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Movement at your peripheral vision.
A final board tilt in your favour.
One last roll.
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"Requests, anyone?"
A few passengers turn their heads, then look away again.
The man by the window spares him a disinterested glance.
"Music sounds good."
"Song would be nice. Something to go with the view."
"We are well-equipped with silence."
You feel KALEIDOSCOPE's eyes on your back, his hand over the jukebox.
The air in the tram is stifling, charged, near flammable.
Ahead of you, futures shear off each other.
What can I do?
Your fate is preordained -- and pre-loaded. All that's left is to cue the exit music.
I have my gunfight song in there.
But the enemy has your gun.
You'll have to reclaim it if you choose that route.
REAPPROPRIATION OF IMPERIAL-CONTROLLED PROPERTY? NOT A PROBLEM.
'Superbloc, Baby' is cued up...
... And will trigger the bomb beneath your feet.
THE IDEOLOGICALLY PURE WILL SURVIVE THE CONFLAGRATION.
You could probably jump out of the blast radius. Probably.
Trust the bomb. It has been waiting for this moment for three decades.
There's always the red disc...
But everyone on this tram will hear it, and be destroyed by it. Including your friends. And you.
Ultimate solidarity with PSEUDOPOD. You can feel what he felt as the disc ripped his mind clean.
You have a screwdriver... Could always reset your hearing feature.
The woman behind you is wearing headphones. Maybe she'd let you 'borrow' them.
What about my friends downstairs?
Your squad are shoulder-to-shoulder with two Weeping Eye goons, under their watch.
Deciding who to take out first.
Waiting for you to drop the flag.
Time to choose a song... (Back.)
KALEIDOSCOPE's pink hood twitches in your direction.
"I'm just gonna hit something at random."
"Have they got 'Superbloc, Baby' in there?" (Set off the bomb.)
"That's a very specific request." He straightens slightly.
"Wait... 'she tries to regulate me, my Superbloc baby'?" He taps his knee. "Haven't heard that one in years."
"Are we sure about that..." His hand hovers over the jukebox.
Scared of a little blast radius, a light dusting of shrapnel? Coward.
The man's eyes flick between you and KALEIDOSCOPE. A hand slides beneath his jacket.
"Commie pop song it is..."
He gives you one last glance, then presses 'PLAY'.
The opening guitar slide rips across the carriage's thin speakers.
"Is this... what is this? Ironic, I hope."
The hand of the oscilloscope twitches in recognition, giddy for its chorus.
You have a minute, maybe less.
"Ironic yet pure in its intention. Typical of the one-hit wonder." Another half-glance your way.
Blast radius indeterminable... Any attempt to leap clear will be a best guess.
Give away nothing. Wait until you see the first spark reflected in their eyes.
What's happening?
The bomb you stashed downstairs is about to detonate.
Ideally, anyway. Unless it's busted. But if not, it's going to be cinematic.
The bomb's directly below me, right?
Downstairs on the luggage rack, aimed upwards. Directional blast.
Goodbye, feet.
SALUTATIONS GLORY.
Feet are staying on. You're going to jump out of the way.
What about my friends downstairs?
They're within the blast radius. They may live. They may not.
It will do more damage to you than to them. But there will be a concussive blast. And endless shrapnel.
I need to get out of the way... (Back.)
Too soon and your enemies will catch on. Too late and they'll be hosing bits of you off the tram.
Hold your position.
They're right where you want them. Keep them distracted and wait for the right moment, the splitting of a second.
Tap the table to the beat.
"'Lying at the foot of the bed'... it's all coming back to me."
"This is not serious music."
The floor vibrates.
You are right in the kill zone.
Not yet.
"There's no checkpoint blues..." (Softly sing along.)
"I got no backroom bruise..."
The incantation... waking the bomb, breaking its seals...
Ramping up to the chorus...
Not yet.
Stay focused on the beat.
"Catchier than I remember."
"'Catchiness' is an omen of cultural infection. Surely this didn't slip through the censors, even back then..."
The floor electric against your feet...
A strange click within the bomb's heart...
IT'S ALL SUPERBLOC, BABY.
Look at the Golem.
Only his eyes move, finding yours in return.
Now!
Dive.
"NO!"
His face contorted in fury, caught mid-scream, disintegrating in strips of light.
A moment of calm. Your body released. The tram lifting with you.
No more natural gravity to grip on to.
Feel your body.
You are soaring. Boundless upon the air.
Silence and white light.
Is this... it?
Death wouldn't smell this bad. Burning hair, burning metal. Burning flesh.
You slam against the floor, flung side to side as the tram careens on its cable. A metal fitting thumps into your ribs. Parts of a person hit you.
Thrash them off.
Flesh comes apart as you hit it. A low voice whimpers.
Smoke chars your throat black.
Over the howling in your ears, you make out hacking coughs and moaning. Downstairs -- a scream, a woman sobbing.
"CASCADE..."
He sounds weak, unnatural.
"KALEIDOSCOPE... where are you?"
No answer.
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His voice was distant. Not beside you.
Through the window, at an unnatural angle: The world, smashed open by dint of your efforts.
Take that, world.
It will have to.
Sparks of electricity bleed from the tram's exposed arteries. She's dying.
"What... did we... crash?"
Something very wrong with his head. Pink, wet brain at his hairline.
Dead, just hasn't noticed yet.
Grab your gun.
You pull your gun from his coat. He makes no effort to stop you. The grip is slick with blood and off-white chunks.
The smoking carriage rocks, gently now, a cradle of torn and singed flesh.
The man behind you lies dead, leg missing in action, a skew of jagged bone protruding from his thigh like a primal knife.
The body of a teen girl slumps against the window, kept upright by a huge piece of shrapnel wedged into her skull.
A hundred metres beneath you, an old fisherman raises his hand to his eyes. A strange shadow scares away the fish.
"We're alive..."
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"Miraculously... yes."
Gunshots beneath you, fury and shorn metal.
Your partner looks to you as bullets pierce the floor around your feet.
"CASCADE! We need to --"
He staggers, hand clamped to chest.
A last desperate glance as your ally stumbles away from you.
Another gunshot from below.
Kill shot. Finality.
