Psychosis IC

[SlyJohnny]

Let's begin. Spoiler tags are there mostly to break things up, feel free to read each other's and collaborate in the OOC thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?525397-Psychosis-OOC&p=22026964#post22026964), if you like.

You wake up, or perhaps die, the sensation has elements of both. Your head is pounding like a soft-boiled egg being cracked open by a steel spoon. Your stomach seems to contain an enraged squirrel. Your tongue has apparently been replaced with a small strip of the Sahara desert, and the muscles of your limbs with moist twine.

In short, you are elaborately hung over.

Struggling your sight-holes open, you see by the glaring and scratchy light that you are lying on the bunk of a small cabin of some kind, and wearing a uniform that is... dark-coloured. There is a crest embroidered on it, but your vision is too bleary at the moment to make it out. A strangely-angled window admits the light, and shows only grey mist. A small washbasin and a dirty mirror are the only ornamentation. The room is bare, and has a worn, uncared-for sort of feel.

You wait for the sluggish clarity that normally comes with waking up, but it doesn't arrive. You have no idea who you are, or how you got here. You don't even remember your name.

The pain in your head becomes much sharper at the sound of a series of brief detonations. Either you are under artillery bombardment, or someone is knocking on the cabin door.

(Centaurion's starting hand: 5 and 8 Cups, 2 and 4 Swords, Page of Rods)

Your awareness is vague. In the distance, spotlights search the night sky, and irregular flashes of light mark the horizon. You hear the rumble of distant bombs, and the faint pop-pop-pop of bursting flak.

A pressure on your chest and shoulders makes you aware that you are strapped into the cockpit of a fighter plane. The cockpit window is shattered, and broken shards lie in your lap and on the floor. You smell fuel on the air. Over your shoulder, you hear the crackle of flames.

You have crashed! If you do not escape soon, you will burn to death!

(Iceseer's starting hand: 6 and 7 Cups, 7 and Knight of Swords, Queen of Pentacles)

You feel like you've been hit by a truck. Possibly a convoy of trucks. You feel hot, but the sweat on your brow feels far too cold. Taking stock, you realise that you have no clue where you are, or why everything hurts, and- perhaps more alarmingly- you have no idea who you are. You have a faint memory of... some type of work with atomic explosives? Which is possibly the most alarming detail of all. You try to remember more, press your brain for details, but the memory flutters away from you like a forgotten dream.

You're lying on a hard, uncomfortable floor, looking up at both the sloped tin roof of a small building of some description, and the concerned face of a young woman in a lab coat. She's waving three fingers at you as she speaks.

"-hear me, Doctor? Are you alright? How many fingers am I holding up?"

(Ceyx's starting hand: 3 and 7 Pentacles, 3 and 6 Swords, 7 Rods)

Your vision is spinning. Your muscles ache. You can't move your arms and legs. You're having trouble recalling... well, anything. Have you been drugged?

Your surroundings have that faint, ugly scent of hospital disinfectant. Your eyes focus on a dim lamp in in the corner of the room, which is providing inadequate illumination over what appears to be some kind of medical operating room. There are tables with neatly arranged surgical tools, some of which are catching the faint light at the right angle to gleam, even in the near darkness of the room. There's a mirror taking up most of the wall to your left; you fancy you can see a shadow flit from one side of it to the other, before sinking down behind the wall.

You realise that your arms and legs aren't actually paralysed, they're merely strapped down to the table you're lying on. You're also completely naked. Perhaps you were to be operated on, but the anaesthetic didn't take?

Maybe the figure standing by the door knows. He's wearing medical scrubs and a surgical mask, and is facing away from you with his arms crossed. He gives no sign of having noticed you awaken.

(Plerumque's starting hand: 3 and 6 Rods, 2 and Knight of Pentacles, Queen of Swords)

You open your eyes, but for a moment, all you can see is colours and indistinct shapes. The first thing you become aware of as you struggle to focus is a repetitive, mechanical rumbling sound coming from all around you, which followed by the gentle bobbing and swaying of whatever surface you’re lying on.

A proper-looking gentleman with an impressive moustache is examining you with a stethoscope. When he realises you're stirring, he steps away, looking down at you. "Steady on." He says. "You'll be feeling better soon."

You’re lying on the lower bunk bed of two, which are set into the wall of what appears to be a railway car compartment, with a single door leading out. The compartment is lit by a small yellow lamp. There’s a window directly to your left, but through it you see only vague shapes, rushing past in the darkness. The walls are adorned with wood panelling and a dark red fabric of some kind. The bed is soft and comfortable.

