ok the way i'm thinking of this
1:47 AM <•ARD> is that rukmini gets fed up and asks why natasha is so obsessed with her
1:48 AM <•ARD> natasha explains that at first, she wanted to kill herself. her obsession with theory, the chicago spectre — all of that just meant to distract her from the constant feeling that she wasn't doing enough and yet didn't want to be doing the things she could. community gardens, DSA meetings — fuck that noise. but at the same time she wanted to do something! and it's that tension that was eating away at her
1:48 AM <•ARD> then rukmini shows up in her life and suddenly here's that third way
1:49 AM <•ARD> violence, excitement, thrill seeking, and still doing stuff that's like — Biting Away At Capitalism
1:49 AM <•ARD> even if it isn't, it let her feel like she was
1:49 AM <•ARD> and then rukmini's gone
1:49 AM <•ARD> and her magic's gone
1:49 AM <•ARD> and she's not even at square one again
1:49 AM <•ARD> and then she starts obsessing about how rukmini ruined her life
1:50 AM <•ARD> and suddenly she has that purity of focus she admires in rukmini

it started as hate, really: crippling sadness, crushing anger, stifling depression. total obsession over how rukmini ruined her life and her dreams.

"I carried that resentment for five years. Five years of thinking about you, day in and day out. Turning the night of my revenge over and over and over in my mind."

"And then I did it. I pulled it out of you — then realized that you weren't to blame. The heart was."

"It spoke to me, you know. Begging me to use it, to succumb to my id. I broke it over my knee."

"You didn't have the willpower to tame it. You needed me to love you too desperately. You were so desperate for my affection, so worried I would leave you, so pent up over the slightest hint of my disapproval that it didn't even need to push you. It gave you exactly what you wanted — an excuse to disappoint me."

"It's okay, Ruku. I love you. How couldn't I? After everything you did for me?"

"I'm going to fix you. Strip away your selfishness. Peel away your impulsiveness. Burn off your self-destructiveness. You. Me. Diya. Queens of a new world."

"What do you say?"

rukmini desperately wants to take the offer.
she almost does.
a chance at forgiveness, a chance at redemption — a chance to not have to face her own consequences.
to be free of guilt and sin and having to do the wrong thing.
salvation is one word away.

but she doesn't.
she rejects natasha, rejects the chance to be a part of her new world.
she doesn't even want to stop natasha from creating it — but she chooses not to be part of it.
alliott needs to proactively play a role in the decision somehow.

natasha's not happy. she drops the rookie into a vat of spiritual ooze that will strip her soul from her body and allow natasha to reconstruct her properly. the rookie fixates on her desire for independence, self-actualization, and rage to protect her soul and descend into the center of Natasha's Hell.

Natasha's Hell is an empty white plain. she's a blue silhouette, the rookie is red. every step the rookie takes paints the space red.
natasha and the rookie commence a series of short, one-shot duels. every time one of them dies, their force of will siphons of a bit of Natasha's Hell to regenerate them until finally Hell collapses and spits them both out.

two sets of fights? one fight in hell, one on the moon? alliott breaks loose and rampages while diya sets out to stop her?

"Hold onto that hate, Ruku," Alliott says as we step out onto the platform. "It's what she deserves."

Alliott has been driven by hate for natasha and "hnngg rukmini hot" up to now, but when it comes down to it she'll pick revenge over rukmini. there's always gonna be other "hnggg girls hot" but you don't get to put a black queen down and get away with it.

10:59 PM <•ARD> the rookie gets the upper hand and tears natasha out of her cockpit, but hesitates before dealing the finishing blow
11:00 PM <•ARD> she decides that she's already fucked natasha over enough and if anything owes her for all the shit she's been through
11:00 PM <•ARD> alliott does not like this
11:00 PM <•ARD> she takes a shot from wherever the hell she's been hunkered down this whole time
11:01 PM <•ARD> the rookie takes the shot, but since it's an anti-materiel round, it basically blows the rookie's guts open so that she looks like Scorpion is doing a fatality on her
11:02 PM <•ARD> alliott gets out of dodge, natasha saves the rookie by implanting her heart back into her
11:02 PM <•ARD> sort of a callback to the end of the first tale
11:03 PM <•ARD> the rookie wakes up mostly good as new. she and natasha agree to part ways, not as friends, but as former friends (mainly because the rookie DID blow up her fancy robots and moon base)
11:03 PM <•ARD> the rookie is like "damn look at everything natasha's doing, what have i been doing with my life"
11:03 PM <•ARD> and she decides to go see what the Third Law Rukmini is up to
11:04 PM <•ARD> end tale

TETH notes

Natasha argues that she simply couldn't bear to be around someone who constantly made her feel inferior.

7:09 PM <vezaz> my problem is, Rookie doesn't do anything sincerely
7:10 PM <vezaz> "my shitty date idea" "the shitty teacup ride" "laughing at the shitty movie"
7:10 PM <vezaz> she only goes to judo class to see this girl
7:10 PM <ARD> Mhm
7:10 PM <vezaz> she doesn't seem to enjoy anything without a protective cynicism
7:10 PM <vezaz> so who is the Rookie
7:10 PM <vezaz> because she spends so much time performing social rituals she obviously (or explicitly) doesn't believe in
7:10 PM <vezaz> it's hard to tell who she is

