The Frontrooms

>>2636
Two important things I forgot to mention:
1- The dice used are 1d50.
2- The update pace will be quite slow. One turn per week, on Saturdays, due to my IRL limitations.

>>2636
c-can I reserve a spot? I want to think of a good character to use

guardo cupo

Are you the same OP? I'm saving a spot in case.

It took me a while to come up with something, hope you like it kek
>Name and surname
Abigail Weston
>Gender
Female
>Age
16
>About yourself
A different girl, she loves to paint and lives for art. Although right now she is going through an artistic block.

Abigail has good manners, but regular grades. She used to work part-time at her mother's grocery store, but was recently relegated to the position of head of the broom and mop (in other words, cleaning the floor)

She is very good at art, but the paintings she made before her artistic block are not the most sought after in any market, only being bought by some classmate or distant relatives of the girl.

Her personality is somewhat eccentric, she is polite but not intelligent. She always seeks aesthetics in everything around her and can be very passionate if she finds something that inspires her... But right now, she is in search of something that will make her regain inspiration.

>About your past
Abigail was a normal child in her early years, cheerful and playful. Her father wasn't good at studying, so he chose to be a police officer... and her mother already had a store before her father met her.

Abigail's first contact with art was on a trip to the local museum, at first she didn't seem interested... But upon finding herself surrounded by so many beautiful works, she was surprised by what art could create. And locking eyes with a particular painting (choose a non-disturbing painting yourself or just say it was a replica of the Mona Lisa kek) made her heart surrender especially to the world of painting...

Abby joined the art club and asked her parents to also take her to an art school. The girl learned to paint and since then, her life has been about trying to boost her career as an artist... which never had much success.

Oh, and also, in the past, she used to help out at her mother's store's cash register. But because she was very careless and sometimes gave too much change... or too little, now she has to settle for cleaning.

>What do you expect for your future (Either you live in Stepford, or sooner or later you'll have to go through there for work or by chance).
To be a millionaire, capture beauty in my paintings and have them in all the museums of the world!

>Strength: 2
>Agility: 3
>Stamina: 2
>Luck: 1

>Energy: 2 (she has stayed up so late painting that she has some resistance to fatigue)

>Aldo

Is this happening in 1973, OP? As a woman, are my rights reduced? Kek

>>66305
>Y yeah, I like it, how do I know I like it? Because I read it with a silly smile.
Keksito, I'm glad OPecín. I don't want to make a character that bores you (and if it does at some point, just tell me so I can change it. I can think of something else)

>Okay.
I can change it if you want, the appearance or the age though I want to play with someone 16-17, I think the age fits the character idea

>Do you want to take care of those characters too?
Of course, I'll do it. I'll try to make them more of a background so they don't bother whatever you have planned.

>>2642
<I'll change it like that
I would never ask someone to change their waifu. Every character has potential, you just need to give them the right treatment and affection. Besides, your waifus look very cute on you.

<appearance or age
Kek, it wasn't a complaint. I just found it curious that she's that age being so short. I like those kinds of contrasts.

<I'll try to leave them mostly in the background
Well, I recommend you don't limit yourself in that regard. Use them as background, but the situation might push them to be more participatory. Also, I think I'll add a couple of biting grandparents to the Westons.

And I know you asked about your rights. Well, it's the 70s, depending on what's being consumed around, they can multiply and dilate and become as subjective as the shape of the clouds. Although the cops won't hesitate to club you, especially if you're Light-colored.

Until next time.

>>2636
>Name

Joshua Heekins.

>Gender

Male

>Age

Will turn 31 at the start of the role.

>About you

A Soldier who can look back on the past with pride, but the military past instead of the familial one. He is a homebody, quite confident and trusting with those he knows well enough. He spends his new days of relaxation in the house he inherited from his parents, with his wife and his daughter... A perfect life in a relationship and a bond that only strengthens each day with his little daughter... But Joshua, for some reason, always looks back on those horrible days in the trenches with blind nostalgia. Maybe what he lacks is once again that feeling of danger and uncertainty that that life offered him.

Any of the Soldiers out there would give their life to be able to return home, with his family, and he instead, why would he want to return to those armed fields? Is he crazy?

>About your past

An American Soldier who fought in the Vietnam War and was honorably discharged due to a bullet wound near the heart that compromised his health and which still remains embedded in his chest due to the position and the difficult, by mention costly, operation.

He had two children, a son and a daughter, with his wife. Now, however, only the daughter remains to give them hope and happiness to their lives. Knowing his wife in the same battlefields, they simply fell in love and the rest was history... She always tried to be a good wife and mother, but since the death of his first son, she noticed how that perfect life, was slowly becoming more like a facade than true happiness...

Joshua is miserable for being the one who killed his son, accident or not... And the only thing he believes would redeem him is dying again by fulfilling the duty his son so admired while alive. But it's not possible, now he must continue torturing himself and living with the memory of his son until at least they can afford to move.

Here's the map of Stepford.

Small notes:
-As you can see, the town is located in the middle of Route 32 somewhere in the United States.
-There are three residential areas to choose from, highlighted in dark green: North Suburbs; South Suburbs; and Woodscrew, which is more like a group of cabins, therefore the people who live here are more isolated, endogamous, and rural.
-The white roads are the ones that appear on any town map, meaning the official ones, and anyone knows them. The gray paths are the more rustic and field paths, therefore their characters are not aware of them, although of course, they can end up discovering them.
-The school is primary, secondary, and preparatory.
-The locations with ? symbols are places that haven't been decided yet what they are. This is in case you want your characters to have some business or relatives with stores (For example, Abigail's family's little shop is the one that says SHOP, with the W shirt).
-When entering a wild area like Woodspeak, or Miracle Lake, you will use the exploration system of the Backrooms (1d50 dice). When in normal areas, they just need to indicate their character's route or where they are going.

<??? (Day X, Month X, Year 1972)

Vietnam
In the oppressive and opaque cement chamber, the doctor sketches an artificial smile, then repeats the question: Who are you?

He understands, he knows why he returns to square one. He glances sideways at the mirror and catches that beyond the reflection are the spectators. Investors, scientists, important people, or perhaps no one. He lowers his head, and the shadow he casts masks his expression. Nothing of value is lost, his face was already an amalgam of dark shades.

"I am Dante..." His voice trembles from the fear he feels, terrified of himself. "Crossing the door where hope is abandoned..."

The doctor changes her smile to something more authentic. She crosses her legs to the other side, and signs the document on the clipboard resting on her thighs, authorizing the honorable discharge and return home of the veteran. As they say, the same hand that emerges from the grave and grabs your neck can be the one that extends you an opportunity.

Strength: 2
Agility: 3
Resistance: 2
Luck: 1
-Pockets 0/4

North or South Suburb Choose residential zone
Your grandfather lies on his armchair—it’s clearly his, since it looks as grumpy as he does, sharing not only owner but even the stench of old coins. As you pass through the central hallway, the one connecting to practically every side of your house’s ground floor, curiosity makes you pause before opening the door, peeking toward the living room, at the boob tube, surprised not to hear the usual gunshots from his cowboy or cop shows, where the captain tells the lieutenant: “See, McCain? Crime doesn’t pay.”

Even more shocking is finding your grandfather watching a documentary. Him? The man who wages an all-out war against knowledge? Your mother had enough trouble getting him to accept that the Earth revolves around the Sun—how could he now be voluntarily consuming new information?

The grim possibility that he’s dead with his eyes open makes you step closer. He turns his face toward you. He’s alive!

Josh: Abby, is that you?

You confirm it—otherwise he might shoot you with the revolver he keeps under the cushion. Your grandmother’s been trying for years to make him get rid of that damn thing.

Josh: You’re getting tinier every day, kid. Come here and learn about your country’s history.

You glance at the wall clock. Classes start at 2 PM—you still have time before heading out to pave your path to New York, capital of the world’s artists. As they say in Stepford: One step at a time.

You face the TV for a minute and now you get it—it’s one of those idealistic documentaries, highlighting what’s good, pretty, and beautiful. For a patriot who fought Hitler on D-Day, it’s pure audiovisual candy (There’s actually no proof Hitler was on the beach that day, but Josh swears he saw a German with a weird mustache right after landing).

And so begins a new chapter in our nation’s glorious history...

The narrator recites events in a typical ceremonial tone, while the screen shows images of tall buildings, mountains, soldiers kissing their girlfriends, and nuclear families enjoying a picnic (Mom, Dad, boy, girl, dog—blond, all the way down to the dog).

Josh: Back when men were men. Kids these days look like women.
Well, if you saw your gorgeous community college professor… No, Abigail, no. It's wrong to think like that about Robin, he doesn't deserve such treatment, he's so kind, so attentive, so free spirit, plus he's 10 years older than you. You'd better drown those weird ideas and get over it. You're no longer a girl at the beginning of high school, you're a girl in the middle of high school, specifically in tenth grade, someone who aspires to become a world-famous painter, for that you need at least to graduate and, incidentally, get a degree in arts, so as not to end up looking like a country bumpkin when you get to the Big Apple (That was the condition your parents set). Did you calm down…? Did you get over those weird ideas…? Good, you can continue.

Here we see the president greeting the crowd…

The documentary continues. Kennedy's face doesn't appear, nor does the current president's: Dean. Eisenhower is the one shown. You can already imagine how old the program is.

Now, as is tradition, he will proceed to feed the Lincolnaut.

A close-up of Lincoln's stony face, stern, with his tall hat and an almost imperceptible hole between his lips. The camera pulls back, giving enough space in the box for the body and the throne. The president needs a crane and a platform to be lifted to the monument's face, close enough to insert a thin tube between the statue's lips and feed the new Lincolnaut, although no one can be sure he's actually eating. Eisenhower turns halfway around and raises his arms, smiling, you hear the crowd applaud. For the next few days, the janitor would be in charge of the ritual, but no one seems to care.

For a liberal girl with good manners like you, a tradition like the Lincolnauts would surely earn you an expression of displeasure. It's true that being the most powerful man in the world isn't the same as being a baker, but what right does a head of government have to choose a person (Their identity is never revealed, but it could be any American citizen) and lock them up in a monument until the next head of chiefs comes along? According to the constitution, the president has every right in the world. But that doesn't mean you accept it, and you really hope for the arrival of a leader who will change things for the better. Your grandfather, on the other hand, doesn't bat an eye; for Josh, all of this is normal.

Anyway, too much politics, that's not your area, you move among brushes and streaks of color. You take your bicycle (You wanted a car, but due to your height, you can't reach the accelerator or the brake) and go out into the green yard, on a beautiful sunny day. Children are playing, men are cleaning their newly bought cars that they will use to go to work, housewives are airing out freshly baked cakes. Everyone agrees that the landscape says: God Bless America. But no one realizes that God is upside down.

…

I hope you enjoy this first turn. It's your choice where your doll will go, it doesn't necessarily have to be community college (It's marked COM on the map), you can chart your own course.

>>2647
>>2642
>66562
Sheet saved.

I will prepare your turn for the following weekend. In the meantime, I invite you to two things, the first is to read these turns >>2646 >>2647 You don't need to respond to them, but they can help you get better context about the world of Frontrooms.

Second, you can write a lore scene about how things are in your people's family, or how they behave. That would serve as material for me to prepare a better turn for you than bringing you the next one.

I doubt I can submit a character sheet for like a month, but in case I do and there's still room by then, how much freedom would I have to act being my character an esoteric hippie assassin?

>>2649
<How much freedom would I have to act, being my character an esoteric hippie killer?
It depends on how things develop in Stepford. Right now, a serial killer would go unnoticed without much trouble if he knows how to hide his tracks and his disorders. But if the situation gets complicated and strange things start happening, people would be more alert.

>>2647
I choose the south!
>Abigail
With dark circles under her eyes, Abby woke from her lethargy after a very long night. The first thing she saw when she opened her large brown eyes was the white canvas, the protagonist of the hours before bed for the uninspired painter.

The girl quickly looked away, with one hand in front of her cheek, "I can't see it!" She told herself, escaping from another unfinished work.

Her room was a pink color, a color that had remained since she was a baby, quite appropriate for such a precious and feminine little girl as the one they had planned to have...

However, the pink was adorned by one and a thousand paintings that covered the walls, paper scraps with crayon drawings and paint splatters of all the colors of the rainbow over the last 16 years... being that white canvas, the only one without anything painted on it, the true stain in the room.

"Without a doubt I must find my inspiration as soon as possible..."

She needed a muse, a beautiful landscape, a good bowl of fruit, a handsome naked man, maybe her professor naked... something! Something to paint! Something that would bring back her passion.

Abby clenched her fist in frustration and got off the bed. She sighed, shaking her head and looked at the clock, she had slept too much. But it didn't matter! Sometimes dreams are a trigger for emotions, something very good to move the brush... and although it wasn't the case, it could have been.

The girl left her room, which had a scent of paint, something a hippie would enjoy smelling... and went down the hallway to start her day.

She moved a chair to the pantry and climbed up to reach the doors, opening them to take the family's cookie jar. A tactic she had learned as a child and perfected in her sweet 16 due to her short stature.

She went down, eating the delicious chocolate chip cookies, skipping breakfast and lunch, this snack should entertain her stomach until dinner. It shouldn't be much of a problem, after all, the Weston knew about all those poor painters who starve trying to live off their art... she knew it could happen to her, in fact, it was happening to her if she wasn't a kept woman. So she had to train her endurance.

As she passed by a certain door, the television caught the painter's attention, a documentary being watched by the oldest Weston, a curiosity worth watching.

Abby crossed the door, with the only purpose of observing, the girl with short hair liked to watch people. Sometimes watching people was inspiring...

But as the seconds passed, the lack of movement from her elderly relative became obvious. Abby put her hand on her own chest and looked down, fearing the worst.

"Rest in peace, my dear grandfather."

But with those words, the man reacted, looking at her and surprising the younger Weston.

>66318
>Every character has potential
Maybe it's true, OPecito, but I wouldn't want you to be trapped taking turns at something that bores you

>I hope you enjoy this first turn.
Of course, OPé.

>>2648
>it's true that the statue doesn't have
Mandarin effect kek

>>2651
Turn saved.

<it's implied that you have your backpack with school supplies with you, right little OPecito?
It can.

Since she is not trapped in an unknown dimension, she has more starting options. Pencils, notebook, brushes, etc.

>>2650
I was saying more in the sense that so many asspulls and things would leave me to take out my stuff when I do my things, let's say for example there's a scene in a bar or something and my monkey approaches X person to talk to them introducing a pill into their drink to drug them and make them more susceptible so I can take them. How would you handle that scene in that case? Would I have to tell you beforehand that I have those pills and how much? Would the effect in-role of the drug be immediate or would I have to wait a couple of turns before doing it? And when taking them, would friends and police come out of nowhere before I can take them to the woods? Or would we do a timeskip directly unless I messed up somewhere?

>>2653
<How would you handle the scene in that case? Would it have to tell you beforehand that I have those pills and how much I have?
Exactly. And it must also be considered the obtaining or manufacturing of the same. The effects will be added to the item description, and in the character's inventory, it will show how much you possess.

Example of an item:

-Smiler Fluid
Function: Scatters the Smilers, and sets the Level with a sweet aroma of blueberries. Lasts 3 turns.
Description: Tired of those annoying creatures waiting in the darkness? Do you feel envy for their gleaming smiles? Then don't wait any longer, use the Smiler Fluid and free yourself from just that problem. The instructions are simple, just aim and apply. The contents don't mean any danger except for a The Smiler.

The object above in particular cannot be obtained normally in the world of Frontrooms, but as I noted, it's just an example.

<Would the drug effect in roleplay be immediate or would you have to wait a couple of turns before it takes effect?
That will be determined by the type of pill. If the description says it takes X time to take effect, it will take X time.

<Would friends and police come out of nowhere before I can drive to the forest?
Not out of nowhere. But it would be good if you studied the police patrol route, or use the roads that don't appear on the maps, although for that you should be aware of them.

In the same way, it wouldn't be the same to kidnap someone who is alone on the road at night, as someone in a restaurant, on their birthday, accompanied by their mom and dad.

>>2645
An off-topic question, what program/app did you use to make that map?

>>2655
Kek, deja vu.

I use the portable gimp, nigger.

>>2648
A ver... Scene not because I don't have an intro, besides I didn't get what Vietnam was about, did that happen to Joshua too?

Well, I have time, I guess I can only tell you how I think things would be or how I want them to be...

Joshua is born as part of the descendants of Earl Hancock "Pete" Ellis, someone who exists in real life. His mother ends up marrying someone from another family and changes her last name to Heekins, but the roots of the Ellis were already very deep in his identity to remove them.

For some reason, everyone who is born within the family ends up being military geniuses of some sort and that talent blossoms in their early teenage years, just by inertia, they also fall in love and marry relevant figures in the military... Joshua is born as the seventh of twelve siblings sharing the customs of the Ellis and deciding on his own to serve in the conflict in Vietnam when the opportunity presents itself.

After some time he meets his fiancée in the war, the role of her in it you can leave to you. After a period of wild youth where she managed to fuck both him and his sister at the same time, because if she wants something, she gets it even if the world has to burn, she ends up choosing him and closing that curious two-way phase.

She returns home with him for a while, meets his parents and after their marriage, they are given one of their properties as a wedding gift... Joshua gets his wife pregnant during their honeymoon but returns to Vietnam shortly after, his wife is no longer sought after until the role starts.

They have their first child, who looks like his father... They work on making their house a home during the time they have until Joshua is called back, a year later their second daughter was already in the oven.

Joshua is discharged a year before the present, his children are 8 and 7 years old respectively and are healthy and happy... His wife was always firm and serious, somewhat irreverent and ironic towards Joshua's nonsense, dominant in many aspects and maybe too stubborn, qualities necessary in those war-torn places but when it comes to his children, he tries to keep them under control at least until they are 15.

Joshua is discharged due to a heart wound and prefers to focus on his paternal life. The tragedy occurs, his first child dies... The atmosphere in his house has been heavy since then.

Hancock, who is her name, still believes her brother is still in that house and wants to take her to the Limbo. Traumatized by the ghost stories her parents told before the tragedy, mostly she sleeps with them claiming to have nightmares. A sweet girl who is very naive and scared as one would expect...

His marital life is also somewhat uncomfortable, they still love each other, and they are there for their daughter... But Joshua discreetly only wants to be alone as a punishment for not deserving anything he has. He wants and needs penance while she hugs him saying everything is fine and it's not her fault.

Sometimes, like any couple, there is space for intimacy after making sure Hancock is sleeping peacefully... She likes it from above. Normally he just sleeps in a borrowed shirt claiming that clothes only make her feel trapped when she should feel freer... He would sleep naked if it weren't for having to set an example for his daughter.

...

And that's... all I can imagine, ah, his wife would already be pregnant for his birthday when the role starts, what do you think? And I don't know... Is Hancock older a pic in case of a Frontrooms 2? Kek

>>2657
<Did that happen to Joshua too?
No.

<Is Hancock older pic in case of a Frontrooms 2?
There will be a Frontrooms 2, and it will start immediately after that thread. Just as there is already a The Backrooms 4. But yes, if the girl survives this first arc, and enough time-skip passes, it's up to you whether she is that monkey or not.

Thanks for the info. I'll surely use a part to cement the introduction turn.

>>2651
<Abigail Weston (Time: 1:45 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 70/70
Hunger: 12/20 - Thirst: 10/20
-Strength: 2
-Agility: 3
-Stamina: 2
-Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 4/4
Mom W's chocolate chip cookies (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookies (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookies (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookies (2/2)

South Suburb
The canvas on the easel is white as a mocking smile. Empty... That's wrong. Your mission in life is precisely to fill it with color, and in doing so, imprint upon it your curious perspective on existence—a creative task you've repeated a hundred times over on the many painted sheets that break the rosy wallpaper pattern. Eager to hang a new magnus opus in your bedroom, you set out in search of a muse: a beautiful landscape, a fine bowl of fruit, a handsome naked man... Ambrosia for the eyes.

But first, you made a small detour to the kitchen, sneaking up to snag a few chocolate chip cookies—your plan being to crush the discouragement brought on by skipping Mom's breakfast.

-Mom W's chocolate chip cookies x4
Function: Fills hunger (2/2)
Description: Big, round cookies, just like Abigail's eyes.

You pocketed four and started nibbling a fifth. On your way to the front of the house, you stop dead at the sight of your dead grandfather. You step deeper into the TV room, approach him—then his status shifts from dead to alive. His bushy old brow furrows even further as he hears you babbling about artists or the size of the mind.

Josh: You're at it again with those crazy hippie ideas, Abby...? In my day, when you spouted nonsense, they'd whack you with a board and ship you straight off to military school.

He'll never understand you. You know it, he knows it, your mom knows it, your dad knows it, and if you had a dog or a cat, they'd know it too. The irony? Your grandmother is a free spirit with unorthodox ideas just like you—so how on earth did she end up tied to someone so... so Josh, who at the first chance sends you to scrub the floor? One of the family's great mysteries.

Your musings drift into the romanticism of war, and the rejection of the cult of monuments—the latter being one of the ugly customs rooted in the days of Pocahontas, rituals to which believers attribute America's progress and its overwhelming drive to become the world's leading superpower. Superstition, or is there truth in the idea of hidden powers steering the planet's course? Smarter people than you spent their lives trying to find out, and failed. And unless your mom's cookies trigger an epiphany, you're no closer to the answer.

A terrible sound snaps you from your thoughts. You turn your head just as the murderous locomotive rumbles in, and see Josh with his head thrown back, mouth wide open... A drool bubble pops, preceding the drill-like snoring that reverberates through every inch of the living room.

You leave your grandfather sleeping and step outside into a beautiful sunny day. Riding your bike, ringing your bell, waving at neighbors who call out, “Good afternoon!” As you pedal, your mind screams... Muse! Where are you?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfRb_-facX4▾
Behind you, the little houses of the southern suburbs fade away; you move alongside the right flank of the empty normal school, as expected on a weekend; next comes the sight of the local museum, where you fell in love with art; then the cemetery on the following block, with its tombstones, gnarled trees, and grass a duller shade than anywhere else in civilized Stepford; you caught a glimpse of the Seventh-day Adventist church out of the corner of your eye, but paid it little mind and took the first turn, passing by the bus stop.