You realise you can’t remember when or where you boarded this train. Or where the train might be going. Or your name. Or any facts about yourself at all.

(Kartoffelbrein's starting hand: 4, 5, 8 Pentacles, 4 and King of Cups)

[Iceseer]

In panic not being able to smell the fuel but being able to clearly see the airplane was falling. I fumble with the controls and try to find the ejection button. Which I knew about due to knowledge I have had over reseacrhing planes years ago.

[SlyJohnny]

You act fast. You flick the ejection switch, but nothing happens, not even a mechanical whine of protest from your stricken craft. You try the emergency release on your harness next, but it's jammed tight.

[Iceseer]

Well I use my knife given to me years ago by my half-brother Kyle. He served in the air force and gave me the knife before his death. I smile that his knife might save me now. With haste and cursing my relatively weak strength. I look around to see if there is any building, or high up landscape I might jump onto to leave the plane.

[SlyJohnny]

You pat down your flight suit, but there's no sign of a knife anywhere nearby or about your person. There's plenty of shattered glass lying on you that might work as a knife; you might saw through your harness straps, if you're quick.

Do you have a half-brother? For a moment, you're convinced that you do, but the thought unravels. You realise you can't remember the names or faces of any of your family members or friends, or any happy memories you may have had about them.

You appear to have crashed onto the side of a small hill, judging from what you can see and the angle that you're sitting, looking up at the stars. You'd need to get out of the plane to see the terrain better, though.

There's a sudden breeze of chill night air on your face, just as a human-shaped figure looms out of the darkness, heading towards you, bearing a knife. A French-accented voice says, "Do not struggle, Monsieur. I will help you."

((Cutting yourself free before the man reaches you is a Swords 10 challenge.

Iceseer's hand: 6 and 7 Cups, 7 Swords
Trace: Knight of Swords, Queen of Pentacles))

[Ceyx]

I manage to focus my eyes, meeting the gaze of the woman in the coat. "I'm... fine. Three fingers," I blurt out, distressed by the sudden return to consciousness and the pain coursing through my body. After a moment, I realize that I'm in no way sure of that fact, and begin to pat myself down, checking for physical injury.

Even as I do so, however, a detached part of my mind reviews my circumstances. I'm disoriented, I think to myself.
My memory will surely return to me soon, after whatever trauma I've endured has faded. "What happened?"

(Spending my 7 of Pentacles to review my surroundings, trying to gain clues to take stock of the situation, specifically of what type of facility this is, or inform me of why I'm hurt.)

[Centaurion]

You wake up, or perhaps die, the sensation has elements of both. Your head is pounding like a soft-boiled egg being cracked open by a steel spoon. Your stomach seems to contain an enraged squirrel. Your tongue has apparently been replaced with a small strip of the Sahara desert, and the muscles of your limbs with moist twine.

In short, you are elaborately hung over.

Struggling your sight-holes open, you see by the glaring and scratchy light that you are lying on the bunk of a small cabin of some kind, and wearing a uniform that is... dark-coloured. There is a crest embroidered on it, but your vision is too bleary at the moment to make it out. A strangely-angled window admits the light, and shows only grey mist. A small washbasin and a dirty mirror are the only ornamentation. The room is bare, and has a worn, uncared-for sort of feel.

You wait for the sluggish clarity that normally comes with waking up, but it doesn't arrive. You have no idea who you are, or how you got here. You don't even remember your name.

The pain in your head becomes much sharper at the sound of a series of brief detonations. Either you are under artillery bombardment, or someone is knocking on the cabin door.

(Centaurion's starting hand: 5 and 8 Cups, 2 and 4 Swords, Page of Rods)


I instinctively try to roll over from my back onto my belly, because it's easier to stand up then, emitting a groin as the pain again rushes to my head. Wha-? I try to speak but my throat is too dry. I try to clear my throat to shout an angry "What?" towards the door, apparently not grasping the full gravity of the situation, or possible implications of it.

[SlyJohnny]

(You pass this check with the Knight of Swords card in your trace, and then don't discard it, because it's in your trace.)

By the time the beret-wearing man with the knife has made it to you, you have already slashed your harness away with the shard of glass. He tucks his knife away, and reaches down to help you out.

You clamber out and run into the dark countryside, feeling the heat of your plane fireballing behind you. You are slightly dizzy; perhaps a concussion from the crash?

"Hurry, Monsieur!" cries the man. "The soldiers cannot help but see that, they will come."