•ARD> i've started by sketching this idea of natasha as essentially having the same magnitude of aggressive energy as the rookie, but on opposing phase
10:10 PM <•ARD> the rookie embodying a quieter, more aggressive form of selfishness — think if jacket from hotline miami were a magical girl
10:10 PM <•ARD> natasha tokyopop embodying a loud, peppy destructiveness — think nui harime from KLK
10:11 PM <tawny> I don't know either of those characters
10:11 PM <•ARD> Jekeled> i imagine [natasha tokyopop] speaking as a methed-up cross between russian fatalism and moe cuteness, but then there's none of that
10:11 PM <•TyGently> ARD: how is jekeled doing
10:11 PM <tawny> hmm
10:11 PM <•ARD> TyGently: he's doing alright, i think. been batting around ideas for new SCPs
10:11 PM <•TyGently> oh really
10:11 PM <•TyGently> good
10:11 PM <tawny> I guess if you go for the moe cuteness thing it'd play well in contrast to KMZ?
10:12 PM <•TyGently> last I saw of him was when he was on my team for the doomsday contest
10:12 PM <•ARD> yeah, i'm still thinking about how to approach the 'moe cuteness' thing
10:12 PM <•TyGently> and then deleted everything mid-way through
10:12 PM <•TyGently> and then disappeared
10:12 PM <•ARD> you ever looked up sukeban?
10:12 PM <•ARD> it's amazing, i love it
10:12 PM <tawny> just maybe don't use the words "moe cuteness"
10:12 PM <•ARD> basically think roving gangs of japanese schoolgirls
10:12 PM <tawny> googled it just now and it sure seems like your thing
10:13 PM <•ARD> like spike spiegel says, i love a woman who can kick my ass
10:14 PM <•ARD> more importantly, there's a certain aggressiveness to the sukeban style that i want natasha to embody — the way it takes a style of clothing that enforces conformity and control and twists it into semi-violent rebellion
10:15 PM <•ARD> a certain unhinged forcefulness — like a lollipop with an acid core
10:20 PM <•ARD> more importantly, what i want from natasha as a character is a self-destructive anger that she channels towards others. following her fallout with the rookie, she's turned away from her revolutionary ideals and has chosen to sequester herself within the capitalist machine.
10:20 PM <•ARD> basically going from "i feel miserable about not being able to be a good person and contributing to the betterment of others" to "fuck it. seek out self-gratification, don't apologize for it, and fuck everyone else". aggressive, selfish, unapologetic energy derived from self-hatred and shame
10:20 PM <•ARD> the same magnitude as the rookie, but on a totally opposite phase
10:21 PM <•ARD> sarcastic manner of speech, forced peppiness, quickness to anger
10:21 PM <•ARD> that's a good place to start

•ARD> so i have a vague outline for what i want to do in this installment: the rookie wakes up to discover that her heart has been torn out of her chest and she's being kept alive by a corset designed for use in gladiatorial fashion arenas. she and the inside man need to figure out how the hell natasha tracked her down and why, but when the inside man can't locate natasha in this plane of existence they determine that she must have gone to another universe.
10:06 PM <•ARD> the rookie can't chase after her because she needs her heart to actually jump universes without a way. she can't pay alliott for what she needs, but alliott has an idea.
1:45 AM <•ARD> deathball by oneiroi
•ARD> the participants are all robots
the oneiroi megacorp sponsors a team of dreamers and generally gets eurtechies to buy their shit via their performance in the races
1:35 AM <•ARD> the problem is that of course they're exploiting the hell out of their team in the process
1:39 AM <•ARD> oneiroi racing organizes the gambling aspect of the races, so alliott and the rookie fix the race to make sure that the longest-odds racer wins and forces them to give everyone who bet on it an absolutely massive payoff
1:39 AM <•ARD> everyone who bet on it being the entirety of kemonomimi zaibatsu

