legionmissions | THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

Like many cursed objects, the cursed floppy disk containing Tsarista was unearthed by archaeologists, trying to excavate artifacts related to Earth's heroic history. Mystified as to why it was preserved in a strange container that seemed meant to protect it from corruption, they'd created a makeshift system to try to view the data on the ancient device.

Opening the .txt file of "Troubleshooting Windows '95" on it, opened up the world to a whole lot of trouble.

After breaking free -- and through the roof of the archaeology building of the university -- the evil queen cackles in delight at the new world she's found herself in. Nearby television "personalities" recording a puff piece in the park, quickly turn their camera drones on the escaped Queen, broadcasting her to the entire UP.

"At last! I'm free! And oh me, oh my, has the world changed. What a narrative mess it is now, so complicated. And fraught with conflict that isn't easily resolved. And there are so many new settings, in all these UP worlds! No matter. I'll fix it all. I'll make it so everything makes sense."

With a snap of her fingers, magic light pours through the nearby New Metropolis media archives, and everything from datachips, to rare paper books, to flexi tablets came pouring out, swirling around her in a storm of paper that quickly turns into a storm of words.

"My name is Tsarista. Queen Tsarista. And I'm going to turn this galaxy of blank pages into a carefully curated masterpiece -- ruled by me, of course!"

After the display, there's only one way to stop the bubble of unreality that's settled over New Metropolis: by going in and tearing it down from the inside.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Also, I don't know about you, but I can't seem to use my powers."

He can feel them. Almost. He can feel the Nova Force still sparking away inside him, but right now it's just an ember, warm under the surface. He can't seem to get anything to flare up.

Realizing that he's painting a pretty dreary picture, he pats Sam comfortingly on the shoulder.

"It'll be fine, though."

Never mind that the sky is gray and the light is dim and the trees are all dead and the whole world seems choked by dust. Never mind the fact that it feels like there's something nasty chewing up the inside of his lung. It'll totally be fiiiine.

Rich stands up and starts to fold the tarp and pack away all of their junk into their cart. Instinctively, he knows what it all is, and what it all does, and how it's supposed to be tucked away, and how they Do Things to survive, like the knowledge of the character is implanted into his brain.

"We can break out of this thing. We either have to just make the story end whatever way it's supposed to, or find a way to break out through the edges of it, and the whole thing'll collapse." Difficult to do when he's not even sure what ending it's supposed to have to begin with (he knows about the movie but it's not like he ever sat down and watched it), but not impossible. "We just have to keep cool heads, watch each other's back, and try to dial down the hero thing and just look out for ourselves. None of these people scan as real, so we don't have to worry about helping anyone that's in trouble, and we can get as nasty as we need to with anyone that comes after us."

Edited 2017-03-27 06:15 (UTC)

"Break out through the edges like...do something crazy and totally not what we're supposed to be doing, or literally walk off the side of the map?"

In a situation as weird as this, Sam figures it's a fair question.

He gets up, does a quick stretch (because wow, sleeping on the ground really messes with you), and moves to help Rich load up what is apparently their stuff. It's not a very impressive fortune, and it's not like he's got terribly high standards of material living. "We really pulled the short straw on this one, didn't we?"

Their stuff is...not impressive at all. It's crap. Still useful crap, but crap. And not as much of it's food as Rich would've liked.

Rich takes in a deep breath and lets it out.

"We've pulled the short straw before, Sam." Rich getting the Surfer's hand through his chest. Sam falling sway to that horrible, horrible ring. "We got through it."

He gives him a reassuring smile.

"We're Novas. We do the 'light in the dark' thing, right? Can't do that unless it's a little dark."

He starts pushing the wobbly cart along, towards a nearby road.

"And either's seemed to work so far. Doing something off script or moving away from where the story is. Only problem is I think I've seen commercials about this movie but I never watched it or read the book. Something something about a guy and his son walking down a road, trying to get somewhere better. Without knowing how it's supposed to go or where they're supposed to be, it'll be hard finding the right way of changing it. And we've got food and water to worry about. If we go traipsing off into the wilderness, we might run out. I think we should go along with things until we actually run into...something. Something that feels like a story moment."

He pushes the cart onto the road.

"And then we need to be us instead of the guy and his kid. Provided it ain't something that gets us killed."

"There was a book?"

Yes, Sam is that guy. He's getting better about reading! Kind of.

"But okay, got it. Play along until we can hear the dramatic background music, then do something preferably not stupid and risky." He wrinkles his nose. "Hey, uh, you remember that this is us, right?"

They're pretty good at doing things that are very stupid and risky.

"There are levels," Rich says cheekily. "And different types of stupid and risky. So it's less trying not to do something stupid and risky, and more we just have to make sure we pick the right kind."

And so they walk, and the world sort of melts into itself as they do it. It simultaneously takes days and days and doesn't take any time at all. Time is fluid in this place, but Rich gets the feeling that it'd all blend into one long trail of grayness even if it was all real, even if time was flowing normally.

They walk and sometimes stop and sleep and dig around old convenience stores for anything edible, then walk some more. The cold settles into their bones, never enough to really stop or slow them down, but always ever-present, just enough to leave them uncomfortably chilled. The hunger never really goes away either. They at least have enough water. They have what they need to boil it and filter out the ash.

Rich holds the coughing in all day during the days, resisting the tickle in his throat, the catch in his lungs, and only deals with it at night, after Sam has long since fallen asleep from exhaustion. He goes just far enough from the fire that it isn't loud enough to wake Sam up, but close enough that he can still see the flames flickering, can still see the bundle of blankets Sam's under. Then he coughs and coughs and coughs, retching up fluid and blood and something gross and clotted.

Then after spitting out the blood and breathing and breathing and breathing, as if to make up for barely doing it all day, he walks back to the fire, and collapses, exhausted, next to Sam. They sleep cuddled together the same way they did that night in Murderworld, after they'd fought Wiress.

Eventually, they find a highway, with a jack-knifed tractor-trailer blocking the road. After spending the night sleeping safe and dry in the carriage, it's time to move on. They have to pass all their supplies under the carriage and shove the cart through on its side to get past it.

After they do, Rich isn't ready to leave it yet. It's awful big truck.

"Might be something useful in there," says Rich, climbing up on top of the truck's carriage. "The back's too far over the railing for us to get in that way, but maybe somebody got the same idea and cut into the top." He shoves himself up onto the roof and that's when he sees it. A skylight that had been cut into. "Yeah, someone cut a hole through. They might have taken everything, but if they couldn't carry it all, they might have left something behind."

He waves down to Sam.

"Grab the lighter and one of the magazines and gimme a hand."

Edited 2017-04-14 07:50 (UTC)

"I'm assuming that means you don't smell gas." Sam rummages through, and pulls out one of the magazines. "Hey, at least we finally found a use for Cosmopolitan."

He tucks the lighter in his pocket and holds the magazine in his teeth to keep his hands free to climb up next to Rich, and makes a face as he takes the magazine back out of his mouth and hands it over. "I sure hope that doesn't give me the plague or something."

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS - Modplot

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: gross lung stuff?

no subject