You hear the roar of an engine, and see a truck approaching along a nearby road. It's blackout headlights are dimmed, but you clearly make out the silhouettes of armed men riding in the back. Your companion is leading you directly away from them to where, a few hundred yards away, squat the gates of a town.

The door opens, and a young man in a sailor's outfit comes in. He is somewhat out of breath.

"Hauptmann Grubel has killed Ludwig," he says, panting. "Now he wants to see you." He and another sailor enter the cabin and take you by the arms. "You'll hide, and we'll tell Grubel we couldn't find you."

They attempt to roust you from the bed, and lead you from the cabin.

She beams at your response, and is already reaching down to haul you to your feet. "Yes, that's right. I was worried that wonderful brain of yours had been scrambled in your fall. Phew!" She has quite a grip; she's small and stocky, but strong. "You were out for a while, Doctor. I worried you wouldn't wake up."

Your headache is clearing, your vision is swimming less. You don't appear to be obviously injured. As you rise, you peer around you at what appears to be a small laboratory inside a Quonset hut, with orange walls and floors. Metal tables bear large, heavy-looking flasks, many stenciled with the symbol for radiation. There are no windows, but two closed doors appear to lead out of the room. It's warm in here. There are air con vents in the corner of the room, but they don't seem to be working. You're wearing dark slacks, a white shirt, a bow tie, and a white lab coat similar to the woman's, but cleaner. You find your ID badge clipped to the front of the coat, but the name on it means nothing to you. It's indigo coloured, and identifies your profession as a nuclear engineer.

(Keep the card for now, I'll tell you if I need a check.)

[Ceyx]

I straighten myself up as my mind clears, brushing the dust from my clothes. Still not remembering anything about the situation in which I find myself, I attempt to jog my memory. "I'm sorry, but I think my brains were scrambled a bit," I say to the woman, a sour smile on my face. "I don't quite recall what happened..."

As I prompt her, I try to see if there's a tag similar to my own on the young woman, to learn her name without revealing the extent my embarrassing and worrying amnesia.

[Centaurion]

The door opens, and a young man in a sailor's outfit comes in. He is somewhat out of breath.

"Hauptmann Grubel has killed Ludwig," he says, panting. "Now he wants to see you." He and another sailor enter the cabin and take you by the arms. "You'll hide, and we'll tell Grubel we couldn't find you."

They attempt to roust you from the bed, and lead you from the cabin.

"He did what?" The words come out without further pondering. I do not resist them trying to pick me up though. "Why? And why do you help me?"

[Iceseer]

I jog with him trying to hurry up but knowing that i tire quickly with my relatively weak fortitude. Cussing how i don't exercise. (I use the knight of spades again. I am loving how convenient this is though realize the fact i need an ace to pop up eventually to remove this guy and be able to replace him)

[SlyJohnny]

The woman has no badge, but something about the way she's sucking up to you makes you think "lab assistant". She's giving you a sort of automatic deference, and she's keen to share even her lack of knowledge with you. "I just came on shift, doctor, so I'm not sure what happened. Uh, do you remember what you do here? About the Project? Today is going to be a big day, you know. We all need you sharp."

There's a commotion from behind the door on the right. Several voices, soft at first and getting louder. Shifting furniture. A man shouts, "What do you think you're doing, sergeant? You can't just take my notes!"

The Keen Lab Assistant goes pale. "Oh, crap. I was hoping we had more time. We need to get out of here, now."

She heads for the door at the opposite end of the room, opens it, looks both ways down a dusty street outside. She turns back to you and gestures for you to follow her.

"Come on!" she hisses, urgently.

You leave the cabin and step out onto a narrow companionway. You are led right, down past several doors; through their small portholes, you can see small double-bunked cabins inside. Most are unoccupied, though you glimpse people in some. At one point, the three of you flatten against the wall to allow a woman in an elegant skirt and blouse to move past you, and she hurries on without paying any special attention to you.

The Nervous Crewman speaks softly and urgently to you. "Grubel was a passenger. Herr Loeper – the Reich Governor – was found dead in his cabin. Grubel revealed himself as Gestapo, and suspects foul play. He has been questioning the passengers, brutally. When he laid hands on Fraulein Weiss, Ludwig protested. Grubel shot him dead! He says, that resistance means all the officers are suspects now. We are helping you because it is our duty, Herr Fromm."

You pass by a large, rectangular room with a long table and seats for sixteen. Four men and women are loitering in there, sitting or pacing, talking or brooding with nervous expressions. The Harried Crewman reaches up and starts to pull a steep gangway of shiny metal down from the ceiling.