•TyGently> one thing that might be an issue
3:53 PM <•TyGently> with all these flashback tales you've made the moral situation significantly more complex
3:53 PM <•ARD> yeah, i
3:54 PM <•TyGently> in the grand scope of things diya (and by extension natasha) didn't really do much wrong
3:54 PM <•ARD> i'm fine with that. i mentioned way, way back when but one thing i wanted to do with the final tale was reflect on escape velocity as a whole and its fascination, fetishization, and exploitation of violence
3:54 PM <•ARD> although tbh natasha did do a few things wrong
3:55 PM <NineVolt> btw GW re the AAPA theme, the underglow is in reference to the sidebar, right?
3:55 PM <•ARD> she HAS tried to kill the rookie more than a few times and also killed all those poor office drones
3:55 PM <•TyGently> the things that she did wrong aren't the impetus for her comeuppance, I suppose is the thing
3:55 PM <•TyGently> ARD: is your intention for the rookie to be unsympathetic throughout the final tales
3:56 PM <•ARD> TyGently: no, not wholly. i definitely do have some ideas on how to fix that
3:57 PM <•TyGently> ARD: if you want my pitch for the most obvious emotional arc
3:57 PM <•ARD> yeah
3:57 PM <•TyGently> the Rookie has essentially been running from her past this whole time and skating away from the consequences of her actions
3:58 PM <•ARD> TyGently: definitely one of the themes i've been trying to explore as well — fleeing from the consequences of one's action
3:58 PM <•TyGently> that's the primary conflict of pretty much the whole story, her mistakes finally coming back to haunt her, both in the literal way of Natasha attacking her and in the metaphorical way of being forced to relive her whole journey
3:58 PM <•ARD> and the final reckoning of those consequences
3:59 PM <•ARD> i suppose the final step is for Natasha's own chest engine to consume her
3:59 PM <•TyGently> if the rookie is to be sympathetic at all, she should recognize this and make some attempt to rectify it
3:59 PM <•ARD> forcing the rookie to confront a manifestation of her darkest self
3:59 PM <NineVolt> aaand added. all is now well with the world
3:59 PM <•ARD> TyGently: that too. i've been knocking around some ideas for the rookie to be… less violent, i guess, in the end
4:00 PM <•ARD> to have natasha by the ropes and then stop
4:00 PM <•TyGently> for the rookie to move on she has to accept what she's done, take the consequence, and come out believing that she still deserves a second chance
4:00 PM <•ARD> Mhm
4:00 PM <•TyGently> to that end, I don't think she should kill diya
4:00 PM <•ARD> I was actually considering having the rookie reject her demon heart outright
4:00 PM <•ARD> and spend time as a cyborg
4:01 PM <•TyGently> the only way I see diya's murder being satisfying is if the rookie immediately has an "oh god what have I done" moment
4:01 PM <•TyGently> speaking of: is the rookie's body just… rotting in a dumpster somewhere now
4:01 PM <•ARD> TyGently: machinegod probably sold her bits off or something
4:02 PM <•TyGently> since it was basically all replaced
4:02 PM <•TyGently> that's a horrifying notion that probably can't be adequately explored within this story
4:02 PM <•ARD> i could see a LOT of mileage out of that one, a bunch of cloned fauxkies running around eurtec and three portlands
4:02 PM <•ARD> TyGently: quick pitch
4:02 PM <NineVolt> btw ARD I know you voiced some thoughts on the theme before so do you have any other thoughts on it? have to head off for homework but I'm curious
4:03 PM <•ARD> it's customary for cyborgized people, mekhanites especially, to offer their discarded body parts up as meat to be eaten
4:03 PM <•ARD> either that or just cremated maybe
4:03 PM <•TyGently> would that make sense though, since if there's one thing firmly established by the rookie's backstory, it's that she is not inherently special
4:03 PM <•TyGently> clones I mean
4:03 PM <•ARD> probably not
4:03 PM <•ARD> i do quite love the idea of augmented people just selling off their discarded body parts to pay for the augmentation itself
4:04 PM <•ARD> it's got everything you need in cyberpunk: the metaphorical transformation of a person into profit through capitalism and the distinctly unsubtle physical transformation of a person into profit through high technology
4:05 PM <•TyGently> also if the rookie is pretty much wholly mechanical isn't the whole crusade pointless
4:05 PM <NineVolt> Feels like ample fridge horror for what those body parts get used for imo
4:05 PM <•TyGently> she no longer needs the heart or potentially even has use for it, and probably can't take any kind of drugs anymore let alone demon drugs
4:05 PM <•ARD> She's not wholly mechanical
4:05 PM <•ARD> Think Grievous or Robocop
4:06 PM <•ARD> Metal shell, meaty innards
4:06 PM <•ARD> Hence cyborg
4:06 PM <•TyGently> why does she care about the heart
4:06 PM <•TyGently> the heart augments her biological body doesn't it
4:07 PM NineVolt → BusyVolt
4:07 PM <•ARD> The heart augments her biological body and gives her the ability to use demonarcotics
4:07 PM <•TyGently> are demonarcotics useful once all your bits are artificial, it's not like drugs are going to affect a prosthetic limb
4:08 PM <•ARD> There's a line in Feed the Need Machine that covers this: "It's not the augmentations themselves I'm worried about. Once I have my heart back, I have a half-dozen different formulas I can use to regenerate my fleshy bod. The problem is getting them in the first place."
4:08 PM <•TyGently> we're now in a wholly different place than when we started but this is definitely something that bugged me a bit
4:08 PM <•TyGently> ah, okay
4:08 PM <•TyGently> that makes sense then
4:08 PM <•TyGently> my bad
4:09 PM <•ARD> Without her heart, she's an ordinary mortal (at least in terms of third law). I've been sprinkling that stuff throughout the tale — her having to recuperate in a motel, having to ride the train like a chump instead of using rocket-powered roller skates, needing to get patched up for broken ribs, etc etc
4:09 PM <•ARD> The driving force of Escape Velocity has been her desire to return to where she was in square one: a souped-up devilwoman with superpowers and zero regard for any sort of consequences — for her to reject the heart and choose to live with the consequences would be the cap of the emotional arc
4:10 PM <•TyGently> yeah, I've noticed that, I just figured, I guess — it's easier to sympathize with someone going on a quest to recover something essential to their survival than someone going on a quest to recover something essential to their ability to commit supercrimes
4:10 PM <•TyGently> yeah, I see what you mean now
4:10 PM <•ARD> I've been hesitant to follow that ending though because it means not only shaking up the status quo but also getting rid of what attracted people to the series at the start
4:11 PM <•ARD> The other ending I considered was having her democratize the process - teaching Alliott Chao and the folks at KMZ how to use demonarcotics themselves
4:11 PM <•TyGently> it seems to me that Natasha seems some measure of closure for the arc to feel complete

