Chapter Text

The earth shakes. The sky burns, choked by smoke and soot, rising from a vast, ocean-like splay of armored men and women fighting to the death - to something far beyond death. The immortality of their cause… the safety and protection of their very world. 

The collected armies of man, monster, and all between, all those with desperate wishes to see the continent of Elthelenethelle push back the suffocating masses of undead, skeletons and ghouls, fight to the bitter and gruesome end. Many meet such a fate, squeezed shoulder to shoulder with their allies, in a tormentous, wavering chasm of bodies and blood, of violence, both righteous and non. 

Everyone who stands here with their wits about them, everyone who stands knowing they fight for what’s right, knows that this war is decided by their toil, and their eventual sacrifice. They know that every shambling mound, every wailing body they bring back to the grave takes them just one step forward on the path to saving the world. 

Because every step is a second saved. A second of time bought… for the six gathered to face and defeat the ones responsible for this cataclysm. 

Even if at this moment… things are looking grim.

“I remember… I remember it all.” 

Atop a single stone spire, the apex of a sinister castle who but mere months ago sprung from beneath the earth and signaled the start of all this, stands a single, pale humanoid. 

Before him, his opponents. Heroes, from across the breadth of this world - an elven bard cast from her home, a roguish vampire who suffered the very same, a plasmoid barbarian twice the size of any of his companions, a wandering swordsman, the ex-lieutenant of the very army this group has fought to defeat and the small, once-timid girl who first saw the castle, and this very man rise into their world. They  lie defiant, but lie nonetheless as damage from a long and arduous battle weighs heavy on them, same as his dire, dreary words.

 “I remember the cities… The people… I remember the day your world began, same as I remember the day ours ended.”

Ridgeless, formless, unreal and possessed of no mortal imperfection, the eerily placid man with eyes black as the night and cropped, chaff-colored hair puts his arms out rapturously. “Hundreds of years in a world far more advanced than this one, memories turned to ash in the corner of my mind. Replaced with hundreds upon hundreds of years in solitude… In paradise. The bliss of endless nothingness.” 

Blood drips from his body. Wounds carved deep, into his chest, arms and stomach. Burns from sizzling magic, cuts from swords, bruises from heaving blows… The handiwork of the heroes. His stygian eyes creak upwards, to the center of the sky above him.

“We - I - surrendered everything, even my name, Bark Suckerbird, to the void. And soon… He will surrender your world as well.” 

The sun disappears slowly. In its place, a moon falling, pace quickening on an inevitable collision course with the earth below it, heeding the call of a single, all-powerful lich floating miles above the ground.

“The dread lord Melon Husk… his foul magicks will erase all.” Bark Suckerbird laughs quietly. Despite themselves, the heroes turn crestfallen… But one of them doesn’t let herself. Can’t let herself.

“That–...” Between ragged, quiet breaths shared by the heroes, the girl, the peasant who was sowing fields with her ailing mother one day, and thrust into this adventure the next, past a lifetime’s worth of pain and anguish, rises up. Her voice strains as she tries to use it, and blocks as she coughs and hacks up blood. Despite themselves, her comrades reach up toward her and flinch, as though in this moment they see her for who she was, and who she was always meant to remain, a fragile little girl…

Then she steels herself, and in her focus they know that is decidedly not who she is. Not anymore.

“If your world was ash… then what was my mother to you? How much of a speck was she? I know you don’t remember it… The day your men ran through my home and erased everything I ever cared about. I know it meant nothing to you. But it will.”

Her eyes burn into his…

“Her name was Dumpy McThiccums. She lost her dear friend Zy and raised me, an orphan, in her stead. Ms. Dumpy was all the family I ever knew… Until I met the five around me now.”

Bark slides back slightly, staggering from the pressure of her gaze…

 “For them… And for HER…!” Her arms rise high above her head as clouds coalesce as her voice reaches its fever pitch! Her comrades, energized by her tenacity, jump to their feet and arm themselves once more, as they’ve done hundreds of times, observing proud as the girl calls to the sky and with a mighty shout–!

“GO TO HELL AND TAKE YOUR STUPID-ASS NAME WITH YOU!”

Tiffany McThiccums casts Lightning Bolt (3rd Level).

Bark makes a dexterity saving throw… 2 + 7 = 9. Fails!

A BOLT OF LIGHTNING CAREENS DOWN FROM THE HEAVENS, SPLITTING THE VERY AIR AS IT DESCENDS, AND WRITHES ABOUT TIFFANY, WHO LAUNCHES–!

Oz, it’s THREE in the morning, QUIET DOWN!

Back in the real world. 