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HOLOCENE shudders, folds in two. His body joins the others on the floor.
'... assets left to fend for themselves.'
"Gloria a los caídos!" Half pant, half screech.
She spits on HOLOCENE's garish red shirt and looks up, trying to catch a glimpse through the ruined tram ceiling.
"Be over... Be over, now..."
She spits on HOLOCENE's garish red shirt and looks up, trying to catch a glimpse through the ruined tram…She spits on Karolina's yellow coat and looks up, trying to catch a glimpse through the ruined tram ceiling.She spits on HOLOCENE's garish red shirt and looks up, trying to catch a glimpse through the bullet holes.She spits on Karolina's yellow coat and looks up, trying to catch a glimpse through the bullet holes.
Hands gripped around Ramses' throat, all animal impulse, on the death ground.
"Kill!"
"Try harder... fascist prick..."
"Go!" He shouts at the woman between gritted teeth. "Upstairs, the commander!"
You're alone. Fighting and dying alone. The enemy charges towards you, stained in your friend's blood.
Can I save PSEUDOPOD?
Only if you can do it from here. You have moments before the Weeping Eye is upon you.
What's one more? We can take them.
A near-impossible Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvre -- the True Shadow. A psychic marionette between harmonised doubles... A long shot, but worth it in desperate straits.
Psychic hijacking! Infinity sync rate, open cockpit!
Can I save Ramses?
Only if you can do it from here. You have moments before the Weeping Eye is upon you.
What's one more? We can take them.
You have Ramses' death whistle... it can mimic any scream. What noise of terror can rally your kin?
KALEIDOSCOPE's bleeding...
Badly. Shot in the chest from what you could see.
Anything vital and he'll be dead in minutes.
Anything vital and she'll be dead in minutes.
Yana's bleeding...
Badly. Shot in the chest from what you could see.
What's happening downstairs?
Karolina: Shot and left for dead.
Ramses: Fighting for his life.
The Weeping Eye has hands around his throat, forcing him to his knees.
He's losing.
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PSEUDOPOD: Fighting for his life.
HOLOCENE: Shot and left for dead.
This is it... (Back.)
The world crashes back in. Not everyone will stay in it for very long.
Time for last illusions.
Who means more to you?
Reach KALEIDOSCOPE.
Help the one you can see. He won't last long without you.
You turn from the crazed woman and sprint to your fallen ally. Bullets flit past you.
"You're already dead! Coward!" She stabs the gun forward as she shoots.
The balcony is cramped and awkward. You take what cover you can find as bullets splinter around you.
Mist hangs below the tram like gun smoke.
"CASCADE... Dire straits..." Blood pumps from his mouth.
Save his life.
Okay, bad, yes -- but no death sentence. First, stop this bleeding.
The voice of the Opera's Head Traumatist barks in your mind: Push harder than you think you should. Force the clot.
"KALEIDOSCOPE. You're not going to die."
"Seems... courageous, given circumstances..."
Apply pressure to the wound.
"Fu--!" He catches himself and stamps a boot off the metal floor instead.
The red hole hisses beneath your hands.
Next, you have to seal it.
Chest wound. Too much air inside the lung and it'll collapse.
Seal it with what?
Something with suction.
Look around.
Aren't those headphones high-grade? Noise cancelling? Airtight?
"I'm borrowing these." Swipe the headphones from around his neck.
You press one of the headphone ears around the wound.
Blood seeps around the leather edges.
"Did it have to be... those..." He pushes his hand against the earpiece.
"Keep holding them down."
"Can't beat... anechoic... Glad I went... custom..."
Gunfire crashes around you. Somewhere behind, the woman howls.
Into the breach now, operant. Steady hand.
"Can you shoot?"
"Afraid not... but I can cheer you on..." He grins. Blood dribbles from the edge of his mouth.
Shards rain over you as bullets pierce the strengthened glass.
Take your enemy down.
You tense and coil, finger to trigger, ready to surge...
... And the sound of gunfire stops.
Reloading?
Trying to bait you out?
"CASCADE? Are you alive?"
He is bleeding, but here.
For us.
For you.
"I'm alive."
The world is stained before you.
"We're alive."
"I'm okay."
"We're okay."
"Hersh? You okay?"
She is bleeding, but here.
Do nothing.
You stare into the metal grate floor, the city blurring below, waiting for the last bullet...
Maybe it's already happened.
"Going to try and take her out." (Rack your gun.)
"Good odds, I would say... she's an appalling aim." He grins. Blood dribbles from the edge of his mouth.
"Should we jump for it?"
"Why not." He grins. Blood dribbles from the edge of his mouth.
"No. But then it would've been death."
"Marginally... worse..."
He's crying, the massive perv, we know he is. Lucky for him he's also in death pain. Cloaking the tears.
Oh no. No, no, no. Way worse than you thought, look at him! No saving this one. He's gonezo.
So many bullets... so hard to think...
Try and apply pressure to the wound.
"... All over, CASCADE..." Blood seeps into the pink fabric of his hoodie.
Bleeding internally, projectile lodged in the upper left thorax.
He's dying.
"My headphones... One last song... Ultra Violeta..."
"No. You're going to be okay."
"No time... Let me end this with her... please."
He tilts his head at his music player and puts a hand to the headphones.
Leaving a smear of blood across the left ear seam.
Connect his headphones for him.
He nods in thanks as the cord clicks into the player.
His cheek is rough with stubble.
Press 'PLAY'.
You hear nothing as the music begins -- but you watch a shadow pass across the man's face.
"Most of my career... seems to have been in dreams..."
Sealed within the penthouse suite of a central hotel in Cicatriz Frontera, a girl looks up from her keyboard, caught unawares by a ripple of strange sadness.
Beneath the hood, his eyes drain of all light.
Operant KALEIDSCOPE: LOST.
A stranger's death in a strange city. You were the final friend he had.
Gunfire crashes around you. Somewhere behind, the woman howls.
Into the breach now, operant. Steady hand.
Pat him on the shoulder.
Do nothing.
Let him die.
"Hersh... I'm fucked up..." Blood pumps from her mouth.
Save her life.