4:35 PM <•ARD> TyGently: you raise a good point WRT the augmentation thing though, i might go back and edit Feed the Need Machine
4:36 PM <•TyGently> which part was the good point
4:36 PM <•ARD> the plot going from "i need my heart to live" to "i need my heart to be badass" when the rookie becomes a cyborg
4:36 PM <•TyGently> ah yeah
4:36 PM <•ARD> in the original planning stages of escape velocity, alliott wanted the rookie to get some stuff from MachineGod because they hated each other but she still needed stuff from him
4:37 PM <•TyGently> one route you couuuuld take is to have a non-personal reason for the rookie to pursue the heart
4:37 PM <•ARD> i could make some tweaks to Goddess or Godless so that Alliott's car gets wrecked with the stuff she needs to make a Way
4:37 PM <•TyGently> like, if Natasha was planning some ultra evil scheme that required it
4:38 PM <•TyGently> but that's probably a bit too cliché
4:38 PM <•ARD> TyGently: well I did already have that in mind but it was for something else
4:38 PM <•ARD> natasha wanted the heart for two reasons: one, to get HER magic back, and two: to use its power to open a slipgate and make cheap interstellar travel possible
4:39 PM <•ARD> or maybe just conduct a ritual that would instantly kill every landlord on earth
4:39 PM <•TyGently> I mean
4:39 PM <•TyGently> you want her plan to be something that should be stopped, right
4:40 PM <•ARD> that's probably for the best, yes
4:40 PM <•GW> a reminder that even Adam Smith, the dude who invented capitalism, called landlords parasites
4:40 PM <•ARD> Lol
4:40 PM <•TyGently> if there comes a point where the rookie is fighting tooth and nail for the well-being of landlords
4:40 PM <•ARD> oh of course not
4:40 PM <•TyGently> that is the point where I get off this moving train
4:41 PM <•ARD> it would really boil back down to the rookie's selfishness again
4:41 PM <•ARD> stopping a ritual that would do a lot of good just so that she can be special again
4:41 PM <•TyGently> "I was going to kill those landlords"
4:41 PM <•TyGently> "you fucking killstealer"
4:41 PM <•ARD> although i wonder how many of my readers would up vote a tale that ends with the rookie being like "you know what? I'm ok with the ruling class being destroyed"
4:41 PM <tawny-> I don't think it's that unreasonable she'd still want her heart back, because not everyone would be cool with being a metal unfeeling robot
4:41 PM <tawny-> the real problem is
4:41 PM <•ARD> even though escape velocity hasn't particularly tried to hide its political leanings
4:42 PM <tawny-> this reminds us of the possibility that she doesn't need /that/ specific heart
4:42 PM tawny- → tawny
4:42 PM <tawny> she could get a normal replacement heart and repeat the ritual if she really needed to
4:42 PM <•ARD> tawny: good point, I ought to go back to Cirrhosis of the Heart and patch tht
4:42 PM <•TyGently> …that's a good point
4:42 PM <tawny> so I think keeping it personal
4:42 PM <•ARD> a couple lines about "I can't just make a new one. this one is TIED to me"
4:42 PM <tawny> i.e. that the rookie wants HER heart back, because it was taken from her
4:42 PM <•TyGently> can she sell her soul twice
4:42 PM <tawny> would be maybe sensible
4:43 PM <•GW> TyGently: ah, the dragonborn model
4:43 PM <•TyGently> there *is* an idea in the motivations that like
4:44 PM <•GW> devil can't collect your soul if you've sold it to all the devils
4:44 PM <•ARD> GW: lol I had THAT idea too
4:44 PM <•ARD> the rookie goes down to hell because she needs to make another deal with the devils
4:44 PM <tawny> what if they just start a time-share with your soul
4:44 PM <•ARD> though I think Constantine did it first
4:44 PM <tawny> and pass it around like a cheap whiskey
4:44 PM <•TyGently> the heart is important but natasha *is* currently doing bad things that hurt people
4:44 PM <•TyGently> like killing alex and siding with Oneiroi's ruthless exploitation
4:45 PM <•ARD> right
4:45 PM <•ARD> i think i need to go back and poke around my old notes
4:45 PM <•TyGently> with the heart being a dangerous tool in the eyes of someone who is both self-serving and indiscriminately ruthless, unlike the rookie, who is only one of those things
4:45 PM <•TyGently> er, in the hands, not in the eyes
4:46 PM <tawny> also, for reference
4:46 PM <tawny> the direction I thought this would all end up going back when you only had the first part of this done
4:46 PM <•ARD> when i was discussing natasha's character with jekeled, the thing i wanted to convey is that the rookie is responsible for natasha's slide to the dark side
4:46 PM <tawny> was that it'd be a typical revenge plot and then at the end she's just totally unsatisfied with her revenge and it brings her nothing she actually *really* wanted or needed
4:47 PM <•TyGently> with the added perspective of her crash back into being normal-ish, she's realized this and maybe gets the idea that the heart doesn't *have* to be used for terrible atrocities and selfish deeds
4:47 PM <•TyGently> and so tries to make genuine amends with diya and natasha, while still trying to put a stop to them
4:48 PM <•ARD> TyGently: yeah, i could work with this
4:48 PM <•ARD> bring natasha back to the light, so to speak
4:49 PM <•ARD> redeem herself in the process
4:49 PM <•TyGently> one possible direction for a diya confrontation would be for the rookie to destroy her army and leave her stranded somewhere with no direct means of interfering with her anymore
4:49 PM <•ARD> i considered having diya not actually be there
4:49 PM <•TyGently> like, attempt to make amends, but diya's like "fuck you" and the rookie's like "okay that's fair, I'm just gonna leave you here and let you think it over"
4:49 PM <•TyGently> "sleep on it"

4:50 PM <•TyGently> "I can't make you do anything but if I can try to be better maybe you can too"
4:50 PM <•TyGently> "unless you're already like a philanthropist or something, in which case ignore this"
4:50 PM <•ARD> "Diya, I just want you to know I forgive you." "I have done literally nothing wrong." "I know, and I forgive you"
4:51 PM <•TyGently> pfffft
4:51 PM <•ARD> yeah, I can work with this
4:51 PM <•ARD> the rookie experiencing a change of heart following her flashback sequence, determining to try and make up for her failures
4:52 PM <•ARD> that would be a decent conclusion to the arc and a solid way to handle the theme of running from one's consequences — she womans up, so to speak, and deals with said consequences
4:53 PM <•TyGently> yeah
4:53 PM <•TyGently> in her own special way
4:54 PM <•ARD> i'll still have to think about the robot thing
4:54 PM <•ARD> i could feasibly change the reason the rookie goes to see machinegod
4:54 PM <•ARD> perhaps the equipment alliott needs to construct a Way was in her car, and it gets blown to bits as they're making their great escape in Goddess or Godless
4:54 PM <•ARD> so they need to get new parts from MachineGod

4:59 PM <•ARD> you know, I think I know how I can establish why the Rookie still wants her heart back even after she's in a super cool robot body
5:00 PM <•ARD> the brain does not LIKE losing all of its normal sensory feelings or having its spine replaced with metal

5:02 PM <•TyGently> the rookie's organs, including her brain, were dependent on her heart's demonic energy and without it they are breaking down
5:02 PM <•TyGently> technology is just keeping together her gradually deteriorating state while she tries to get the heart before the damage kills her
5:02 PM <•ARD> it's something i kind of ignored but wanted to tackle — the consequences of being addicted to demonarcotics
5:02 PM <•ARD> putting a time limit on things
5:03 PM <•ARD> i'll have to go back through the series and throw references to that in places, definitely in Cirrhosis of the Heart for starters