…

Center of Stepford
To your left: the FUNeral home and Papa’s restaurant; to your right, a string of shops for sale, promising new and profitable businesses—the usual boom of opportunity land; you pedaled on, and the freshness and laughter from the little park reached you, the best spot for family picnics; the sweet scent of Willy’s Wonderland also drifted your way, along with the sharp, sour stench from Salty’s spittoon—the roughest joint in town; though you never had to worry about those rough types, your dad and the police station were right nearby to protect you. And then there were those handsome firefighters with toned arms and chocolate-bar abs… though really, they’d be the ones needing protection from your piercing stare.

You reached the community school, the temple of knowledge for those who never had time for knowledge. You chained your bike near the entrance and crossed the threshold, immediately wrapped in the smell of cardboard.

…

Community School
Unlike the regular school, the community one had a calmer, or rather older, spirit, since many of the students were well into their thirties. The system is simple: you walk in, pick a class that catches your interest, and sign up with a bit of paperwork. Though most teachers lack any formal education diploma, they do have studies or experience in the subjects they teach—at least that’s what the administrators claim. It was the closest thing your parents could find to an art workshop, though Stepford is such a tiny town after all.

Of the building’s three floors, the first is reserved for the most popular classes. So you passed by “How to Chew Tobacco,” “Cooking for the Housewife of Tomorrow,” and “Funky Dance Self-Defense.” Peeking through the different doors, the people you saw arriving and taking seats looked so… old, in the sense that the only 16-year-old girl in the whole school was you. That said, you did notice plenty of curvy, attractive housewives, but since you lived in the suburbs, you were already tired of those prominent backsides, stiff wavy hairdos, and wasp waists wrapped in aprons. You needed something new, something stimulating.

You climb the stairs and reach the second floor… “How NOT to Write a Novel”… “Cobra Kai Karate”… “Gun Lovers, Unite!”

You climb the next flight—no easy task with your short legs… Finally, the third floor… “Veterans Support Group”… “Mysterious Mysteries”… “The Art of Living.” There it is, your destination, or at least the sign. Just fifteen steps left to arrive fifteen minutes early to meet your professor rated 15 out of 10 in sexyyyyyy…

But the space between spaces swayed above your head, and that never brings anything good.

1/2

I removed part of the inventory to avoid cutting the turn further. You know the process—either in the next part or in an extra post, I'll leave the full sheet.

>>2659
<Abigail Weston (Time: 2:01 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 69/70
Hunger: 11/20 - Thirst: 9/20
-Strength: 2
-Agility: 3
-Stamina: 2
-Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 4/4
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
-Colored backpack 10/10
Fine-brush paintbrush
Thick-brush paintbrush
Pencil
Notebook
Blue crayon
Red crayon
Yellow crayon
Green crayon
Spare pencil
Blank sheets x10

Community School
Your face slams into an oval surface. The soft mass absorbs part of you before repelling you outward. You end up sitting on the floor, looking up to see the man's belly confronting you, and above that, the tired eyes of the man staring back. Round face, mustache, white coat—if it weren't for the dark circles from three sleepless nights, he'd pass as a kindly local doctor. His bald head glistens with sweat, and in his left hand he holds a device of incomprehensible technology, a tube spinning with sounds of "Beep Beep Beep." The doctor continues on his way without apologizing for knocking you down.

It's not a crime to be rude, but he really should've... You get up, ready to continue toward class, where your teacher would surely understand your complaints about ill-mannered people. But you don't get far, because the doctor suddenly decides to be spontaneous. A chubby hand, reeking of medicine and peanuts, grabs your torso and pulls you into the unknown. You only manage a brief shriek before another equally chubby hand covers your face with a damp cloth carrying a strong scent... Chloroform invades your nostrils, colonizes your lungs, and drains every ounce of strength from your body.

??? (Doctor): Sorry, little girl. I'm heartless.

Darkness engulfs your vision as you hear that distinct British accent... Is this the end for Abigail Weston?

...

No.
You escape the darkness and slowly regain your strength and sense of self. It feels like someone replaced your eyelids with iron curtains, but after some effort, you manage to open your eyes—slowly, but surely. The room spins around you… Desks… Blackboard… Brown door, closed… Colorful backpack on a desk… A classroom! And that dull carpet and plain wallpaper are unmistakable. You're still at the community school.

What happened? You try to move, but duct tape binds your limbs tightly to the chair's arms and legs, preventing you from getting up. If only you lived in China, this cheap tape wouldn't be an issue. But the truth is you're trapped by… by whom…? And why…?

(Brbgrgerheh)

The above is an example of how your thoughts sound right now. Your head remains foggy from the chloroform.

Herp… Herp meeeee…

That's your attempt at speech, meaning you can't even trust your voice yet—your throat still hasn't recovered from the chemical fumes. Not that it matters. You're in a public place, and judging by the wall clock with hands, it's two o'clock. More people will arrive soon, and sooner or later someone will discover your pitiful state as a prisoner strapped to a chair. All you can do is keep your fingers crossed and hope this is a popular class with regular students. You turn your head toward the blackboard…

“How to play the clavichord”

Shit!

Meanwhile, three classrooms ahead, your teacher begins with his usual cheerful energy.

Robín: Let positivity flow! Good vibes only! Today we'll dive into perspective—into seeing with mouse eyes versus cat eyes… Form a line from shortest to tallest.

He claps a couple of times. His ten students, mostly women, obey. A few cheeky ones shoot glances at the teacher as he walks near the line, checking everything's in order before starting the exercise. As a teacher, Robín was unorthodox—he loved hands-on activities, taking students outdoors, lying on the grass to watch clouds, crushing flowers to extract dyes for finger painting if the mood struck.

He was also observant, and noticing you weren't leading the line, he immediately registered your absence.

At first, he wasn't worried. He knows you only have a bicycle to get around, and being a minute late isn't life or death… Or is it…?

2/2

>>2644
<Joshua Heekins (Time: 2:01 PM. Date: Saturday 10, March, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 50/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
- Strength: 3
- Agility: 2
- Endurance: 3
- Luck: 2
Inventory
- Pockets 2/4
Car keys
Dollars x10

Stepford Cemetery
It's your birthday. Now you're thirty-one years older, but also wiser, and the burdens on your back keep piling up. Doesn't matter—you're already hardened to carrying weight, though there are still things you struggle to bear, like the death of your firstborn, the very one lying in a coffin beneath the dull earth at your feet.

You recall how it happened… Insert the accident or reason here Remembering hurts more than living it, because when it all went down, you were so shocked it felt like a dream, and in that illusion you felt your feet floating, lifting you to a plane far from this world. Who knows? Disappearing might've been the kindest outcome, but your feet stayed anchored to the ground, nailed to reality, so each day you swallow another spoonful of guilt.

It's a miracle your wife still wants to stay with you. Maybe her time as a secret agent in Vietnam (one of the few roles an American woman could hold in enemy countries) toughened her enough to endure losing her child, or perhaps having another daughter to care for saved her from a shattered soul.

The wind blows. A couple of leaves tear loose from a nearby tree and slap your face with their jagged edges; one gets stuck against your mouth, and you blow it off with a huff. You take that slap from nature as a sign you should head back, so you say goodbye to your son, beg him to forgive you for the hundredth time, and turn around to walk the path toward the cemetery exit.

Your car waits by the curb, but you can't help wondering—will your wife and daughter be waiting for you too? You assume so, probably with balloons and a cake, though you never asked for such gestures. I leave it to you to handle those characters, so you decide whether they're waiting for your man or not. Also choose whether the family lives in the north or south suburbs.

??? (Unknown): Help!

A voice snaps you from your thoughts. You look around—no one in sight among the gravestones. The cemetery is always pretty empty, well, unless you count all the people living beneath it. Is it your imagination? A reflection of your guilt? Or echoes from the horrors of Vietnam?

??? (Unknown): Somebody get me out of here!

You hear the voice again. It's a man, maybe around your age.

??? (Unknown): Come on, brother! This ain't groovy!

You pinpoint the source—the words are coming from inside a nearby mausoleum. The only way to open the solemn temple is by pulling from the outside. Makes sense—the masons who built these things doubt their occupants would ever want to step out for some sunshine…

Will you open it, or leave the seemingly dead to stay dead?

>>2659
>>2660
>Abigail
Enjoying some delicious cookies, the girl runs into her grandpa, who was very different from his granddaughter in his ideas.

< "Back to those crazy hippie ideas again, Abby…?"

"They aren't nonsense, dear grandpa... if you went to the museum and saw the beauty of the painting I love, it would surely open your eyes and heart to art."

In reality, it was certain that wouldn't happen, but the girl trusted in that painting that made her an artist.

Eventually, grandpa falls asleep, Abby joins her thumbs and index fingers, making a frame through which she sees her father's old father snoring... but she shakes her head, indicating that this image had little aesthetic appeal.

"There isn't much beauty in this cascade..."

Apparently, she wouldn't find inspiration within her home... Abby walks to the TV and turns it off, ready to go out, she grabs her bike and pedals through the suburbs... passing by various sights.

Normal school, it wasn't her thing. She passed her subjects, but with mediocre grades, she didn't pay much attention, her disinterest made her poor mother suffer, but her father understood her.

The museum, on the other hand, was a place she loved and visited regularly, she lived nearby... it reminded her of her origins and was the home of her passion.

Cemetery, a very sad place, emotions welled up here, plans crossed her mind as she passed this place... she could follow someone here and witness a human's grief in person, an emotion so strong, it could give her inspiration... of course, it might sound amoral... but... well, it is.

The Church, the painter wasn't very interested in it. She's Christian, if you ask her, she'll tell you she believes in God and attributes good things to him, but she's not ultra-religious... although she thinks maybe getting closer to religion would be a good idea to find some kind of inspiration.

Funeral home, restaurant. Not very interesting, even though the latter awakened her hunger. Small park, a good place to people-watch and follow them through the city. Sweets, she loves them. Stench, she dislikes it... but maybe among the rudeness she would find inspiration...? She didn't know.

She arrives at her destination, the community college, she liked the smell of cardboard, as it reminded her of when she used to do Art Attack crafts. The young lady headed excitedly to the third floor, passing by various classrooms full of (compared to her) old people, there were beautiful women no doubt, but nothing that stood out enough to be followed.
Second floor, nothing catches the youngster's interest—she could appreciate literature, but it wasn't her thing; physical stuff wasn't her forte, and while weapons might've intrigued her, she wasn't obsessed.

Finally, she reaches the third floor, a bit tired. She spots the door she needs to cross and quickens her pace. She arrived early—she could have a chat with that hunky art-loving man!

pomf

Or so she thought, before crashing into something so soft it made her bounce and fall—artist's butt aches a little. She lifts her gaze... twice, because the first time she only saw a belly bigger than herself... to find a bald, big-nosed, mustachioed man. He was kinda weird—Abby was ready to scold him! But then she sees that odd device, and her attention shifts.

"Wow, what a peculiar-looking contraption..." —she says, curious about the object, just before the guy walks off. Leaving Abigail with an indignant look.

The girl gets back on her feet and closes her eyes with a

"HMP! Some people can be so inconsiderate..."

She takes a step—someone grabs her body. Abby screams, but her voice is muffled by a hand clamping over her nose and mouth... 'Are they gonna rape me...? I was saving myself...'

Her last question and thought before everything turns black and the girl collapses unconscious.

"..."

She feels awake. Her eyes are heavy, but they open—very slowly... only to reveal a spinning room. It was dizzying, but recognizable. She was in a classroom, in her school...

But moving wasn't possible. She was tightly bound to the chair with tape—tape the girl wouldn't even dream of breaking, since physical strength wasn't her thing.

"A....u...aa..."

Neither her mind nor body were okay. She couldn't think or speak properly... Her eyes search for the class name... and the blackboard tells her no one's coming.

<Let positivity flow! Good news!

"Vvvvvoo...e..." (I'm going)

She was really dazed, but she wanted to go, wanted to get out... though she didn't know if she could.

She tried moving her arms a bit... but nothing. Simply no strength to escape...

"Ugggh... ugh... ugugu... ababa... aaa... aa..."

She started struggling to scream. To scream loud and strong. She didn't need to form words... just scream. That was her plan—scream a lot and attract attention... if she could manage it.

1d50 = 34
if it's just impossible for her to scream, ignore the dice and screw Abby kek

>>2662
Kept on the down-low.

Hope you like the story and the world I have prepared. If all goes well, your waifu could get involved in some really outlandish adventures

>>2644
Apparently the nigger lol died. Since I can't leave this scene hanging, I'll give it a little closure using the NPCs, that way the story arc won't be hindered.

<Born (Time: 2:02 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 60/60
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
-Strength: 10+5 Family Shovel (+10 being at night or at the local cemetery)
-Agility: 4
-Stamina: 8
-Luck: 0
Inventory
-Pockets 1/4
Flower

Stepford Cemetery
As every morning, afternoon, and night, the one in charge of the cemetery goes out to patrol his territory. He is the person who makes sure dust doesn't settle on the graves or mausoleums, that the flowers shine, that the dark grass never exceeds two centimeters in length, that no one steals tributes to the dead, and that the dead themselves don't go for a walk.

“Huh?” He senses a disturbance in the spiritual force. He looks to the left, sees Harold, the gnarled, ancient olive tree of the cemetery, whose leaves, when swayed by the wind, point East, a direction Born imitates, finding to his right a man snooping around Mr. Braunstein's mausoleum, whose epitaph reads: I told you I was sick!

The man soon leaves without further ado, but the disturbance persists. Born decides to approach, his gait is comical, swaying back and forth, yet surprisingly fast. In ten seconds he reaches the gates, and from inside the solemn temple he hears a cry for help. Usually Born wouldn't open, his father taught him that from the realms of the underworld there are always evils that seek to deceive and emerge. But in this situation there is an incentive… The gates have an ornamental pattern with holes that allow one to see inside. Born stands on his tiptoes and spies, discovering a black man, with an afro hairstyle, trapped inside. He opens the bolt and pulls the heavy gates with one hand (the other is occupied with the shovel), offering him freedom. The man comes out with a grateful smile and explains what happened.

???: Thanks for rescuing me! A mad doctor drugged me and locked me in here. He also injected something weird into my arm, it stings a lot, but I'm not high, so it's groovy.

“Hur?”

The man rolls up his baggy shirt and in better light examines his right arm, Born also observes, there is an almost imperceptible prick on the skin, like a mosquito bite.

???: I just hope it wasn't pee…

He mutters, before looking more closely at Born and being taken aback by his hero's appearance, an expression he quickly changes to avoid seeming rude. It must be said, Born has a face only a mother could love, which is why he was given strict instructions not to leave the cemetery to spare him mockery and mistreatment from all those people incapable of seeing his heart of gold.

???: I'm Alive, disco detective. The "disco" part is the advertising hook.

“I'm Born. Undertaker's daughter”

Alive: Daughter…? Okay… Alright. Hey, beautiful, you look like you can handle yourself, how about you help me put the Route 32 Killer behind bars?

Born blushes, he was won over by the "beautiful". He nods, accepting such a dangerous mission that, like an ogre, holds different and terrible layers of depth.

Alive: Great! Let's dance!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uHWP1d1Amt8▾

Born sways and moves his arm to the rhythm of a song only they can hear. Alive accompanies him, doing the same, placing his hand on his hip and then pointing to the sky, a pattern he repeats, and repeats, and says: Let's hit the floor, doll!

The detective and the undertaker form a team to fight the forces of chaos.

the

chocolate

chip

cookies

in

your

pockets…

You

smell

the

rich

aroma

of

chocolate

and

flour

from

mom’s

cookies…

You

taste

a

lingering

aftertaste

in

your

mouth

from

the

cookies

you’ve

already

gulped

down…

You

hear

the

rustling

of

cookies

against

fabric

as

you

squirm

in

the

chair…

And

as

you

lower

your

head,

you

notice

a

cookie

peeking

out

of

your

pocket.

Alright,

all

five

senses

are

back

online.

Since

your

noodle-like

arms

can

do

little

against

the

powerful

duct

tape,

you’ll

have

to

rely

on

your

larynx.

You

try

to

scream,

roaring

with

the

strength

of

twenty

rubber

duckies—

which

means

your

voice

doesn’t

carry

very

far.

But

wait!

Your

little

eyes

catch

movement

on

the

doorknob.

Could

it

be

the

harpsichord

teacher

coming

to

rescue

you?!

The

door

opens,

and

a

large,

bald,

paunchy

man

enters,

closing

it

behind

him.

The

doctor

watches

you,

and

his

small

black

eyes

weigh

on

your

soul

like

ingots.

His

face

still

looks

kind,

but

that

gaze

seems

to

have

witnessed

countless

things…

things

that

don’t

evolve

anywhere

healthy

on

Earth.

??? (Kidnapper):

You’re

awake,

little

girl.

Right

on

time,

but

I

need

to

hurry.

He

sets

down

the

spinning

antenna

device

on

the

desk

and

opens

his

briefcase,

pulling

out

disposable

gloves.

He

speaks

with

his

back

to

you,

his

distinctive

English

accent

clear.

??? (Kidnapper):

Allow

me

to

introduce

myself.

I’m

Dr.

Jeckyll,

and

as

I’ve

already

mentioned,

I’m

a

heartless

bastard.

He

puts

on

the

right

glove.

Dr.

Jeckyll:

If

there’s

a

God

in

heaven,

He

has

no

punishment

harsh

enough

for

someone

like

me,

nor

hell

wide

enough

to

contain

me.

He

puts

on

the

left

glove.

Dr.

Jeckyll:

I

could

list

my

sins,

but

I’d

never

finish…

Then

he

takes

the

gloves

off

again—

he’d

put

them

on

inside

out.

Maybe

he’s

nervous.

Dr.

Jeckyll:

Even

if

I

were

reborn,

I

wouldn’t

change

a

single

one

of

my

actions.

Because

in

my

crusade,

my

absolute

banner

was

science…

He

pulls

a

bone

saw

from

the

briefcase

and

gives

you

a

look.

You

hold

your

breath!
the saw away and turns back to the briefcase to keep searching. Apparently not the instrument he wanted.

Dr Jeckyll: A hard species grows in a hard environment. In that sense, with the ever-growing sea of comforts surrounding us, I foresee a very dark future for the West—a majority society of promiscuous cowards, easy prey for more voracious and primitive homo sapiens sapiens. Oh, my dear England! This is not what I wanted!

He stops fiddling with the briefcase and plants his hands on the desk, his body hunched over in lament.

Dr Jeckyll: I thought the Americans would understand my vision… They even gave me resources and a splendid testing ground… But then they tried to sweep my research under the rug… “What happens in Vietnam stays in Vietnam,” they said, and immediately after murdered my team, and tried to assassinate me… Which I understand—I am very bad. But I also have feelings, little girl. One might say their abandonment hurt me more than the knives and bullets in the back.

He lets out a loud sigh. You're worried—this man sounds and acts like a madman, and he talks a lot despite claiming to be in a hurry.

Dr Jeckyll: They know I'm still alive, and now they're tracking me… They sent the survivor after me… Of all the monsters they could've chosen, they picked him… That's the worst part… That's what's unacceptable!

He clenches a fist and slams it on the table. You hear the oak wood creak, and notice his scalp turning red as blood rushes to his head.

Dr Jeckyll: One… Two… Three… Ten.

He calms down. Reaches back into the briefcase and pulls out a case, which he opens, gazing at its contents with a tenderness similar to how your father looks at you.

Dr Jeckyll: Oh, my precious ones… They're all I have left…

He looks at you, holding the case forward, showing you what's inside: Five sealed glass vials, three empty and two filled with a golden substance, all labeled with a white tape strip reading 1N54N1TY-C.

Dr Jeckyll: Let me introduce you to One en five four en one tee why hyphen cee. The third version of my creation. The first was love at first sight; the second made your country win the war; this third one… is the key to the rise of the new man.

He places the case on the desk and pulls out a syringe and a rubber tube from the briefcase.

Dr Jeckyll: I won't let those sanctimonious bastards bury what I created… And in any case, I'll take them with me to the underworld. I know they're hiding a lab in this shithole town, studying the survivor's behavior… Though I still have no idea where the hole is he's hiding in… Ah, and little girl, if you scream, I'll break your neck. Until you've got my precious substance inside you, you're as replaceable as a plastic bottle to me.

1/3

>>2665
>>2660
<Abigail Weston (Time: 2:10 PM. Date: Saturday 10, March, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 35/70
Hunger: 11/20 - Thirst: 9/20
-Strength: 2
-Agility: 3
-Endurance: 2
-Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 4/4
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
-Colored backpack 10/10
Fine brush
Thick brush
Pencil
Notebook
Blue crayon
Red crayon
Yellow crayon
Green crayon
Spare pencil
White sheets x10

Community School
It's a nightmare. The only substance you want inside you is your teacher's, not that old pervert's. But you have little choice, tied up as you are. The man cuts the tape binding your left arm with a scalpel, giving the limb a few seconds of freedom he doesn't delay in snatching away, as he wraps it with the rubber tube. He tightens the tube until it hurts and your veins stand out; you can already imagine what's coming. Jeckyll draws the air out of the syringe before plunging it into one of the 1N54N1TY-C vials, filling it with the golden contents.

Dr Jeckyll: Stay still.

The needle approaches your arm, and the scientist's mad giant hand prevents you from shaking from the creepiness. By reflex, you turn your face away and close your eyes, not wanting to see the moment the needle pierces your thin layer of skin and reaches a vein. You feel it, perceive how that mysterious liquid goes deep under your inner layers, a coldness that travels up your arm and reaches your heart, shooting out from there to the rest of your body that soon feels tired, as if that substance took most of your energy to activate. Jeckyll pulls the syringe out of you, loosens the rubber tube, and cleans the entry point with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.

Dr Jeckyll: Perfect.

You dare to open your eyes and peek. The process itself was painless, but there it is, the bite of a "mosquito" that tested the invasion your body suffered. What if it's an acid that will melt you slowly? What if it turns you into a man? You don't know, and the only person who could give you an answer is also pondering the matter.

Dr Jeckyll: The result of this third version varies from individual to individual, but whether good or bad, it's always extraordinary.

He turns his back, approaches the desk, and begins to put away his instruments, including the safety case for his vials.
Dr Jeckyll: If I were you, I'd stay away from hospitals... "They" control everything... TV, newspapers, radio, I'd even bet they have undercover agents at the precinct...