Okay, bad, yes -- but no death sentence. First, stop this bleeding.
The voice of the Opera's Head Traumatist barks in your mind: Push harder than you think you should. Force the clot.
"Yana. Look at me. You're not going to die."
"'Course I'm not..." Mismatched eyes find yours. "... I'm the fucking man..."
Apply pressure to the wound.
"Aggghh, mothercunter!" Her boots stamp off the metal floor.
The red hole hisses beneath your hands.
Next, you have to seal it.
Too much air inside the lung and it'll collapse.
Seal it with what?
Something sticky.
Look around.
There! Fire warning sticker on the window glass. Peel it off and slap it on.
Peel it.
The circular sticker comes away cleanly. You yank down the girl's shirt and smooth the sticker firmly over the pulsing wound.
The transluscent sticker fills with blood, but holds.
"Did you just..." She gasps a breath and looks down at her chest. "... Fuck does that say?"
"'This area must be kept clear of all obstructions'."
"Nice, Hersh... That'll keep the pervs at bay..."
Gunfire crashes around you. Somewhere behind, the woman howls.
Into the breach now, operant. Steady hand.
"Can you shoot?"
"No... but I can call her a cunt..." A hacked laugh. Blood dribbles from the edge of her mouth.
Shards rain over you as bullets pierce the strengthened glass.
"No... but I can call her a cunt..." A hacked laugh. Blood dribbles from the edge of her mouth."Might do it... this bitch can't aim for shit..." A hacked laugh. Blood dribbles from the edge of her mouth."Too fucked to jump... just roll me off..." A hacked laugh. Blood dribbles from the edge of her mouth.
"Going to try and take her out." (Rack your gun.)
Alternative wording
"This thing's probably good for one more shot." (Rack your gun.)
"Might do it... this bitch can't aim for shit..." A hacked laugh. Blood dribbles from the edge of her mouth.
"Should we jump for it?"
"Too fucked to jump... just roll me off..." A hacked laugh. Blood dribbles from the edge of her mouth.
"'Thank you for saving me, Hershel.'"
"Thanks, Hersh... now I get to take another bullet... yay..."
Oh, no. Oh, this looks bad. Way worse than you thought. She's already gone, just a matter of time.
So many bullets... so hard to think...
Give her a 'thumbs up'.
"Ahahah... look at your face... it's over..." A fresh splutter of blood.
Bleeding internally, projectile lodged in the upper left thorax.
She's dying.
"Hersh... last cigarette. Light it..."
"Not 'last'. You're going to be okay."
"No... all torn up..."
She nods to the pack of cigarettes jammed within her school uniform.
Her Ultra Violeta pin badge is stained completely red.
Wipe the blood off the badge.
"Thanks... now... smoke..." She jabs her head toward the packet.
Light her a cigarette.
You take out an Ouroborous Black from its packet, hands shaking and wet with blood. You manage to place it between her lips.
Her cheek is soft against your fingers.
You fumble with your lighter. It won't catch.
"It won't work!"
"... Don't want to die... but it's okay..." She pants, smeared in red.
Not long left. A minute, maybe.
Light the cigarette.
You strike the flint wheel again. Flame rises. The cigarette will not light.
"Mmph." She spits it out. "... Wrong end, you dim cunt..."
Shards rain over you as bullets pierce the strengthened glass.
"Look, Hersh..." She points over the balcony with a bloodied finger.
Through the film of mist you see nothing but a tangle of streets and buildings spilled across them.
"What is it?"
"... My old house..."
Her hand falls limp as her mismatched eyes fade to a single colour.
Asset YO-YO: LOST.
Your dear friend Tempo, dead twice on your watch.
Gunfire crashes around you. Somewhere behind, the woman howls.
Into the breach now, operant. Steady hand.
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Asset YOUNGBLOOD: LOST.
YO-YO. Should've been YO-YO.
Asset: LOST. Cryptonym yet to be assigned.
Hold her hand.
Do nothing.
Let her die.
Help the one you can see. She won't last long without you.
You turn and run for the door. Bullets flit by.
One thuds into your hip.
You barely feel it.
"Hah!" A snarl of triumph at your heel.
Keep going. KALEIDOSCOPE.
Keep going. Yana.
Reach Yana.
Branch
Make PSEUDOPOD your shadow puppet.
You close your eyes and slip into the shadowlands. Soon -- a white light in familiar contour emerges. The negative of yourself.
Open your eyes.
Your enemy bears down on you, hands locked around your throat. Blood swells, breath recedes.
You have become Pseudo-PSEUDOPOD.
Something moving in his pocket, a hint of shining green...
The beetle! The beetle!!
"MYRMEX! Help us!"
Alternative wording
"BOTTLEGREEN! Help us!"
Alternative wording
"ANTLERS! Help us!"
Alternative wording
"CARAPACE! Help us!"
Your asset flies into action, a blur of proud obsidian wing. He dives straight for the enemy's uncovered eye, horns first.
"Aaaah! Aaah!"
He staggers backward, gripping his face...
The window. One last push.
Shove him to his death.
Desperate snatches at the glass-torn frame, then a fading scream as he falls.
A tiny green figure dances somersaults around him, victorious against the blue sky.
A bullet grazes your cheek, bringing you back to yourself.
"This time! For the Empire!"
She snarls, lines up another shot.
Unmissable.
You don't mind.
The gun thunders, deafening...
A thud as the woman collapses to the floor.
"CASCADE. You're alive."
He is bleeding, but here.
"I'm alive."
The world is stained before you.
"I'm okay."
"Hersh? You okay?"
She is bleeding, but here.
Blind the enemy.
You un-grip his wrist and stab a finger into the man's uncovered eye.
Softer than you thought in there.
Your nail scrapes optic nerve.
You close your eyes and slip into darkness. Nothing greets you but coloured static on the edges of your vision.
Until... You sense yourself, or a knowledge of yourself, and grip. But something is very off...
This is strange, wrong. A mutation.
Look around.
Dimness, the scene refracted over and over. And in the centre of your vision, a long green spike. As if you have a horn in the middle of your head...
OUR BEETLE CHAMPION HAS OFFERED HIMSELF UP AS MIND-STEED.