5:04 PM <•ARD> ok so, the main things of note for the revisions and rewrites
5:04 PM <•ARD> 1) the rookie's moral arc. with the added perspective of her crash back into being normal-ish, the rookie's realized this and maybe gets the idea that the heart doesn't *have* to be used for terrible atrocities and selfish deeds, and so tries to make genuine amends with diya and natasha, while still trying to put a stop to them.
5:04 PM <•ARD> 2) the rookie is legitimately dying, melting from the inside as her organs deteriorate without the source of demonic energy to which they've been accustomed to for five years
5:05 PM <•ARD> 3) The driving force of Escape Velocity has been her desire to return to where she was in square one: a souped-up devilwoman with superpowers and zero regard for any sort of consequences
5:06 PM <•ARD> 4) the main themes of the story are the consequences of one's actions and redemption for one's failures
5:06 PM <•ARD> I think that about covers everything I need to think about

the basic outline is this: the rookie wakes up cyborgized and inspects her new bod (courtesy of a Tau-5 clone that survived falling from orbit). highlights include: metal cat ears and no mouth — she looks like a weeb genji,
1:57 AM <•ARD> following this, she and Alliott take a Way to her home universe (because Alliott wants vengeance on Natasha for killing Alex) and spend some time exploring her home world as they make their way to the space elevator
1:58 AM <•ARD> Diya confronts them at the space elevator with an army of android catgirls, which she's been working on since the rookie left. the rookie fights them on the way up
1:59 AM <•ARD> she kills diya and then hijacks a shuttle at the top of the elevator to take her to the moonbase. the tale ends with the rookie descending into the base
•ARD> in the finale, the rookie finds the super robot natasha's been working on, which she promptly hijacks and uses to storm through the base
10:58 PM <•ARD> natasha chases after her with a super robot of her own, intending to rip her out of it and throw her into orbit or something
10:59 PM <•ARD> there's an awesome fight on the surface of the moon
10:59 PM <Taffeta> is there a lance
10:59 PM <•ARD> I was thinking swords
10:59 PM <•ARD> the rookie gets the upper hand and tears natasha out of her cockpit, but hesitates before dealing the finishing blow
10:59 PM <Taffeta> but muh instrumentality
11:00 PM <•ARD> she decides that she's already fucked natasha over enough and if anything owes her for all the shit she's been through
11:00 PM <•ARD> alliott does not like this
11:00 PM <•ARD> she takes a shot from wherever the hell she's been hunkered down this whole time
11:01 PM <•ARD> the rookie takes the shot, but since it's an anti-materiel round, it basically blows the rookie's guts open so that she looks like Scorpion is doing a fatality on her
11:02 PM <•ARD> alliott gets out of dodge, natasha saves the rookie by implanting her heart back into her
11:02 PM <•ARD> sort of a callback to the end of the first tale
11:03 PM <•ARD> the rookie wakes up mostly good as new. she and natasha agree to part ways, not as friends, but as former friends (mainly because the rookie DID blow up her fancy robots and moon base)
11:03 PM <•ARD> the rookie is like "damn look at everything natasha's doing, what have i been doing with my life"
11:03 PM <•ARD> and she decides to go see what the Third Law Rukmini is up to
11:04 PM <•ARD> end tale

Aborted Leather Pig

Diya's claws hook through my windpipe as the void shatters under us and we spin into free fall. I can hear her anger lashing through my mind, hjacking my phonological loop.

KILL YOU KILL YOU KILL KILL KILL YOU

It's worse than hell — it's our minds, VIP access courtesy of magic. For now there's no pain, just the half-baked haze of being brutally murdered in a dream. The moment we land in her subsconscious? Say goodnight.

We splash into a purple sludge streaked through with orange. I push myself to my feet and meet Diya's gaze: twin vertical slits against murky yellow irises, backed by pointy ears and bared incisors. But something's off. My windpipe is untouched.

Whose brain is this anyways?

One problem at a time. Start with the very angry witch with the very sharp fangs. We settle into fighting stances: hers, tigress on the prowl; mine, street fighter wishing for a pistol.

Feet tense. Mouths dry. Fists clench.

Diya springs at me.

Act! A palm to the chin knocks her onto her back. She spits up a Spinal Tap guitar riff and then the tip of her tongue. Finish her off quick — axe stomp! — but there's a tail around my ankle that pulls me into the sludge. Where the hell did that come from? Spit up sludge and then breathe. Nope, should've done that in reverse, there's a tail around my throat.

What's our safe word again?

Diya rolls to her feet and pads towards me; the furry choke chain tightens with every step. And yet? I'm still breathing. I'll take the collar over the Carradine any day, but I've zero experience pretending to choke. Diya sees my face retain its color and her tail unwinds so fast it leaves a friction burn.

A pair of feline jaws clamp around my throat.

There's a pause.

I strain my eyes down at my would-be killer. Her face is half-buried in my neck, literally, sunken into the dream-flesh all the way up to her nose. The lack of blood flow to my brain is less opened carotid artery and more catgirl hickey. I don't even feel a bruise.

We blink at each other. My critical thinking skills are at a nadir right now. A sound escapes from my mouth.

"Huh?"

Diya leaps back like she's seen a ghost. I try to get up but my feet punch through the purple sludge. Diya emits a harsh laugh — then the sludge gives way under her and we plummet into the void.

It's impossible to tell which direction we're falling. Diya's upside down — or maybe I am. The void offers no frame of reference.

"Why. Won't. You. Die?" Diya says.

I shrug and fumble into a cross-legged position. "Iunno. You fuck up the spell?"

Diya drops her face and turns away. "I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you I —"

"Oh shut up," I say. "I hate you too but you don't see me constantly screeching about it."

She spins back around. "Say another word and I swear to God I will —"

"Give me another hickey?" I ask.

"Shut up! For God's sake, shut the fuck up and die!"

Diya's hands rake down her face; too bad her claws aren't popped. I roll my eyes and rest my chin on my hands. Upside-down? It's harder than it looks.

A claw pops from Diya's hand, scrawling thaumic runes into empty space. She mutters occult phrases as she works.

"Whatcha doing?" I ask. She responds with a death glare.

I roll my eyes and look around. We're stuck inside a dark purple void intermittently cut through by lightning bolts. Thick white bulbs dot the distance, connected by thin, pulsing strands. I wonder if they're neurons.

Check in on Diya — she's standing inside the outline of a massive psychic football. With each slash of her claws, a symbol sparkles into existence on one of its thirty-two faces. Her chanting builds into full-on stream of spiritual slurs that whips the blasphemous ball into a blur.

She crows, "Uṅkaḷ kuṭalai cāmpalāka māṟṟavum!"

Her hands move so fast it's like she has eight extras: Kali, speed-painting my demise. The football freezes in place, then folds in on itself to become a glowing pentagram outlined by the blur of her arms.

She turns. The pentagram blasts outwards. Engulfing me in all the magical malice Diya can muster.

Breathe. Continue breathing. Status check.