“Oh my good GOD, Oz!” Shouts Polly Geist… Fan-favorite. As she peers into the bedroom she shares with what is ostensibly the love of her life, even if not immediately apparent by this interaction… “What on earth is keeping you this busy, THIS late?!” 

She pauses and steps back as she sees precisely what is making him shout with glee at the top of his lungs in the dead of night. The only thing that could… Or at least the only thing that could that isn’t something she’s doing.

“U-Uh, hey Polly…? It’s…”

A desk littered with energy drinks, snacks, and dice. Bags and bags of them, thrown onto loose notes and cards, diagrams and tidbits for Oz to remember - and he needs to because his job involves a lot of careful consideration.

The mission: make the six people who are on an online voice call with him have a fantastic time playing the most elaborate board game ever invented.

“... It’s Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Seven hours?!”

“And a half.”

The Geist home, so christened after Oz’ suggestion of the ‘Pozlly Compound’ was roundly and rightly rejected, is a stylish, modern 4 and a half in a surprisingly good location considering the rent. For a modest $1800 monster dollars a month, the family of four (including Magnus) that lives here gets to enjoy a comfortable, pleasant life in a city that so often denies that to its residents.

Oz and Polly take full advantage. The gentle wafting scent of a cup of coffee breezes up from the dining table it lies propped upon, as the couple sits across from one another, and around masses of work and homework, for the ghost who just recently enrolled in university.

The year is 20^&. Two years ago, both of them fought for and earned the right to a life worth living. Now, they enjoy the fruits of their labour. 

“It’s no big deal, Polly, don’t make that face. It happens sometimes!” Perhaps enjoying a little too much. 

Polly leans away from her coursework and folds her arms worriedly. Oz feels quiet pride seeing someone who, so recently, would’ve done nothing but egg him on as he put his health and sleep schedule on the line, now trying to pull him the opposite way. He smiles gently, as he takes a sip from a gallon bucket full to brimming with espresso. 

“Just do coke at this point, Oz…” Polly sighs. “You’re gonna be wired for 14 days at this rate, put the gasoline down.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures–”

“So you agree this is a desperate time!” Polly pounces. “I agree that I didn’t plan for it to be that long, but it was!”

Oz throws his shoulders up, trying to shrug off any personal responsibility. “I mean, who was I to know the battle would take that long!”

“Why are you talking like it’s not completely up to you how long the battle takes?! Just make it less long!” She rises to a laugh as she finishes her thought, stricken by how ridiculous this all is. “I mean come on! You don’t even go this long when you’re with me!”

Oz’ eyebrows shoot up, then furrow back. “... Oh, You mean when we play D&D?”

“What else would I mean, Oz, you don’t want us to fuck for that long, do you?”

“Not at all, but if you’re shooting for that I’m being open to trying and then ultimately disappointing you.”

“Honestly, I’d take that or just about anything over having to deal with all this on a weekend…” Polly sighs into her work before pushing it away in a huff. “Fuck it, buy some Blue Chews and let’s hit a high score.”

“What are you guys talking about at 8 in the morning?” Oz and Polly take a brief pause from whatever that was as a quiet, (usually) polite and slightly raspy voice fills the space. Successive clunks and winges follow their comment, openings and closings of kitchen cabinets, orchestrated by the third humanoid living here: Sawyer Geist. Their sleepiness is so apparent an aura of it seems to steam off of them. “Where the fuck are the cups, Polly, are we going cupless this year?” 

“All the way at the end, second drawer from the top,” Polly comments with some measure of worry seeing her sibling, lest it be forgotten, in this state. Sawyer gives a deep nod, and a just as deep groan, as they find what they were so clearly looking for. 

They fill it with coffee, then dump it all in an opened, half-full milk carton. “What?” Sawyer says, between sips of their ‘latte’. “Save it for Oz, he’s the psycho drinking rocket fuel.” 

Polly quietly starts to feel a little left out, being the only one not, as it turns out, addicted to coffee. 

“Still though…” Polly draws her pen back and balances it between her fingers as she studies Oz, who’s still taking heaving gulps of raw caffeine from his bucket. “I’m kinda proud of you, if that makes sense? That your new friendships are solid enough that no one else minded to stay up that long. I’ve been a little worried about you, um… Socially speaking.”

Oz slowly draws the bucket away from his lips. “... I was worried too.” He folds his arms against the table and looks off, wistfully. “Everyone’s busy. Busier than me, at least… I had an inkling it’d happen, but…”

“What’s up? Oh,” Sawyer remembers. “It’s everyone from High School being busy right? Dude, I told you to apply for some college courses and get in the school that way, didn’t I? Half of everybody’s over there anyway, including–” Sawyer motions up and down Polly. “Your favorite.”