Asset MYRMEX, clicking around happily in his mind beside you.
Alternative wording
Asset BOTTLEGREEN, clicking around happily in his mind beside you.
Alternative wording
Asset ANTLERS, clicking around happily in his mind beside you.
Alternative wording
Asset CARAPACE, clicking around happily in his mind beside you.
"Greetings, champion."
He feels your words. He readies his wings for flight.
Fly.
You launch your awesome shiny body into the air, wings flashing, horns raised. bullet-like into the goon's uncovered eye.
"Ah, fuck! What was... All dark..." Rivulets of blood down his face.
"..."
PSEUDOPOD activates with a primal shriek and shoves his tormentor clean out of the tram window.
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"Your weave... laughable..."
PSEUDOPOD rallies with high-pitched yell and shoves his enemy out of the tram window.
"Won't let... myself down..."
The beetle! The cömrade beetle!!
Move your arms.
They don't feel like arms. They're hard and spiky and green. Also there are... six of them.
Open your eyes.
Branch
You're looking at the upstairs window, same as you left it, stained with smoke.
PSEUDOPOD...
A bullet slams into your hip, buckling you.
You're looking at the upstairs window, same as you left it, flecked with arterial blood.
Engage primitive warfare. (Blow the death whistle.)
You blow with all you have left.
The sound. Unbearable. Unlike anything the world should abide.
"What is that? Drop it!" She clasps her hands to her ears.
It is singing the song of Ramses' own death.
You are the centre of an ancient vortex unleashed upon modernity.
"What the fuck..." He lets go of Ramses, staggers backward.
"Fucking... jagged."
Primal unearthing. The hunter's ghost.
Ramses grins crookedly and shoves the other man hard in the chest, sending him spinning over the edge of the tram.
Lips meet whistle. You blow with all you have left...
... but no actual noise is forthcoming. Just a leakage of saliva through the front end. Some of it dribbles on your foot.
The frequency was too high, your breath too weak. But specialist ears heard you.
Asset MYRMEX. Primed and waiting for your call!
Alternative wording
Asset BOTTLEGREEN. Primed and waiting for your call!
Alternative wording
Asset ANTLERS. Primed and waiting for your call!
Alternative wording
Asset CARAPACE. Primed and waiting for your call!
"Save Ramses!"
The beetle launches himself out of the goon's pocket, a storm of flashing wing and horn.
Straight into the goon's uncovered eye.
"What the fuck! Aah!"
"Fuck yeah, little dude!"
Ramses rallies, yells, and pushes the goon over the edge of the tram.
THE PEOPLE'S WINGS WILL CARRY HIM HOME.
"Fuck that goon up, little champion!
Ramses...
A bullet slams into your hip, buckling you.
"I'm trying! It's like... he's already dead!"
"..."
"I'm... trying!"
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"International hosiery... highly volatile..."
"Won't let... CASCADE down..."
Hands gripped around PSEUDOPOD's throat, all animal impulse, on the death ground.
She spits on Karolina's yellow coat and looks up, trying to catch a glimpse through the ruined tram ceiling.
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She spits on HOLOCENE's garish red shirt and looks up, trying to catch a glimpse through the bullet holes.
She spits on Karolina's yellow coat and looks up, trying to catch a glimpse through the bullet holes.
Karolina shudders, folds in two. Her body joins the others on the floor.
Another gunshot from below.
Your partner looks to you as bullets pierce the floor around your feet.
"Hersh, I can't -- CUNT!"
She staggers, hand clamped to chest.
A last desperate glance as your friend stumbles away from you.
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"CASCADE... Our allies..."
"Hersh... Are we losing?"
"I can't hear shit... but I think so, yeah."
"Downstairs..."
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"They're in trouble."
"Right behind you."
"We did it..."
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"Yes... but what have we done?"
"We'll never get away with this... will we?"
"... Commander? We've... lost..."
The sombre one lives.
He reels through the smoke, bleeding and marked with ash.
His future just fell away from him. He's lost in time.
The Hundred-Eyed Golem has retained no face, just a gaping red hole full of quivering viscera.
THE PEOPLE ROAR YOUR NAME.
"The Opera... never tires..."
"Oh no... No, no..."
Branch
The tram sways in giant arcs. He fires wildly, blindly.
KALEIDOSCOPE staggers, trying to stay upright.
You lean against the tram's movement, managing to maintain your balance.
Another volley like that and one of you is going down.
You are about to become historical.
I need cover...
There are chairs that you could get behind.
ROBUST PUBLIC OUTFITTINGS. THEY WILL PRESERVE YOU.
Have to be extremely fast though.
I need to shoot him.
It would be a matter of whose bullet hits the other first.
You were ready for this -- he wasn't. You'll win.
How about the squad downstairs?
You've heard shouting, gunshots. Things don't seem to be going their way.
Your friends are fighting for their lives.
Trust them to the angels for now.
Time to make a move...
Frozen, his expression seems pained rather than angry.
Shoot him.
Branch
Life is nothing but a brief exile from eternity. Send him home.
Pull the trigger.
Your bullet blows apart his head, splattering the jukebox behind him.
"Nice shooting, bucko..." He wipes at the brain matter slapped across his face.
"You got goon on me..." She paws at the brain matter slapped across her face.
Life is nothing but a brief exile from eternity. Send him home.
Pull the trigger.
Branch
No time to aim, he's about to shoot you. Hail Polaris!
Spray 'em.
Bullets fly in every direction but into your enemy.
"CASCADE!"
He drags himself upright, lifts his gun... The goon turns on him...
Two triggers pull, two thunderclaps from the barrels.
The man's body collapses into a heap of itself.
"Almost... got away with it..."
He's hit.
He stumbles to the back of the tram, clutching his chest.
"Fucking lucky I'm... here, Hersh..."
She's hit.
She stumbles to the back of the tram, clutching her stomach.
"Almost fucking hit me!"
She drags herself upright, lifts her gun... The goon turns on her...
No time to aim, he's about to shoot you. Hail Polaris!
Spray 'em.
Bullets fly in every direction but into your enemy.
"CASCADE! Focus!"
Two guns thunderclap as the goon rounds on KALEIDOSCOPE.