Brain? Still thinking. Heart? Still pumping. Bowels? Still, thank God.

"Wow," I say. "A magic football. Very cool."

Diya screams and beats her arms into space. I start counting the seconds. Being stuck with Diya forever? That's the only hell I'm scared of.

At one hundred seconds, a miracle occurs. Diya stops screaming and closes her eyes. Her hands come together in a triangle, which she pushes down with a deep exhalation.

"Happy place," she says. "Mexico Beach, there's sand on my toes. I can smell the sea."

Metallic particles coalesce from the void, coating her skin in a polished brown sheen. A grilled facemask slides over her fangs. Human digits replace feline talons and ossify into burnished metal.

"The kits are playing in the surf… happy place, happy place… Natasha brought a picnic lunch."

Two perfectly radial black pupils stare me down, inlaid against perfectly symmetrical red irises.

"I'm calm now," she announces. Then: "What… the hell… are you doing here?"

I think I'd rather stare down a reactor core: she's not the devil's cigarette lighter, she's his aerosol flamethrower. Rukmini, steel thyself. You're a hundred kilos of the best cybernetics the black market can steal. What's Diya? Probably a hundred kilos of the best cybernetics late-stage capitalism can afford.

Fuck.

"Whaddya think?" I say. "I'm taking my heart back."

"Your heart?" Diya squints harder. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, I dunno. About fist-sized, bright red, Natasha ripped it out of my chest —"

Her eyes shoot open. "That's where she got it?"

"What, did she not tell you?"

Diya starts to say something, then catches herself. "First off, shut up. Second off, she must've… thought I would freak out. That's okay. I understand that, and I'm not freaking out. In fact, I'm perfectly calm right now. I'm still in my happy place. It's delicious."

I roll my eyes. "What do you even need the sodding thing for?"

"None of your business!"

"It's definitely my business, it's my heart. You can give it back or I'll take it back."

"You blew up my — you almost killed Ingrid for that?" Diya seethes. "Just make a new one, you psychopath! Leave us alone!"

"I'm not making a new one," I say. "It's mine. I'm not gonna leave it behind."

"Why not? You had no problem leaving us behind."

"That's different," I say. "I was… a pillock. Absolute muppet."

"And?"

"And… I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sorry I hurt you and I'm sorry I hurt Natasha."

I exhale, touch two fingers to my forehead, then hold out my palms in what I hope is a gesture of neutral will.

"Look," I say, "I don't want to hurt Ingrid. I don't wanna hurt any of you. I just want what's mine and then I'll leave you alone forever."

"Wow," Diya says. She mulls over my words. "Fuck you."

Diya stands up and starts walking on sunshine. As she scales the air, her feet alight on stairs that aren't there. I give chase — my feet find only empty space in their place.

"I can't believe you keep finding ways to become more despicable." She glances back at me. "I'm leaving and killing you now."

Then Diya's foot sinks into something and my brain explodes.

Eyes open. The sun is close to setting; the trees are various shades of red and yellow. I'm in High Park, enjoying a nice evening walk with Natasha.

Except it's not Natasha. One hand is in my jacket pocket and the other is holding Diya's. We share a look of surprise and confusion but continue walking on memory autopilot.

"Did I tell you about my latest group project fiasco?" Natasha's voice is coming out of the mouth, but the eyes betray Diya's shock. "It's like there's a forcefield keeping them from listening to me. Every time one of these boobs says something someone else just says — just pipes up and says they have no idea what to do. I have an idea what to do! And I could tell you if you'd just shut up and let me talk!"

"I'm lucky," I say. "I don't have any group projects this semester. I mean I did. But now my group's gone so it's just me."

"Awh, that sucks!" Natasha-slash-Diya says. "Aw man, now I feel bad, ell-emm-ow. Least I can wrangle these dopes into doing their jobs, you gotta do it for them."

"Oh it's nothing," I say, waving it off. "I'm more worried about you saying ell-emm-ow unironically."

"That's because it drives you and Tracy nuts," she says. "Much more fun than saying it ironically."

We walk over a stone bridge. I spy a goose waddling up the riverbank.

"Seriously though," Natasha/Diya says. "Is there any way we can help?"

I pretend to consider it. "Hmm, you have any experience overflowing chakra channels?"

Natasha pretends, equally seriously, to think about it. "I can make a bong from a Gatorade bottle. Does that count?"

The goose honks at me and I startle. Natasha laughs, a slightly high-pitched belly laugh that ends in a coughing fit. I'd forgotten how much I missed that laugh. I could almost get used to this.

I look into her eyes and see Diya's instead. My brain promptly explodes.

My consciousness reasserts itself resentfully. Everything throbs. It's the worst fever, brain freeze, and hangover I've ever had at the same time; a lesser alcoholic would be killed outright. Only one word comes to mind.

"Fuck!"

"What the hell was that?" Diya asks. She floats above me on her belly, eyes screwed up tight and body curled up on itself.

The Inside Man's voice cuts in. "A psychotronic mine! Lucky break too; never would've found you otherwise."

"The what — the mine?" I say. "Why are there mines in my brain?"

"It's Oneiroi's mind-wipe tech," he says. "You trigger an 'erased memory' and the charge blows and eliminates the conscious connection."

Diya's face is ashen. "You booby-trapped your own brain?"

"No!" I say. "I just… used Oneiroi's mind-wipes a few times is all. Bastards."

A thought occurs.

"Wait, what about MachineGod?" I say. "That entire fucking trip down memory lane? Shouldn't he have set those off?"

"It's a psychic mine, dommkop," the Man says. "Triggered by people thoughts. MachineGod's a really smart toaster."

"Can you pull me out?"

"No can do. Brain's full of the rotten things."

I look over at Diya. "What about hers? Can we get through hers?"

"Maybe?" the Man says. "Hard enough peeping on you from another universe. Can't see anything between her ears."

Diya looks me dead in the eye. "I'd rather kill myself than let you into my brain."

"Firstly, ouch. Secondly, think of it this way," I say. "In your brain, you'll be able to kill me."

Diya's eyebrows shoot up. She opens her mouth, then pauses. "Give me five minutes."