“Yeah well, that’s the thing.” Oz turns toward Sawyer a bit. “Polly is in college, and she’s there full time– Someone has to work to keep buying the milk you’re slamming by the fistful.” Sawyer nods to themselves.

“I don’t mind, I never will. I’m making that sacrifice for us, because I know you were there for me when I needed you, so I’ll be… There for you as well.” 

Oz peters out a bit at the end. He’s not saying it, because it’s not like it needs to be said, at least in his own estimation… But in Polly’s, it’s clear there’s something he’s thinking about. 

Rather, reminiscing about. Things were simpler then.

Polly’s hand reaches back to him and squeezes his forearm warmly. Oz lays his hand on hers as he continues. “But I’m cool now! I met these guys online, and now we meet up, like, every week! Online, I mean, online meetups.”

“I mean you’ve met Zoe and Liam before, I think I heard them speaking on call yesterday.” Polly drinks from her cup. “That makes four whole strangers, though, who are those people?”

“D&D friends…” Oz answers shyly. “There’s NicoOfficial, or just Nico, he’s convinced he’s gonna be famous so he needs to lock down his identity even though I promise you nobody wants it… BigD, who I promise is not nearly as gross as that name, he just didn’t even think about it for even a second… BabyShoes, apparently that’s a reference to the sad ‘For Sale, Baby Shoes, Never Worn’ story, she’s super edgy so she thought that’d make her seem dark–”

“It’s just cute.”

“Absolutely, and of course, User47347200. Doesn’t know how to use the app, never made a name, simply chooses to remain as a number. And Zoe, and Liam of course; We were just going to run a one shot, but everybody really liked it, so… I mean, here we are, two months later!” 

Sawyer throws their eyebrows up, impressed. “I didn’t want it to end either, you know, I was shocked to see them all so…” Oz makes a square motion. “Locked into the story. Y’know? It’s like they were really listening.”

“You have PTSD from playing with me, huh?” Polly laughs. 

Sawyer finally takes a seat between the couple. “I’m shocked any group with Liam and Zoe in it can actually pay attention to anything.” 

“It’s a christmas miracle is what it is, I barely get trolled.”

“So you do get trolled.” Polly says, while Oz nods. “Indubitably, but you have to be economical about that kind of thing, they understand that. Like, you can only have one session where you spend all of it investigating spoons in a drawer, any more and it's gratuitous.” Oz shares, banally. 

Sawyer and Polly emanate a deep confusion in their quiet.

“Right, I guess that can’t be the end of that sentence– Basically they got in this spooky house and I was trying to be creepy and stuff and unsettle them, so when they opened the drawer and started rifling I got real deep and eerie…” Oz leans forward.

“And said…” Polly and Sawyer mirror him. ‘This kitchen… only has one spoon.”

Polly and Sawyer nearly fall to the ground. “What?!”

“Dude, did–...” Sawyer is melting. “Did anyone ask about that?? Was that anyone’s concern, how many spoons there are?!”

“They crucified me.”

“I would’ve too!” Polly interjects, laughing. “What the fuck?! One spoon, that’s the loneliest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“It’s the fact you said it like it was important, like– Like that was gonna be the key to cracking this case.”

“What was gonna happen–” Oz tries to get a word in edgewise and cut off this roast session at the root. “Was - and this is actually pretty scary - every time they go back into the kitchen, there’d be a different number of spoons–”

“Not scary.” Polly answers with resounding quickness. “Not even a speck scary. What is this, Goosebumps?”

“Wow, fuck me I guess!” Oz grabs his hair.  “Polly was gonna before I came here, should I leave?” Sawyer adds.

Oz laughs a bit… before going quiet. With reverence. With thankfulness. “... It’s fun. I have a lot of fun.”

“You definitely do, you have that look.” Polly leans in, smiling. Oz sees her… Then he starts shimmying in his seat. “... Oz. What’s up with the nervous shimmies?” 

“W-Well…” Oz coughs into his hand and combs back his hair. “I mean, you guys get how much these guys mean to me now, I bet.”

“Uh-oh.” Polly leans out and stops smiling. “Watch this, Sawyer, he’s about to ask me something he should’ve asked me a month ago.

“Yeah, this is ‘I bought a motorcycle’ all over again.”

“I promise you this is not ‘I bought a motorcycle’ again, this is way different.” Polly and Sawyer share a look of deep disbelief. “It’s just… Well, the real reason I stayed up so late is because I had to get to the last bit of the story ‘cause… Alright, I’ll just say it: We’re having our first offline meetup at Scam Diego MonsterCon, and I was gonna do the last session then. It’s next Thursday by the way.”

“...” 

“I need someone to say something immediately.”