He looks at you, briefcase in hand, ready to leave.

Dr Jeckyll: Don't trust anyone, little girl. Believe me, in their quest to eliminate my work, they won't hesitate to erase you. Or worse, they'll use you... Just like they use the survivor. Speaking of the man who lived, if you run into him, be very careful... His name is-

The door is kicked open.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ByT0FErPgfQ▾

Slender, long hair, bandaged hands, body of desire, and a gaze that kills. The doctor startles at the intrusion, and after the initial shock, tilts his head to the side, confused, since he's able to determine the gender of your professor.

Dr Jeckyll: What the hell are you?!

Robin: I'm a free soul looking to paint canvases and kick asses... And I've run out of canvases.

You've never seen Robin so violent. His gaze locks with yours, and seeing you tied to the desk, his suspicions are confirmed. He glares at the doctor again with his fierce green eyes.

Robin: I heard the clavichord master was infamous... But stealing students from other classes to force them to attend his? That completely breaks the ethics of the community school.

Dr Jeckyll: Oh... Master...? Hehe... For a moment I mistook you for someone suspicious and dangerous... But now I see you're just another hippie with little intellect.

The doctor's posture relaxes.

Dr Jeckyll: I know about your class, right? Pacifists, huh? Go smell some flowers, I've already done what I had to do.

The artist smiles, but his eyes remain fierce. He gives the doctor a gesture with his hands pressed together, just like Indians do when greeting.

Dr Jeckyll: That's right, I'm peaceful... I believe in love, in the philosophy of Gandhi, and King... But as the Romans said, if you want peace... Prepare for war! Kyah!

With a war cry, Robin propels himself with his legs, jumping with legs extended, spinning. The doctor, mouth agape, pulls a pistol from the briefcase and aims... But he was too slow, and Robin's sandal sole connects squarely with his solar plexus.

Robin lands on his feet. The kick sends Jeckyll backward; he loses his balance and crashes into the window. The poor-quality glass can't withstand even a hundred kilos of the old man and shatters, sending shards flying everywhere, several fragments hitting your desk.

Dr Jeckyll: Aah!

The villain collapses backward out the window. The last thing you see of him are his feet disappearing into the distance.

2/3

>>2666
<"Unfortunate" Phil (Time: 2:10 PM. Date: Saturday, 10th, March, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 50/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
- Strength: 5
- Agility: 5
- Resistance: 5
- Luck: -15
Inventory
- Pockets 2/4
Fluff
Pencil
- Sports bag 10/10
All my life

Community School (Exterior)
When he was born, the doctor sneezed in his face.

At three years old a car hit his dog.

At four that same car hit him.

At five he left the hospital, the time when his father went to buy cigarettes and never came back.

At six his mother met "Tito Chuck", the time when she lost her virginity.

At nine Tito Chuck was arrested, and the next day his mother told him she didn't want him anymore.

At ten his grandfather died because he is very ugly.

At eleven his grandmother died because he is very ugly.

At thirteen he was attacked by a pack of wild dogs.

At fifteen the girl he liked hit him. She sent flowers to his hospital with the dedication "For Bill."

At sixteen his mom dragged him to a social group in the mountains run by a charismatic man, people of colorful beliefs, finally everything was getting better...

At seventeen he survived the mass suicide of the cult, only to be arrested with charges of complicity.

At twenty he got out of jail, with the charges dropped, and barely crossing the wall a dove shit in his eye.

At twenty-two he got a job as a carnival shooter.

At twenty-three he had to retire as a carnival shooter. The doctor told him the brain damage he suffered is irreversible.

At twenty-five he discovered he was incapable of counting beyond 25.

At twenty-eight he became a salaried employee at a cardboard box company.

At thirty he was fired from the cardboard box company for being too bland and simple-minded.

At thirty-one he became a ball retriever at a golf course. More than one he found being hit on the back of his head.

At thirty-two he married a blonde, sexy, and prosperous woman who promised to get him out of his unlucky streak, but during the honeymoon a shark ate her.

Now at thirty-five... His life led him in front of the Stepford Community School.

"Enough, Phil, stop being so depressed. This is a new beginning" He talks to himself. "You didn't have time to study because of everything that happened, but now... Now you can recover the lost time and become the best version of yourself"

For the first time in a long time, he smiles, with expectations of finding in the building the first step towards a better destination.

"Time for the lesson-!"

With a groan and a creak, Jeckyll crashes into him, crushing Phil against the pavement and breaking a third of his bones.

...

<Abigail Weston (Time: 2:10 PM. Date: Saturday, 10th, March, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 35/70
Hunger: 11/20 - Thirst: 9/20
- Strength: 2
- Agility: 3
- Resistance: 2
- Luck: 1

Community School (Interior)
Robin runs where you are and uses his tribal knife to cut the American tape. He frees you from the chair and the remnants of the chair, pulling your wrists and legs (Fortunately you are pale). Your dear teacher takes you by the shoulders and asks.

Robin: Are you okay...? I asked for you in class, and they told me they saw your bike parked at the entrance, but nothing of you. Since you were late, I decided to go out and look... When I saw this classroom door closed I suspected, fearing the worst... Sigh They shouldn't have let that man teach here.

3/3

>>2665
>>2666
>Abigail
Cookie cookie, thanks to those pantry delights, Abigail noticed she was back to her five senses. Only one thing was missing: her mind. Could she think normally?

(Now that I think about it, are my pockets a good place for cookies?)

(Oh... yeah... I'm okay now...)

(What do I do...? I have no strength... my body was made to hold brushes, not lift weights...)

(Singing! One of the finest forms of art. If I raise my voice I'll sing like an opera singer and my blue prince might come to save me...)

(I'll scream! I'll scream like never before! Come on Abigail!)

"aaaaa!"

...nothing. Her scream wasn't very impressive, nowhere near an opera singer. She felt disappointed.

(What a shit-... ahm... disappointment... how come I can't scream that loud? Master Hitchcock would be disappointed.)

Then, the doorknob moves, Abigail sighs with hope.

(Blue Prince?!)

She thought, but her happy little face vanished at the sight of that walking mountain... the kidnapper had returned.

"You..."

<You woke up, little girl. Just in time, but I need to hurry.

"Who are you?! How dare you do this to me?! My father is a cop!"

The Weston girl was a fighter; she didn't hesitate to raise her voice indignantly even in her position.

<Allow me to introduce myself, I am Dr. Jeckyll, and as I already told you, I am a heartless man.

"You're a sicko! Let me tell you, I just turned my sweet sixteen."

<If there is a God in heaven, He has no punishment severe enough for someone like me, nor a hell that could contain me.

"But what are you talking about? You know what? I'll use 'tú' with you. You don't deserve respectful treatment!"

<I could list my sins, but I'd never finish...

"For God's sake..."

She took a step back in her demeanor; that sounded terrifying. This man had no scruples; he had to be handled with caution. It was practically necessary to spell it out for Abigail to get the memo... But she does.

(I don't like where this is going.)

<Even if I were reborn, I wouldn't change any of my actions. Because in my crusade, my absolute flag was science...

"..."

Abigail understood this. Again, she herself was something amoral when it came to her art... If terrible things ever gave her inspiration... she probably wouldn't regret it.

However, this time she could be the terrible object of research, and seeing a saw makes her open her eyes to their maximum point.

"!"

(That's-!)

But luckily, the saw goes back in its place, which doesn't calm Abigail any less; she now stays alert.

(This is terrible... What is this madman looking for?)

<I see a very dark future for the West, a society of mostly promiscuous and pusillanimous people, easy food for more voracious and primitive Homo sapiens sapiens.

(What madness! The values are still deeply rooted in us. If you only knew that I just want to be with one man who is anything but pusillanimous!)

(Besides, fast food is a marvel.)

<Oh, my dear England! This is not what I wanted!

"This is America!" -corrects-

<One could say that their abandonment hurt me more than the daggers and shots in the back.

"But... what are you talking about? Experiments?"

Keeping him talking was a good idea; maybe someone would arrive soon.

<They put the survivor on my trail...
He said, followed by a heavy slam on the table. A drop of sweat runs down the artist's forehead; the noise is loud and aggressive. This wasn't going well, even though she calms down, Abby continues staring at the subject like anyone would look at a tiger as it circles around, baring teeth and claws to threaten its prey.

(I need help...)

A case, five small vials, a presentation, and from Abigail, a question.

<This third one... is the key to the rise of the new man.

"What are you talking about?! What does all this have to do with me?!"

More like two questions, whose answer can be guessed from the kidnapper's actions and words.

<Ah, and little girl, if you scream I'll break your neck. Until you have my valuable substance inside you, to me you're as replaceable as a plastic bottle.

"!"

She almost screamed, but the threat worked just as well as gagging her.

(Substance? Is... that liquid? Is he going to inject it? Or does he plan to rape me? Or both? Will he knock me out to have a child with me? Oh God, no! Not with him!)

(I don't want my first time with him!)

They release her arm. Abby opens her hand, feeling freer than ever... But then the rubber tube springs into action, pressing very hard.

"Ngh... ah..."

She lets out a weak cry of pain, trying to avoid a little squeal, and then sees the needle fill up. Her eyes close, imagining what was coming.

<Stay still.

(Why did this have to happen to me?! To Abigail Eva Westooooon?!)

She thinks dramatically as the needle enters her arm... the brunette tires quickly and the tiny wound is cleaned.

(I'm... tired... what was that...? Is... was it to weaken me? He's going to rape me...)

<Perfect.

"What did you do to me?!" -she exclaimed upon opening her eyes again- "What was that?!"

<The result of this third version varies from person to person, but whether good or bad, it's always extraordinary.

"You're... you're crazy! Crazy!"

<If I were you, I'd stay away from hospitals... "They"

"Who?!"

<I bet they have undercover agents in the precinct...

"Explain! What was that thing you gave me? I feel tired..."

<Don't trust anyone, little girl. Believe me, in their quest to eliminate my work they won't hesitate to erase you.

"What...? Erase me?!"

<If you run into him, be very careful... His name is-

"?!?"

If there was someone she should fear, she wanted to know... But then a kick suddenly bursts open the door, the look of hope returns to the exhausted artist... It was...!

"My Prince Charming!"

<I'm a free soul looking to paint canvases and kick asses... And I'm out of canvases.

Abigail's intimate parts tingle, could her professor be a bad boy?! The idea was so... hot. The student and teacher's gazes meet, the young girl changes her face of excitement to one of concern, to present herself as a victim who needs to be in her man's arms.

(Look at my face! Look at my fear! Look into my soul and open your heart to me!)

<I heard the clavichord master was infamous...

(No my love, he's not a master! He's a madman!)

<But now I see you're just another hippie with little intellect.

"How dare you, fat sicko?! NEVER talk to my professor like that!"

She jumps to his defense as Mr. Robin is challenged, the man's pacifism is put to the test and a fight begins, a pistol is shown. Abby screams.

"NOOOO!"

However, the block connects and the hamburger graveyard flies out through the window, in a movie-style explosion that forces Abby to close her eyes, as glass shards fly toward her position...

>>2667
kek
>Abigail
Abigail sighs relieved knowing that everything is over, her teacher runs and frees her, leaving her some tape to take off by herself. After this, the man takes her by the shoulders and the little one returns the gaze with total admiration, the eyes of the Weston were shining.

>67981
I know I'll like OPecito, you're my favorite Master.

>>2664
ayy
The anon misses out JUM kek

>>2668
>>2669
Saved turns, anon. Until the next end.

>>2670
Hey, negro, are you still there? I want to ask you something...

>>2636

>Name and surname
David Stanford
>Gender
Gender is a mental prison from which you must liberate yourself if you wish to reach an elevated state of consciousness man kek
>Age
28

>About your past
Mother died during childbirth, father died during the war. I always considered him a good-for-nothing and tried everything I could to get all that stupidity out of his head, but I never succeeded. He lived for free in his grandparents' house until they died; they were already too old and overprotective to deny him anything he did, so he took advantage of that to get even more out of control during those years. After they died, he received a juicy inheritance, which, combined with the death bonus from his father in the army I'm not sure this works like that, so if I'm making this up, ignore this, allowed him to continue his lazy life without any problem. Most of his money went to parties and all kinds of drugs. It was during a trip with these that he witnessed Kennedy's disappearance, and unlike the rest of the people who only accepted the official excuse for that "kidnapping" to continue their tranquil lives, David became obsessed with the reason behind it, concluding that there must be an explanation beyond what normal people know, thus becoming interested in the occult and the paranormal. He bought several books on magic and esotericism in an attempt to understand it, although he really doesn't understand half of what they say, so he ends up inventing the other half. But one thing he did make clear was the part about sacrifices and reaching a superior state of consciousness, which is why he began experimenting with stronger drugs, mixing them together to potentiate them while performing multiple rituals hoping to summon something from the "other side." At first, these were done with small animals like birds and frogs, then moving on to dogs and cats, and finally taking the last step by killing a homeless man he picked up from the streets to take him to the cabin in the forest left to him by his grandparents as part of the inheritance. And even with all that, he still hasn't achieved results, but far from giving up, he only sees those failures as steps closer to his final goal.
>About you
Spends most of his time with his head in the clouds, either due to the effects of drugs or his delusions. Uses the cabin he received as part of the inheritance solely as a storage place for things ranging from music albums, books of all kinds about magic, multiple masks, and the results of his paranormal research. Consequently, he spends most of his time using his truck as a place to sleep and hang out, smoking marijuana.
As part of his magical research, he constantly paints and repaints his truck to cover it with sigils and other power symbols to help him in his mission. He does the same with the license plate, going regularly to his friend's workshop you give him whatever name you want, who is also his main drug distributor and who helps him occasionally with his truck.
His clothes are full of secret pockets to try and prevent any police officer from taking his drugs, which usually include marijuana, various types of LSD and ecstasy, plus some mushrooms he hides in his truck.
He gets extra income by renting out his grandparents' house so his acquaintances can use it for parties.
The cabin he inherited is quite sunken and separated from the rest of the things in the forest, which has allowed him to carry out his sacrifices and also leave some remains of those he killed in jars at the bottom of the basement.

>What do you expect for your future
Reveal the secrets hidden beyond the known and delve into the unknown.

Probably won't get what I hope to do with this character, but meh, let's see how things turn out.

>>2669
>>2668
<Abigail Weston (Time: 2:15 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 35/70
Hunger: 11/20 - Thirst: 9/20
-Strength: 2
-Agility: 3
-Endurance: 2
-Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 4/4
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
-Colorful backpack 10/10
Fine brush
Thick brush
Pencil
Notebook
Blue crayon
Red crayon
Yellow crayon
Green crayon
Spare pencil
White sheets x10

Community School
"This is America!" You exclaim, defending your ideals, but Jekyll seemed to care little. The mysterious substance is already marking your organism, but it would take time before the true effects began to show...

A kick interrupts your encounter with the mad scientist. Robin dislikes what that man is doing to you, "forced education"?! That's a big NO in his manual! And showing a face you're not used to seeing on him, he uses his capoeira skills to dispatch the doctor with a kick, sending him crashing through the window glass.

Before going to check on Jekyll, he decides to come with you and free you from the resistant tape. Your eyes shine for Robin, despite him being unable to notice the difference between an unethical teacher and a homicidal maniac with delusions of grandeur. You, neither short nor lazy, take advantage of the closeness to place your hands behind the artist's neck and kiss him without giving him a chance to react.

The contact lasted only ten seconds, but heavens... what ten seconds. Your lips confirmed that your teacher's lips were as soft as they seemed, and by pressing your mouth against his, you tasted a sparse brushstroke of the saliva that kept them fresh. Robin, with wide eyes, straightens up to separate. You climb with him, and you end up hanging like an exotic necklace. Opening your eyes, you see his flushed and open-mouthed face.

Robin: "A-Abigail...! What?!"

He has the expression of someone who doesn't quite understand what just happened.

Robin: "T-This is very inappropriate... I'm your teacher! Besides, you just turned your sweet 16!"
Unknowingly, you're using the same argument you threw at Jeckyll. The truth is, the age gap doesn't matter that much. Your grandfather met your grandmother when he was 20 and she was 12, and your parents got together when he was 19 and she was 15. But Robín doesn't want to violate the school's code of conduct, since it's the only place that accepted him after he arrived in Stepford, escaping a turbulent and mysterious past.

Robín: Okay, I get what's going on. I mean, in some cultures kissing on the mouth is a daily thing... And since I just saved you from an inappropriate lecture, it's natural you'd want to show gratitude.

He looks around, pondering, trying to figure out why you kissed him, with a slight suspicion that if they had made it to the second "one-one," your little tongue would have ventured outside.

Robín: (No, that can't be, you're misinterpreting everything, Robín Firewoods)

His green eyes focus on you; it's clear he's still deep in thought.

Robín: I'm... I'm honored, Abby. I respect all customs, including those of your tribe or your family. But you know? I'm still your teacher, and cuddling between teachers and students isn't well regarded. So don't do it again, okay? Or someone might get the wrong idea.

It's hard to tell what kind of archaic ethnicity Robín just labeled you with in his head. But there's no time to ask, because he runs toward the window, and since you're clinging to him like a koala, you go with him. Robín avoids the floor glass and peeks out carefully so neither of you gets cut by the broken shards from the frame. Below, there's an anonymous man twisting on the sidewalk, his limbs bent in directions they shouldn't be.

Robín: The bastard escaped...

He murmurs, seeing no trace of Jeckyll. Your pricked arm tingles.

Robín: Let's call the police.

He heads for the payphone at the end of the hallway, and by inertia (literally), you follow. He takes you by the waist and sets you down on the floor. He drops a couple of coins, picks up the receiver, dials 911, and hands you the earpiece.

Robín: Tell them what happened. I have to go check on the class and apologize to the principal for breaking his window.

He leaves you with the responsibility of calling your own father.

1/2

>>2673
>>2668
>>2669
<Dad Weston (Time: 2:15 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: ??/??
Energy: ??/??
Hunger: ??/?? - Thirst: ??/??
-Strength: ?
-Agility: ?
-Endurance: ?
-Luck: ?+0 Police Badge
Inventory
-Pockets 3/4
9mm Pistol (Safety on. 7/7)
Patrol car keys
Wallet

Since you are a character with police experience, I'll let you distribute 15 experience points instead of 10

Route 32 (North)
A treasure hunter found the body buried at shallow depth, about 20 meters from the road. Upon hearing the metal detector beep, he thought he'd found the desired Aztec gold, but only discovered the imitation jewelry of another broken-down
Robert: Get back to the station, Weston. My boys and I will secure the perimeter until the forensics crew arrives. With this heat, let's hope they get here soon.

Since it's a small town, they don't have a proper "hair team," so they rely on help from the local hospital. You understand that Robert wants you in the center just in case the commissioner screws up, which happens often.

You get into the patrol car and drive.

...

Stepford Center
You head downtown, passing between the diner and the motel, the bar and your wife's shop (if you want, you can stop by for a moment), the newspaper office and the Ammu-Nation, Braun's garage, and the pulp store. You take a turn and park at the station. You get out of the car, pat down your pockets, and after passing the security check, you lock the patrol car and head into the command center.

...

Station
As soon as Officer Maggie enters, she stands up from her desk and salutes you with a straight arm raised to her forehead, puffing out her chest as much as she can. Being the youngest in the department and the only woman, she constantly strives to sweep away prejudices about her capabilities as an officer—prejudices that keep her anchored to a desk unlike you, who at least get to go out and patrol. Not that Maggie doesn't do a fantastic job in her current position; proof of that is the detailed report she hands you.

Maggie: Mrs. Shelly called, reporting that someone broke into her yard again and mowed her lawn. In Woodscrew, they're talking about a growing epidemic of cats. It follows the trend of kids trying to sneak into adult theaters right after school ends. Various reports mention a troll in the cemetery... Gathering all the testimonies, I determined it's just Born, so it's a false alarm. The ABC announced a new clandestine race at Coyote Loco for Friday; there'll surely be injuries... Oh, and the Simulatron is launching a new machine, so we can expect another wave of epileptic seizures.

The phone rings and vibrates. Maggie grabs the receiver quickly and holds it to her ear.

Maggie: 911, what's your emergency?

She listens and nods, then immediately hands you the receiver.

Maggie: It's your daughter. If I'm not mistaken, she studies at the community school every weekend.

It seems Maggie knows a lot about your family, plus the rest of the town. In reality, she's in love with you, but you don't know that.

2/2

>>2672
Saved file, negrin. I'll send you your turn next weekend.

>>2664
No morí, negrín... Simply the card and the turn didn't give me the necessary inspiration to come up with something. We can leave those monkeys as NPCs if you want... Maybe I'll come in better or I'll really die kek.

>Name and Last Name

Romeo "CJ" Santos

Romeo Carlos Johnson Santos

>Gender

Of fighting.

>Age

25 human years

>About you

What can I say...? I'm a bartender with my own completely legal and honorable bar that has grown since it was nothing more than an abandoned mechanic shop.

I usually wake up at 8:00 in the morning to fix some damage that my adorable drunkards could have caused to vent their problems in this life full of disappointments... From a broken bottle or glass, to full-blown fights without mercy or a clear winner. What a great business I have here...

The accounts, the cleaning, the orders, the attention, the entertainment, cheap that you don't have to throw the house away, are all on my part, where I hire a band of university students who sometimes pretend to make music here... And they're good, 10 dollars an hour each, being 4 and attracting some curious people more, since it's appreciated.

Not much more can I tell you friend, but if you had known me a few years ago you wouldn't recognize me... You could say I had a wild adolescence... And yet one must mature and become a man on their own at some point, right?

I admit that lately my back hurts more and that's even though I'm still in the prime of my life... So that's why the sign says looking for help from the door... And, don't tell anyone, but I'm also thinking about inheriting this place, but for that I need a son, and for that a wife, and for that a girlfriend and for that a girl who likes me... Aw, brother, don't make me ramble because I get depressed just by myself, in the end... Another drink?

>About your past

Known as the "Alpine Monkeys", "White-Furred Red Apes" or "Demon Monkeys", from the past decade, they were known and feared as the most active and influential gang along with their mortal enemies, the "Black Dogs".

Many victims are associated with them in strange and violent incidents, several police officers along with civilians were disappeared by their arm that extended towards the neighborhoods of Detroit and Texas, and from there to practically all of the southern USA.