Diya manages to kneel in space. Her metal fingernails carve bright white shapes into my brain. It feels like she's scooping chunks right out of my gray matter.

"Whatcha drawing?" I say through clenched teeth.

"Laying out the path of magic to go from your brain to mine. Now shut up," she says. "If I botch this spell I might blow up both our heads by mistake."

It's impossible to roll my eyes any harder but I talk a little quieter. "Dutch? Any advice?"

"Go up. Brainspace is like… a swimming pool in realspace? Not really, but look, I'm the psychic here. Keep going up. You'll break the surface at some point."

"Thanks. Tell Alliott I'm okay. I'll be taking a detour."

"Gotcha." He pauses. "She says to give her hell."

"Get over here," Diya says, standing over what looks like a Way. "Stand on this circle, across from me. Don't move."

I paddle towards her and get nowhere. She reaches out with a grunt, grabbing my arm and standing me upright on the circle. Gravity kicks in and anchors my feet onto the surface proper.

"Put some clothes on," she says. "Or is skankiness just your default state of mind?"

"I can wear clothes in here?" I say. "What the hell?"

"Just think about it, moron."

Comfort fashion comes to mind: combat boots, KMFDM tee, and jeans. On instinct, my fingers tighten the straps of the fingerless gloves that I'm suddenly wearing.

The chafing reminds me to think about clean underwear and socks.

"Eṉ mūḷaiyil iruntu uṅkaḷuṭaiyatu!" Diya chants. The bright ring around our feet contracts and pauses at our feet, then starts moving up our legs. It follows the contours of our bodies perfectly. As it reaches our faces, we make eye contact.

Survival instinct tells me to duck.

Several sharp blades slice through the space where my neck used to be.

Yeah, kinda saw that coming.

assorted bits from Leather Pig on

"Hands're cold," we murmur softly.

"Sorry," Diya says. "You sure it's not the sunscreen?"

"Mmmm, maybe. What SPF?"

"30. I read in Cosmo that 50 is too much."

"If I get skin cancer I'm blaming you."

"It'll be fiiiine," she says. "I'm making rasam for dinner. Tomatoes have lycopene; it's an antioxidant, like a very fruity sunscreen."

"Perfect for a pair of fruity lasses like us."

We laugh while she runs her hands along our back. Her hands are much softer, smoother, and nicer than Rukmini's. We roll over and let Diya work the sunscreen along our stomach.

"Ooh, that's nice," we say right as she blows a raspberry into our belly button. We shoot upright with a splutter and Diya sits back giggling. There's a water bottle that we grab and shake on Diya. She splutters, grabs the bottle, and splashes us back. In ten seconds the bottle is empty and we're both drenched.

"Hmph," Diya whines. "Now I'll have to apply more sunscreen."

"Oh no!" we say, dramatically wiping our hand across our face. "You'll have to run your hands all over my body again! How terrible!"

Diya laughs. "You fiend!"

We roll back over and she starts applying the sunscreen again.

---

The hands press against my eyeballs and make them feel like they're going to burst. Right before they pop, they invert and I find myself in yet another flashback.

The air smells of disinfectant, the sounds are of a hospital, and the eyes I'm behind are Natasha's. It's the weirdest flashback yet — almost like a green screen in medias res. Five fingers fill in for four walls, penned in by a pair of palms. We're watch the bed with robotic focus. On the bed: a mass of bandages, plastic molds, and metal casts in the vague shape of a catgirl.

The mass speaks. "Mrrrr…uhhh?"

We perk up. "Diya?"

"Mom!" the android catgirls cheer.

"Natasha? Kits? Whuzzgoinon?"

"You were in an accident," we say. "One of the cables at the site collapsed. You were crushed under it."

"Hwuh?"

"You were maimed, you were going to die! I couldn't let that happen. I had you borged."

"What!!"

The mass shakes slightly. Ingrid and Zabutom take a half-step forward.

"Don't move!" we say as we press the bedside pager. The paralysis spell inside the bedframe triggers, locking Diya into place. The fingers close in as the palms squeeze around us.

"Mom, you gotta stay still!" Ingrid says.

"You need to let the implants calibrate and the blood welds settle," Zabutom says.

"Blood welds…?" Diya says.

"You lost a lot of blood," we say. "I couldn't lose you, Diya. I love you."

"Huh… heh… hah… okay. I'll… I'll stay still. Natasha?"

"What?"

"What's on… my head?"

"Cat ears!" we say.

"What?!"

"Well you've always been talking about how you want to be a cat girl, right? I thought if this had to happen, why not try to make you happy along the way?"

"Natasha…"

"Wolf girl, cat girl, what's the difference? Both good. Catgirls," I say, pointing to Ingrid and Zabutom, "better."

"Yes, but…"

"You'll love it! You trust me, right?"

"Yeah." Diya shifts slightly. "I trust you."

---

Here we go again. I'm bolted to Natasha's side of things. We're in the coven workshop. Rukmini had me flatten the area with magic, abrading the craters into a nice flat space. The tables we — she brought in are still there. Found 'em at a swap meet in Kensington Market. They're good tables: metal, foldable, and sturdy.

There's a laptop and a couple monitors sitting on the tables. Three-meter USB cables stretch from the laptop to a pair of nearly-complete androids in the corner of the room. The androids are covered in blue-and-red plating, with faux-fur cat ears, long serrated tails, and decidedly dead as dirt. Their brains are human, but only the power streaming in from the USB cables is keeping them alive. Stasis, really.

Good. It doesn't particularly matter where they came from. Who they used to be. What matters is what they will be — if we could just fix this god damn bug in their programming. Why the fuck can't we load this speech library into their brains? It's speech! It's supposed to be part of the standard android programming library! What dickhead dip shit shit-for-brains wrote this code? If we could meet them in person we'd wrap our hands around their throat and throttle them until their eyeballs were popping from their heads and they were turning blue and choking for mercy so we could watch them die in the same pain we're experiencing —

"Tasha? You're up!"

We free ourselves from the fantasy-in-a-flashback of murder most foul and focus on her. "Hey, Diya."

"Whatcha — whatcha workin' on?"