“Sure, how about I just say what I’m thinking, which is: ‘You bought a ticket and booked a hotel already, didn’t you?’”

“Astute as always, my love.” Polly melts into her chair and screws her eyes shut. “My love? Honeybun?”

“You don’t even call me that, Oz, come on!” She bursts out laughing. In the meantime, Oz and Sawyer both stare expectantly, the latter far more facetiously than the former. For their patience…

“It’s just crazy… You know, you should really tell me these things. What am I gonna do with the ticket and hotel I booked for you?”

… They’re rewarded. “Y-You–?!”

“Oz, be for real, of course you can go– I was gonna force you to go, honestly, you need a break!” 

“YES!” Oz leaps out of his chair and tackles Polly, hoisting her into the air mirthfully. “MY GIRLFRIEND, EVERYBODY! ALL HAIL!”

“H-Haha! Put me down, goofball, Magnus is gonna think we’re fighting!”

Sawyer watches in disbelief. However, they can’t help but smile after a beat, it’s far too touching.

“I promise you, I’m gonna get you so many souvenirs!” 

“What would you get me, do they have Xanax over there?” Oz thinks about it. “... They have Adderall?”

“Even better.”  Polly laughs a tad, then beckons Oz to put her back down. “Seriously though, try to keep it budgeted. We have to save up for our future.”

… The future.

“Our… ” Oz perplexes himself. That word is innocuous… And he doesn’t disagree in any sense. He sees a future with Polly, there’s nothing else he’s surer of. 

So why does that thought, the idea of the future feel so shaky to him? Rather… why does it shake him to think about it?

“Oz? You okay?” Clearly noticing his strange quiet, Polly reaches a hand to his shoulder and grasps him. The moment she does however, things take a turn for the worst. 

It attacks him all of a sudden. Oz stumbles mightily, almost falling to the floor as a wave of nausea floors him. “O-Oz?!” 

“I-I–” He gathers himself as best he can, holding his temple as though trying to hold back a migraine. Before long, it actualizes, a sense of unease manifests as a deep feeling of unwellness. Pain thrums through his head.

“I’m… I’m fine…” He sputters, trying to wrench himself back into normalcy. “I-I must’ve had too much coffee.”

“See, I told you drinking all that was gonna fuck you up!” Polly gently ushers him back up to his seat. His breathing quickens irregularly, same as his pulse when he rests back. His hand lays on his chest and heaves as he looks about himself, as concerned as Polly and Sawyer.

“D-Do you need something? Of course you do–” Sawyer gets up from the table and runs over to the bathroom. “Polly, keep him upright, I’m gonna bring some medicine!”

“Thanks!” Polly shoots off while keeping her attention squared on Oz. “Oz, talk to me, are you okay? Do you need me to make a call?”

Oz’ quivering gaze lands against Polly’s, so deep of love and concern. Visibly, he draws strength from it as he mumbles his response.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’ll be okay.” Polly smiles, trying to put on a brave face. Oz reaches back up toward her, caressing her cheek. “Just don’t let the kids see me this way, I don’t want ‘em to think their old man’s a weakling.”

“... The kids?”

Oz’ expression turns vacant. “Oz? Oz, what kids?”

All he does is mumble back a pair of names, as his spirit tightens within him. The world seems to tilt, as he says their names again.

“Andrew and Phoebe…” 

“Wh-Who…?!”

The world turns. “Wh-What… What year is it?”

That question echoes back into his head. His thoughts are swarmed with an eternal reverberating call, that question, playing again and again, layering on top of itself into infinity, into the ends of his mind. Oz grabs his head in deep pain and writhes, and as Polly tries to hold him and asks - screams - to know what’s wrong, Oz can only conceptualize that something is wrong, deeply wrong, and that this has nothing to do with coffee.

Something deeper is happening. Something unnatural. Something…

“... Huh?”

Nothing to do with Coffee… But through the fog of pain and confusion, Oz grasps onto something that is entirely related to coffee. Polly’s coffee, her cup, the one she was drinking all morning. 

It’s a Pumpkin Spice Latte. 

“It’s…” Polly jumps as Oz finally answers her, but her worry only deepens as all he can muster is another mumble. “It’s July… Isn’t it July?”

It is July. And stranger still, right above that information, Oz finds the order name, the person for whom this cup is meant.

Written plain as day. Order for Zoe. 

Oz’ vision tunnels as he reads it. His mind sinks into the lettering. Beyond sickness, beyond illness or ailing, Oz feels something deep, foul and magic grasp him. Something attacks him from through this object.

Oz makes a Wisdom Saving throw… 5. Fails.