The man's body collapses into a heap of itself.
"Hersh! Get with it!"
Two guns thunderclap as the goon rounds on Yana.
Take Cover.
Use enemy flesh as your shield... behind the Golem's chair.
Dive for cover.
His gun follows you, still shooting. The bullets smash into Tesoro's corpse.
The chair thuds into you with each impact.
"... Canopus, acquit me!"
KALEIDOSCOPE's shot blasts out the back of his head.
His eyes meet yours as he crumples to the floor.
"Clean sweep, bucko."
Stand up.
The carriage rocks gently on its rail, a cradle of steaming gore.
"I got you, Hersh."
Stand up.
Yana's shot blasts out the back of his head.
Branch
Too much smoke... too much soot... the floor has turned against you...
The warped metal trips you, sending you down hard.
You hit the floor, a bullet hits you.
Your insides smell like tram.
"CASCADE!"
A desperate shot -- the side of your enemy's head implodes.
The man crumples to the floor, eerily silent.
Try to stand.
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"Hersh!"
A desperate shot -- the side of your enemy's head implodes.
Blood all over the floor... too slick...
Your foot slips from under you.
You're struggling too. The floor is warped and shifting, your movement clumsy.
Yana staggers, trying to stay upright.
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KALEIDOSCOPE recoils as the bullets flit by him.
Yana recoils as the bullets flit by her.
He fires wildly, blindly.
Holes punctured in the tram's body, daylight stars.
Wipe the blood from your gun.
I'm sorry.
The world understands.
Her voice was distant. Not beside you.
"Yana... where are you?"
"I'm here."
You can talk. Good.
Feel around for a gun.
No gun. Wet matter everywhere. Metal floor alight.
"Hersh..."
She sounds hurt.
Who?
Innocent... Foe... Friend? Immaterial. Distinctions dissolve.
Try to grab onto something.
Something flimsy between your fingers, like paper. It burns to nothing.
One of Tesoro's cards.
LUMINESCENCE.
The world is not where you left it.
Watch where you land.
The floor is beginning to peel.
Now!
Look at Yana.
You turn and meet her eyes, already on you.
Look at KALEIDOSCOPE.
You turn and meet his eyes, already on you.
Look at the boy across the tram.
You find his face in an odd expression, as if he is both afraid of you and trying to comfort you simultaneously.
Just a little reposition... (Get ready to jump.)
"Hold it, what are you doing?"
Too soon.
The Golem looks at you, then down at the floor, then back at you.
"What's this expression on your face?"
Realisation incoming.
"Wait, what's..." A panicked glance at your ally.
If he moves, might not be a clean kill...
"COMMANDER!"
Dive.
Vibrations... Giving you away...
Too soon.
To what end? They already know.
How can they?
You gave it away, of course. Your tells are common knowledge at this table.
Giggle nervously.
"Something amusing?"
It's over. Flush busted. Written across your sweaty forehand in massive black letters.
Your ally is staring at your back, waiting for you to do something.
He also knows you've fucked it.
Your enemy peers at you, a frown forming behind his multi-lensed glasses.
"'I got no backroom bruise...'"
The incantation... waking the bomb, breaking its seals...
Chorus incoming...
"Ha ha, bomb? I didn't say bomb, you said bomb."
"A bomb..." Seconds away from putting it together.
"CASCADE, move!"
"Hersh, go!"
Shift a lot to the left.
"Stop. Now." Seconds away from putting it together.
Your ally is staring at your back, waiting for you to do something.
She also knows you've fucked it.
Bounce your foot.
"You're wildly off the beat there..." He looks below the table with concern as your foot jackhammers the floor.
Shift a little to the left.
"Where are you going?"
Calculate the kill radius.
Many unstable factors... compounded by unknown quantities... it will have to be a heroic assumption.
Close your eyes and focus.
"'Lying at the foot of the bed'... it's all coming back to me."
"This is not serious music."
The bomb was intended for assassination... It is directional, focused...
The floor hums beneath your feet.
"These speakers... Better than you'd expect." He glances down. "Really feel that low-end."
The floor is thin, won't contain much of the blast... The seats are likely reinforced though...
"It's just the inferior transit system rocking on its rail."
"I'm pretty sure it's the song."
The Director of the Weeping Eye glances at you, looks down, listens.
On the brink of realisation...
Three feet left should do it. Should.
This is taking too long. (Get ready to jump.)
Relax. This thing is so old it's not even going to go off.
Really?
100%. Just enjoy the music.
"'Lying at the foot of the bed'... it's all coming back to me."
Here it comes.
"This is not serious music."
Besides, if it does go off, the explosion will probably just take out the whole tram.
What? Which is it?
... Probably won't go off.
You can feel it in the floor.
Just sit there and grin.
Alternative wording
Get your second hand involved. The table is your instrument, you the maestro.
Either way, nothing to be done here.
Zero. Nix. Nada. It's almost like there isn't a bomb at all.
Drum your fingers to the beat.
Imminently drummable little number. A light, tight 143 bpm.
But I want it to go off!
Girl, the only thing 'going off' is this song.
You feel Yana staring at the back of your head.
You hear her stare too: So do I just fucking stand here like a Collateral Cunt or...?
"Never heard of it, sounds old."
The man's eyes flick between you and Yana. A hand slides beneath his jacket.
"Fuck it."
She kisses her finger and presses 'PLAY'.
"Got the new Ultra Violeta track? The one about the moon?" (Signal a gunfight.)
"Anything but. I've heard enough of that glitterised construct."
"I thought she was more of a teen thing..."
KALEIDOSCOPE's lip curls, fighting the urge to argue.
"Common misconception... Maybe you just haven't listened to her."
He sinks his finger into the jukebox's 'PLAY' button.
The speakers above you rattle to life.
"Not bad... I like the feel."
KALEIDOSCOPE remains still, not looking at you.
But alert to you. Waiting for your signal.
You're surrounded, outnumbered, unarmed.
There is nothing in your future besides ritual humiliation and torture -- so take heart. You have nothing to lose and everything to overthrow.
You never liked the odds in your favour anyway.
Take them with you. Take the city with you. Anything but cowed retreat. Not this time.