"Just the uh, the catgirls. I thought that I'd… thought that I'd pick up on them again. Trying to get back in the groove of things."

"Oh! Nice! Uh, how's it going?"

"Not great," we admit. "Stupid goddamn speech library won't load."

"Oh? Maybe I can help. Here, let me see?"

We think about it for a moment then shrug. Sure, why not? We pass them the laptop.

"Here," we say as we run the compiler. "See? It's saying that the text-to-speech initializer isn't constant. What the hell does that mean? The library's right there! I initialized the speech module here. It's fucking infuriating."

"Hmm." Diya peers intently at the screen. "I think I've seen this bug before. Give me a few minutes to look it over?"

"Sure," we say. "I'm gonna get some water."

We stand up, stretch, and walk out of the workshop into the hallway. We enter the kitchen and rummage around the pantry for some stevia sweetener, coffee grounds, and coffee filters. We fill the machine with four cups worth — still no idea how the coffee jug measures cups, two cups in the jug is like one cup of actual coffee — and pause mid-dream. Dimly, my own brain kicks back in and I realize that Diya must be generating what she imagined Natasha was doing at this time. Then the dream fast-forwards to us holding a pair of coffee mugs and walking back into the workshop.

"Hey," we say. "Got some coffee. Here, one cream and sugar, the way you like it."

"Oh. Thanks!" Diya says. "Leave it on the table? I'm just… about… done…"

She stops talking and holds her breath. We sip from our coffee mug and wait for several seconds.

Then the android boots up. "Hello, World," she says. "My name is… Zabutom! This is my diagnostic speech-to-text functionality! The quick brown fox runs over the lazy dog. Topeka, Kansas! She sells seashells by the seashore!"

Zabutom 2.0 falls back into sleep mode as my eyes widen.

"Oh snap," we say. "You did it. You actually fuckin' did it. What was the bug??"

"Oh yeah," Diya says. "You had an outdated library is all. The error messages are garbage at explaining that, but I ran into the same problem my junior year. So I just updated the library, fixed some of the updated function calls, and recompiled it."

Our arms wrap around Diya's. "Holy cats, Diya! Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you! Tracy! Ruku! Come check out what Diya did."

There's a pause as we realize whose names we called. Diya scratches the back of her neck uneasily. We mirror her awkwardness with a push of the hair on our face.

"Well, I mean… I bet they'll appreciate it," Diya says, gesturing to the androids.

"Hah. Yeah," we say, uneasily pushing hair out of our faces.

Then the memory ends.

---

Anger boils the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I punch Diya in the face, bounce up and stomp one foot into her stomach, then slam the other down on her neck. She catches my foot with her hands and pushes me off.

I land on a couch in the coven, watching TV with my head draped across Natasha's lap. It doesn't matter what's on. I look into Natasha's eyes and meet Diya's instead. The surprise on our faces match. The dream won't let me move.

"Stop this!" I say. "Whatever you're doing, it isn't going to work."

"Ruku, you can't keep looking away from the movie and then asking me what's happening," Natasha says. "You're worse than my mom!"

"But it's scaaaary!" I say. "I can't watch. You have to tell me what's happening!"

"These are your fucking memories," Diya says. "You're putting me through this."

Natasha rubs my hair. "Don't worry, Ruka, I'm right here. I'll protect you."

"You promise?" I say. "I'm a big ol' chicken, y'know."

"I promise." Diya kisses me on the forehead. "Y'know, chicken is my favorite food."

Her eyes are as hateful as her lips are soft.

---

"Fuck's sake, Diya, I'm trying to —"

"Bury the hatchet? You're about five years too late," she says.

"Diya —"

---

And that's how I ended up here: tied up and suspended over a big vat of frothing angry sludge, with the Wraiths reading my mind in case I tried something tricky. Then I shot Natalya in the face while climbing the rope.

See, the thing about mind-reading is that it's surprisingly easy to think one thing and do another. The Inside Man taught me that while we were preparing for the heist. So all I had to do was feed them a story while I got myself untied, retrieved the second pistol I keep hidden on my person, and start climbing. The bitches were so confident in their technique that they didn't even bother to look at me.

---

One of the first things Natasha decided while trying to conjure the damn thing was that typical control schemes wouldn't work. The best way to operate a twenty-meter-tall death machine is to control it as an extension of your own body — and that meant a full-body control suit. In typical Natasha fashion, of course, she took it one step further. She didn't want to make space inside the cockpit for the pilot to move their limbs — took away from weapons. So what she did instead was make a person-shaped shell.

I clamber into the shell and it immediately wraps around me, shrinking to fit my size and locking my limbs into place. I'm lucky that my hair doesn't get chopped off as it encases me. I open my mouth obligingly to allow the ventilator tube to snake its way down my throat. A bit of air tickles my neck, courtesy of a port in the shell right at the base of my skull. Then the hole is plugged by a massive hypodermic needle that slams through my neck into my spinal cord and hijacks the nerve signals going from my brain to the rest of my body.

Natasha's genius was in literally making the mech an extension of its pilot's body — if I move my limbs, the mech's will move instead. If the mech takes damage, I'll feel it. I only have to look at where I want to aim and the mech's inbuilt artificial intelligence will complete the job. The downside is the lack of autonomic nervous functions like breathing — but that's what the ventilator is for.

does the rookie have bpd??

courtesy of NatVoltaic's friend

- a common effect of bpd is an addictive personality. rukmini embodies this in every way. drugs, crime, thrillseeking - she's addicted to these things beyond what is strictly necessary or even "good."

- she's unable to view anything in a gray way. she has a very black-and-white outlook on all situations, and does a LOT of splitting. the whole flashback sequence can be read as rukmini splitting nonstop

- she pushes herself beyond her limits in order to achieve goals that she sets out for herself - alone this isnt really indicative of anything but the fact that she is willing to do *anything* to achieve her goals in conjunction with the prior 2 is a dead giveaway for bpd

- she is so scared of abandonment that she kills her gf. classic fictional bpd character move

- The Paranoia

• not kills but almost kills basically

- basically everything she does is self-injury: she literally left an open-veil universe and moved to the third law canon. that fucking sucks

- derealization

- mood swings

i could go ON