It succeeds. Oz’s eyes lose color and he collapses to the ground. Polly crowds him, screaming, crying, but Sawyer doesn’t see it when they come back. Rather, Sawyer rushes to the kitchen to find Polly dead quiet listening to something unearthly. 

Oz’ phone plays a voicemail, entirely on its own. The screen twitches, crawling with glitches and graphical errors, as a message blares loud enough to fill the room completely. An oppressive noise, that Polly and Sawyer can do nothing but cower from. 

The time of the message runs backwards. Seconds crawl back, far into the negatives. And as they do… Polly and Sawyer hear Zoe’s voice.

She tells them she loves them. She tells them this message is all she has to give them. She tells them she’ll always be waiting.

She calls them Readers.

July 25th. Sunny Scam Diego. 

The crime capital of the monster world, a land more lawless and brutal than even its northern sister city Monstropolis, in the heyday of its most ruthless government. A strange place to choose for an event like this, you may think… But think again, because every year, the stars align and the fates shine upon the droves of nerds who make the yearly pilgrimage. You see, Scam Diego Comic-con is always perfectly synchronized with the city’s most famous local holiday.

The reverse Purge. For three days, three beautiful days of peace and tranquility… All crime is illegal, no matter what it is.

No one knows when it began, or even how. This city doesn’t have a government body to speak of, the police force is less an organized institution meant to maintain the peace and more a gang of stronger, more selfish criminals. It honestly just seems like a cosmic event. In the same way that Halley’s comet will grace the solar system once every 75 or so years, every 11 and a half months, the denizens of Scam Diego all collectively get really tired of doing crime all day and just sorta chill out for a few days. For variety, if anything.

Perplexingly, this makes the city the perfect location for an event like this, one that really doesn’t promote or involve violence, mayhem, larceny, and instead just celebrates the simpler, more straightforward joys in life. 

Like spending your last dime on a life-size statue of Hatsune Miku, or arguing about which BTS member is the hottest. 

“It’s all of them, BabyShoes, that’s their secret. It’s all of them, who are the hottest.” 

A hot summer day. The sun shining so bright, the whole of the grounds at the center of the Scam Diego Expo Hall land fills with gentle but vivid light. Buildings of varying shapes and purposes frame the land, which has long ago been expressly reserved solely for this convention. A circular concert venue and a stout vendor’s hall flanking the land, Food trucks, restaurants and a hotel big enough to accommodate everyone who would even think to come here bringing up the rear, and at the head of this park-like area the crowning jewel, the greatest architectural achievement this city has ever mustered.

The towering expo hall, gentle, arching construction, tall and broad, capped with glittering glass of all colors, casting pastel reflections within as the sunlight peers through. Perfectly constructed for the specific three day period of peak summer it was meant for. A true architectural marvel. 

All of it is almost overwhelming, it definitely is, for the uninitiated. The sentient iron maiden sitting quietly, tensely on a park bench near the grounds’ center is certainly one of them; She'd be more than awkward, more than fidgety if she had the chance. She doesn’t have the chance. 

Her stern, metallic face bores back into the void-like eyes of the girl who just, for absolutely zero reason and with no prompting, told her the BTS boys’ “secret,” whatever that means.

Her name is Omen. They call her BabyShoes, to her great dismay. The one speaking’s name is Zoe Vanderbilt. She’s stomping around like a complete psychopath right now. An insane series of rhythmic movements, it’s almost tribal the way she swings her arms aside and hikes her legs up. 

“Eldritch,” Omen starts, trying as hard as she can to remain solid in her train of thought faced with the roiling ball of madness that is Zoe. “What… Actually no, I physically can’t do this. What on earth are you doing, what ritual is this?”

“Shishishi! Finally you ask, how very like you to just sorta let me keep doing it for–”

“Half an hour.”

“Holy crud.” Zoe quits it. “Why would you just let me do that for that long, dude?!”

“I don’t know Eldritch, I’ve never BEEN here!” Omen leaps off the bench and crowds Zoe with intense panicked energy. “I’ve never SEEN you in flesh before, I just thought you were like that! Help ME out!”

Zoe’s head draws back a bit from the sheer width of Omen. She doesn’t exactly remember what she was envisioning her to look like, maybe something closer to Sadie, rather than the tank that faces her now. Chains and spikes abound, and of course her Virulent hair, wicking arcane magic as it shifts. 

She looks…

Omen makes a raw Charisma check… 19 + 1 = 20.

… Honestly, you think she looks really cool.

“I-I do?” Zoe answers absentmindedly… Somewhat confused. “I mean I do, but– Wait, who said that?”

“Me.” Omen crowds Zoe a little more. “The one talking to you right now, EldritchCutie33. You know– While we’re at it, you’re lucky I call you exclusively the coolest part of your handle, when I could easily not do that and ruin your life as you all have mine.”

