The cell was forged from pale limestone, its blocks swollen where a couple centuries of moisture has leeched throuhg the stone. Moss clings in green patches to the spaces between the walls and floor. The air is cold and sour with the scent of mildew. In one corner sat a squat toilet. Opposite, an iron-bar door anchord into the stone with rusted old bolts.
[[Inspect the walls]]
[[Inspect the squat toilet]]
[[Inspect the cell door]]
<<if $count is undefined>>
<<set $count = 0>>
<</if>>
<<if $count >= 3>>
<<goto "GUARD_ARRIVAL">>
<</if>>The limestone walls proudly wear their age, with individual blocks staggered and uneven. Some sunken where the mortar had crumbled over time. Hairline fissures expose veins of mineral. The witch can just barely see through to the other cell in some spots. Seems too hard to punch through, though.
<<set $count = $count + 1>>
<<return>>The door was composed of iron bars, with crossbars running from header to threshold. Layered oxidation cakes the surface with an orange dust. If the witch listens closely enough, she can hear the souls of the damned rattling them, crying out in despair.
<<set $count = $count + 1>>
<<return>>The quat toilet sat in the corner like a capital offense to the very concept of hygiene. Its basin was low and wide, formed of cracked ceramic, turned matte by age. Whatever matter lay beyond the hole has no doubt been long decomposed into its constituent parts and now make up the layer of loam resting feet below it. For the witch, using it happens to be an incidental leg day, as she's always sure to hover just above it by some comfortable distance.
<<set $count = $count + 1>>
<<return>><<set $player_health = 10>>The guard is coming through the door to deliver her meal.
[[Resist the impulse to escape]]
[[Use this opportunity to escape]]
<<if $guard_arrival_count is undefined>>
<<set $guard_arrival_count = 0>>
<</if>><<if $guard_arrival_count < 2>>
The witch deems the scenario unfit for an escape attempt, so she sleeps it off.
[[Go to sleep]]
<<else>>
The Witch feels especially restless and determines that it's now or never. She must break free.
[[Use this opportunity to escape]]
<</if>>
<<set $guard_arrival_count = $guard_arrival_count + 1>><<if $guard_arrival_count == 0>>
The witch feels the impulse to escape, but ultimately decides not to.
[[Go to sleep]]
<<elseif $guard_arrival_count == 1>>
The witch lurches harder to escape, but ultimately decides not to.
[[Go to sleep]]
<<else>>
The witch is about to strike the guard with all her might. She quickly decides which is the best way to disable him.
[[Go for the guard's solar plexus]]
[[Go for the guard's septum]]
<</if>>
<<set $guard_arrival_count = $guard_arrival_count + 1>><<if $guard_arrival_count == 1>>
<<goto "DREAM_1">>
<<else>>
<<goto "DREAM_2">>
<</if>>
[[Next day|GUARD_ARRIVAL]]The witch waits until the guard leans in with the tray. The dim lamplight illuminating the soft hollow of his abdomen. In one swift, driving motion, she flings her fist straight into his solar plexus. His breath suddenly evacuates his lungs with a wheeze as he stumbles then finally crashes to the floor gripping his chest in a spasm. The witch delivers her coup de gras by stomping on his trachea while he's down, to ensure he doesn't get back up.
[[Continue|FIRST_GUARD_DOWN]]The witch lets the guard step into the cell. The faint light of the nearby lamp brushing against his respirator. Waiting for the perfect angle, the witch drives her arm up into the guard's mouthpiece, shattering in an instant and sending the fragments and her palm straight into the tender cartilage of his septum. The guard recoils backwards, yelping as the witch takes hold of the back of his head and sends his face flying towards her bent knee. At once, his cries of pain are supplanted by a wet crunch. He slumps to the floor without further protest.
[[Continue|FIRST_GUARD_DOWN]]The guard is down and a few others from either side of the hallway are alerted to the commotion.
[[Proceed down the hall to the left|GO_DIRECTION][$direction to "left"]]
[[Proceed down the hall to the right|GO_DIRECTION][$direction to "right"]]Chloe goes $direction and runs into a guard at the end of the hallway, seeing another one from the opposite side. She knows she has to disarm him.