(Make a Pentacles 10 check to notice something, if you like.)

You both break from the cover of the hill and run towards the town. Almost immediately there are shouts from behind you, and the sound of booted feet in pursuit, but you have a good lead, and it'd be a difficult rifle shot at this distance. No one is shooting at you yet, anyway.

You reach the gates well ahead of your pursuers. Your companion runs down an alley, waving for you to follow with one hand and pressing a finger to his lips with the other. It would be easy to lose him at any point in the streets of this little town, distracted as he is by choosing your route.

Even at night, the town is picturesque, with cobbled streets and alleys that wind up and down gentle hills, small townhouses and cottages, and larger buildings from the depths of history. You glimpse many plazas and intersections holding sculpted stone fountains. But the buildings are dark, the doors barred, the windows shuttered, and many are in poor repair.

After a while, you emerge from the ally into what appears to be a bustling open air night market, lit by street lanterns. All around you, people haggle in French, selling, buying, or bartering for various goods. Your guide leads you through the throng. Ahead of you, you spot two German soldiers flanking an officer in a greatcoat and cap, who appears to be buying a brace of pheasants from a market stall. Your guide abruptly changes direction, leading you away.

(Make a Pentacles 10 check to notice something, if you want to.)

[Iceseer]

Scared I look around me to make sure that the threatening figures weren't sneaking up on us. (okay i use my queen of pentacles)

[SlyJohnny]

Most of the French peasants are ignoring you, but one wiry-looking man, standing on a doorstep and smoking a roll-up cigarette while he watches the crowd, stares hawkishly at you as you pass. He abruptly drops his lit cigarette and stubs it out with a boot, and then steps into the crowd with an affected casual manner, trying to blend. He begins to follow you. He's trying to keep a discreet distance, but pushes closer whenever you threaten to be lost from sight by the press and motion of the crowd. You don't think he knows he's been seen.

Your companion, the Plucky Partisan, gives no sign of having noticed this tail. He's leading you towards another alleyway at the far end of the market. "Just a little further now, monsieur. I have friends up ahead, who will be most eager to meet such a capable pilot! They will shelter you, and help us." He says. He smiles, encouragingly.

[Konatsat]

I remain lying down in bed, after all, the motion of sitting up may cause me to feel sicker. Then, addressing the man, I express my gratitude, "Thank you," and attempt to learn more about the situation "I, um, don't mean to impose or anything but do you know who I am, how I got here, and where this train is going? I seem to have forgotten a lot."

[Iceseer]

"Sir there seems to be a tail" I say in a whisper. Scared the man might notice and kill me. (I use a 7 of cups)

[Ceyx]

With the arrival of some sort of armed forces, my casual appraisal of my situation has become totally secondary to survival and continued freedom. Whatever has caused this strange amnesia, I can't take things slowly and try to maintain my dignity while waiting for it to resolve itself. With a dumbstruck backward glance, I follow the Keen Lab Assistant into the street. "What. Is. Happening?" I demand in a whisper, vitriol spilling into my voice.

[SlyJohnny]

"What do you mean?" The Evasive Doctor asks. He averts his eyes from you, making a show of fishing a silver pocketwatch attached to a chain out from his waistcoat pocket, and checking the time. You catch your reflection in the shiny lid, and see that your face is darkened by soot, and there's a thin patina of it covering the gray overalls you're wearing.

"You just need time to recover." He answers, eventually. "Perhaps a hot toddy from the refreshment carriage will set you to rights, eh? The train is going... well, it's rather... involved. The important thing is that we shan't be going anywhere until the problem with the engine is seen to. Nasty business."

The door suddenly swings open, and a short, pale man in a bowler hat bursts in. "You must go immediately!" He says. The Evasive Doctor grimaces, then nods. He reaches down to haul you to your feet.

The Plucky Partisan frowns as he leads you from the market. "We're not being followed. Do not worry, for I am watching most-"

He glances out of the corner of his eye at the man you describe, who has begun to follow you down the street.

"Merde. You're right. 'e must be an informant. He will want to tail us, and then tell the soldiers where we go."

You companion hesitates, unsure how to handle this situation.

"What should we do..." he murmurs. It's unclear if he's speaking to you, or just himself.

You step out onto the dusty road, which is lined by piñons and the occasional alpine tree. The sun is shining in the cloudless sky, and the air smells fresh, as if it had been rubbed with astringent. The bright blue sky seems to go on forever.