“BabyShoes–” Omen’s fist clenches in anguish. “First of all, you look really cool.” Omen’s fist is still clenched…?

“Second, I’m super sorry for being weird right out of the gate with you, but can you blame me?? We’ve been hanging out for like months and I’m just so hyped up to frickin’ be here with you!! Dude, I know you and you’re awesome, how could I not do Emotes as soon as I saw you?!”

Zoe makes a persuasion check (With Advantage)… 9, 16 + 5 = 21.

You pour your heart out, surprising yourself a little with how genuine you’re being. For a second, it looks like you just weirded Omen out more, you start to get the sense that the cape of iron she wears might be as metaphorical as it is literal… But years of time honing your social skills let you know better. You know exactly what she’s really feeling.

Because you’re psychic.

Zoe makes an insight check (Adv.)... 12, 16 + 3 = 19. 

You reach into Omen’s mind momentarily to know that all she is is embarrassed, and deeply flattered. Honestly, the only reason she was being testy earlier - outside your deeply and immediately maddening behaviour -  is that she’s looked up to you for a while. You have an online presence… Omen’s meeting one of her heroes right now.

“...” 

Zoe stares up at Omen… Then slowly but surely starts to do the dance again. And with a broad smile…

“My real name’s Zoe. Call me Zoe.”

Omen is… trying to be touched, and she might be if she just knew what this dance was about–

“Come on, we literally watched this show together! Remember!”

Omen makes a history check (With Help from Zoe) … 7, 18 + 1 = 19. 

You remember it’s from that one bit in the chainsaw man intro.

“OHHHHH!” Omen exclaims all of a sudden. “There we go!” Zoe says. “Now come on, move it! I look insane doing it by myself!”

“You’ll look insane even if I do it too…” Omen whispers… Then looks about her… “... Z-Zoe.”

Then she starts doing it too. Zoe can’t help but laugh and cheer seeing that her weirdness has, in a way, gotten through to Omen. And as the two of them sweat a bit…

“... My name’s Omen, by the way.” Zoe smiles and gives a firm nod. Omen cracks a small one as well.

????? makes a stealth check… Nat 20.

You… Know they don’t see you. You know they can’t see you. From a wide ways away, behind a broad Oak tree, you stare at the two of them doing what you wish you could right now. In a fairer world, you would be right there with them, hitting emotes with your dear friends.

But this isn’t a fair world. So instead, you stare quietly, yearningly, from beneath the shade of a thick sweater’s hood, and behind the darkened lenses of cheap sunglasses.

You are User47347200. Your friends think you don’t know how to change your username… But you do. You’ve known all this time. 

That ruminating thought burns you up as you peel from the tree, and run toward the Hotel. You know you’ll meet them, soon, but now is not the time. Not here, while you’re still not prepared. You know the first official meet is happening at your hotel rooms, so you head there.

You have to get ready. 

“Right, so accounting for how much money you have left, your food options for the next three days are…” Liam says, while he and the party barbarian from his D&D group, Doug, a slime, sit in the hotel lobby on plush armchairs around a low table, crowding around that aforementioned Barbarian’s finances.

Doug has 10 cents in a foreign currency and a gum wrapper.

“... Tap water.” Doug stares and sigh upwards as Liam tells him the truth. He’s fucked.

The hotel itself is comfortable, and a deep respite thanks to its powerful air conditioning. Mostly colored with rich brown leather, wood and gold, with red wherever it’s needed like in rugs and carpeting–

“Doug, were you robbed?! How did you possibly manage to lose EVERYTHING, half an hour into the con?!” Liam exclaims, addressing the far more important and immediate financial situation at hand. 

Doug, laying arms flat against his slime stomach, splays wide on his chair and stares up at the ceiling, mired in a monk-like sense of complete detachment. “I came here to buy stuff, Liam, and I did. That’s all I gotta say.”

“What did you buy, Doug? A mortgage?!” Doug points backwards, at a hulking heap of assorted items directly behind his armchair. A tower erected brick by brick by bullshit stands proud. Fort Knox of anime figurines and plushies. “D-Dude, what was I supposed to do?! They had like, everything I wanted right in front of me– What is money for but to buy stuff?!” Doug shouts, hit with an extremely sudden and obvious wave of remorse.

Liam completely gives up, slamming his hands against his face in anguish. “Just a little planning, Doug, just a little! We had PLANS, to do things and not just sit in the hotel all day- which, need I remind you, is all you can afford right now!”