[[Tackle the guard]]
[[Swiftly slip past the guard to get behind him]]The guar'ds jsaw snaps towards Chloe like a trap closing; his firearm is already halfway up. Chloe launches herself at him with no hesitation; shoulder first into his ribs. His gun jerks sideways as her forearm slams into his throat and pins his head to the wall. She drives her weight into him. Just in time, Chloe pivots the two of them towards the other guard, his bullets ripping into his peer like a swarm of bees. She sprints to the other end of the hallway, using the friendly fire victim as a sort of meat shield. With great force, she smashes the corpse into him, the weight of it all sending him tumbling to the ground.
[[Hallway|HALLWAY]]Chloe slides low like water. The guard's eyes widen, his hand goes to his holster but before his gun clears it, a shot cracks from the corridor's far end. Chloe bends and the rounds pass into the guard, killing him promptly. She sprints to the other end of the hallway, using the friendly fire victim as a sort of meat shield. With great force, she smashes the corpse into him, the weight of it all sending him tumbling to the ground.
[[Hallway|HALLWAY]]Chloe darts down the hallway to dispatch the other guard. She bolts for what looks like a T juncture, passing all the other prisoners along the way, rubbernecking to see what all this commotion is about. At the end of it, she spots an unattentive guard at a PVC workbench guarding a turnstile. She slides and rolls towards him.
[[Subdue the poor soul]]Dead of night, two swashbucklers meet under the moonlit sky. An unkempt man with a long, green coat waits along the tree line, his cigarette barely keeping alight under the downpour. Thunder cracks, and across the two way road, emerges an imposing figure in a navy blue overcoat and a lustrious pompadour. He disappears behind the cover of a moving truck momentarily before swiftly making his way across to his associate.
The man with the pompadour gestures towards him. The man in green flicks open his pack of menthols and hands him a stick with a zippo. With a crisp click, the flame illuminates his dark leathery visage adorned with a pair of orange lens aviators.
[[The mission]]She pads up the corridor, senses tuned. At the makeshift security checkpoint, a guard lounges against the workbench. Chloe moves like a tightly coiled spring. One small step, then a snap. Her knee drives up, then her leg shoots out with precision. The heel of her platform boot connects with the underside of his chin in a single thunderous arc. The impact snaps his head back at an unnatural angle and he offers no protest.
[[Slide down the pole like a fireman]]
[[Quickly descend the staircase normally]]She slides down the pole avoiding gunfire from the guards.
[[Continue]]She descends the staircase but narrowly avoids a tracer that was heading straight for her leg. She opts to slide down the pole instead.
[[Continue]]She finds herself at the bottom of the staircase, partially occluded by one of the few supply crates between her and the guards.
[[Bob and weave between the crates, making your way towards them]]
[[Chuck the supply crate as hard as possible at them]]Chloe bobs and weaves skillfully towards the guards, avoiding the gunfire. She is hit once in the shoulder but eventually delivers a powerful roundhouse that almost effortlessly dispatches both of them at once in one strike.
[[Continue|PANOPTICON_GUARDS_DEAD]]The crate careens through the air, making a faint whistling noise and crashes into the guards. They are sent cartwheeling back, their pants coming undone in an instant.
[[Continue|PANOPTICON_GUARDS_DEAD]]Chloe takes a moment to catch her breath. She listens intently around her to hear the marching of guards or voices down the hall. She deems it safe to proceed. She rounds the panopticon and comes across a security checkpoint: a small booth with a terminal inside.
[[Enter the booth]]<<if $spc is undefined>>
<<set $spc = 0>>
<</if>>
<<if $spc < 2>>
The booth contains a terminal with all sorts of fancy buttons and switches. Chloe inspects the embossed labels above the buttons.
[[Override security protocol 1|SECURITY_PROTOCOL_OVERRIDDEN][$sp to 1]]
[[Override security protocol 2|SECURITY_PROTOCOL_OVERRIDDEN][$sp to 2]]
[[Activate security protocol 3|SECURITY_PROTOCOL_ACTIVATED][$sp to 3]]
[[Activate security protocol 4|SECURITY_PROTOCOL_ACTIVATED][$sp to 4]]
<<else>>
Chloe, having flipped every switch and pressed every button, watches the wrought iron gate closing one end of the panopticon retracting into their slot. Darting her vigilant gaze left and right, she makes it through to the other side and enters the door to the service elevator.
[[Enter: Leo and Hawthorn|LEO_AND_HAWTHORN]]
<</if>>A voice sounds from the booth speaker "SECURITY PROTOCOL $sp OVERRIDDEN SUCCESSFULLY."
<<if $sp == 1>>
A mechanical thunk is heard a floor above.
<<elseif $sp == 2>>
A mechanical thunk is heard a floor below.