You're in the middle of what seems to be one part university campus, one part army base; a veritable ant farm of dull green army-issue buildings, Quonset huts, and barrack apartments. A giant watertower is the tallest structure in evidence. The roads are evenly split between new paved streets and dirt roads. Soldiers and civilians are striding through them, with the quick steps of people who have somewhere to be, kicking up thin clouds of the ever-present dust. One woman in a maid's uniform glances at you as you walk past, slowing her pace to examine your face, but then hurriedly looks away when you meet her gaze.

The Keen Lab Assistant murmurs quietly as she leads on, "It's... complicated. There's a lot to catch you up on. Basically, the administrators are trying to interfere with the final test. They want the Project to fail, doctor. They've had the MPs arresting the key scientists on charges of espionage, and they're coming for you, next. We need to complete the test before it's too late."

She seems to be leading you towards a large gate set in to the perimeter fence that surrounds this place. The building you just left has a crowd of soldiers wearing MP armbands standing by the front door. You watch as one struggling, protesting man in a lab coat is carried out of the building, shoved roughly against a jeep and patted down.

"Don't look. Don't make eye contact with any MPs. Keep your eyes forward, walk like you know where you're going."

[Ceyx]

I nervously adjust my coat, squinting in the sudden change of light. My eyes dart about as I keep my head down, following the instructions of the Keen Lab Assistant. I lick dry lips, trying to keep my movements quick and natural as I avoid the soldiers' gaze. "How..." I try to shake myself into proper wakefulness. Why can't I remember anything? "How much longer until the Test begins?"

[SlyJohnny]

"We're not sure of the timeframe, but we know it has to be soon. We were kind of hoping you'd know. After all," she says, beaming at you with both patronizing encouragement and no small amount of hero worship, "You're the one that's going to set off the bomb."

You approach the perimeter fence, where four bored-looking MPs are waving people and vehicles on through, hardly glancing at ID badges. You can see that past the gates, the road slopes down, leading to more buildings further out.

There's a shout from behind you. The woman in the maid's outfit is standing beside two MP's and pointing in the direction of you and your companion. The soldiers run towards you, yelling at you to stay where you are. They're some distance away, but the MP's on the gate about thirty metres ahead of you are taking note of the commotion; two of them leave their post and start booking it in your direction.

"They made us. Go. Go!" The Keen Lab Assistant shouts, and sprints off to the right, following the perimeter fence. Further along, there seems to be a small hole in the base of it that she's heading towards.

((Swords test if you want to try to outrun the MP's. You might also try to lose them by hiding amongst the nearby buildings with a Pentacles test, but it might mean ditching your companion. Or try something else entirely!))

[Ceyx]

The b- what bomb?! I only barely manage to keep my cool as we approach the guards. No. I have to have had a reason for... whatever this is. Everything will be fine if I just go with the flow, and do what I have to until I know more about what's going on.

It was at that point that our cover was apparently blown.

The girl in the lab coat is my only real link to my life. For a moment, I consider the benefits of just trying to hide, but even though I like the sound of hiding safely more than running away from trained, fit soldiers, I would have to stay hidden indefinitely, never knowing who would be able to tip off the soldiers like the maid had. Instead, I have to hang on to the thread of my past. One thing's for sure - with something like this, I can't possibly keep trying to play it cool and hope my memory comes back. I need answers. So far, only one person has them. I take off after her, the desperation pushing my body to ignore tiny things like twinging muscles or awkward footfalls. I wasn't going to let her get away.

(Using: 3 of Swords, 7 of Rods. Hand Remaining: 6 of Swords, 7 and 3 of Pentacles. Trace: None.)

[SlyJohnny]

((Guard 1 draws 8 and 9 Swords, 4 Rods, 9 and Page of Pentacles. Plays first three, discards the last two, for 21.

Guard 2 draws 10 and Page of Swords, 2 and Queen of Rods, 9 Cups. Plays all.))

You take off, sprinting as fast as you can. But either the two nearest guys run track in their off-duty time, or you're still slow from your fall (or accident, or whatever happened to you). They close the distance to you, and one tackles you at a run, knocking you both to the ground. "Stay down, doctor!" The MP snarls at you.

The Keen Lab Assistant turns back towards you and viciously kicks the MP in the head a couple of times, before reaching down to pull him off you, hurling him onto his back. Before she can press the attack, the second MP reaches her and strikes her with a large baton. She takes the hit on her arm, but the pain makes her stagger back. "Get out of here! Go hide in Los Alamos!" She yells to you. She positions herself between you and your assailants.

The MP who tackled you is getting up. Two more MP's are approaching you, though they're some distance away, even running flat out.