Their work was traditionally drug and weapon trafficking, taking advantage of the turmoil, general discontent caused by the war, the Hippie movement and the discrimination against blacks and Latinos along with other minorities, among which they count the largest number of active members.

A large-scale operation was carried out to stop their wave of violence and the gang war adjacent to the scandal... Nothing is known about any leader figure, many took the blame and confessed in court, which gave them a reputation in prison, but the leader or the reason they were so well organized could not be found, being their members mostly young criminals...

Today, the legend still circulates in the gossip that a single unified leader did exist and that in fact was never captured. Evading the witch hunt until disappearing forever...

>also

I need to ask you a few things about another role... Are you available? Later everything will be deleted.

I didn't get the inspiration I needed to come up with something during my turn.
Well, anon, to be honest, I don't know what kind of turn you were expecting.

Maybe I'll enter with this one better or I'll actually die
Hope you stay. It feels bad to waste introductions.

I need to ask you a few things about another role...
What do you want to know?

>>2675

Are you not going to ask me for the stats I forgot? Well, I'll just leave them as they are and, by the way, taking advantage of the fact that this is ¡¡AMERICA!! I'm going to equip a couple of weapons https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5uPoDNEn3I0▾ like the good shotgun of Chejov hanging in the cabin along with an axe stored in the basement and a handgun that belonged to his father and is hidden under the seat of his truck

- Strength: 3
- Agility: 3
- Resistance: 3
- Luck: 1

>>2678
Kek, I guess I just overlooked them. Although I would have noticed their absence when I was writing the shift. I'll leave you the next shift on Sábadaba.

>>2673
>Abigail
The sweet girl fulfills the dream of every young girl, kissing her blue prince after being rescued from the terrifying ugly ogre's claws. The artist was at the top of the world for 10 seconds, she knew that all women of her class would kill to be her in that moment...

Floating hearts were above her head, in her mind a small montage was forming while "Happy Together" by The Turtles was playing... But the song had barely begun and her man already pulled away from her.

Slowly, she opened her eyes with her cheeks flushed, smiled, trying to look seductive from her position of a little monkey clinging to her mother. But her teacher's reaction made the artist look worried.

>68907
I didn't expect to use the father of Abby like this kek
>Thomas Weston 36 years
As we already know, Thomas took the job because he didn't have the head for studying, with the power of the badge, he became an easy trigger more, hand-to-hand with criminals and everything that goes against his American ideals.

With a cigar in his mouth, Tom watched the scene, his gaze showed disapproval. In his moral compass, the little women were people who didn't deserve much respect... But finding someone in this state made it impossible to be on the woman's side.

Abigail (phone)
Thomas
Abigail
"Alas me, father! Alas me!"

>Thomas
"What's going on?" -sounded like he really wanted an answer-

>Abigail
"I have little time left...!"

>Thomas
"WHAT?!"

>Abigail
"That's right... this call is from a payphone, so I don't have much time..."

>Thomas
He calms down with a sigh

"Why did you call?"

>Abigail
"I called because I've been kidnapped."

>Thomas
"Kidnapped?!"

>Abigail
"Thank God, my teacher rescued me, my blue prince... long and soft hair, face of a dream and deep gaze."

>Thomas
"Abigail, you're forbidden to go out with men unless I ask for your hand."

>Abigail
"I know, father. I was just relaying the facts..."

>Thomas
"Where are you now? What happened?"

>Abigail
"I have little time left... I'm at my school, father. Come get me... I'm exhausted... kjj" -simulates the sound of a call cutting off-

>Thomas
"Abby? Abby?!"

>Abigail
"Bip bip bip..."

>Thomas
sigh "I know you're still there..."

>Abigail
"Just come, dad, seriously I'm so tired and the kidnapper escaped!"

>Thomas
"I'm on my way."

>Abigail
"I'll be waiting." -hangs up quickly and then rolls her eyes- "ugh... parents."

>Thomas
"Adi-..." -hung up- "os..."

Tom puts the phone back in its place, he was ready to go.

"I'm going out. Is there support? There was a kidnapping at the community school."

He needed someone who is good with crime scene and clues, since this man is more action-oriented.
then I'll do the stats

>>2680
Saved turn. See you next end.

>>2672
<David Stanford (Time: 2:40 AM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)

Between Woodscrew and Route 32
Eye of Resonance.

That was the most literal translation you could squeeze out of the ancient, yellowed pages of the tome hanging at your waist, named Melanicus. A grimoire of human skin and bloody script that you got for 15 bucks after haggling with the cheerful Misery at Obscura (the local shop). According to the monochromatic saleswoman, it's a collection of profane verses by the infamous satanist Elizabeth Brite, who died a couple of decades ago in an accident involving her cat and a player piano. Mostly the collection brings verses replicated in the original language, forcing you to crash headfirst into poems and spells written by crazy Arabs and medieval matriarchs, which in your incomprehension were as useful as preschoolers' scribbles. You had to cling to the few paragraphs in English, but that meant little comfort when what was written called for using the most obsolete words in the dictionary, those so ancient they couldn't survive on their own in the collective vocabulary.

"Eye of Resonance," a mix of Hebrew and Latin, on the paper shows a scribble of an eye next to a person surrounded by "lightning." It caught your attention because to pull it off you didn't need to ingest poisons, do weird dances, or kiss a calf statue in the ass, nor bloody sacrifices, although it's not like you were repelled by that last idea.

You pronounced the spell in front of the flame of a black wax candle (the truth is unnecessary, you just wanted to get into the mood).

Ia Manesh Niaghara Nicto!

Or something like that.

The point is that immediately after letting out those words, your pupils dilated, shadows and blacks in your field of vision became sharper, and right after that you collapsed, losing consciousness. Lucky you fell on your back, or the candle would have started a fire that would have consumed your grandparents' cabin, including you.

You continued practicing the spell over the following weeks, always with a mattress underneath, and went from fainting to being one step away from collapsing. You realized you had something from the "other side" in your hands, you clung to that, kept headbutting the spell until you managed to have it active and walk to see the town under the sun. You stumbled from tree to tree until the busiest paths of Woodscrew, and when on one of the dirt trails you saw a hiker pass by, you noticed the trail of colors surrounding him as he trotted, some bright, others dull, all weak.

-Eye of Resonance
School: Vision (Level 0)
Definition: Reads the soul's footprint of beings like you.
Cost: 2 energy per minute.

You closed your eyes, shouted the spell in your mind, and when you lifted your eyelids, the cauldron of tones faded and the spell stopped consuming your energy. It would take a handful of days before you saw a truly impactful soul footprint.

The Eye of Resonance was just one of the tools the Melanicus had, the only one at the moment, because to open the door to new schools you needed to perform a kind of ritual you didn't quite understand. You feared ending up like those occult magicians, those mad scholars of what lurks at the threshold, who spend decades digging into the hidden, investigating how to summon naked virgins, and when they finally succeed they're already too blind, deaf, and poisoned by mercury to enjoy the honey of their work. But what else was left for you? It was just you against the wall of the grimoire, since Misery would never help you, and you suspect she sold you the Melanicus for some hidden objective.
-Understanding the Melanicus
Requirements: 300 days of study.

-Understanding the school of vision
Requirements: 60 days of study.

To learn new schools or discover new vision spells, that is where you determine the time you must spend. The time can be reduced with the help of characters knowledgeable in the matter, or other books that help you understand.

Setting aside the Melanicus, on Saturday night you went out to harvest mushrooms. You don't know the scientific name, but people call them "moons" in the streets, because they are pale and bumpy like the moon of strange days, they also glow in the dark, and tasting them elevates your consciousness to planes that are not of this world, where burning wheels spin through space devouring time, where by looking through the cracks of the stars you glimpse the place where the infinite is lined and carpeted with ugly yellow.

Those mushroom trips were something else, man, they kept you flying for hours, nothing compared to them. But they were also scarce; no camel sold them, they said they were cursed, so you had to go look for them in the only place in Stepford where they grow, an ancient Indian cemetery located between Woodscrew and Route 32 (You went on foot. Going there in a truck would only guarantee an accident), formerly a site of burials and cannibal rituals, now a nest where junkies go to shoot up or fuck, in fact you saw a couple fucking behind a tree and they invited you to join, but you explained that your ass needs a rest and you continued your way to the spiral of rocks that marks the center of the cemetery. Again, superstitions kept the vast majority of onlookers away, you managed to find five of those damned glowing ones among the rocks. With your nails dirty with black earth, you put them in a plastic bag that you then stashed in one of your secret pockets.

On the way back home you got lost and instead of ending up at your cabin you found yourself by the interstate. Nothing that can't be fixed by turning back, but a vision stopped you. You perceived something on the horizon of the road, a car driving in complete darkness. Maybe its lights blew out? Out of curiosity you opened the resonance eye, the night gained a definition comparable to day, and what was once a car transformed into a hearse of death where famished and shattered spirits clung with bony fingers.

The car sped past the road in front of you, kicking up wind, and the reddish light vomiting from the windows covered you like drizzle, leaving on your skin a mixture of sensations between worms and needles. The car stopped about five meters in the direction of the town, the driver's door opened, and a fingerless girl was thrown, still alive, onto the ground. The ghosts howled, and before you knew it you were already running back to the forest, because instinct told you that you saw something you shouldn't have, and that the man is no longer a man.

You arrived at the cabin around two in the morning. Lonely, dark, and reeking of herbs, but it was yours, and that made it unbeatable. Your truck is parked outside, near the only Woodscrew trail that is somewhat passable.

David Stanford (Time: 2:40 AM. Date: Saturday 10, March, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 50/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
-Strength: ???
-Agility: ???
-Stamina: ???
-Luck: ???+0 Melanicus
Inventory
-Secret pockets 1/6
Plastic bag (x5 lunar mushrooms)
-Spells
Eye of Resonance (Reads the soulprint of beings like yourself. -2 energy per minute)

...

Here I leave you the character sheet. Don't forget to add the stats.

>>2676
<Romeo "CJ" Santos (Time: 8:45 AM. Date: Saturday, March 10, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 50/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
- Strength: 3
- Agility: 3
- Resistance: 3
- Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 0/4

In the Monkey Cage
8:30 in the morning at the bar. Someone knocks on the door. You finish setting the table and go to check it out. You think, who would want a drink at this hour? And your mind conjures up several names. That's fine, since alcoholics keep the business going, your little Stepford corner between the motel and the Ammu Nation.

Yesterday was Friday of vice, and today you still have a lot to fix, which is why your cheeks tingle with the guilt of opening up and finding a lady, in her well-ironed boarding school uniform, a crucifix around her neck, her hair neatly combed, and who is observing the destruction you have behind you, with overturned stools and fragments of glass on puddles of beer. The girl doesn't seem discouraged by the scene, she introduces herself, her name is Micaela. You however don't know what to think, because at first she seemed very pretty, but upon closer inspection you noticed the burn marks that marked her arm, leg, face, and God knows where else.

8:40 in the morning at the bar. You're with Micaela in your "office," a grandiloquent way of calling the back room. She sits on a stool with her legs very close together, you on another, and in the middle are three beer barrels with a wooden board on top that together form the "desk." You plant your elbows on the board and tell Micaela: "So you want the job." And she nods with her eyes down, fixed on her skirt. She tells you she wants to work, to get an extra income for her studies, which in itself doesn't make much sense when the "Saint Jude Thaddeus" receives the daughters of the wealthiest Christian families in the county (The institute isn't in Stepford. It's also only for women), so money to Micaela shouldn't be lacking.

When you ask her if she has experience, she turns her face away and reveals that she doesn't. When you question her if she can come early, she touches her arm and says with the minimum tone to be heard, as if fearing to raise her voice...

Micaela: Wasn't the shift at night...?

Then she indicates that from Sunday to Friday she can arrive between 4 and 5 in the afternoon, depending on how things go at school. On Saturdays she has more freedom because it's the day off for the students.

8:45 in the morning at the bar. The young woman looks at you in silence, her lips in a nervous pout. You can't see it from your position, but she nails her nails into her skirt.

Micaela: ...

Wait for you to say if you hire her or not. In case you reject her, she thought of going to the store across the street, the one of mom Weston. You have your doubts, because a 16-year-old girl doesn't seem suitable to be in a bar with drunks who will surely try to touch her butt. Plus, she doesn't have experience, and even if she did, something very deep inside you tells you, call it instinct, call it "monkey heart," that this girl is a magnet for problems. What kind of problems? That's something you lose.

...

I hope this time you like the shift.

>>2680
I owe you a turn for next week, handsome black. Since my PC broke down on Wednesday and I had to take it to get fixed, my turns got delayed, I had to cut several short, and I couldn't finish yours.

>>2683
You mixed things up the one without stats is the CJ

>>2686
Ah, fuck, you're right. I thought this >>2678 was CJ's anon. Well, in that case, here's how it stands.

<David Stanford (Time: 2:40 AM. Date: Saturday, March 10, Year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 50/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
-Strength: 3
-Agility: 3
-Stamina: 3
-Luck: 1+0 Melanicus
Inventory
-Secret pockets 1/6
Plastic bag (x5 moon mushrooms)
-Spells
Eye of Resonance (Reads the soul imprint of beings like yourself. -2 energy per minute)

...

<Romeo "CJ" Santos (Time: 8:45 AM. Date: Saturday, March 10, Year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 50/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
-Strength: ?
-Agility: ?
-Stamina: ?
-Luck: ?
Inventory
-Pockets 0/4

>>2685
No problem OPecito. What a luck that you recovered it, go save your role things in a pastebin or something just in case kek
See you next week.
Marie or Abby?

>>2688
<Marie or Abby?
It's an unfair comparison because I've known Marie longer than I've liked her. But Abby is also charming, and I like her mischievous side.

>>2682

Don't overload the session so much, there are too many events happening too fast where you assume very strongly what I'm going to do, you make me have to bite my brains out to find what to answer

Melanin or something like that was the name of one of the many books he had started collecting like cheap trinkets only to then leave them lying around without a care in the basement of that cabin. He read hundreds of pages from several of them, and while some things seemed interesting, most of them sounded like nonsense even to him, which strangely seemed logical to him. If the answers to the unknown were as easy as just buying one of these books and shooting lightning from your hands, everyone would be doing it. But that's not how the world works, no, no, life isn't that easy. Magic is more like... like...! Like drugs, yes, that's it! The good quality ones are reserved for those who know where to look, but if you know how to mix the bad ones, you could get a pretty similar effect to the others, or end up having a bad trip, which happened to him more than once... but that wasn't the point here. The thing was that amidst all this nonsense of strange words and the most peculiar rituals, you had to know how to choose and mix what they had written to be able to do something useful with them.

"AaaaAAAGHghhRRRRRaaaaaaa ReeeeeroROroRO GGGJJJJooooooUUUUUooooHHHHH"
**https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Q4zWAizJOE**▾

That's why right now he was making a terrible imitation of the guttural chants spoken of in some books, and also why he was dancing around the black candle, taking small jumps like a very racist (but appropriate for the era) representation of a Native American while wearing one of the many masks he also collected, choosing for this occasion one with an African appearance, then lifting it slightly and bringing some marijuana to his mouth which was wrapped in one of the pages of the new book he had recently acquired. Unable to understand most of it, he assumed the best way to reveal its secrets was... by inhaling its contents... As stupid as his efforts might sound, they seemed to have borne fruit, since after pronouncing some random words, he fell to the floor.

"Dancing shadows..., flickering lights..., damp and padded walls..., the Jade Palace? No, more like the basement of this..."

This is as far as he has ever been in any of his trips to experience something real, so once he regained consciousness, he didn't waste time and began to write down in his notebook what he remembers to be able to check in his next sessions the path he took in his vision. Days pass and he repeats the ritual several times, changing his dance and mask on each occasion, hoping that something of that would yield a different or longer-lasting result. In the same way, he also began to put a dirty and worn yellowish mattress, surely the product of some vagabond's urine, to emulate that room and be closer to it.
"You're not a basement... ¡Aaaafff! You're more like a lit oven, you belong to the kitchen area"

As exhausted as he was excited by the kaleidoscope of colors he was now seeing, he was forced to approach the hiker and grab him by the shoulders to get a better look at his aura. Yellow and green are quite close on the chromatic scale, and the color representing earth in Wu Xing is yellow, so he assumed that that yellowish room must be beneath the Jade Palace, whose color is green. Wood in Wu Xing is that shade, which turns the Jade Palace into something that grows from that earth, and the man he's holding now has colors more related to fire and metal—something he instinctively associates with a kitchen. Were gastronomic arts that man's talent? He doesn't know and has no chance to find out, because shortly after, the man shoves him and throws him to the ground, leaving David face-up to the sky, too tired to get up but at the same time quite euphoric.

"¡¡AAAHH!! ¡¡Helios is coming for me!!"

He shouted that incoherence as soon as he was blinded by such a powerful red light that it could only belong to some deity or mystical being related to the sun, or that's what he thought. It took him too long to recover from that flash, seeing little more than shadows and silhouettes during his journey, and by the time he realized it, he was back home. He stared at the door for several seconds, trying to understand what had happened, concluding that his mind couldn't control his body and it acted on its own due to the confusion—a sensation not entirely unfamiliar to him, as he's had astral trips before where he moved on his own, or rather, he's gotten high enough on more than one occasion to end up in weird places without knowing how.

"Ugh, so much study to control the unconscious and I end up like this..."

He angrily hits the exterior wall of his house while grumbling about what happened. Normally, this kind of experience would be something he wouldn't pay attention to and would just continue with his life, but this time it was different. This wasn't human; he doesn't know what it was or what he did, nor does he know if any trace of him will remain there. But what he does know is that this was exactly what he was looking for, and he almost missed the opportunity of a lifetime due to a pure accident. That angers him so much that he can't help but rush back along his steps to find it again, taking a shovel with him to dig up some bones from the cemetery; they always come in handy for his rituals.

>>2690
In that first turn I tried to throw you into the flow of events, and since I don't have your character's turns as a reference, I had to imply several things.

For those coming later you'll have total freedom, it's up to you whether to let yourself be carried by the narrative arc or stay on the sidelines.

Turn saved.

>>2684
A student approaches her... What a shame for him that she is pretty, since he couldn't go after her and try to win her heart when he assumes she'll be underage, but life feeds on disappointments, he knows that very well. In any case, he's not a gorilla in heat 24/7, so after the initial impression and removing her immediately from his list of interests, he invites the girl to come in.

...

When they sit at the counter of his office, which isn't that he's poor, he has space for himself and his clients because logistics doesn't do itself... In fact, he lives on the second floor, so he likes to keep his mountain clean and tidy, surrounded by all the comforts that his money tree brings, known as Monkey Island.

—You know... This place was meant to be a café, but it seemed too quiet for my life...

He says that, and serves her a cup of coffee, a delicious, out-of-this-world coffee, learned step by step with discipline from someone important to him, but now only he knows... It's his special treatment, normally after a cup he gets rid of the hangover or the drunkenness.

—I understand... I won't ask about your private life. From your entrance to your exit you're my employee, but outside of that, we're strangers if you like.

You seem young... How old are you...? Well, if you don't have problems dealing with drunkards, you're hired... Of course I won't allow them to be rude with you, Miss Micaela.

He comments and listens to her schedule, to which he thinks about it a bit... Maybe he'll retract his decision at the last second... Putting his fingers on his chin he proclaims his uncertainty.

—I'd like to have you here at 5 to start organizing some messes from having them... Until 12 or 1 in the morning is your schedule.

I wouldn't want to keep you until that late, but this job is like that, drunkards are allergic to sunlight mostly. If you think you can handle it along with your studies, you're welcome... Are you starting today?

Both magnets of problems are going to repel the problems, doesn't it work like that, no? Anyway, he's an expert in rescuing and having hope in young people who life has hit more than necessary... If someone messes with his people, even if they're just barely known, there will be war and a commotion.

So going along with his instinct, he hires her, everyone needs an ally in life, everyone needs a family or to be part of "something", everyone needs to feel appreciated, loved and necessary... Even himself.

>Monkey Cage
<NO MONKEY ISLAND

DISHONOR.

>>2692
>Monkey Cage
>DESHONOR
<don't know this song

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6i78C8ZyTj8▾

You're cola, I'm glue.

Turn saved.

>>2680
<Dad Weston (Time: 2:18 PM. Date: Saturday 10, March, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 50/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
-Strength: ?
-Agility: ?
-Endurance: ?
-Luck: ?+0 Police Badge
Inventory
-Pockets 3/4
9mm Pistol (Safety on. 7/7)
Patrol car keys
Wallet

At the precinct
A fucking psycho, that's the best label you have for the Route bully. Actually, the whole country seems full of those demon-crazy types: the schoolgirl killer, Zodiac, the tooth fairy, all scum that seem to multiply like mushrooms, and it's your job as a cop to put a stop to them even if it's never easy.

Maggie: Understood!

You order her to rest and she ends the salute, though she insists on standing with her arms glued to her trunk, looking as relaxed as a board. She tries so hard to be professional. That said, the smile never leaves her face.

Maggie: That's right, we should investigate the case… Officially I can't, but unofficially I can swing by Mrs. house tonight and see if I catch anything. I know it's not my place, but it would make me happy to help you… Help the force.

You had to admit that staying on guard in case the lawnmower guy shows up sounded like a bore, it would be the last thing you'd want to do, but you also know Maggie works too hard and taking away her sleep would be abuse. Anyway, it's up to you if you let her check it out on her own.

Maggie: Understood, I'll let Officer Bedrock (Robert) know.

Another important point is the underground race the ABC is organizing, the most notorious gang in town.

Maggie: Officer Bedrock is the one who usually deals with them… He's very thorough, I bet he has something prepared to lock up a good handful. For more details, why don't you try talking to him? Or do you prefer I find out for you?

The phone rings. Maggie answers and puts your dear daughter on. After finishing the conversation with Abigail, you return the handset to its place.

Maggie: Everything okay…?

The call sent you on an emotional rollercoaster, so it's normal she'd ask about your health. But you don't want a therapist, you want logistical support to go to the school.

Maggie: A kidnapping? Damn…

She puts a hand under her chin, thoughtful. Maybe you expected a more shocked reaction to the news, you underestimated her.

Maggie: I can't think of anyone who could help… All the boys are with the victim of the Route killer.