Doug’s self-consciousness strengthens as he remembers that yes, they were going to do things and that he will have to stay behind. Doug looks backwards, at all he has to show for the money he saved up for months. There’s no way all this stuff means the WORLD to him, isn’t there anything he can… Sell? Maybe get a refund? 

“Here Liam, help me sort through this stuff, I’m sure I can–... There’s gotta be something whack in here.” Liam groans as he reaches up and goes to do just that.

Doug makes an investigation check (with Help from Liam)... 5, 5 + 1 = 6.

No… No, you’re pretty sure all this stuff is sick. 

“It’s useless Liam… Who would I be if I sold all this stuff– Items like this have love, and passion poured into them! It’s insulting to think I could just, sell–”

“Doug, you bought a VTuber waffle iron.” Liam takes out a pristine, in-box waffle iron that makes perfect waffles in the shape of a famous streamer. “You bought TWO!”

He did, he bought two. “One is for the collection, Liam, you have to buy two of everything.”

“Doug, I promise you, there will never come a day when you’ll regret you didn’t buy a SECOND April McDonnel waffle iron. One is enough– Honestly, one is too many.”

“She’s my favorite streamer, DUDE!” Doug exclaims, grabbing Liam by the shoulders. “I have ALL her merch, DUDE!”

“There’s no way you think you’re convincing me. You have to understand how pathetic this is. Right??”

Liam gives Doug a tense, desperate glare. 

Liam makes a persuasion check… 14 + 5 = 19.

You see Doug’s arms slip off of you as he sighs. He wrestles with what you’re saying… And ultimately, he encounters the dead end you were leading him to. Specifically the dead end that is a life where you own two VTuber waffle irons. 

 “... Fine. We’re selling the ONE waffle iron, but I am keeping number two. I’ve dreamt of eating clown girl waffles for months, you’re not taking that from me!”

“Get higher ambitions. Please, Doug. Now come on.” Liam ushers Doug, who grabs the trolley he wheeled his treasure hoard in here on, as they, and the approaching Omen and Zoe from outside the Hotel, move toward their first true meeting spot.

The hotel room. 

????? makes a stealth check… 17 + 4 = 21.

You lie against the wall that pours into the long hallway on the floor of the rooms you and your friends booked. Hexagonal patterns line the walls, wavy, streamy lines of color line the floor, and… a guard blocks the way.

Well… It’s a little mean to call him a guard, he means well. You’re more like an intruder. 

“Yeah, NicoOfficial… On insta too– Oh, autograph? So early??” Nico paces between room numbers 555 and 554. A long kimono drapes over him, the top half is fitted quite well… The bottom is mired by the protruding chest from which Nico spawns. In some ways, that is him, more than the rest of him… The rest could take whatever shape he pleases, yet he’s put in all this effort cosplaying as something he could much more easily just become. 

As he turns on his heel, a replica katana lilting at his side becomes visible. That and an eyepatch, along with an X-shaped scar on his exposed chest…

Nico makes a cosplay (performance) check… 4 + 3 = 7. 

This is hard. You stare at this outfit and try to reason what character this might be… The scar is a little reminiscent of Doofy from Two Piece, but the rest of the outfit is definitely Joro from the same show… Is this an OC? Or like a combo character?

You pull your sunglasses down trying to get a better look at it. 

“Yo who the fuck is that?!” Big mistake.

The hoodied individual hiding whips back at her side where the person - no, the thing that spoke is still there, floating. A balloon animal, a plump bear hovering right by her, with furrowed eyes drawn in sharpie. 

She knows who this is. It expresses her confusion, when she tries to hold it back. But Nico has no clue, instead–

“Huh?? Oh, you wanna know??” Nico only sees interest and runs at it, and by proxy at her, to engage. “You see, it’s actually–”

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit–!” She buries herself in her hoodie and whips at the balloon animal, trying to wrap it back up her shirt and hide it, but it’s far too late, and far too visible.

“W-Wait, where’d you go?! Oh my god, did you just get kidnapped–?!” Nico unsheathes his extremely fake katana. “WAIT UP, I’M GONNA SAVE YOU! I LOVE MY FANS!”

“Fuck my life–!” She mutters. In an instant this situation has become critical. She’s still not ready, she needs to get inside the room, but Nico is right there!

Whether she gets her way or not is decided by whoever acts first.

????? and Nico roll initiative. 

????? -> 9 + 3 = 12.

Nico -> 2 + 0… = 2.

… You’re shocked that a man carrying an extremely heavy treasure chest around is maybe not the quickest person you’ve ever encountered.

You take a breath and focus. You know you can do something, just one thing, as he gets here, but what? Divert his attention? Distract him…? 

… You could do more violent things too. Not that you would, obviously, but it’s never a bad idea to lay out all the options.