[Konatsat]

Looking down I observe my clothes and try to see if the soot will get off of my face. Then, seeing as this sounds urgent, I get up, look around the room for anything that may be useful and - if there is - quickly nab it, then follow the evasive doctor. There wouldn't be much point in disobeying now, especially when it might be dangerous to do so. As I'm walking, I give myself a quick pat-down to determine what I have on me and whether it would be anything useful in determining what had lead up to this moment.

[Iceseer]

"Well he doesn't know that we know about him why don't we mislead him? It should work pretty well take me somewhere pretend to be talking to another member of your team who is actually just a random stranger then go into the sewers if there is one. It's disgusting but he would have to either follow us forcing himself to show he's following us or more likely not follow us anymore then we go up in another sewer and go to the meetup. At least that's my suggestion" I say in a quiet tone. Trying to act calmly about the thing.(I spend a 6 of cups)

[Ceyx]

It's clear that I'm not at 100% yet, and that means that discretion will be the better part of valor for now. I decide to follow the Lab Assistant's advice, leaving her to her fate with only a backward glance. I attempt to use my lead to shake the guards, taking a confusing route.

(If this is an ongoing conflict, I play the 7 and 3 of Pentacles, and discard the 6 of Swords.)

[SlyJohnny]

There’s a pitcher of water in the compartment, and a small mirror. You try to clean your face up as best you can. Despite their obvious urgency, your companions wait with impeccable Victorian politeness, even making a show of appearing to be busy or preoccupied rather than standing around and obviously waiting for you.

The soot comes off your face easily enough, with a bit of scrubbing (when they understand your intention, the two men practically trip over themselves to offer you their white handkerchiefs for this purpose), but there’s a lot of it. You’d need a shower or bath to get completely clean, and getting the soot out of your overalls would need a serious wash.

Other than the mirror and the pitcher, there’s nothing useful in the room, which seems sparsely appointed and rather tired and worn. Your pockets contain more soot, a scrunched-up stripy felt cap with a deep crown and a thick forward-facing brim, and several old train ticket stubs; they all seem to be for the same few routes, on the same line. The latest one is for an Express service from Manchester to London, and dated 7 August 1899.

When you are ready, the men usher you out of the compartment, out into the train carriage. Suddenly, all the lights go out, plunging the train into darkness. The Evasive Doctor swears, nervously. If you wanted to slip away, now would be the perfect time to do it.

(If and only if you choose to stay and follow the men, make a Pentacles challenge to notice something if you want.)

((Informant draws 2 cards, Knight of Hearts and 5 Swords. Wins opposed check with the Knight, discards the 5 swords))

The Partisan nods in agreement with your plan. You sidle over to an edge of the market, and accost an old man selling old paintings and framed black-and-white photographs, engaging him in an intense, secretive-seeming conversation about his wares while looking around conspiratorially. Your tail doesn’t seem diverted by this ploy; he’s still watching you like a hawk, barely sparing a glance for the man you’re talking to.

One of the framed pictures being sold catches your eye. It appears to be a hand-drawn map of both the town you’re in, and a network of mine shafts and natural caves in the hill adjoining it. You have no memory of ever having been to this place before, and yet, something about the map and its layout seems naggingly familiar.

The Plucky Partisan murmurs to you. “Monsieur, now that you mention it, there is an entrance to the aqueducts around the corner just there. ‘e might realise where we’ve gone, but there are several exits down there; if we move through quickly, ‘e won’t know which one we used. We will need to be fast. Are you ready?”

((Shaking off the informant without losing the partisan will be an opposed Swords test.

Iceseer's hand: 7 Cups, 7 Swords
Trace: Knight of Swords, Queen of Pentacles))

((You empty your hand and redraw. You draw the Ace of Swords! It is discarded, and another card is drawn to replace it. You also draw a card from the Major Arcana deck, and get... The Emperor. It stands for Political Leadership, Government. It does not activate immediately, but remains in play, waiting.

Ceyx's new hand: King of Swords, 6 and King of Pentacles, Knight of Rods, 2 Cups
Major Arcana: The Emperor))

You turn and dart for the opening. It’s rather small, but you lift it up in just the right place to allow your body to slide through easily. The Keen Lab Assistant grapples with an MP for a while, before he knocks her down beats her unconscious with his truncheon (at least, you think it’s just unconsciousness). You wriggle out from under the fence, and away down the hill, into the trees. The MP who tackled you is hot on your tail, but he you have the lead now, and he struggles under the fence slower than you did.