You scan the scene and agree with Maggie; the precinct is like a cemetery, though you can hear the chief bouncing his rubber ball beyond the door to his office. That's what it's like being the law in a small town, like they keep the mindset that nothing ever happens, and when something does happen, they lack the resources and people to deal with it. It hurt your pride to think the Route 32 killer was too big for them, but it's true that the animal had been active for 4 months up to where they knew, in the last 2 killing one life a week, and you hadn't found a single clue or suspect.
It was clear they needed help; many thought it, no one said it, but don't worry—while you were debating whether to go alone or not, a black car tore through the interstate, passed near the crime scene that Robert and the boys were watching, the driver gave them a look, didn't stop, and kept going straight into town, pulling up right at the precinct.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBn_lQBh9JA▾

The sound of the door opening comes from behind you. Maggie peeks over your shoulder. You turn to face the man in the suit and tie approaching, as neatly groomed as a cake doll (Pastel). Once he's right in front of you, he extends his hand to shake yours.

???: Officer Thomas Weston, right? I'm Special Agent Hopper. I've dug up a lot on you… Well, I've dug up a lot on all of you here. Agency quirks, cornerstones of Mr. Hoover's, who for better or worse, shaped our habits.

It would've been more subtle if he wore a sign around his neck with the letters FBI. The agent then takes Maggie's hand with a gentler touch.

Hopper: Well, this surprises me, because I don't know such a charming young lady…

Maggie: I'm Maggie… I don't go out much.

She looks down; it's her way of excusing why the FBI hadn't even set their eyes on her. Hopper gives her a understanding smile.

Hopper: I bet without you, these men who defend the law would be running through town like headless chickens.

The words bring a little smile back to Maggie's face, grateful for a bit of recognition. Hopper lets go of her hand and turns to you with a tone of camaraderie.

Hopper: Judging by the looks you're giving me, I guess the good sheriff didn't tell you about me, or my scheduled arrival for...

He glances at his wristwatch.

Hopper: Today, at 2:30 PM. Almost fifteen minutes early; I must've stepped hard on the accelerator without realizing it.

He lowers his arm and tilts his gaze toward the door marked with a sign as the sheriff's office. In the background, the ball in the office keeps bouncing.

Hopper: I imagine the chief is a busy man.

The agent looks back at you.

Hopper: Let me go introduce myself, then I'll come back to you. You look like you're itching to hit the streets and chase down evil. I share that sentiment; evil is a blemish on our beautiful nation. And believe me, Thomas, may I call you Thomas? You and I have a lot to talk about.

Without warning, he gives you a bear hug, complete with a back slap.

Hopper: I have a feeling this is the start of a beautiful friendship.

Then you remember that this man has a license to kill.

1/2

>>2694
>>2680
<Abigail Weston (Time: 2:30 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 35/70
Hunger: 11/20 - Thirst: 9/20
- Strength: 2
- Agility: 3
- Resistance: 2
- Luck: 1
Inventory
- Pockets 4/4
Chocolate chip cookie from Mom W (2/2)
Chocolate chip cookie from Mom W (2/2)
Chocolate chip cookie from Mom W (2/2)
Chocolate chip cookie from Mom W (2/2)
- Colored backpack 10/10
Fine brush pencil
Thick brush pencil
Pencil
Notebook
Blue marker
Red marker
Yellow marker
Green marker
Extra pencil
White sheets x10

Community School
The teacher misinterprets your desire and situation. He sees you as a needy student, not as the loving and sensual woman you definitely are. What can you do to change his opinion? You had time to think about your feminine tactics while waiting for your father at the entrance of the institution. Behind you was the entrance of the school, to the left an ambulance was picking up the broken man (Phil), to the right there was nothing interesting, so seriously, what were you looking at there? And in front of you was the road where at any moment the man who impregnated your mother would arrive.

Robin: I gave the class a fifteen-minute break to relax and align their chakras.

He tells you this upon returning and standing by your side, he also tells you that he informed the principal about what happened to you.

Robin: He confided that he would increase security… Although he didn't clarify what he meant. The other teachers found out and are nervous, and the karate teacher went patrolling with his students.

With a posture in which he keeps his hands clasped behind his back, he looks into the distance with thoughtful eyes.

Robin: That man, when I confronted him, more than a teacher he had the cold gaze of a heartless scientist… He… Did he manage to do anything more to you, or did he not?

He gives you a worried look. You look back at him. A tense silence falls when his grass-like eyes meet your coffee-colored gaze. You open your mouth to reveal the substance, or to say nothing, but the sound of tires screeching against the asphalt. A patrol car zips by at full speed and heads toward you, zigzagging.

Robin: The police. Right, your father is one of them… Better me go, since I don't get along with government people.

He gives you a little smile.

Robin: Ah, and Abigail, I noticed you were really scared when that man pulled out the gun… Worry is a sign of appreciation, so thank you. But for the next time, which I hope never comes, trust me, no gorilla with a gun is a rival for my kicks.

He steps back without stopping to look at you, does a couple of turns as if it's hard for him to decide where to run, until he disappears like the wind through the school door, right at the moment the patrol car parks next to you. A man in a suit gets out of the driver's seat, while your father gets out from the passenger side. Agent Hopper places his hand on the hood of the car.

Hopper: Thanks for letting me burn rubber with this beauty, Thomas. I felt curious about the steel horses destined for rural police. Now let's find your dear daughter Abigail.

He doesn't notice you standing by his side. Your height.

2/2

>>2690
<David Stanford (Time: 3:05 AM. Date: Saturday, March 10, year 1973)
HP: 73/100
Energy: 34/50
Hunger: 4/20 - Thirst: 4/20
-Strength: 3 + 5 Shovel
-Agility: 3
-Stamina: 3
-Luck: 1 + 0 Melanicus
Inventory
-Secret pockets 3/6
Plastic bag (x5 moon mushrooms)
Notebook
Pencil
-Spells
Eye of Resonance (Reads the soul imprint of beings like yourself. -2 energy per minute)

Between Woodscrew and Route 32
Hiker: Let go of me, freak!

He punches you in the face, sending you seeing stars. Maybe the daze is what made you get lost in the woods and end up beside the road. In the morning, the man will go to the police and report that while he was camping in the forest, a pervert jumped out of the bushes and tried to kiss him.

Back at the cabin, you grab a shovel and retrace your steps to find the crimson carriage, but first you pass through the Indian cemetery again to desecrate some bones. It should be noted that your face still hurts from the earlier punch.

The cemetery remains as lonely and gloomy as before, perhaps even more so. In the distance, a wolf howls, and among the trees, an owl hoots. Wielding the shovel, you search for where the black earth is softest and plunge the tool's tip in, beginning the excavation process. In the end, you open three graves, a task that leaves you sweaty and exhausted (-5 energy and fullness per desecrated grave).

You obtain the following…

-Clay tablet
Function: Unknown.
Description: Dusty tablet with edges eroded by wind. Inscribed with passages as ancient as time itself.

-Decomposing cat
Function: Emergency food.
Description: Dead, bloated animal crawling with worms, likely buried by its owner.

-Dirty porcelain doll
Function: Ideal gift for a girl from the last century.
Description: Red-haired doll with a disproportionately large head. Beneath its dirt-stained dress, the undergarments bear a label calling it "Annabel Lee."

You don't find any bones.

Besides cannibalistic rituals, the natives also used this soil as a seal for unwanted entities. With that in mind, you suspect the cat's owner was the last person who'd want the fierce animal returning from the grave.

>>2692
Monkey Island (Cerrado) You have to open it, or tell someone to open it at a certain time so that it starts working
-Capital
Cash box: 20.000 dollars The total money of your business
Income: (Wait until the end of the day to account for it)
-Costs
Daily salary of Micaela: (To be determined)
ABC bonus: 50 dollars The current city enforcers. One of them knows who you are, and extorts you to give him money. The days you open are coming
Taxes: 200 dollars (Monday) They are charged weekly. Approximately it's 1% of what you have in your cash box. If they suspect you have more money than you claim to have, they will order an audit
Water: 100 dollars (1st of every month)
Electricity: 100 dollars (1st of every month)
-On sale 300/300 What is sold to the public. It must be filled while it is being spent
100 Polar beers
100 Dallas beers
50 Whisky
50 Tequila
-In stock 500/500 What you store. It must be filled through a supplier
150 Polar beers
150 Dallas beers
100 Whisky
99 Tequila
1 Atago (Special)
-Prices You can change them
Polar beer: 1 dollar
Dallas beer: 2 dollars
Whisky: 5 dollars
Tequila: 4 dollars
-Dimensions Determine how many people can occupy your place
Bar 0/8
Table 0/4
Table 0/4
Table 0/4
Table 0/4

When you open the business I will explain how this works. I'll advance that a key factor is the luck statistic

Long silences and calmness lay the path to noon. You receive the call of hunger, and you know the best place to satisfy it because it is next to, along with the lady W's store. The dinner 77, with its offer of ¡Everything for a dollar! Accompanied by the exquisite food of mom, is a treasure of the town well known among its inhabitants.

You go by the bar and see Micaela occupying a seat at the table in the back. The only eyebrow that her hair allows you to see is furrowed in concentration towards the book she holds in her hands. A glance at the golden typography over red background of the cover lets you know that it is Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley.

Maybe Micaela wants to have lunch with you, or maybe she just wants to stay alone reading until the time you decide to open the place. You can also abandon your plans to go to dinner 77, and do something else. For the moment at the bar you don't need to worry much, everything is ordered and clean, and for the first time in a long time the ladies' bathroom turns out presentable.

>>2697
When he lies so obviously, he gives a look that could make someone feel uncomfortable.

—18? Well, I don't know why you'd lie to me, but I've met older scoundrels and smaller promises than you... Age is just a number, it's more about experience.

Generally, the years give you more chances to have that experience, but there are enriching and boring ones, as well as resilient or defeatist people who influence whether you learn from those events... Teenagers can be more mature than thirty-somethings if given the opportunity.

—But you started off badly. This position is more than for someone I trust, for someone who trusts me... If you need to lie to me, it means you don't or you're not willing to do so, do you understand?

He's dealt with many liars and has gotten rid of many liars throughout his life. Surely in a life like his, trust could be worth more than a job, could be worth a friendship or even a life.

—Still, trust is earned... Right? You earn mine and I earn yours, I hope you can tell me your reasons someday, Oh, oh! Do you want to start? Come on. You'll love it.

After explaining her duties and after showing her around the place. He gives her a rather fine bag, which could only contain something rather elegant. When she opens it, it shows a rather nice suit.

—It's yours, your uniform. You need it so that you can be recognized as such... Go ahead, go change.

He comments and points her to the bathrooms, since there are no changing rooms apart from his office and his room which is on the upper floors... He waits for however long it takes for her to return.

...

After everything was sorted out and put in place, his stomach informs him that he's hungry. And he has the option to cook in his own house... But he decides to treat himself and go to the best place he knows.

—Are you hungry, little one? There's a restaurant right next to it, are you coming?

He invites her, if she says no... Well, there's not much he can say, just that she should go out until he comes back because it's going to close, and he just hired her, they don't trust her enough to leave her alone. After that, he goes to the restaurant, alone or accompanied.

...

Negrín, it's not because I'm being mean and probably the mechanics of the bar are fun and all... But I think I'll pass and leave it on auto because the moment I saw her I said "WAY TOO MUCH TEXT".

I enjoy these roles more when it's just narrative.

>Atago

That looks like it smells like flowers and has many colors.

>>2698
Saved turn.

<But I think I'll
Ugh, but you already had a mini-game prepared and all.

Well, it's your decision, I'll leave it on automatic, kek. It's not that big of a deal, this way I'll have less work and calculations to do. Although I recommend you apply statistics to your character, currently it's as if you had 0.

>>2696

"¡¡Aaaaaauuuu!!"

He howls along with the animals in order to share part of his essence with them and for them to bless him with more natural energy, animism is one of the first religions so he is surely able to learn a lot from them just by imitating them and if there's one thing animals don't do is complain about their wounds so he doesn't plan on reacting to the pain on his face, several books actually also spoke about using pain and pleasure as ways to reach new states the second one has already mastered but for the first one there's still a long way to go

"Ewww... no, no mentalize, you have to mentalize or you'll never achieve what you set out to"

He's used to corpses both seeing them and creating them but that doesn't mean he likes seeing things decomposing so he can't help but feel a bit disgusted at seeing the cat rotting, that's why he takes a second to close his eyes and take a deep breath and then proceeds to rummage through the rotting flesh to pull out as many bones as possible, after removing all the loose ones he begins to lift them one by one with his right hand and keeps looking at them under the light of the moon to determine which one will be his amulet

"Seven! Seven! Of course, seven is the number of greatest power for a cat so its seventh rib will have the most energy"

After deciding that what he believes is the seventh rib is the indicated bone he proceeds to clean the remaining flesh against the earth and then brings it close to his mouth to bite the tip of it having to force himself to hold back the urge to vomit thus concluding his ritual and completely ignoring the fact that a true voodoo ritual requires the cat to be boiled alive to choose the bone making this whole spectacle rather unnecessary

"Now the thing is what to do with this..."

He looked at the tablet and the wrist for a while being the second one of those two that caught his attention, since he was little he has felt quite interested in dolls, one that he had to suppress because of his father who told him to stop with those gay things, but his interest in them wasn't because he wanted to play house, no, what he liked was simply the appearance of them, that beautiful state between something alive and something dead which many could call a creepy valley but for him it was fascinating enough that when he saw the little Annabel he couldn't resist the urge to start his own collection of dolls, anyway no one can stop him anymore

"The front of my truck will be a good place for you"

After deciding where to put Annabel, only remained to find a use for the tablet, he doesn't understand anything of what is written but maybe he can find something in another book that helps him understand it, so after taking everything he wanted he left the place without even questioning for a second why he was doing all this in the middle of the cemetery in the same way he also forgot the main objective for which he came, so many strange substances definitely had burned his brain, but whether he was conscious of it or not he decided to return to his truck once and for all to spend the night there and enjoy some other shit that might help him be more "enlightened"

>>2636
>name and surname

Unknown. Mostly they call her the prostitute or Silvana.

>Gender

Female.

>Age

Unknown. Between 15 and 20.

>About you

Without knowing how it happened, she ended up in the alley of a trash bin after being declared dead from a cocaine overdose, her body showed signs of abuse and of having received a beating. She was taken to the hospital where, after a few weeks, she escaped because she didn't have money to pay the bill since she didn't have insurance.

Many of the circles of bad luck don't know who she is, simply that she used to hang around certain individuals but after one night they stopped appearing and left her behind. With no other options or place to go back to, and after a period of forced detoxification, she turned to prostitution, trying as best as possible not to make the same mistakes again.

A man saw her, became jealous and took her out of that life. He doesn't know his intentions or his real name, however the deal was clear, her body whenever he wanted for food and a place to repair her life.

>About your past

A perfect life with a lot of potential. A loving family that loved her despite having a quiet atmosphere. Good grades, good behavior, good friendships, good manners. A plain and boring appearance, an innocence easily exploited and an encounter with someone who decided to take advantage of her.

A lot happened after that, becoming a drug addict and nymphomaniac, she decided to adapt to this new life. But not much time passed before her luck showed her that she wasn't made for happiness...

>stats

Strength: 1
Agility: 5
Resistance: 4
Luck: 0

Can the stats increase according to the story?

>>2698
>>2698
<Romeo "CJ" Santos (Time: 12:10 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 46/50
Hunger: 16/20 - Thirst: 16/20
-Strength: ???
-Agility: ???
-Stamina: ???
-Luck: ???
Inventory
-Pockets 1/4
40 dollars

At the Monkey Island
She lowers her head and bites her lip when your indirect hints expose her lie. Otherwise, she neither denies nor confirms anything, silently accepting your assertion that age is just a number. She has no permission from her parents to work; claiming to be of age is a way to sidestep that problem.

Micaela: I just want to work... I don't think sharing my personal affairs will help anything.

In the end, you give her the job, along with the uniform you designed in your spare time during those days when your masculinity was on the fritz. Micaela takes the bag and heads to the bathrooms to change. About ten minutes later, she returns already dressed.

Micaela: ...

She stands silently before you, not meeting your eyes, but looking like someone waiting for an opinion. You have to admit it suits her; on her body, it highlights an androgynous charm, making her look like a woman who gets things done.

During the tour of the place, you showed her the ledger. She asks to see it up close, and you hand it over, unaware that blood from a clan proscribed by countless human societies runs through her veins.

Micaela: ...

Truth is, she could give you one or two ideas to make your business flourish. In a single glance, she knew where to cut costs or which product was most profitable; she concluded that the hand-embroidered napkins you export from Holland should go. But her shyness played against her; it's your decision whether to follow your instinct and leave a burned hand on such a delicate part of your nest (She is the auto-pilot mode. If you don't activate her, you're most likely to go bankrupt).

By midday, you decide to invite Micaela to lunch. After meditating in silence for a while, she asks where, and you reveal it's within walking distance. That's all it took for her to accept, as she still lacked the confidence to get into a car with you. You could be a suicidal homicidal maniac.

...

At the Dinner 77

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsRXZ1afhLw▾
The king's voice comes from the jukebox, helping to harmonize an atmosphere so polished that even the black-and-white checkered floor looks like porcelain. The red tables, with their double plastic seats, lean against the wall with large windows on one side, offering a privileged view of the parking lot so you can eat without worrying about someone stealing your car. At the bar, the local sheriff laces his lips together before the sight of a greasy, steaming lunch, and a chocolate malted with marshmallows floating on top. This isn't a place to count calories, kilos, or waistlines; the kitchen beyond the double doors smells of caramel and frying, inviting you to stuff yourself until you burst and feel guilty about it.

A woman delivers a tray with two hamburgers, slices of bread and meat as wide as a record and as thick as a phone book, to two regulars of the place, dishes accompanied by a serving of french fries and a couple of cokes. Mama prefers to dazzle with size and quantity rather than quality, but that doesn't stop her meals from being very tasty. She bids farewell with a smile to return behind the bar, but stops when she notices you, and her eyes light up.

Mama: Romeo, Romeo, where are you that I can't see you? Sit down, dear. And who is this charming young lady? Finally a Juliet?

Micaela is left speechless and wide-eyed. Mama laughs.

Mama: I'm joking, sweetheart, no need to blush. This man doesn't need a little lamb but a proper sheep to tighten a few screws for him. You focus on enjoying your youth, which is the most beautiful stage of life.

Micaela: T-Thank you, ma'am.

Mama: I don't like being called ma'am. Call me Mama.

The Adventist goes with you to one of the tables, sits on the seat facing yours, but her attention still follows the back of the restaurant manager, still dazed by the vitality Mama showed her. You remind her it's time to order, and she gives a small start before taking the menu and scanning through the different options, all for a dollar. She leaves the menu on the table and plants her left ring finger on a line... A plate of shrimp. Knowing Mama, more than a plate it would be a platter for a battalion. You gave up on ordering something of your own to eat, imagining the shrimp would be enough for both, you only added something to drink to the order, where Micaela specified that an iced tea would be perfect.

Mama served them, and Micaela devoured them. She didn't peel them. She dipped them skin and all into cocktail sauce, then bit them down to the tail. You understood she was one of those girls who enjoyed feeling her stomach full and the whole process of tasting, chewing, savoring, and swallowing that it entailed. She did it with pauses and silence, and the impeccable manners she displayed were a wonderful cosmetic for her undeniable voracity. For some reason that escaped you, the vision turned out to be threatening, it turned out to be terribly erotic.

1/2

>>2702
>>2698
<Romeo "CJ" Santos (Time: 3:30 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 43/50
Hunger: 17/20 - Thirst: 17/20
- Strength: ?
- Agility: ?
- Resistance: ?
- Luck: ?
Inventory
- Pockets 1/4
37 dollars

On the Monkey Island
Before returning from the restaurant, you offered Micaela to take a walk around the block, arguing that walking was a good way to digest the food. They passed by Mrs. W's store, the local newspaper office, the freakadas hangout, the Simulatron, and the dance studio Mirror B (which was closed at that time). Micaela looked at everything with the interest of someone encountering new visions, which made you realize she was new, or relatively new to Stepford.

They return to the bar around two. What remains to be done is to kill time until you decide to open. Micaela goes back to the couch in the back, escaping the dark passages of the modern Prometeo. More than an hour would pass before reality pulled her away from the pages, due to something calling her from a distance, as if contacting with an ethereal and supernatural sense not accepted by science. You watch worriedly at the windows, the moment when you see a lanky and slow figure passing by on the sidewalk, hunched more from the weight of life than from any lower back pain. The high school girl gets up, leaves the book on the couch, and from your office you hear her shouting a title.

Micaela: Doctor Hyde!

There was urgency in her voice. You hurried to find out what was going on, and you see her entering with a gaunt man thrown over her shoulder. It was difficult for you to ascertain his age, but the wrinkled areas of his skin and the extreme paleness set him apart from being the avatar of health. With blurred vision and dry lips, that man wrapped in a dirty hood looked more dead than alive.

Micaela: Doctor Hyde! It's me, Micaela! Please, answer me! What are you doing here?! Is my father...? Is my father alive?!

The urgency in Micaela's voice was growing.

2/2

>>2700
I owe you a turn next week, negro. This week, because of the rains on my ranch, the electricity was going out and coming back, and my availability to write was reduced.

I'll try to compensate you with a more substantial turn, although I would like to know how or what is the morning routine of your monkey for easier access.

>>2701
The spots are full, although I suspect the negro from Abigail got lolmurió, therefore there could be a spot. I keep the entry just in case, and if the negro from the monkey doesn't respond, I'll give you the turn next Saturday.

<Can stats increase according to the story?
In the sense that they increase throughout the roll? Yes, you can even train on your own for that.

>>2704
>the little black boy of Abigail got lolmurió
N-no it's not true, I couldn't respond last Saturday, I'm in exam period. Today I'll do OP, unless you like that other character more that Abby, if so say so so that you can enjoy more your experience as Master having the players you prefer the most, really I don't mind if you change me to have your dream game.

>>2705
Don't be silly. If you have to do things IRL, do them and I'll wait. Although it would be nice if you let me know, so that I don't assume things.

<your dream game.
My dream game is one where everyone has fun. If you're having a good time, my goal with the roleplay is already achieved even if Abby suffered an accident with a teleportation machine and ended up being a cardboard Abby incapable of speaking, thinking, or feeling emotions.