My gun, I need my gun...
The man by the window has confiscated it beneath his coat.
Recover it or die trying.
And then when you do get it back from him -- will you shoot him or take an opportunity to hit the Golem?
Is Yana armed?
Alternative wording
Is KALEIDOSCOPE armed?
They are on the brink of understanding her role in this -- but she hasn't been caught yet.
Alternative wording
He hasn't been caught, so he must be.
One gun against three is certain death, two against three is a fighting chance. You need your gun.
Too late to worry whether we'll live or die. Don't go out alone, go out with our friends.
I'm ready... (Back.)
You weigh up both your targets.
CHANGE OF REGIME. (Shoot Tesoro Buendia.)
RECLAIM YOUR GUN AND DECAPITATE.
Lost in the song, your sudden movement takes him by surprise. Your hand finds your gun, drawn to it -- his hand finds your wrist.
"Ch... k... wha..."
The man begins to choke, hands slack on the holster. Veins bulge and wriggle over his face, alive.
Karolina's techno-curse.
"What is this... you did something..."
"Not me."
His eyes roll, overlarge, crying blood. His face pops under invisible pressure.
The crack of gunshot, halo of blood -- KALEIDOSCOPE's bullet shatters his forehead. The man's eyes meet yours as he crumples.
Terror behind them.
Pull your gun clear.
Your hand coils in familiar grip -- finger reunites with trigger.
THE PARTY HAS SENT FORTH ITS CHAMPION. THE PEOPLE ROAR YOUR NAME.
"This isn't the end... I will not have this end!"
Execute him.
The gun leaps in your hand.
Bullet smashes glass, collides with eye, mashing it against the inside of his socket.
HIS BLOOD THE BANNER OF THE PARTY.
"I think it's fitting." (Execute him.)
"Tell Anonimo -- I am the Third Fear." (Execute him.)
"CASCADE OR NOTHING!" (Execute him.)
The crack of gunshot, halo of blood -- Yana's bullet splinters the back of his head. He screams and releases you -- dying, with only half his brain to know it.
"Holy shit..."
"CASCADE!"
KALEIDOSCOPE's bullet smashes his face open.
Grab your gun.
You yank your weapon from the dead man's body.
The handle is warm and slick with his blood.
"This is all... ruined..."
He flings his arm around to aim at your partner, pulling the trigger as he does.
Close quarters working against him -- no space to line up a proper shot...
"Fool..."
KALEIDOSCOPE clutches his side, aims at the man and fires.
Right in the photographs he keeps beside his heart.
Who cares! Two down! Shoulder to wheel, gäng!
"The leader, CASCADE!"
Execute the Golem.
You clamp the trigger. Nothing happens.
It's the blood, too much lube, clean it off!
GUN IS TRAITOR, BLACK ELEMENT!
Unjam it. Quick.
Tesoro Buendia levels a heavy pistol at you, point blank.
A surprisingly fluid, graceful movement.
His bullet whips through the flesh of your arm.
Pain like searing light.
You remember this. The first bullet. Landau. Friends counting on you then too.
Nothing vital. You'll live. Keep going.
"You have stumbled into this by accident... I created this! I will not allow this end!"
The enemy is trying to provoke you.
Stalling. Kill.
Definitely stalling.
You have the upper hand and he knows it.
I should just shoot him.
Do it fast. He still has a gun.
What about the squad downstairs?
You've heard shouting, gunshots. Impossible to tell what's becoming of them.
Your friends are fighting for their lives.
Trust them to the angels for now.
I'm ready... (Back.)
His lips are parted, you glimpse his tongue.
The photograph of you and your Crew flashes against your mind.
Shoot him.
The gun leaps in your hand.
Bullet smashes glass, collides with eye, mashing it against the inside of his socket. A single tear of blood as the metal ricochets around his skull.
He collapses, heavy. The tram rattles.
"This is for the Crew."
A bullet five years in the making.
_L3.webp){kind=icon}
End this cunt. CASCADE or nothing.
Surprising, yet inevitable.
You... did it.
We're with you, H.
The Crew is forever.
Wish I was here to witness it.
Pull the trigger.
The gun leaps in your hand.
Bullet smashes glass, collides with eye, mashing it against the inside of his socket.
A single tear of blood as the metal ricochets around his skull.
He falls like he's praying.
Seven figures loom over him as he dies, unable to lift his head and meet their faces.
You start off strong, but break into a little sob on the word 'Crew.'
"They mean that much to you?" He smiles with the warmth of old bone.
His gun moves fast, faster than you expect.
You brace yourself for a hit that does not come. He missed.
No, he didn't.
Branch
"CASCADE..."
He staggers to the back of the tram, clutching his chest.
"All these plans, for nothing."
Shoot him.
The gun leaps in your hand.
Bullet smashes glass, collides with eye, mashing it against the inside of his socket.
A single tear of blood as the metal ricochets around his skull.
He falls like he's praying.
"Hersh..."
She staggers to the back of the tram, clutching her chest.
Wipe the blood off. Quick.
Hit the barrel a few times.
GUN IS TRAITOR, BLACK ELEMENT!
Your shitty homemade gun jammed!
"Boss cunt, Hersh!"
"Lucky prick..."
Yana clutches her side, aims at the man and snarls as she fires.
"Hersh!"
Yana's bullet smashes his face open.
"Now!" (Grab your gun and shoot.)
Two bullets smash into the side of his face, collapsing it. Shards of skull stick to your neck.
Itchy.
"I thought you were shooting the other one?" He looks at you in bewilderment.
"'The fuck, Hersh, thought you were doing the other one!"
"Shouldn't have fucked with Karolina Hayato."
THAT FIREARM IS NOT HIS. IT IS NOT EVEN YOURS. IT IS THE PEOPLE'S FIREARM. RECLAIM IT, THEN IMMEDIATELY DISOWN IT.
The man reaches it first and keeps your gun firmly tucked into his belt, smirking at your desperate struggle.
"I'M JUST THE MIDDLEMAN!"
"It's my gun, you imperialist creep!"
"I just want to hold it!"
Synchronise with your partner, kill the goons as one.