You rush down the hill, through the cover of the trees. After a few minutes, you emerge right onto the outskirts of a small New Mexican town. You realise you can no longer hear any sounds of pursuit. There’s a large billboard sign near the road that warmly welcomes you to Los Alamos. You can see people wandering around, sleepily performing chores and errands- all civilians, no soldiers. A middle aged woman drinking lemonade as she sits in a folding chair on her porch is eying you curiously, but there’s no sign of recognition or alarm in her eyes, and she’s the only one that’s taking any note of you at all.

This area is a maze of small suburban houses and yards, with haphazardly strung washing lines and kid’s tricycles and bikes festooned all over the place. There’s a dusty open area to your left, and beyond it, a section of the town that seems run-down and unoccupied, adjacent to the areas that show obvious signs of habitation. The trees and dusty buildings are covering this area with shade, and the grass over there is paler and drier than the well-tended lawns near where you are. Further into town, there seem to be strip with various shops and a communal square up ahead.

[Ceyx]

Alert, my eyes dart back and forth as I scan my surroundings. I'm no longer sure of anything, just waiting for the next threat to reveal itself. My paranoia brings up a cold sweat, triggers a nauseous dread that hangs over me even as I try to play it cool. Ignoring my skyrocketing heartrate, I size up my options.

While the rundown area seems to be less populated, I have no doubt that a man in a lab coat would stand out like a sore thumb. An empty house would be an ideal place to hide out and try to make sense of the impossible situation I'm in, but I can't take the risk that I'd just be leaving a trail of witnesses.

The more logical course of action would be to blend in among the more diverse crowd in the commercial district. Trying to fix my appearance with shaking hands, to look more presentable and hide the signs of my desperate flight, I make my way to the strip.


(Adding Kings of Swords and Pentacles to Trace. Current hand: 6 of Swords, Knight of Rods, 2 of Cups. Current Trace: King of Swords, King of Pentacles. That was a pretty nice draw, assuming The Emperor doesn't do something like adding your Trace to the opposition of your next challenge.)

[SlyJohnny]

Ceyx

You pass through a cold, empty street where all the lamppost lights has been smashed in or damaged, and then you're out into the busiest part of town. The centre of the town has a sleepy midday bustle. Mostly pedestrians, though small jeeps cross over the intersection occasionally. Grocery stores nestle side by side with places selling tourist gimmicks, and there's a surprising array of small shops selling various crafts or second hand goods, as well as more practical hardware shops.

You're getting differential nods from people now. "Just come up from the base?" A woman selling hotdogs natters to you.

A man spots you in the crowd. He's walking away from a car dealership a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a really sharp silk tie, and smart slacks. He's staring at you in disbelief.

"Doctor? Doctor Simms?" He asks, momentarily stunned. He strides towards you. "What are you doing off base, wandering around?"

[Iceseer]

"As ready as I'll ever be." (Play knight and 7 of swords)

[Ceyx]

Damn! I didn't plan for this! I thought frantically. I hadn't expected anyone in Los Alamos itself to recognize me, just thinking that they might point the soldiers in the right direction if they were questioned.

The man approaching me seems to be well-dressed, and he clearly has access to the base if me being in town in unusual, but he knows me anyway. If he's coming from a car dealership, then he's probably civilian - a military man would have no place for a car. Considering that I had recently been accosted by the military while I was guided by a friendly civilian, that came as a relief. I decided not to run, but not to trust this man, yet, either.

"Oh, there was some sort of disturbance," I claimed, fabricating a lie on the spot. "I got trapped outside in the confusion."

[Centaurion]

You leave the cabin and step out onto a narrow companionway. You are led right, down past several doors; through their small portholes, you can see small double-bunked cabins inside. Most are unoccupied, though you glimpse people in some. At one point, the three of you flatten against the wall to allow a woman in an elegant skirt and blouse to move past you, and she hurries on without paying any special attention to you.

The Nervous Crewman speaks softly and urgently to you. "Grubel was a passenger. Herr Loeper – the Reich Governor – was found dead in his cabin. Grubel revealed himself as Gestapo, and suspects foul play. He has been questioning the passengers, brutally. When he laid hands on Fraulein Weiss, Ludwig protested. Grubel shot him dead! He says, that resistance means all the officers are suspects now. We are helping you because it is our duty, Herr Fromm."

You pass by a large, rectangular room with a long table and seats for sixteen. Four men and women are loitering in there, sitting or pacing, talking or brooding with nervous expressions. The Harried Crewman reaches up and starts to pull a steep gangway of shiny metal down from the ceiling.