>>2705
Kekeo, pero que drama, ya ni novia celosa.

>>2706
>Chevere

... Ay Dios.

>>2704
Sleeping half-dead in his truck in the middle of the road until the sun or the sound of some nearby car wakes him up, passing by where his dealer and friend is to get a little more drug, spending some time with him if he feels like it and if not going to some nearby park to grass while high, now that he has his power I imagine he'll also start watching a lot of people with this, I don't know what else to tell you

>>2708
Info saved.

<no sabría que mas decirte
With what's been said I already have more than enough.

>>2709
Negro, are you staying late? Kek, it's just that maybe I'll be late for my shift but I'll send it today.

What do you think of Romeo?

>>2710
My presence right now is sporadic. I don't think I'll stay much longer.

<What do you think of Romeo?
I can't say much yet. There aren't many turns.

>>2694
>Thomas
He's going through the list of interesting cases, among them, the serial lawn mower case.

70214
>Abigail
At the school entrance, Abby looks at the road with a tired face... that vaccine really wore her out, she'd really like a bed right now.

yawn

Abby yawns.

"Morfeo take me. I feel exhausted."

Abigail
"¡AHEM!" -calls her attention-

>Thomas
"¡Abby!"

The father crouches down and takes his little girl by the shoulders to check her condition.

"Are you okay...?" -he asks, looking at her whole body-

>Abigail
"It depends."

>Thomas
"On what?"

>Abigail
"On body or mind?"

>Thomas
"On body?"

>Abigail
"Well, I'm exhausted..."

>Thomas
"And on mind?"

>Abigail
"That's a secret."

The father frowns.

>Thomas
"¡¿How is that a secret?!"

>Abigail
"Yes, a secret. A woman's secret."

>Thomas
"We came to help you, you said you were kidnapped. What happened?"

>Abigail
"Actually, they did. But I'm safe now, but I'd like you to take me home, I'm tired. I need to paint to clear my mind."

>Thomas
sigh

The police officer stands up. Dealing with his daughter was a pain.

"I need a cigarette..." -he says while taking out the object, then putting it to his mouth- "Do you have a lighter?" -he asks his partner-

>Abigail
"I'm sleepy." -takes out a cookie- "I wonder if I'll have a revealing sleep." chomp -bites the cookie-

>Thomas
"Would you like to try asking her some questions? She came out... dumb" -the last part is said moving his lips, without making a sound. If his partner read them he would understand-

>Abigail
"I came out creative, skilled with the brush and spontaneous." -but not humble-

>>2706
I'm sorry OPé, I'll warn you next time. And yes, I want to see where this goes.

>>2702
Romeo didn't knit that little outfit for himself; if he had, it would be half as pretty and much more deformed. Spending a bit more of his self-imposed salary and contacting an old friend, he ordered it in different sizes. It's worth noting that the outfit is Unisex, and now she wears the smallest of the three sizes.

-You look gorgeous, just as I thought my first employee would look! Although now I worry about how many others you'll make think that way...

He must keep a personal eye on her, not out of preference but because he must keep her safe from any opportunists trying to pull a fast one.

-You relax, you relax, nothing's gonna happen to you with me here... If you got something to say, say it. Being able to accept advice is a quality every leader needs.

He strokes her head like a puppy now under his command. On the other hand, he shows her his little blue account book, and she almost looks like she wants to devour it whole, and the notebook too, but that's simply too much for her first day.

-I'll teach you what's necessary, maybe someday I'll let you do it alone...

...

After that little exposition, they head straight to DInner 77, where Romeo inflates his lungs and even more his belly with the homey essence the place has... It's right next door for a reason, so there's no reason not to go. In fact, quite the opposite.

-Working, a home doesn't maintain itself, right? And that's where I surprise you, this is my new employee, finally someone bit the hook.

Said that way it even sounded like a trap, but it's just an expression since nothing, apart from the obvious, is wrong with his business.

-You said it yourself, 'young lady', maybe too much, anyway I never planned to go to prison and especially not for something like that

Curious that he's the one saying something like that; if not for his base, he probably would've had a calm and even happy life... But Romeo knows he wasn't made to be happy and never was.

-Where's the old man, again at a meeting far from home, Mrs. Diner? Unfortunate, having a woman like this here, he can't even be at home.

He sighs while smiling, already knowing the answer, since that old man he was talking about was his father. And as soon as the mom says she doesn't like being called Mrs., Carlos reminds her that he'll never call her mom... She's his stepmother, but he only had one mother, no matter how terrible she was to him during his life. That closeness ironically prevents him from being "close" in a natural way... Though they get along well, no one can take that away from them.

(Huh?)

He thinks... Since he's surprised that Micaela decided to sit with him, but still it works, right? Since he invited her, right? Of course, he didn't expect that with her attitude until now.
-Oh, well, good choice, but like everything, without experience you fall fast... Want me to help you finish it? You'll understand when they bring it here...

He asks politely; he would never assume at first glance that they offer him food just because there's too much. In fact, that factor of distrust is something he acquired over time, and at first, it was the exact opposite. After ordering the drink, Romeo eats...

(Does it count as interesting to watch someone eat...? Am I some kind of freak?)

He closes his eyes to enjoy his food as best as he can, calmly, peeling each shrimp with calmness since they're in no rush about anything...

>>2703
They take a walk so he can get familiar with the place, and thus he can slack off longer by asking him to go see some things in the future at those spots.

They return, and there are still a couple of hours before opening time. It's not hard to guess when; in fact, the presence of a person in front of the door told him immediately as soon as they arrived.

...

Now, however, it wasn't time. And so, Romeo was reading the newspaper on his own. It's already a habit from the days when he had to do it every day out of obligation, in case the police or someone put something linking them.

But he hears Micaela and sees her enter with what looks like an injured man, and more than a decent person, he looks like a bum. Still, he gives him the benefit of the doubt, but not at the reception. He takes care of carrying him up to his room, the first time two strangers have entered, and grabbing the first aid kit as soon as possible... Minutes pass, he treats him as best he can, and after a few minutes, Romeo goes down from his room to the reception where he left Micaela.

-I don't think he's in any condition to talk to you now... He looked exhausted and malnourished; I'm not a doctor, but even I can tell... Can you tell me who he is to you? That's the least I expect...

After all, he just took care of him and accepted him not only in his establishment but also in his house just because he seemed to be someone important to the girl. And he'll be very understanding, but he doesn't rescue bums for no reason or just because it's nice.

>aldo

I said it automatically; I don't care if a hamster on a magic wheel runs the business. Although I'd like him to do it, not me, but "him" before leaving it to her because it makes no sense.

Again, sorry, I know it would probably be very funny, but it's too much text for once a week.

>now you can play with mama

From the position, I don't know if he wants me to play with his toy from above or below...

>>2711
Correct, sorry for the delay, kek. Pics unavailable.

>>2713
>>2712
Saved turns.

See you next weekend. Have a good time.

>>2700
<David Stanford (Time: 6:40 AM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 40/50
Hunger: 1/20 - Thirst: 1/20
-Strength: 3 + 5 Shovel
-Agility: 3
-Resilience: 3
-Luck: 1 + 0 Melanicus
Inventory
-6/6 Secret Pockets
Plastic bag (x5 Moon Mushrooms)
Notebook
Pencil
Cat bone
Cursed clay tablet
Truck keys
-Spells
Eye of Resonance (Reads the soul imprint of beings like you. -2 Energy per minute)

In Woodscrew
You plunge your hand into the folds gnawed by the cat plague. The worms caress your fingers, and without meaning to, your fingertips crush a larva or two between the fleshy meat. Finally, you manage to pull out what you suspect is the animal's seventh rib. Your pseudo-ritual is complete! All that remains is to decide what to do with the doll and the tablet.

You returned home and collapsed inside your graffiti-splattered truck, not before placing Annabel Lee on the dashboard, as if she were a Hawaiian doll. Sleep soon calls to you more than any joke, and sprawled in the back seats, you dissolve like foam under the wave of the dream cycle.

You wake to the first slaps of sunlight and the stabs of thirst and hunger. A glance at the front of the truck reveals nothing strange... A second, more awake glance and you realize the doll is not where you left it. A quick walk through the cabin and you find her sitting on your mattress, surrounded by all kinds of open and scattered books: one on recent history, another on ancient history, The Anarchist's Cookbook, and several on occultism. How did Annabel Lee get there...? Maybe it was the wind.

More worrying is the absence of food and drink in the fridge, and water at the tap. You have many bills to pay, and your eccentric lifestyle has been draining the inherited bank account from your filial representatives for years. A fearsome shadow begins to circle the alleyways of your mind... The shadow of need... The need for a job.
With nothing else to do, you opt to head to the magic shop to meet your friend and confidant, Abe! To do so, you take the keys to the truck hanging from a rack in the kitchen, go to the car, sit in front of the steering wheel, insert the key, the truck purrs, you pull the gear shift, step on the accelerator, and set off down the winding dirt road through Woodscrew. A tree takes out the right-side rearview mirror, but you pay little attention to it, continuing to drive your machine along the tortuous path until you reach the more upscale area of Woodscrew, with its tall wooden houses and paved sidewalks, with the downhill stretch being a perfect straight shot to the center of Stepford.

...

Stepford Center
You pass near the hospital. To your right, the police station and the fire station; to your left, the community school. You continue, and on the sidewalk you see a bus stop, and next to the stop is a shop called "Magic and Memories," with a gigantic ceramic hat on the roof. You park, and drag yourself out of the truck with your remaining strength, but not toward the shop itself, which remains closed under an iron curtain, but instead you go down the alley to the back of the building, finding a vacant lot overgrown with tall grass. You move through there, and you can almost see the aluminum facade of Abe's secret base, but a steel circle planting itself at the back of your neck freezes you in place.

Abe: Y-y-you're just what I wanted to f-find, c-crawling! Y-you d-d-damned i-invasive s-s-slug from o-outside s-space!

You recognize that stutter, and when you turn your head, you also recognize the person whose voice and rifle it belongs to. Even more worrying, that glassy, crazy look in their eyes is familiar. You guess they're either in the middle of a bad trip, or suffering another psychotic-paranoid attack.

Abe: T-they'll n-never c-conquer t-the E-earth! N-not with A-Ab... With Ab... With Ab...! With the d-damned d-defender of the w-world s-standing h-herre!

From the way his finger trembles on the trigger, you understand that time is running out. You have to convince Abe that you're not an invasive slug from outer space, or else you'll suffer the consequences and go to Hades, where an angry cat will be waiting to jump right in your face!

>>2712
<Dad Weston (Time: 3:00 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 49/50
Hunger: 19/20 - Thirst: 19/20
-Strength: ?
-Agility: ?
-Endurance: ?
-Luck: ?+0 Police badge
Inventory
-Pockets 3/4
9mm Pistol (Safety on. 7/7)
Patrol car keys
Wallet

<Abigail Weston (Time: 3:00 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 34/70
Hunger: 11/20 - Thirst: 8/20
-Strength: 2
-Agility: 3
-Endurance: 2
-Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 4/4
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (1/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
-Colored backpack 10/10
Fine brush
Thick brush
Pencil
Notebook
Blue crayon
Red crayon
Yellow crayon
Green crayon
Spare pencil
White sheets x10

At the precinct
Without a local partner for Thomas, one from out of town is assigned. It's a friendly agent from the Bureau of Investigation.

Hooper: The very same Edgar, rest in peace. But I can't tell you, some of my colleagues think his death was a trick and that when they let their guard down, he'll jump out to surprise them with their pants down.

Maggie's joy sinks into a well when Thomas obstructs the FBI's attempt to cheer her up. She lets out a long sigh, but Thomas pays no mind to her maidenly woes; he's too busy showing off his manhood and skill to Hooper, who embraces him. From her stealthy position, Maggie watches the unrequited exchange of warmth with envy. The agent pulls away and slaps the cop on the back.

Hooper: Am I going too fast? Funny, that's what my wife said on our first date. I'll go see the chief. Don't move a single millimeter, buddy.

...

Community school
"More security for everyone!" the principal promised long ago behind closed doors. Robin nods, accepting Abigail's most literal version of the matter, but deep down doubts the capability of the community school's boss... Robin thinks he lacks grit, or has too much ambition, impressions he wouldn't voice aloud because it would be disrespectful.

Robin: They'll catch him... A guy as big and conspicuous as him can't just disappear like that... Maybe he'll have the class draw portraits based on his description. That would be very illustrative and could help.
Abigail hears the professor's voice, but she struggles to make out the words, as she gets lost in his gaze, a fascination Robin doesn't notice. If only men were more receptive to such direct hints!

The arrival of the patrol is the signal the artist takes to vanish. Father and daughter reunite after the second survived a kidnapping, a meeting less emotional than one would expect after such a description. The agent doesn't miss the chance to approach the teenager with style.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBn_lQBh9JA▾

Hooper: Greetings, Abigail. I'm Special Agent Hooper, your father's future friend. Look at my badge.

He shows her the badge; it's bigger than Thomas's. He puts it back away.

Hooper: I have a couple of questions for you before I let you go with your dad. Is this the man who took you for a ride?

Saying "took you for a ride" is taking the kidnapping lightly, but it's close enough to what the crazy doctor did. Hooper hands Abigail a photo of a guy so plain he'd get lost in a crowd of ten people. The answer is obviously No!

Hooper: I see.

He takes back the photo. Abigail doesn't waste time and eats a cookie.

Hooper: The man who grabbed you... Did he do anything else worth mentioning? I'd also like to know how you got free from his grip.

Regardless of whether you answer or go off on a tangent, you keep insisting you want to go home and that you're tired. Your head is starting to hurt and everything.

Hooper: I think we can postpone the questions...

The agent pulls a new object from his suit, this time a lighter, which he uses to light Thomas's cigarette in his mouth.

Hooper: You can go without me, buddy. I want to take a walk around town, stretch my legs, and find where to stay. Do you know a good motel around here?

...

South Suburb
The trip back to the suburbs is comfortable... Or uncomfortable... It depends on how father and daughter take it. When Thomas parks in front of the house and Abigail steps out of the patrol car, the first thing they see is Grandma Gina watering a newly planted bush near the door. The typical image of a quiet American grandma... But I don't know... There's something weird about those leaves... Maybe it's the color? Maybe it's that they don't match the magnolias?

Kek, I hope you don't notice I ran a bit short on time finishing this turn... But yeah, in my mind it was supposed to be longer and extend into the house. But well, this gives you more chance to react calmly.

>>2713
I'll be giving you shifts next weekend, anon.

The weather where I live has been calming down these past few days. If there are no more wild power outages, I'll return to the regular shift schedule for all Saturdays.

>>2717
One of my reasons for not wanting to die, disappears... I hope you're happy.

...

Kekeo, calm down, I've been working Saturdays for a good part of the time. Fix your toaster first, there's always another Saturday... Right...?

>>2715

I dug up so much that I was too tired to put the doll back in the desired place, so I ended up throwing it inside her truck before going to sleep, using the tablet as support for her head and putting some of her dirty clothes on top so it could function as a better pillow

"Yawn! Where did I leave that thing now?"

After waking up she does some morning stretches to feel the energies of tai chi, although since she doesn't have real knowledge of it her stretches end up looking more like an interpretative dance than anything else. The point is that once she finishes with these she remembers the doll from yesterday and after finding it in the middle of all her trash she turns it around and ties a shoelace behind its dress and takes it outside where she proceeds to tie it against the front bumper of her truck to use it as a sort of ornament that protects her from bad vibes, just like sailors used to do with their statues of women and sirens at the front of their ships

"Empty, empty, empty, empty"

She opened and closed the shelves of her truck where she kept snacks, hoping by magic they would fill up with food, but unfortunately she still hasn't mastered that spell, so instead she took out from among the pile of papers and bags that were in her truck a half-used can of spray paint and scribbled a sigil on the doors of her vehicle that would help with that spell, and once she finished she threw the can in the middle of the road

"Plan B"

B for aBE since it was time to make a visit to see if someone is interested in renting her parents' house for a party or some ritual, either would work as long as they give her money, so putting her hands to work she gets behind the wheel and starts driving towards her friend's house, pressing the can of before with the wheel of her truck and picking up some branches along the way as is customary given how little attentive she usually is to the road, it's practically a miracle she hasn't run over someone yet

"No, no, no, no! I've already told you the earth doesn't matter what's here!"

She ignores her friend's rambling to let out her own while approaching him, putting her right hand on the tip of the shotgun to make him lower it and her left hand on Abe's head to show him what he should be protecting

"The material plane doesn't matter as long as you're safe in the astral, aliens can't hurt you. Why do you think they always try to plant eggs in people's brains? They need to feed on our psyche to gain energy and grow, but if you deny them entry then they won't have anything left but to die of hunger. Speaking of hunger, do you have something to eat?"

She keeps a serious expression while talking about the aliens' objective, which completely changes to a more relaxed and friendly one when she remembers the rumble of her stomach, putting her right hand on Abe's shoulder while gently pushing him to take him to his kitchen and give him something to eat

>>2716
>Thomas
As a dedicated newspaper reader, he didn't miss the news of someone famous's death, like Mr. Hoover.

Abigail
Would they be able to catch the crazy scientist who injected her with piss? The artists argue.

Thomas
"What's wrong with mine?" -Thomas is proud to show off his badge whenever he can- "You liked it a lot when you were little."

>Abigail
"It's gotten boring."

>Thomas
"..." -his daughter has grown, pretending indifference, looking away- "pse..."

>Abigail
Thomas
Abigail
"Let me see."

The girl, much less surprised by the term used, looks at the photo, rubs her chin, eats her cookie.

"Hmm..."

She seems to think about it while chewing. She lifts her gaze, swallows and shakes her head.

"This man wouldn't be good for a portrait... and no, he's not the criminal either."

Thomas
"Abby, he asked you a question."

>Abigail
"But... I'm tired."

>Thomas
Abigail
"See, dad? You should be more groovy... like your friend."

>Thomas
"First: I am. Second: I'll talk to you in the car."

Thomas lights up a cigarette, he sighs.

"Thank you..."

Abigail
"Goodbye, sir."

...

In the car, father and daughter have a small chat.

>Thomas
"Why did you answer that way?"

>Abigail
"How do you mean?" -she said, stopping looking out the window to look at her dad-

>Thomas
"Abby, you know what I'm talking about. You can't avoid answering an officer."

>Abigail
"I'm in my rebellious phase." -looks out the window-

>Thomas
"I didn't raise you like that. Kids these days are a disaster... getting more disrespectful every day."

>Abigail
"I'm not disrespectful... I'm a free soul."

>Thomas
"It's the same, those words from dirty hippies don't soften what you do. We work for the government, do you know what the government is? It's... the country. Or something like that. We're patriots, aren't you a patriot?"

>Abigail
"I don't get along with government people." -imitates her teacher- "I'm for the hippies... they're groovy."

>Thomas
"¿How? You've gone crazy. Things like the Beatles wash your brain. That's why I listen to rolling stones... the hippies do nothing good, they just smoke weed."

>Abigail
"Maybe I want to smoke weed..."

>Thomas
"Abby, shut your dirty mouth. My daughter won't do that."

>Abigail
gasp -looks at her dad wide-eyed- "Did you just insult me?"

>Thomas
"If I don't get serious, you don't listen..."

Abby looks angrily at her father.

"Forget it... do you have epilepsy?"

>Abigail
With an expression of indignation, she looks out the window again.

"You should already know."

>Thomas
"Really?"

>Abigail
"No."

>Thomas
"Ah... because the simulatron is launching a machine. You could go later, if you want."

>Abigail
(Groovy! I should go.)

She's excited, but had to stay angry.

"Sure..."

...

The car slows down.

>Thomas
"Your stop."

>Abigail
"Goodbye." -opens the door, still angry-

>Thomas
"I love you..."

The girl closes the door without replying and heads home, the father sighs and shakes his head before starting the car again.

"What the hell is wrong with her?"

And she leaves...

>Abigail
"Good day, grandma." -greets her mother's mother- "nice plants you cultivate. If you look for me, I'll be in my room... I need to rest."

She approaches and stands on tiptoe to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Goodbye."

And so, the adorable girl went to her room to rest as she should.

>>2713
<Romeo "CJ" Santos (Time: 3:40 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 43/50
Hunger: 17/20 - Thirst: 17/20
-Strength: ???
-Agility: ???
-Endurance: ???
-Luck: ???
Inventory
-Pockets 1/4
37 dollars

Dinner 77
Micaela looks gorgeous, and you let her know. In response, she blushes and doesn't speak to you for the next half hour, preventing you from giving her 10 unbreakable tips to become a sigma male! That's what comes of dealing with such a shy girl. Although the blush soon fades when she realizes you're just being kind, after all, what man would find a burned girl attractive?

At Mama's restaurant, she gives you a nervous smile when you mistake her for some kind of stepmother.

Mama: Cielito, are you okay today? Sit down, take a glass of water.

Your comments were especially insensitive, because she has no "Mr. Daddy" waiting for her at home, after all, she's been a widow for 10 years. You endure the embarrassment and head to the chosen table.

While waiting for the shrimp order to arrive, Micaela's gaze drifts to the black-and-white TV located above a display case behind the bar. The screen is broadcasting an interview show about the special race, a competition especially heated since the Soviet Union put the first man on the moon in '69, and shortly after, the first woman.

NASA Representative (TV): What if space becomes a new battlefield? No, never, never, if we keep our sanity.

Interviewer (TV): What do you say about rumors that the Pentagon wants to bring weapons to Jamestown.

NASA Rep. (TV): The Pentagon meddles in many things, but the Jamestown lunar base is for and about scientific matters. The president knows, the world knows. The moon belongs to no one, it belongs to all humanity. War on the last frontier? For God's sake, that's impossible.

Interviewer (TV): We'll continue after this commercial break.

The shrimp tray arrives. Micaela nods, agreeing to share it between the two until they're full. You pay Mama 3 dollars for everything.

…

Monkey Island
The afternoon is peaceful, until a commotion in front of the store makes you drop the newspaper just as you were about to reach the showbiz section. You go to check, and find Micaela helping a ragged-looking man who appears injured. You have many questions, but first comes the labor. You help carry him up to the bedroom, where you lay him on the bed and check him over, finding no bleeding or fractures. The man is clutching a leather briefcase in his hand, but despite his fainting, he doesn't let go even if you pull with all your strength; it's as if his cadaverous fingers were hooks.
You go back down and find Micaela pacing from left to right, biting the nail on her left thumb. When she sees you arrive, she quickly approaches you.