Synchronised fire, a bullet through each skull. Take them down, look sick doing it. But first, the gäng needs gun.
Lunge for your gun.
Lost in the song, your sudden movement takes him by surprise. Your hand finds your gun, drawn to it -- his hand finds your wrist.
"Ch... k... wha..."
The man begins to choke, hands slack on the holster. Veins bulge and wriggle over his face, alive.
Karolina's curse.
"Canopus..." He lifts his gun.
You're seconds away from getting shot.
"On your mark, CASCADE!" A desperate bark.
Two bullets, two skulls -- harmonised doom in three, two, one...
"Now!" (Grab your gun and shoot.)
You wrench your weapon free and spin on your heel. The bullet cracks into your enemy's chest.
Right in the photographs he keeps beside his heart.
In front of you, a face disintegrates as KALEIDOSCOPE's bullet finds its mark. Shards of skull spatter on to you neck.
Itchy.
"No! Not like this!" He thumps his thigh with a fist.
In front of you, a face disintegrates as Yana's bullet finds its mark. Shards of skull spatter on to you neck.
"Hersh, get it together!" A desperate shout.
First -- gäng needs gun. Get it.
He saw it in your eyes, knew what you were doing. His hands were on the holster first.
"I just want to hold it!"
"Now, CASCADE!"
"Do it, Hersh!"
Pull harder.
Yana watches you, foot tapping on and off the beat.
You feel all her focus on you, the point of a knife.
Branch
"Vacuous. It evokes... nothing."
He means this as a compliment.
"Ultra Violeta's the fucking queen. Watch your mouth."
"Hear how their girls talk?" A glance back and forth. "Like the worst dock trash."
"Portofiro's a port, you tragic cunt." Then, a soft murmur: "Play us out, V."
She kisses her finger and hits 'PLAY'.
"Any 'Music for Trams' in there? Maybe... I don't know... volume seven?" (Signal a gunfight.)
"What does 'music for trams' mean?"
GOOD MUNICIPAL BEATS.
Branch
"Imagine... a puppet of jazz. You may mistake it for jazz at a moment's glance, but it has no eyes, no soul. It is merely a hand wearing jazz's face."
"Fascinating. Whose hand?"
"The department of transportation."
Darkness, thunder crack, torchlight illuminating his face.
He turns on his headphones and pushes the jukebox's 'PLAY' button.
"Music for playing on trams. What else could it mean?"
"Well... What is particular to the tram about it? Are there separate versions for the train, the airplane?"
Of course there are. Show the machines and their OSTs some respect.
"I'd like to see if we can detect any tram particularities to the composition."
"Whatever. Have fun, then."
She jabs a finger into the 'PLAY' button.
"Let's hear some Blood Golem." (Signal a gunfight.)
"Are you addressing me?" He glances at you in confusion.
"'Plague-metal'. An aural travesty but the quality of a publicly owned speaker system may spare us the worst of it."
"'Plague metal'. I like the sound of that. Interesting."
"Of course the creatures of this city would create songs in celebration of disease. Do not turn that jukebox on."
"Afraid I'm going to, bucko."
He flicks a switch on his headphones, then presses 'PLAY'.
Bass thunders across the tram speakers, startling them to life.
"Aesthetically bereft."
"Shrieking old plague-metal band who old people always go on about."
Blood Golem are before her time. But not Tempo's.
"'Plague-metal'? Of course this city celebrates disease."
"You're going to love it."
She kisses her finger and presses 'PLAY'.
"Anything red in there?" (Trigger the metaphysical weapon.)
"Red... ?" He peers into the jukebox, his eyes go wide.
"Wait... don't touch that jukebox."
"Hail to the Queen."
KALEIDOSCOPE jabs his thumb into the 'PLAY' button before your enemies can react.
The opening notes carry your heart into the air and siphon all warmth from the tram.
Blue heat, shaking in the boundless dark. The edges turn purple, widen. A moment of shivering anticipation before the soundless boom. Another dead star.
"What... is... that?"
"I... like it."
Your muscles slacken, weighed down by a mounting force.
"CASCADE..."
Eyes closed, chin raised. Head tilted towards the jukebox. Waiting for her voice.
He holds out his headphones.
"What about you?"
"... Hear it, of course. I need to... Please." He holds the headphones out.
"KALEIDOSCOPE, these are tram speakers."
"Shh. We may never make it out of this, it's the only way to guarantee I hear her... It's now."
Take them.
"What... who was..."
His glasses slip down his nose. He's trying to fight it. He can't.
Ultra Violeta's voice, at the height of its perfection and power. This was always going to be his last stop.
In a matter of minutes, Ultra Violeta's voice will devour your mind.
What will happen to Yana?
She'll be wiped clean from the universal registry, just like everybody else.
How can I protect myself?
You need headphones, or no ears.
You have a screwdriver. Hack and customise your hearing feature.
The girl by the window is wearing headphones. You could swipe them from her.
But she'll definitely die...
One among the many other murders you've just willed into being.
Yeah, she doesn't look too tough.
Completely unaware of the danger around her. A fine way to go.
I have KALEIDOSCOPE's headphones...
Then you should put them on. Quickly.
Or listen with him. You'll die, but you will know.
Look around at everyone.
Heads drop, jaws slacken. Pained and mesmerised by the sound.
What about my friends downstairs?
The disc is already at work, unpeeling their minds. There's nothing you can do for them.
I've got to do something... (Back.)
Your vision wavers at the edges, a violet overglow.
Put on KALEIDOSCOPE's headphones.
The world slips away from you.
Emptiness in stereo.
Keep them clamped down.
People pass across your field of vision in complete silence, like fish at an aquarium.
Look at the Golem.
He's staring at you, fighting it, trying to speak.
Wave at him.
He lifts his hand to you... then falls. Empty flesh.
Impossible contours in the world around you. Seams you've never seen before.
And never will again.
Shouldn't have fucked with CASCADE, World.
The World slinks off into a nearby corner, licking its wounds.
Ultra Violeta's voice is no longer stalking you.
Take off the headphones.
A few hundred feet away, an aero-tram on a different line lumbers across the sky, balancing upon its wire. Maybe the driver can see you, too.