<</if>>
<<set $spc = $spc + 1>>
<<return>>A voice sounds from the booth speaker "SECURITY PROTOCOL $sp ACTIVATED SUCCESSFULLY."
<<if $sp == 3>>
The churning of a heavy mechanical device is heard through the walls on the left.
<<elseif $sp == 4>>
The humming of a generator is heard through the walls on the right.
<</if>>
<<set $spc = $spc + 1>>
<<return>>Chloe is in the back of her parents' car, on the way back from a meeting with the superintendant. Her father's gaze meeting hers in the rear view mirror. His furrowed brows soften and it looks like he's about to say something, but swallows it and continues to watch the billboards and facades scroll past the churning vehicle.
The family arrives home and a discussion ensues. A dismal mood permeates the air like a thick, oppressive haze. Chloe's parents discuss a punishment befitting of her misdeed, and decide to ground her for a month, running concurrently aside her suspension from the witch academy.
Days later, her parents drive her to an adjacent suburb and walk her up to a small bungalow, the stucco chipping away at the corners. They ring the doorbell and a mother answers with her bespectacled daughter behind her, whose arm is encased in fresh white plaster.
Chloe's mother, hanging over her like some kind of wraith, makes the first move.
"Hello Mrs. Park, hello Jasmine, Chloe has something to say to you. Go on, Chloe!"
[["Sorry I broke your arm and your ribs and hurt you really bad."|JAZZ_RESPONSE]]
[["I'm really sorry for what happened the other day, I promise I won't do it again."|JAZZ_RESPONSE]]Early afternoon at the boxing gym. Chloe, tightening her hand wraps, feels her phone buzz in her pocket.
J: HEY BIIIIITCHH OMG i feel like we haven't talked in ages. U better respond to this this time im serious. remember our old joint, The Nightingale on 4th? Let's do friday
Chloe smirks warmly at the familiar, jocose irreverence.
C: Hey Jazz, sorry I ghosted you. Yeah I'd love to, I'll see you Friday.
Chloe heads straight for the heavy bags and begins her training. Her fists meeting the synthetic leather like speeding trains. Every connection reverberating against the inner walls of the gym, like the deep resonance of church bells.
[[Next day|AFTER_DREAM]]Jasmine shifts a bit and starts looking at the floor. Her mother brushes her back, gently leading her closer to the rear.
Mrs. Park: Jasmine, what do you say?
Jazz: ...Sorry I called you "fat and slow and ineffectual" and all that other stuff.
Chloe looks up at her mother as if to beckon her to speak on her own behalf. Her mother reprimands her gently in front of the Parks and the respective families part ways.
Chloe, counting the popcorn on her ceiling begins to feel her eyelids droop. Thoughts of her grades, her academic probation, and the spectre of summer school looming over her like the blade of a guillotine. She decides to sleep it off.
[[Next day|AFTER_DREAM]]Chloe awakens in her cell again. She kills some time doing close grip push-ups.
[[Continue|GUARD_ARRIVAL]]The man in blue exhales a plume of smoke through pursed lips. He looks up at the sky before briefing.
Hawthorn: The castle is owned by a schmoozy countess. She inherited the entire property. She's been moving things quietly; regular shipments of god knows what. Heavy crates, ornamental metals, liturgical plates, you name it. In materials alone, it's all worth about ten million. I scouted the perimiter last month. There's a cavernous dungeon under the foundation, its entrance sits behind a narrow cave on the mountainside. No patrols as of a month ago, not a soul. In fact, the entire mountain is ringed by the largest geothermal spring this side of the country.
A look of incredulity washes over the man in green's face.
Leo: You're bullshitting me, are you talking about chateau LaForte on Mt. Belzoni? I thought that old joint was just a tourist trap.
Hawthorn: That's how its been making the majority of its earnings before the countess inherited it. These days, it seems like it's her own personal theme park. Or-- that's just my way of saying I haven't a damn clue what goes on up there.
Leo takes another drag and tucks his hand under his armpit.
Leo: Is any of it worth risking being dissolved in an acid bath?
Hawthorn: Probably not, but don't worry, I got the gear this time. 60m climbing ropes, harnesses, bolt hangers, first aid, snacks, and some headlamps.
Leo: When do we move?