Micaela: How is he?

She asks, revealing her urgency. You answer that the man is stable, but more importantly, you want to know who he is.

Micaela: I... I know him.

The girl lowers her gaze, and for a moment it's as if her strength fails her legs, because she collapses onto a stool.

Micaela: His name is Albert Philip Hyde... He is... Doctor...

You already knew that from the way she called him. Micaela still struggles to lift her head, keeping her hands anchored on her knees.

Micaela: Eight years ago when our house burned down, I fell into a coma from my burns... My family contacted numerous specialists, but none could say when I would wake up, or if my body could hold out much longer...

Her shoulders tremble. It's obvious that everything related to that time is painful.

Micaela: Doctor Hyde was the one who saved my life.

Slowly she raises her face and glances toward the stairs.

Micaela: He used a treatment... Very unorthodox... But it worked, and my father was very grateful to him, so much so that he helped fund his research, and accompanied him on several trips to England. After...

She pauses for a long time, as if the next part of the story is too delicate to say. She opts to leave a gap and faces you.

Micaela: I haven't seen Doctor Hyde in six years. He's... Very changed... It's as if he aged two or three decades in this short period. Around that time my father also disappeared... I thought he had been swallowed by the earth like so many others... But when I saw the doctor again I thought... I thought he might know where he is, or have a clue about it... Now I have hope again...

Now you can roughly understand the girl's emotional shock, though you feel you're missing pieces. But if you press Micaela for more information, you might scare her off.

Micaela: I don't know if I can focus on work knowing that maybe the only person who knows my father's whereabouts is unconscious upstairs... You... What would you do in my situation?

All alone, she sees no other way but to ask for help and guidance from the only adult she has nearby.

>>2721
>>2719
<David Stanford (Time: 6:50 AM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 40/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
-Strength: 3
-Agility: 3
-Endurance: 3
-Luck: 1 + 0 Melanicus
Inventory
-Secret Pockets 6/6
Plastic bag (x5 moon mushrooms)
Notebook
Pencil
Cat bone
Cursed clay tablet
Truck keys
-Spells
Eye of Resonance (Reads the soul imprint of beings like you. -2 energy per minute)

Secret Base
Arriving at the town center, and after leaving the doll tied to the bumper, you drag yourself toward Abe's hideout. But you can't cross the tall grass field without being spotted and aimed at with a gun. You counter Abe's ravings with your own series of random thoughts, causing him to blink repeatedly as a faint glimmer of understanding returns to his eyes beyond the mask.

Abe: D? D-Do you...?

He lowers the rifle; there's no need for you to hold the point anymore.

Abe: J-Jesus, D! O-One more second and I'd blow your head off! W-What are you doing here? D-Did you come back with those s-stupid astral plane theories? Buddy, g-give up on the fairy tales. W-We're a... A a... A a... A f-fucking nation of science and technology, not fantasies!

Whenever Abe got too stuck, his trick to force the words out was to shout a swear. It always worked, a habit that got him several citations from the school with his parents. Surprisingly, Abe graduated high school with honors, but his unbalanced mind ruined any chance of going to college or joining the Air Force.

Abe: I-If you keep p-playing the magic wizard, y-you'll be easy p-prey when the i-invasion h-happens.

Ironically, Abe didn't believe your stories about what lurks beyond your eyes. He had his own personal frontier, and it wasn't in hell, but up there, outside the troposphere. Crawling through the entrance to the secret base, the warrior of Earth's own obsessions testified in posters, blueprints, and sheets of paper taped with American tape inside the wide igloo made of earth, twigs, and aluminum—lots of aluminum (According to Abe, aluminum interfered with national, international, and extraterrestrial mind control). Two-dimensional astronauts waved at you with raised hands; a diagram of the solar system with a red pen circle near the sun and the note (Planet X here?); also a blueprint of NASA's Saturn-V rockets that meant nothing to you but shouldn't be in Abe's possession; and many newspaper clippings with information of interest to him, including an article about Lennon and Yoko since Abe suspected the Asian woman was actually a reptilian spy.
Abe: Get co-co-co… Comfortable, damn it!

He set the rifle near his portable transmitter, a glorified radio to which Abe had installed a wire antenna to extend its signal. Besides the transmitter, the secret base had a diesel lamp to light the nook; a battery-powered fan, currently off; a thick notebook from which Abe took the pen; a chest; several layers of sheets that served as both floor and bed; and two coolers, one without ice and one with. That was all that could fit in the cramped space, but Abe didn't need more to stay there for days. After all, after his father disinherited him, Abe started living there. Of course, with you there, there was little room to maneuver, and he had to push you or, in some cases, rub against you to reach his things.

Abe: H-Here.

He opened both coolers, took a water bottle from the one with ice and threw it at you, and from the one without ice, he took a silver paper bag and threw that at you too. The bottle was like any other, but the bag was one of those famous "End of the World Lunches," which Abe stole from bunkers built during the nuclear missile scare. After each theft, he felt so guilty that he'd take the owner's lawnmower and mow their lawn as a form of payment. In most cases, the homeowners noticed the cut grass, but never that something was missing from those forgotten shelters.

"Chop Suey," the vacuum-sealed silver paper read in the most impersonal font they could find, along with other lines of military jargon you didn't bother reading because you were hungry. What if that food had the capacity to survive kingdoms and empires? Your stomach's urgency needed resolving now. You pulled the bag in opposite directions, and the top opened. Immediately, grayish dust inside swelled into different colored pebbles, surely due to moisture traces in the air. Mimicking the first time Abe invited you to eat at his base, you remembered his instructions, poured water into the bag, closed it again, waited a while, and when you opened it again… Chop Suey! Cold as the Cocytus, but still tasty.

You drank and ate until you were full, while Abe turned his back to hunch over and fiddle with his radio. He was so focused on the line that if you quietly left now, he wouldn't even notice until many hours later.

>>2720
<Dad Weston (Time: 5:00 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 47/50
Hunger: 17/20 - Thirst: 17/20
-Strength: ?
-Agility: ?
-Resilience: ?
-Luck: ?+0 Police Badge
Inventory
-Pockets 3/4
9mm Pistol (Safety on. 7/7)
Patrol car keys
Wallet

<Abigail Weston (Time: 5:00 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 40/70
Hunger: 10/20 - Thirst: 6/20
-Strength: 2
-Agility: 3
-Resilience: 2
-Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 4/4
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
Mom W's chocolate chip cookie (2/2)
-Colored backpack 10/10
Fine brush
Thick brush
Pencil
Notebook
Blue crayon
Red crayon
Yellow crayon
Green crayon
Spare pencil
10 white sheets
-Effects
Insanity 1/100

South Suburb
The police secretary rests her elbow on the table and her cheek in her palm, watching good old Hooper walk toward the chief's office.

Maggie: He's from the FBI... His salary buys him the freedom to be eccentric.

That might have made Thomas think, as he sat in the patrol car with his daughter, "Does my salary allow me to be eccentric?" The answer is no; he was wrapped in a hundred rules. Maybe that intense order appealed to him, but apparently, that side of him would never fit with Abigail. While the cop drove back home, the agent marched to the motel previously indicated—a modest place—and rented a room from the clerk. Hooper paid a month in advance, though he didn't actually know how long he'd stay in Stepford. What he did know, or at least saw sketched in the foam of the coffee cup he drank that morning, was that big trouble was coming soon. It was a shame that coffee foam couldn't be used as evidence in Quantico.

Thomas drops the girl off at home and leaves... Where? He didn't specify. Abigail, on her side, greeted her grandmother, who warned her not to try the brownies fresh from the oven sitting on the kitchen windowsill, since they were "special," meant for her Saturday night poker game with the other grandmas. But the warning was unnecessary; Abigail was too tired to think about stuffing her face with chocolate. The adorable little girl reached her room, threw herself onto the bed, and closed her eyes... Soon Morpheus took her away.
She dreamed nothing. Just black, darkness. It was then that she realized the darkness was the dream. Abigail's brown eyes soon adjusted to the shadows and she perceived the lines of hallways, doorways, and stairs, along with a wind that blew and chilled her bones. Everything felt very real, so real that for a moment she thought she had been kidnapped from her home and thrown into an old bunker. But it couldn't be real; how could such a place exist? God would never allow it.

Without warning, the lines on the walls twisted, contracting and expanding, pulsating. The breeze followed that peculiar rhythm, and the young girl understood it wasn't a breeze, but a breath. She was dreaming inside the throat of old steel, and beyond the metal walls she heard her mother calling her, and her father, and her grandparents, even Robin was there; they sounded sad, trapped on the other side of an inaccessible wall. But a voice, rising like thunder, silenced them all.

WHO ARE YOU?!

The gale shook Abigail and made her fall on her ass onto the cold floor.

I DON'T WANT ANYONE HERE! GET OUT!

And the girl-woman fell. She passed through the floor and slid down a black abyss like the mouth of a wolf, so deep that she felt as if she were plummeting for days on end. Finally, she landed without feeling pain on something soft and wet... Opening her eyes, the ceiling lights blinded her, until slowly her eyes adjusted their sensitivity and she could witness the yellowish paths. An inevitable thought crossed the Weston's mind: This makes no sense!

And another voice, as ambiguous as the darkness, but much softer, and paradoxically much rougher, answered her:

And you...? What sense do you have...?

Because the sense you find in me is the one that exists in you.

As long as you are here, this place will never be entirely empty.

Abigail opened her eyes and woke up. Above her, the ceiling of every day looked back. Only two hours had passed since she fell into bed, and she felt a little better. The needle mark on her arm was already just a shadow, and by the end of the day it would have disappeared completely. Although the consequences of the doctor's substance would take a while to show... They could be the salvation of the little artist... Or her damnation.

>>2721
The type of flashy hair never really interested him in space. He doesn't doubt that there might have been a moment as a kid when it could have attracted him, but his life and his fate were made on the earth, maybe even several meters below this... To let imagination fly and not guide oneself by facts in having one's life is a sin, and that's why he doesn't pay much attention to what the television says before eating.

...

They finish and leave the house of delights of mom to return to their own sanctuary of vice and dizziness.
After descending the stairs and checking that the type won't let go of whatever is inside that suitcase, he checks how Micaela is.

—I... I see but don't tell me your life, crack...

Listen to the story and if he must think sincerely about everything he does, then it's a waste of time and a risk to have her here, both of them in fact...

—To start with, don't do that kind of scandal again... Someone might hear you, customer or not.

He looks again at the sign of "help wanted" that he hung on the wall outside the entrance... It was nice, eye-catching...

—I would open just as easily. Listen, the world isn't especially charitable or just... One must find one's way to continue, mine is this place, and I think from now on yours is too.

He doesn't have enough consideration to give her the day off nor does he start, it doesn't matter if what's upstairs is a vagrant or the president, he's not playing games.

—But maybe that guy no longer has much left to continue where he's going... Still, let me call someone, a nurse I met during my time of... adolescence.

Someone has to cure the problem citizens, prevent them from dying and from continuing to make money in an unfair way. He met several people from whom he still has direct contact, but whom he hasn't seen in a while precisely because he wanted to get away from a life like that. And he still has that mindset, but now there's an exception, at least he thought a bartender could have contacts like those more than a noble owner of a café... So he sighs and takes the phone, lets it ring for a while.

—It's me... Can you come quickly? There's been a "serious" problem, we could say, How...? Ah, no, no, I'm fine, but I think calling an ambulance would be, you know, "inconvenient."

Yes. My address is still the same, don't tell anyone... Yes, goodbye.

He hangs up and checks the time, there's still time left before they open, so he waits for her to hurry and arrive so that no one sees them interacting.

—Relax. She's the best. Although somewhat worrying, she knows what she's doing.

He comments and then takes the newspaper again to return to the days when he read all the lies and hypotheses of the media about him and the band... Those afternoons of laughter were really wonderful.

>>2724
Saved turn. Until the next end.

>>2722

"Recently I found out about a certain phrase that says that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, so you shouldn't stop doing those things just because you don't understand them"

Unlike his partner David, he didn't discard anything that could give him a new perspective on the world, whether aliens, magic or mole men. He was willing to believe any of those things in order to get to the bottom of the matter and thus find what he's been searching for. Of course, his knowledge about aliens couldn't be compared to Abe's, but there were one or two things he did know, and one of those was...

"Have you heard of the ancient aliens? you know that thing that says the pyramids and other things were made by people from space. If that were true, then my magic and your science wouldn't be so far apart from each other. Who knows, maybe in reality the reptilians are the demons that so many grimoires talk about. Maybe what I'm reading is actually what can really protect you from the invasion by using the same methods that the vikings used against the annunakis. If that were the case, don't you think it would be worth trying?"

Once inside the base, he continued with his mental delirium while looking at each plan and paper scattered on the floor with great detail, putting on an aluminum hat on top of his head and smiling at his friend while holding one of the models, waiting for his response, and then diverting his curious gaze towards Abe's radio

"Have you received any signal worth something? because I for sure have achieved a more than notable advancement with my research"

He put the model back in place and sat down in his seat, then put his curled fingers in the shape of binoculars over his eyes to give his friend a more spiritual look. What new secrets could he discover once he knows his true colors? curiosity was so strong that he couldn't help but show all his emotion on his face

"Aah nothing like the food of the future brought from the past for the man of the now, this temporary shock really heals one's soul, but leaving that aside, do you know someone who is interested in throwing a party but doesn't have a place?"

He happily hit his stomach once he finished eating and immediately changed the topic quickly to put on a serious face, which he hoped would help him solve his money problems. There's always some homeless person or scared kid from their parents who is willing to rent out their home temporarily for this or that. Or at least he hoped that would be the case, since he considered that opportunity perfect for his other "research"

Did you put the notebook and pencil between my items because of what I said about the magic notebook? because that's something I do before going to sleep more than carrying it around always

>>2723
Papi Weston went to the station, but he already did his job so we'll leave him alone
>Thomas
Abigail
The girl, already home, greets her ancestral grandmother, who apparently made some crazy, crazy brownies, something that although not revealed, the girl promises not even to look at.

"Don't worry, my grandma. I'm exhausted... I just want to lie down for a bit..."

Abby does a curtsy, grabbing her little skirt with her fingers.

"Grandma..."

And so, she stands straight again and goes to bed, throwing herself onto it in a jump before starting to snore like a haunted mansion door.

ZzZzZz

Soon, everything was darkness... emptiness and blackness. It's to be expected, not all dreams are an artistic revelation like she'd like... but then, Abby realized. She had consciousness in the void. She felt, and if she couldn't see beyond her nose, she knew that in this darkness, her little eyes were open.

"Is this a dream...?" -she asks curiously-

Abby begins to make sense of things in the gloom, strange hallways that scared her and a cold coming from ice. Abby hugs herself, frozen.

"Brr... is this where Santa keeps the toys...? Or something more macabre...?" -she rubs her arms, trying to warm herself- "That my mind can create this is truly groovy. A place like that would convey terror well..."

The walls begin to deform like in a Dali painting, Abby is surprised. Finally, she perceives the blizzard for what it really is, the girl gets confused... breath...?

"Am I... inside something?"

This was the strangest thing... but then, the voices of her loved ones stole her attention: her mother.

"Mother? Is dinner ready?"

Her father. Abby averts her gaze with her eyes closed, indignant.

"Tell dad I don't want to talk to him."

Her grandparents...

"Hm..." -she opens one eye- "Is it that important...?"

Even Robin!

"I'M COMING MY LOVE!"

Abby ran toward the voices in the darkness... but a deafening scream made her stop in a jump.

<WHO ARE YOU?!

"WAAH!"

Even she, the very ignorant one, got scared by the scream before falling through the wind that accompanied it, hurting her little butt.

"Auch..."

The girl was going to respond, but whatever spoke to her, spoke again, throwing her through the floor of what seemed like a floor for a long fall.

"AAAAHHHH"

It was a big, big fall...

"AAHH!"

Abby fell...

"Aahh..."

And fell...

yawn -yawn-

And fell... until finally, her feet touched soft but unpleasant ground, because it was wet.

"Finally! Ground! Holy God, how long has this dream lasted...?" -Abby opens her eyes, smiling-
"eh?"

She was in a yellow place. That instantly wiped the smile off Weston's face.

"What a bad taste..."

She didn't like the color, the pattern on the wall, the humidity, the noise of the lights, nothing.

"Besides, how did I get here? This makes no sense. It's surrealism in its purest form!"

<And you...? What sense do you have...?

"Uh? Who said that?"

<Because the sense you find in me is the one that exists in you.

"In you?"

<As long as you're here, this place will never be completely empty.

"It's a riddle... will I know the answer? What excitement. This is the kind of dream I needed!"

Abby's eyes suddenly widen; the artist has a grin from ear to ear.

"Oh heavens! I'm so excited!"

She jumps from the bed to the floor and runs to the kitchen. She holds a glass under the tap, hopping around, noticeably excited.

"Come on, come on, fill up!"

The glass fills up, and Abigail drinks it to the bottom. Whenever you wake up, you must drink a glass of water, her mother always says.

After that, Abby runs back to her room, puts up a "Do Not Disturb" sign, locks the door, grabs her backpack, opens it, takes out her brushes, searches her room, pulls out her painter's palette, puts on a beret, and sits on a small stool in front of that DISGUSTING white canvas.

"This is your end!"

So many emotions in one day... They had turned Abby into a painter again!

tiktoktiktok

An hour staring at the white canvas...

tiktoktiktok

Four hours painting...

nomnomnom

She didn't eat anything but cookies (all of them). She ignored her parents and grandparents; they had to understand her, this moment was unique. Inspiration... didn't just come like that; it was a storm after a drought.

slash slash

She gives a few final brushstrokes. Six hours with her ass glued to the stool moving the brush... and in the end, she succeeds. An oil painting... of Robin.

At first, she thought about doing something about the dream... but Robin... had her crazy since the kiss.

"No..."

She lowered her gaze sadly.

"IT'S TERRIBLE! I DIDN'T CAPTURE HIS BEAUTY!"

She stands up.

"RRRAAAGH!"

Abby turns into a baby Godzilla. She throws her palette and brushes into the air and kicks her stool, which falls over. She turns to the canvas and grabs it with an angry face.

"You are-!"

She stops when she sees her teacher's face and sighs, calming down...

"I can't break this. It's his face..."

Abby brings her face close to the canvas.

"His... face..."

smooch

She kisses the lips of the painting, smearing paint on her own lips.

"... I need to take a bath."

Abby opened the door and headed to the bathroom to get into the tub. She needed to relax with a good hot bath.

>>2724
<Romeo "CJ" Santos (Time: 4:01 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 42/50
Hunger: 16/20 - Thirst: 16/20
-Strength: ???
-Agility: ???
-Endurance: ???
-Luck: ???
Inventory
-Pockets 1/4
37 dollars

Monkey Island
Micaela lowers her head when you scold her for the commotion she caused; little by little, her upper teeth peek out as she bites her lip, looking just like any scolded girl. For someone so given to silence as she is, there's no doubt the appearance must have been a hard emotional blow to shake her like that. Though what worries you are the hounds that might be behind that story, hounds that aren't necessarily pink-sheets journalists.

Many questions in that matter that went from brown to dark. Likewise, you decided to open the place; you couldn't let a Saturday pass, those days were a shot to the ground when it came to profits. Micaela gets up from the stool.

Micaela: I'll go... I'll go to the restroom...

She needs a moment alone to think things through and wipe the sweat from her face, the sweat that soaked her expression from the shock of finding a ghost from the past. She turns around, but her feet tangle, and she swerves sharply in your direction when you speak of calling someone. She frowns, distrustful.

Micaela: The police?

She was about to say no, but you clarify it's a nurse you know, someone you surely believe you can trust. She's not your wife; otherwise, the conversation with Mama would have made no sense. Micaela ventured to guess...

Micaela: Her lover?

Lover, a more secret concept, more fitting for a lonely man running a bar, or so she thinks, until her musings are drawn back again by the powerful magnetism generated by the mystery of the man lying on the floor upstairs. Micaela turns her face to the stairs; the only eye she leaves uncovered, her bangs, is glassy, saying much and at the same time nothing. She sighs and retreats to the ladies' room, where she spends a good while, losing a quarter of an hour there...
You picked up the phone, turned the dial, and got in touch with your old friend, choosing your words with great care. She agreed to come from the Stepford point where she works, possibly from her house, because setting up a clandestine clinic isn't something you do by putting up a giant neon sign in the middle of town. Now, a few questions about your second character, your nostalgic partner: do you like her name...? Exactly what was it? You try to remember if she had a car, and if so, she's rushing, probably arriving in 20 or 30 minutes. What job does she have to cover her true work? You know better than anyone how inquisitive the IRS is; you need an umbrella, and you have to avoid luxuries, so she can't live in a mansion. And more importantly, what's her story? She must have done something for you to trust her so much. Oh, and if she works at the Stepford hospital, she's probably already aware of the institution's suspicious habits, including its rule banning access to S2 (Basement 2) under penalty of immediate firing and subsequent lawsuits.

It's four in the afternoon now; your friend should be arriving soon. Meanwhile, you distract yourself by reading a fascinating article about groundhog mating, "The Voice of Stepford" (Newspaper) never disappoints. Micaela also applies her own task of displacement; this time it's not reading, but cleaning and re-cleaning the glasses in which you serve your juices of oblivion.

Micaela: Excuse me, what time did you say you'd open...?

She puts down the glasses to look at the clock on the wall and ask the question. She seems worried about the time, perhaps because every passing minute means getting closer to Hyde waking up, although beyond her hopes, there's the possibility that Hyde doesn't know his father's fate and is just a disgraced medical professional. Even in the heart of the American Dream, one can fail. There are all the pariahs, the beggars, the street people, the forgotten, the prostitutes of the interstate... Speaking of them, tomorrow's edition of The Voice of Stepford will reveal the discovery of a corpse north of town. A homicide, a new victim of the Route 32 Killer, it's presumed. But none of that has anything to do with you, right? Although you can't help but feel a twinge of discomfort in your stomach. The arrival of Micaela... The appearance of Hyde... You, meeting up with a partner from your past after many years... It's as if a very large, very heavy, and loud wheel, loud as a thousand demons, is moving and picking up speed. In short, you can only hope not to end up flattened by the course of events.