Wave at them.
The driver doesn't look your way, doesn't even notice you.
What would they notice? Another unremarkable tram, making its daily commute? Or might they sense, on some cardinal level, the contamination you've untethered, the frightful hazard more primitive nations would have marked with rings of salt and paper seals?
The world is quieter than you've ever heard it.
Give them the finger.
Just watch.
It drifts, shudders, turns. The driver doesn't look your way, doesn't even notice you.
Oh god, I shouldn't have done this.
The horrific scene around you plays out on mute. You can see people speaking, shouting, crying -- none of it reaches you.
Pull yourself together.
Rain slips and falls from cloud beneath you.
Beams of light outside. Golden halberd through the windows.
It makes you homesick.
For a place you'll never know.
Listen to the song.
Give him the finger.
Just stare at him.
Look at KALEIDOSCOPE.
He mouths something to himself, eyes closed.
He's singing along, even though he's never heard it before.
His movement stops. His eyes lose something as you watch.
You lose something, too.
Look at Yana.
Branch
Yana mouths something at you but you cannot hear her words. She speaks to you as if from behind aquarium glass.
Where are we off to?
Her young face is caught between disbelief that you would plan to do this and awe that you actually did.
Crushed between two walls, even in her last moments.
Your heart cracks. For your new friend and the old one within her.
The Hundred-Eyed Golem is shouting something at you, face contorted.
Wave at him.
The man stares at you, clawing for words, the right side of his face slackening -- his eyeglasses slip a little down his nose.
His muffled voice is light, higher than such a large man should be able to produce.
Lines emerge and thicken. Corners unfold where there were none. A constellation of misshapen rock.
Gears and wheels. Tiny atomic cogs. You're going to slip between them.
A loose bolt whines on the hull of a submarine, L-45 Class. Bioluminescent monsters swarm toward the sound, a flashing stream of wet greed.
Shards of you splinter and fall, crash on the gleaming mountainside.
You tell her... all will be forgiven!
What comet trail have you left behind you? What thinning smoke from rocket jets or black cigarettes, what leaving --
I won.
-- song plays you out, who is pointing at the sky in awe as you splinter and combust from the world, who are you cursing between the puncture wound static as you see --
-- all time and place before you, luminous, sense and no sense, the cosmology of a dream you may have lived or may yet live again as whatever --
-- happens has --
-- already happened.
. . . . .
. . . .
. . .
. .
.
My friends...
-- song plays you out, who down on earth is being pulled aside and informed of your death in whispered tones as you see --
Give him the finger.
Just watch.
Slip one ear slightly off. *(Listen a little bit.)
It'll still work. Probably.
Just might hurt a little.
Ultra Violeta's voice is low and muffled. It seeks pieces of you.
Steal headphones from a passenger.
Your enemies weren't prepared for the disc; they're losing themselves already. You can make it.
Stand up.
The girl in the corner looks up at you. Curiosity rather than fear.
Her eyes are a deep, layered brown.
"I'm so sorry."
She frowns, tilts her head to the side.
Like she's waiting for you to ask a favour.
Take her headphones.
The shock of Ultra Violeta's voice hits her. She falls back small into her seat.
Put on the headphones.
The music grows quieter, but not, you notice with some alarm, completely silent.
Consumer earpiece quality. Suboptimal, though it'll still work. Probably. Might goo you up a bit.
This is enough. We can tank the rest.
"More important that I survive." (Point at yourself.)
Great plan... Unfortunately, nothing doing in the 'movement' department.
Stand up.
It's no use. Your legs aren't accepting signals from your brain at this time.
I SAID STAND UP!
Impossible. All communication channels have been severed.
Your breath catches as you glimpse the first slivers of rainbow through the tram's scuff-marked glass.
A baby's handprint, sticky and clear over a thatch of dirt.
Her mother kept pointing to the birds which circled below, then the valley beneath the cloud. But the little girl was only interested in looking up.
KALEIDOSCOPE mouths something but you cannot hear his words. He speaks to you as if from behind aquarium glass.
"You are a void... At least in my own darkness I can dream..."
His eyes lose something as you watch.
You lose something, too.
Hack your eardrums.
Line up the screwdriver first. A ramming motion would be unwise here. You just want to... kind of... slide it in.
Place the screwdriver in your ear.
Snug fit.
Doesn't hurt enough yet. Deeper.
Turn off your ears.
You push the metal spike further into your skullparts.
The sound of Ultra Violeta's voice lessens the pain.
The beat of the music gets quieter.
Knuckles on soft wood.
That's about as far as you should go. Unless you're looking to disconnect your hearing faculty entirely.
This is enough. We can tank the rest.
Screwdriver's in your pocket. Waiting to be thrust earward.
Feel around for it.
There you go... Nice, firm grip. Now, best way to do this is hard and clean. Ram it in to your ear as fast as you can. Ready?
Yes.
Locked and loaded. Three, two, one...
Stab your right ear.
Searing pain on the side of your face. Warm blood runs down your cheek. You missed.
Rim shot. No problem, line up another, this time you've got it...
Stab your right ear.
Before you can swing, the screwdriver slips from your hand. Your muscles slacken and a violet overglow sears the edge of your vision.
No.
Too late. It's this or be PSEUDO-fied. Eardrums are a small price to pay. Ram, baby, ram.
Do nothing. Let it happen.
"It's V? I can feel her..."
"'Anything red', is that a song? What are you on about?"
"Good question." He looks to the man by the window.
Contaminated. Soul death.
"Anything red..." She freezes. "Hold on, this is..." She glances back at you.
Yes. Hard reset for the whole tram.
Everyone will die. Including you, if you don't protect yourself somehow.
Nod at her.
"Don't touch it."
"Uh... Hersh?" She looks right at you.
Own goal in the dying minutes.
"Stop her!"
She mashes the 'PLAY' button with her fist before your enemies have time to react.
"Anything red... Yeah, there is. Should I play it?"
You feel Yana's eyes on your back, her hand over the jukebox.
Say nothing.
"I wouldn't mind a song."
"Fucking quiet in here. Any requests?"
A few passengers turn their heads, then look away again.
The man by the window spares her a disinterested glance.