“Those aren’t options.” Your ideas run, and as quick as you’ve ever acted you lock onto it. All in the span of six seconds, your hand dives into your pocket to find your phone. A few blisteringly quick taps, you’re on the voice chat app. 

You set up a private voice call with Nico. 

“Oh!” Bingo, Nico takes the bait, he stops on a dime and turns almost completely to answer. The hoodied individual smirks, knowing that the only thing Nico loves more than recognition is yapping to his friends.

“Yoooo, User! What’s good, you at the hotel yet?” … She starts to feel a little bad for tricking him, hearing how genuine he sounds.

Just a little.

????? casts Command.

Nico makes a wisdom saving throw… 11. Fails.

A creeping voice seeps from Nico’s phone. Bathed in echoes and whispers, it penetrates (pause) Nico’s mind.

A cavernous whisper surrounds him. Magic that grips his thoughts and pushes them succinctly in a single direction. The hoodied individual mutters, deep and resolute, into her phone.

“Run.”

Nico listens. Straight ahead, right down the hall, Forrest Gump style, with both arms pumping as he bolts. He’s gone… At least for now. 

She breathes a deep sigh of relief as it’s done, pushing down the defined sense of remorse she feels. In the end, she resolves that this was worth it. Rather, she has to make it worth it.

Room 555. She moves furtively toward it and retrieves the keycard–

“And I said ‘Who needs TWO Waffle Irons’?!” Oh my fucking GOD.

She freezes. In the worst twist of fate, she hears, then worst of all sees the WHOLE gathered group walking down the hall in the direction Nico ran. In fact, Doug–

“Oh, he’s kinda cute…” Not important, Doug is holding Nico back from running away from them like a man possessed, which he clearly is. 

“Nico, stop Forrest Gumping, we’re hanging out right now, man,” Doug says. Fuck! 

Her hands tremble as she suddenly has to rush to push the card and get inside– Th-Then, maybe she’ll barricade the door to buy time?! This is fucked, why didn’t she come here earlier?!

“Come on, come on, come on!”

????? makes a Sleight of Hand check, DC 15… 13 + 4 = 17. Passes!

You’re used to high pressure situations. That’s all you do for work. You wrench a sense of ease and calm from deep within yourself and embody it, getting the door open in a hurry.

She’s in the room now. Inviting yellow and gold, white and warm, chocolatey brown, three beds in a row, flatscreen TV and a wide, ensuite bathroom, she’d be excited if she had even a second to spare. She’s the first to get in… She sees her collected bags, the ones she had sent here ahead of time. She locks onto the one with her outfit and gets to work opening it.

There’s no way they didn’t see her disguised self earlier… But if she gets ready quickly, then maybe they’ll–

????? makes a Perception check… Nat 20.

… You smell something Horrid. 

“14 hour flight from Japan to Scam Diego huh, Liam? What is that, one D&D session with Oz?” The group laughs at Zoe’s idle quip–

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” An ear-piercing scream. Worse, It’s coming from 555, the room the girls booked. Worse still… It’s a voice they recognize.

“User! User 478, whatever the numbers were!” Nico yells, finally snapping out of it. “There you are man, what the hell happened to–”

“No time, COME ON!” Nico turns on a dime and puts his running to good use. Flanked by the others, they rush with wild abandon to the room they heard that screech from. They get there before long… And what awaits them shakes them deeply. 

The hoodied girl… Hood off and thrown aside. The bare beginnings of clown makeup cover her face, framed by a wild, wide pink coiffe. Most apparent, a deep fear lines her features. Wordless, she points, to the ensuite door, into the shower… Where the collected members of the D&D group gathered here finds Oz, their Dungeon Master.

Battered. Bloody. Slumped.

Dead.

Oz

(V.O.) And THATS where we’ll end today’s session!

INT. MONSTROPOLIS, GEIST FAMILY HOME - EVENING

Polly

(SIMULTANEOUS) Awwww!!! 

Miranda

(SIMULTANEOUS) You CAD! You CUR!

ZOE

(SIMULTANEOUS) BOOOO! (THROWING DICE) BOOOOOOOO!

Liam

…

Sawyer

(SIMULTANEOUS) Come ON!

Vera

(SIMULTANEOUS) Ohh, now I understand…

The group quiets down - The real group, in the real real world, gathered in Oz and Polly’s home around a table choked with sheets, dice and books.

The year is 20&?. Thirteen years ago, the seven of them fought for and earned the right to a life worth living. Now…

Vera

I was rolling the 12-sided dice instead of the twenty, that’s why my character rolled so horrendously…

… Vera is finally learning the rules of this game.

FADE OUT:

TO BE CONTINUED