[[Hawthorn: a week from now, 1 AM sharp.]]They left town before dawn, boots sinking into the scree below the teeth of the mountain. A thin wind tasted faintly of eggs as they checked knots. Leo's movements unsure and shaky; Hawthorn's habitual and informed. They scale the salt-slick ledges, narrowly avoiding small, tumbling rocks from the peak. The geothermal lake beneath them billowing clouds of smoke, lining the two swashbucklers' throats with the taste of sulfur. Through watering eyes, they can just barely make out the entrance to the cave.
[[Enter the cave]]The jagged mouth in the mountain gapes beneath the castle's foundations, its entrance obscured by a curtain of frost-bitten vines. Inside, the air is cool and damp, carrying the metallic tang of the chemical soup below. The first gallery slopes downward in a ribbon of slick shale, lit only by the pale spill of moonlight leaking from above.
Deeper in the cave, the passage narrows into a tight choke, forcing the two explorers to move single file. The rock becomes darker as they shimmy along. The tunnel opens into a vaulted chamber where the ceiling arches high and the echo multiplies every tiny sound.
Hawthorn: Keep that whip loose. I think I hear some chatter.
Leo: Are we sure this is the right cave? I didn't exactly expect anyone else to be here.
Hawthorn, rubbernecking around the corner is still as millpond. Seconds of silence pass.
Hawthorn: Me neither.
<<if $sp == 1 || $sp == 2>>
The chatter from the around the corner quickly erupts into barks. A distress signal was sent over their comms.
<<else>>
The chatter from the around the corner quickly grows from one voice, to three, to five, to a dozen. The explorers seem to be greatly outnumbered.
<</if>>
[[Wait around the corner]]
[[Spread out and wait behind the stalagmites]]Leo and Hawthorn press against the cool rock, shoulder-to-shoulder. The corner swallows their shapes. The guards voices swell and the scraping of boots echo through the cave.
<<if $sp < 3>>
A nearby lantern swings and projects the shadow of what seems like an armed troop against the wall, dangerously close to the two swashbucklers. Hawthorn readies his lance and Leo keeps a firm hand on his whip.
<<else>>
A nearby lantern swings and projects the shadow of what seems like an armed squadron against the wall, dangerously close to the two swashbucklers. Hawthorn readies his lance and Leo keeps a firm hand on his whip.
<</if>>
[[Attack]]
[[Keep waiting]]They fan out with precision. Hawthorn slides left into a cluster of jagged stalagmites; Leo edges right, disappearing behind squat, bulbous columns.
<<if $sp <3 >>
A nearby lantern swings and projects the shadow of what seems like an armed troop against the wall, dangerously close to the two swashbucklers. Hawthorn readies his lance and Leo keeps a firm hand on his whip.
<<else>>
A nearby lantern swings and projects the shadow of what seems like an armed squadron against the wall, dangerously close to the two swashbucklers. Hawthorn readies his lance and Leo keeps a firm hand on his whip.
<</if>>
[[Attack]]
[[Keep waiting]]<<if $sp < 3>>
Leo and Hawthorn exchange looks as the guard nears. Hawthorn's typical sullen determination etched upon his face like a call to action, Leo with a wide-eyed grimace. They both nod in perfect agreement. Leo jumps out first and tangles the whip around the guard's legs. Just then, Hawthorn darts around and swiftly drives his lance upon the guard's sternum, just short of penetrating. The guard struggles on the ground before Leo draws and retracts his whip, flipping the guard into a supine position, which is then followed with an axe kick to the stomach. The guard is now unresponsive.
[[Continue|LH_AFTER_ATTACK]]
<<else>>
Leo and Hawthorn exchange looks as the guards near. Hawthorn's typical sullen determination etched upon his face like a call to action, Leo with a wide-eyed grimace. They both nod in perfect agreement. Leo jumps out first and tangles the whip around the one of the guards' legs. Just then, Hawthorn darts around and swiftly drives his lance into another guard's sternum, sending him to the stone. Two other guards spring to action and start sending a volley of rounds towards the explorers, as they scramble for cover. Leo is hit once in the leg, gripping it through his blood soaked pants. Seeing that they've already sustained an injury, they figured their cover is blown and decide to surrender, arms raised.
END OF CHAPTER 1
<</if>><<if $sp < 3>>
Leo's boot, long and tooled to a ridiculous point, betrayed them. A lantern beam pricked the shadow and there was an ostentatious leather tip poking out like a nose from behind a stalagmite. The guard stopped mid-stride, squinted, and barked.
Hawthorn's eyes widened as he snapped his head to Leo, opposite of him. Leo's brows raise in panic as he suddenly lurches from around the corner to sweep the guard's legs.