>>2728
Looks like things are finally looking up, at least for now she won't have to deal with the girl having a severe autism attack, or at least he hopes not, and that they can actually figure out what happened with the Schrodinger man, who seems to be leaving us and yet not. It's quite impressive.

—HA! Listen to yourself... "The police"... No, no... Blue monkeys and red monkeys don't mix, take my word for it.]

With those words, which Micaela probably wouldn't understand since she's from a different era, he means he doesn't get along with the police. Not to the point of getting arrested or stopped for a pat-down every two minutes, but in the sense that if times change, so do the bosses. In short... New government, new department, new codes, new people to bribe, and he doesn't have as much money anymore, so it's better to stay away from where he's not wanted.

After his loud but sarcastic laugh that stopped as soon as it started, he asks if she's his lover.

—Opposites attract, baby, but 1 - 1 doesn't equal 2 no matter how hard you try. No, no, there were deals, there were favors, there was friendship or something like that, there was... Something weird... And there was distance. That's it, I haven't seen her in years, I wonder how she looks now...

It would never occur to him that, while no one could understand him better than someone who shared his past, that whole world is something he wants to keep firmly closed... He's not proud of anything he did back then, but he did enjoy it, of course. If he had known when to stop, maybe he could have gotten away with it and saved everyone... Oh, but no one ever knows when to stop.

If he were looking for someone for himself, it would probably be someone he could lie to forever, saying he was a poor mechanic for most of his life until he opened his bar... That's real life.

...

"Is the washroom called that because you touch yourself inside?" I mean, think about it... Why do women call it that? Is "bathroom" a cursed and dirty word? I mean, there's nothing very beautiful coming out of your body that requires you to go to the bathroom and touch yourself. But if we're talking about jerking off, we're entering the realm of personal tastes. Is Micaela
Okey... Better answer the nurse's questions... Romeo, for the sake of the script's convenience, starts remembering those times even though he already said he wants them buried deep, what a sentimental damn animal we got. Let's see...

No... Lucifér, with an accent on the "e". Lucía Fernanda McGilligan... Yes, she has a car... She's a nurse at a state hospital and at night she's Batman... She saw my guys get massacred and saved their lives, mine too, but what happened to them was more moving... And no idea, I mean, shady business people never tell anything about their lives unless they're drunk, but since I was drunk at those times too, I don't remember... She knows, and if she knows where not to step, she doesn't step, if she were a man she'd have a huge advantage in life now that I think about it...

Anyway... Now both were waiting for someone of the opposite gender respectively.

—It's Saturday. At 6 PM we open, hear that? It's the wage earners leaving their torture called work after not cursing everything to hell by a miracle or screaming at their boss that his wife is cheating on him with her own lover's husband.

https://youtu.be/-apU2sviHCM▾

"What?" Micaela probably wondered. Not understanding the song playing on the jukebox doesn't help either... Because yes, Romero is bilingual, what else would you expect with that surname.

Well, since the "no" is feeling a twinge of discomfort in your belly as you say, let things pass as they are and just relax until it's 6 and you can see what happens... Saturday nights are very capricious. The Route 32 killer who reads makes you wonder if that guy played a lot of Pokémon as a kid... Anyway... You know what kind of character he is when you let him get lost in his thoughts.

...

>second PJ

Yeah, uh... I think I'd better stick with just one... Sorry. Another possible DW would destroy my soul and not in the good way

>>2726
>67159 The thing about monuments is common knowledge, so David should know that).

Abe: T-There's no c-confirmation of anything yet. S-Stop stuttering! Y-You're c-confusing me! I-I pursue facts, not f-fantasies. T-Time wasted on t-tales is time l-lost in the J-Jewish-Masonic-reptilian-Illuminati s-struggle.

He says the final term without stumbling even once; you know he repeats it often, sometimes changing the order of the words.

Abe: N-Nothing's left... Y-Year 2000! T-Then it'll h-h-happen... T-The final battle, damn it!

The year 2000, the end of the millennium, the start of a new era. You suppose many energies will influence the world that day. With your crazy life, it's hard to know if you'll even be alive to see it. But why worry about something that'll happen in many decades? You're in the now, and while twisting your hands, you decided to NOW gossip about Abe's aura.

A soft green, a soft blue, merging around the Earth warrior as he diligently works the radio, like a peaceful lake, until for a second, just an instant, deep reds and purples disrupt the peace like high peaks in a gentle symphony. Then softness returns, holding for several seconds, until murky tints manifest with violence and throw everything off balance before receding.

In that aurora you see the portrait of his life. A smart young man, full of potential, but tormented by sudden stabs of madness that threw him off balance and made him what he is: a pariah. A pariah who at least deserves your smile, even if he barely notices it.

Abe: S-Signals...? N-No... Y-Yes...! I-I mean, n-no... I don't know. R-Rare sounds in the forest... R-Rare sounds in the hospital... T-The u-unusual.

Abe likes going to the forest to camp in search of Bigfoot, but he hasn't even found Littlefoot yet. He'd also like to explore the hospital, but there's a lot of security, some would say too much. It's a bit strange, but it could simply be that they take health very seriously as a business. Doesn't change the fact that Stepford's hospital is one of the best in the county.

Maybe Abe has no new good news, but you do, and you let him know.

Abe: Ah-ha.

He says no more, keeps fiddling with the radio. He leaves you to continue if you want to explain what happened to you.
Abe: A-A party...? N-not yet... B-but there will be... There's always... D-did you ask at s-school?

Stepford Middle and High School, if there's a place with people wanting to throw a party, it's there. Hormonal youths, the perfect breeding ground for disaster, potential customers. But you'd have to watch out for the vigilantes; if they see Abe, or if they see you, they'll kick you out, labeling you as a runaway.

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, relax. Suddenly you notice a shift in the tension of the air, a dissonance in paradise. You open your eyes; Abe is crouching at the entrance of the shelter, his suspicious eyes scanning the outside. Above the silence, you hear the sound of tall grass blades rustling... Intruders? Did the demons find you? Or will it be Abe's men in black? Whatever the case, your friend wants to be prepared, grabs the rifle, and bolts outside like a madman.

Abe: AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

The small figure in the grass trembles but doesn't flee, and ends up pointing a finger at Abe while screaming back. Abe shakes the rifle high above his head like a wand, trying to shoo her away as he does with all the younglings who dare enter his territory, but this time it doesn't work.

??? (Girl): AAAAAAHHHH!

Abe: AAAAAAAHH!

??? (Girl): AAAAHHHH!

Abe: AAAHH!

??? (Girl): Aaaah!

Abe: Aaah...

??? (Girl): ...

Abe: ...

The screams grow weaker and weaker until they vanish. When you peek out, you see Abe and the girl facing off with challenging attitudes. Even in enemy territory, the little one speaks first, and there's no fear on her lips.

??? (Girl): I'm Scout Girl Julia, defender of the weak, discoverer of the unknown! I came looking for adventure, and it seems I found it... Back off, you red-nosed rascal, I have a whistle and I'm not afraid to use it! Give me all your gold or face the consequences!

As proof, the little colonialist holds the whistle hanging from her neck with one hand. She also carries something that grabs your attention powerfully; hanging from her belt is a doll that looks incredibly like Annabel Lee. In fact, you're 100% sure it's Annabel Lee! The girl must have saved it from your bumper.

...

<notebook
Exactly, as you indicated they were your main items, I put them in your pockets. You can always take them off at home.

>>2727
This side of Abby being so fangirlish is something I like and am worried about at the same time. She's on the fine line between adorable and yandere.

Turn saved.

>>2729
Turn saved.

>71758 I mean using the nurse in key moments, and then leaving her on hiatus when you no longer need her. Since after all Romeo is your MC, just as Abigail is the MC for the anon.

>>2730

"Hmm, hmm, hmm si, si, you're doing well to doubt but if you're not willing to question even what you believe and to check the most crazy sources you'll never reach the truth"

He closes his eyes and nods his head repeatedly while listening pleased to his partner's answer, maintaining a smile full of understanding at his words which he wipes out as soon as he finishes speaking to change his face into one of disapproval

"What is a fact now doesn't have to be one in the future nor in the past, the flatness of the earth used to be a fact just as the licking the skull of an ancient relative to eliminate the demons causing headaches to one, but now the planet has extended to a third dimension and the demons have hidden, if everything will change by the year 2000 then the earth could possibly get a fourth dimension and you'd have to pray to the horned serpent for a bit of health or worse yet to... the iris of Neptune..."

He stretches out that last part too long and stops suddenly due to a sudden chill which runs through his body just for thinking about it, Jupiter would still be bearable but even in the myths Neptune/Poseidon was always the biggest idiot of his brothers so having to serve him and his army of vampire tritons is something he doesn't like

"I spend my time in the forest, there's nothing in the forest except for mushrooms, do you want one? you should better concentrate in the hospital the colors of this combine more with you"

He raises an eyebrow upon hearing about his friend's interest in the forest and quickly comes up with an excuse in an attempt to get him as far away as possible from the area he uses for his investigations, hastily pulling out a couple of mushrooms from his pocket then changing the subject

"It's not a bad idea if there's someone who wants to be freed then the best will be to look in the birdcage"

He closes his eyes while thinking about how he could approach to get someone's attention in that place but his short period of attention prevents him from being able to concentrate on a single task for too long, forcing himself to keep his eyes closed while clenching his fists in front of his eyes creating multiple lines behind his eyelids due to the force he applies and the little light that enters ending up more interested in that psychedelic spectacle of patterns which doesn't need any substance to be seen

"Hmmm ¿¡What!? ¿Neptune is making his horn sound to have the psychic vampires attack?"

It's not until he hears screams that he manages to get out of his self-induced trance, standing up quickly and nervously upon seeing that there's no one else but him in the place and stepping outside to see what was happening, finding Abe along with a girl, which makes him relax his expression quickly while letting out a sigh of relief

"Ah it's just that ¿hmm?"

After seeing that it wasn't anything serious David proceeded to ignore the scene ready to go back inside and continue with his things until he saw that the girl was holding something that belonged to him, at which point he lowered his gaze curiously by that fact and proceeded to approach her, bending his knees to be at her height and with a friendly face he extended his hand to ask her to return his wristwatch

"Are you saying you explore the unknown? well then I also do that task and this watch is helping me with that so I would appreciate if you could return it to me, by the way aren't you interested in renting a house for a few days?"

>>2732
Saved turn. Until the next end.

>>2727
<Abigail Weston (Time: 12:10 AM. Date: Sunday, March 11, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 70/70
Hunger: 19/20 - Thirst: 19/20
-Strength: 2
-Agility: 3
-Stamina: 2
-Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 0/4
-Colored backpack 10/10 (Left somewhere)
Fine brush
Thick brush
Pencil
Notebook
Blue crayon
Red crayon
Yellow crayon
Green crayon
Spare pencil
White sheets x10
-Effects
Insanity 1/100

South Suburb
The springs of creativity flow like living water in your subconscious. For 6 hours, your ass hardens against the wooden stool you occupy, and your brush sobs from the friction against the smooth canvas, coming to life under the lines and colors that give way to the kind face of your beloved professor.

Dissatisfied yet satisfied with the result, you head to a well-deserved night bath with painted lips. Downstairs, your grandfather kept snoring in front of the TV, where the late news reported the disappearance of the daughter of an important activist, owner of a law firm specializing in human rights, a recognized liberal, famous for his direct support of the recent protests against institutional racism and the Vietnam War. The news showed a casual photo of the daughter with her friends, posing in an empty lot next to a car under the midday sun; the photo had enough clarity and detail to notice the butterfly tattoo on the girl's shoulder, near the straps of her tank top.

Midnight. Abigail lay with her eyes closed in her bed, dreaming of sheep jumping over fences. Thomas and his wife also rested in bed. Grandpa Josh was still on the couch, but Gina took a moment to cover him with a blanket and turn off the dumb box before going to bed. The Weston house went dark, but the two men on the sidewalk across the street stayed wide awake like lurking shadows, a very accurate description because that's how they were known in the black market: "Twin Shadow," assassins, mercenaries, specialized in acting at night, with black clothes and boots, and faces painted like when the Bronx boys weren't even accepted in the theater.

Shadow 1: Thanks.

He said when Shadow 2 offered him the thermos lid he kept under his jacket, filled with hot coffee ideal for staying awake. Shadow 1 took a small sip, savoring his lips, and his gaze shifted between the house and the silenced pistol he brandished in his right hand.
Sombra 2: New model?

The second assassin's eyes stood out through the makeup.

Sombra 1: It is. Thanks for noticing. Nobody at the Kentucky convention did.

Sombra 2: "Specialists".

The sarcasm was palpable. Sombra 1 chuckled low, took another sip that warmed his throat, and handed the cap back to its owner.

Sombra 1: Very specialists.

Sombra 2: Go to the Texas ones, they're brutes, but at least they know what they're bragging about. They've got those new napalm-filled rounds; when they hit, it's a real show.

Sombra 1: Loud and flashy, I bet.

Sombra 2: I said they're a show, not that they're unsuitable for the job.

The memory of the job made Sombra 1 raise his left wrist to his face to check the watch. He struggled to distinguish the hands in the darkness.

Sombra 1: It's past 12.

Sombra 2: Shall we go in now?

Sombra 1: They'll be dreaming deeply. The usual order?

Sombra 2: Husband, wife, daughter, grandfather, and grandmother. From the one most capable of complicating things to the least.

Sombra 1: The usual order it will be.

Sombra 2: Another night, another dollar.

He raised the weapon and cocked it, ready to start the slaughter. Neither assassin noticed the third figure approaching stealthily along the road, with a silent gait, empty eyes, and a voluminous blue body (Open spoiler). The blue badger, mascot of the Stepford schools, raises its own silenced pistol and places the barrel centimeters from Sombra 2's nape, fires, and immediately fires a second time at Sombra 1.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y1-g5VG2pWg▾

Two men died without knowing how, their corpses left face-down in the soil of the Weston garden. The assassin poked each one with the tip of his paw, then lifted his stoic smile and glanced at the house; the soulless gaze paid special attention to the parents' bedroom window, lingering there for a good while.

He moved away to fetch his truck, returned, opened the trunk to toss both bodies inside, and wiped away any trace of blood spilled on the sidewalk or garden with the friction of his paw; fortunately, the earth absorbed most of the warm liquid. The mascot vanished into the night like a ghost, and at dawn, when Thomas had his coffee and looked out the kitchen window, he noticed nothing out of place—just another beautiful day in Stepford.

1/2

>>2734
>>2727
<Abigail Weston (Time: 7:30 AM. Date: Sunday, March 11, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 70/70
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
-Strength: 2
-Agility: 3
-Endurance: 2
-Luck: 1
Inventory
-Pockets 0/4
-Colored backpack 10/10
Fine brush
Thick brush
Pencil
Notebook
Blue crayon
Red crayon
Yellow crayon
Green crayon
Spare pencil
10 white sheets
-Effects
Insanity 1/100

South Suburb
Chew. Chew. Chew. Abigail gives the cereal flakes a good thrashing with her molars, previously weakened with milk from a carton; against the artist, they never stood a chance. As almost always, the eyes of a missing person stared at her from the milk container, always gray, always smiling, a photo that could make you think they are happy in that place where no one can find them.

Mom W washes the dishes (the store didn't open on Sundays), and Papa W enjoyed a cup of coffee by the window, neither conscious of the threat that had stalked them the night before. On the opposite side of the table, old Josh ate his oatmeal with a spoon he held with a trembling hand, and that tremor caused 80% of the paste to fall back into the bowl before reaching his wrinkled lips, but that didn't stop him, and you well knew that trying to help him would only lead to a barrage of curses and blasphemies that would make even the most vulgar of sailors blush.

Ding! Dong!

The doorbell. Who could it be? They don't usually get visitors so early, unless they are Adventists wanting to convince them to go to church more often so they don't burn in hell. Gina, who was watering the Marys and the Janes, was the first to notice the visitor.

Gina: Abigail! A handsome young man is looking for you! Better run before someone else takes him!
You ask permission to leave the table. On your way to the entrance, you run through your mind all the young, handsome men you know, who surely have reasons to wake up early and come to seek you out. When you peek through the doorway, you find the slender figure of your teacher leaning near the small stairs, his hands holding the handlebars of your bike, his long fair hair falling over his shoulders. You also caught your grandmother checking out his ass, nodding in approval before giving you a smile and a thumbs-up, like a Roman emperor authorizing your execution.

Robin: Good morning, Abby.

He says it with a little smile.

Robin: I brought this for you. You forgot it at school yesterday, and I don't blame you, with everything that happened...

Wait for him to come down and claim your belonging. On the other hand, look around your house like a surprised kid.

Robin: And I'm sorry.

His smile turned a bit guilty.

Robin: I had to go through your files to find out where you live. I thought about asking house by house, but in the suburbs I always get lost, everything is so... similar.

That reminds you that you don't know where Robin lives. Being a teacher at a school whose budget only allows it to operate twice a week, it's not hard to guess that with his salary he doesn't stay at the Palace of Versailles.

Gina: Why don't you come in and talk more comfortably?

Your grandmother takes the initiative. Robin's mouth hangs open after hearing and looking at Gina; it seems the offer surprised him.

Robin: I don't want to be a bother, especially so early.

Gina: Nonsense!

Your grandmother moves in, closes in, places a hand on Robin's back. The prey is confused and doesn't know how to act! Gina is a natural predator.

Gina: If my granddaughter found you bothersome, believe me, I'd make it clear. She's a very direct girl, with a fiery spirit; all the women in our family are like that. Tell me, young man, have you had breakfast yet?

Robin: Huh? No, but-

Gina: No more talk! Abby, tell your mother to set another place at the table.

It's up to you: let Robin leave with the wind, or conspire and play along with your grandmother to get him to the table.

2/2

>>2729
<Romeo "CJ" Santos (Time: 6:30 PM. Date: Saturday, March 10, 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 40/50
Hunger: 14/20 - Thirst: 14/20
-Strength: ???
-Agility: ???
-Endurance: ???
-Luck: ???
Inventory
-Pockets 1/4
37 dollars

Monkey Island
You talk only about life, the past, your old pervert ideas about Micaela, and the residual image that remains is that of Lucía Fernanda McGilligan, with her car, with her nurse facade, and her ease in saving the lives of society's outcasts. You called her, you spoke with her, you asked for help, and she agreed. You hung up without suspecting that would be the last time you'd hear her voice…

Lucía placed the receiver on the wall, sighed, and turned back to the chimera of her obsessions. The worktable, with its conceptual map on the wall, woven with red thread and thumbtacks connecting points, on the wood and on the sides piles of documents, photos, files, and compromising papers she had gathered over the last few years. Reflection of a long and torturous investigation that advanced step by slowly and encompassed a suspicion sown about the Stepford hospital. At first the institution was just a facade for her clandestine business, but then she saw and heard things, none defined, that raised her suspicions, and the suspicions led her to a spiral fall of secrets and conspiracies that she is sure no one would believe if she told them. That's why she was gathering evidence, and that's why she prepared everything to speak with a New York journalist in a week to help her preserve and disseminate what she has collected so far.

The lightbulb flickered and buzzed for a few seconds. When it stabilized, Lucia stared at it with narrowed eyes, at the same time as she raised her face and nose. Something smelled bad, not just a hunch and feeling, but a real stench, bitter, metallic odor, like a butcher shop whose products are about to spoil. Lucía was sure the smell came from above, that it was in the house. Guided by her preservation instinct, she took the sawed-off shotgun displayed on the basement wall, disassembled the weapon to make sure it was loaded… It was. She reassembled it, and went up the stairs with the barrel forward and finger near the trigger, not on, but close enough to take less than a second to fire.

Upon crossing the door that left her in the hallway, the pain hit her so hard she tilted her head and her forehead wrinkled. Fresh blood, stagnant blood, massacre… Most of the hallway remained illuminated, but the far end, the
Then she felt stupid. Her? Afraid of the dark at her age? Ridiculous, she said aloud. The power failed, a pipe burst, or the fridge broke down—everything had an explanation. In that case… why was she still so uneasy? She forced herself to steel her guts and walked into the gloom. Each step cost more than the last, but finally, the barrel's tip penetrated the darkness. Just as she raised an eyebrow, watching part of the shotgun vanish into that ethereal tar, two red dots ignited in the blackness and made her pale. She brought her finger to the trigger, but it was too late; a red, strong, glossy hand—like belonging to a body turned inside out—clamped around her neck and squeezed with such force that her scream turned into a muffled shriek.

Five minutes later, the kitchen lit up again, but in that suburban house in the north, not a trace remained of the owner, let alone the investigation she kept in the basement.

6:30 PM. Customers arrive, all with the usual small-town faces. None of them are Lucía, and you start to worry. Micaela moves among the customers with a somewhat tense smile, her burned cheek well covered. At first, it was hard for her to face them without trembling or stuttering, but slowly and surely, she began to return smiles and even say "good afternoon." Most of the men were too busy drowning their sorrows or trying to impress their dates to bother the new waitress. You got the impression you could go up for a moment and take a look… And how good that you did, because upon entering your room, you found the man of remains sitting on the bed.

Hyde: …

His narrowed, gray, tired, and distrustful eyes fell on you.

Hyde: You're not the kind of thug I expected… Did ASYNC run out of scarecrow thugs?

He questioned with a slurred voice and crushed words. He didn't look as emaciated as when he arrived, but between a man one step from the grave and a man two strides away, the difference was minimal.

Hyde: This isn't the kind of cell I imagined either… It lacks that charmingly sterile atmosphere typical of secret laboratories.

He added, looking around, glancing at the comfortable sheets, when he suddenly hunched over and suffered a violent coughing fit. Saliva, blood, and chunks of lung splattered the bed. He stayed like that for a minute, eyes wide open, until the attack subsided, he straightened up, wiped his cracked lips with his forearm, and looked at the ceiling.

Hyde: Living is suffering…

He cleared his throat. His eyes returned to you, and he showed you a toothless grin.

Hyde: If you want to torture me, just start already. If you haven't noticed, I don't have much time left… Maybe 10 days if my luck is terrible, which is most likely… Just enough time to witness the collapse of this hateful country. Being a wretched little town of the worst kind, the painful grave I deserve… We're in Stepford, aren't we?

He frowned, unsure of his location.