Just then, Hawthorn darts around and swiftly drives his lance upon the guard's sternum, just short of penetrating. The guard struggles on the ground before Leo draws and retracts his whip, flipping the guard into a supine position, which is then followed with an axe kick to the stomach. The guard is now unresponsive.
[[Continue|LH_AFTER_ATTACK]]
<<else>>
Leo's boot, long and tooled to a ridiculous point, betrayed them. A lantern beam pricked the shadow and there was an ostentatious leather tip poking out like a nose from behind a stalagmite. One of the guards stopped mid-stride, squinted, and barked.
Hawthorn's eyes widened as he snapped his head to Leo, opposite of him. Leo's brows raise in panic as he suddenly lurches from around the corner to sweep the guard's legs.
The explorers concede and surrender, arms raised.
END OF CHAPTER 1
<</if>>Just then, a rickety old elevator shaft at the end of the chamber groans and rattles alive. A short and dense figure stands on the platform. The features of this person barely scrutable against the soft glow of the nearby lanterns. They vault off the railings of the lift just before it makes contact with the bottom of the shaft.
They propelled themselves past the various features of the cave with relative ease. The ones they couldn't avoid they atomized with a single stroke, sending fragments of rock away from the point of contact like buckshot.
Hawthorn and Leo were frozen in fear and confusion at the quickly approaching figure, fearing they may be unequipped for a force of this caliber.
[[Prepare.]]The cave held its breath. The figure arrived, compressed, close. The air around them carrying iron and the faint smell of sweat.
They saw only flashes first. White platform boots, a violet peplum with a blue longsleeve underneath, and a shaggy bob bristling against their hoop ear rings.
She careens towards Leo, whose curdled face of apprehension slowly turned to a deep admiration, then a crooked smirk, blush flooding his cheeks. Before he could make his move, so to speak, she delivers an uppercut to the tip of his chin. His constitution allowed him to tank the hit, but with great difficulty. He crashes to the ground and starts writhing.
Hawthorn leaps into action and with supreme grace, brandishes his lance like a feather across his palms. One foot slides while his hip pivots. With an arcing flourish, he taps at her wrist to loosen her grip, then a sharp jab at the web between her thumb and index finger. The lance then sweeps across her elbow, straightening her bent arm before finally driving the blunt end into the small of her back. Her balance is sent from out under her and she curls inwards on the ground. She pulls her limbs in tight as an armadillo does and presses her forearms close to her face.
Hawthorn's lance rests against her. He doesn't pres further, he just watches as the rise and fall of her breath slows.
[[Introduce yourselves]]They lay like that for a short time. Hawthorn standing above, lance across his palms; the witch curled into herself like a tightened spring; Leo flat on his back, one hand pressed to his jaw.
Slowly, Hawthorn eased the tip of the lance away. He slid one knee to the stone and extended his outstretched palm towards her. The witch's eyes, still alight with fight or flight tracked his motion like a hawk. She uncurled by some fraction, the coiled posture undoing itself. She spat into her palm and wiped at her mouth, back still arched.
The tense atmosphere quickly loosened as Leo groans, the two barely hearing his cries through a rasped voice. The witch accepts Hawthorn's very generous offer and he helps her up from the stone.
Hawthorn: I don't suppose you're with these guys right?
Hawthorn gestures to the freshly-dispatched guard on the stone.
The witch nods.
[[Eat]]The trio found a dry ledge where the dust settled into a thin, warm silt. Hawthorn produced the self-heating meal packs. As the water from the canteen met the chemical diaper, the vessel roars to life as a deep red stew bubbles in the plastic broiler just above it.
Leo, running a single finger against the split in his lip leers silently at the witch, his glance only nervously averting when both of theirs meet between mastications. Hawthorn spoons a heap of the stew into his own bowl, crossing his legs and starts enjoying it with a compostable spoon.
They introduced themselves properly this time, over the gentle hissing.
Hawthorn: --And that's kind of what we do. We're kinda in the... acquisitions and appraisals business.
Leo: Yeah. A&A.
Witch: Oh, like, you own a pawn shop or?
Hawthorn: Yeah kind of, if the pawn shop itself was our own personal bank accounts. --And also if the customers were not aware that we were pawning off their loot to the merchant. Which is ourselves. Anyway, what's your name again? I didn't catch it during our spat.
Witch: It's Chloe. Nice to meet you guys.
END OF CHAPTER 1