(Make a Pentacles 10 check to notice something, if you like.)

Still feeling woozy, I follow, more and more getting the feeling that this is a life-or-death situation. I experience my hangover getting a new friend: Agitation. I nearly feel the adrenaline rushing through my body, my pulse increasing and the slight pressure behind my eyes. Whatever these people are talking about here, every detail that passes me could be a life saver...

(Yes, I'd like to use the Page of Rods here.)

[Konatsat]

Inspecting the cap, I dust it off, straighten it up, then don it and stick with the two men. The blackout comes as a surprise, especially given the general confusion of the situation. In an attempt to make sense of the situation, I try to make out what is happening and ask the men "Hey, do any of you know what's happening? Or have a light so we can see?"

(I attempt to use the 4 and 8 of Pentacles and the 4 of Cups in order to notice something.)

[SlyJohnny]

((Informant draws two pentacles cards, can’t play either; defaults to a score of 3, and loses.))

You duck into the sewers, which is made easy by a dangerous shattered manhole cover. Your tail reacts slowly, thinking you still in the crowd. You rush through a fetid, poorly-maintained sewage tunnel. Several of the branches appear collapsed, or strewn with rubble and hazardous junk. It’s freezing, down here. Your flight suit is well-insulated, but cold is unusually biting. Your guide leads you through a sidetunnel that twists like a snake, nonsensically, before you clamber back up back onto a deserted alleyway; it’s lit by too many burning barrels, turning the air in the alley uncomfortably hot. No sign of your tail for a while now; either he's suddenly got a lot more subtle, or he wasn't able to keep up with your random, evasive route.

You've come into some kind of deserted warehouse district adjoining a river. The lighting around here is very poor, and you have to stay close to your guide to avoid becoming hopelessly lost. Eventually, you reach warehouse number 12 on the Rue du Bois, a ramshackle building with crates and discarded metal sitting on it's roof, giving it the profile of a castle.

The Plucky Partisan goes and knocks on the metal door. "Password?" A voice whispers. "Lazarus." He replies. The door opens to allow you in.

Inside, the room is lit by lanterns, and half a dozen men sitting on milk crates huddle around a paraffin heater. Your companion goes in ahead of you, and rotates his wrists around in a little theatrical flourish, gesturing to you with a 'ta dah!' sort of motion as you enter. The men stand up as you come inside, and several cheer or applaud your entry. They immediately gather round you, and start bombarding you with questions.

"You're actually a pilot? Really?? Incroyable!"
"What news from the front? When will the allies launch a counteroffensive?"
"Monsieur, 'ow do you feel? Are you recovering from the crash? What is your name, your rank?"
"Did any of your flight survive, or is it just you?"
"Monsieur! You were sent here to bomb the chateau on the hill, oui? Will you help us do it?"

((Sorry, forgot to mention last post: The Emperor has triggered, and is discarded))

The man’s eyes narrow. “Really. A disturbance. You were supposed to be taken into custody this morning, doctor. I signed the paperwork myself. Could it be this disturbance is one you caused, evading detention?"

He licks his lips as he stalks towards you. He looks around the square; no one will meet his gaze, and anyone standing nearby has suddenly found an urgent reason or excuse to be somewhere else. He has a clear and commanding tone of voice, a man used to being obeyed promptly by scurrying underlings.

“Doctor, whatever you may have heard, whatever you may’ve been offered or told by any foreign government or infiltrators embedded right in the Project, your services are not required for the tests any longer. It’s for the good of the nation, and it’s a matter of national security. The development of a weapon of this magnitude would be a disaster. I and the other administrators agree that it will invariably lead to a massive lost of human life, if ever deployed. It could ignite the entire atmosphere and finish the job of making humanity extinct, for god’s sake! It would create a massive imbalance of power between the United States and the rest of the civilised world, and heighten tensions. You and your friends need to STOP. And you need to come back to the base with me, right now. Do you understand? Is any of this getting through?”

Most of the passengers in the dining room are too preoccupied with their own affairs or worries to take much note of you, but one man dressed in a cheap smoking jacket does a double take when his eyes meet yours. As you pass, you see him sidle over to the door and strain to see out of the porthole, to watch what the three of you are doing.

The shiny metal stairs come down, and the Nervous Crewman scurries up there first, taking shelter amidst the shadows and the metal beams of what you suppose are the ship's supporting structure. As he does so, the man who was watching you opens the door to the dining room, and starts slipping away purposefully down the corridor in the opposite direction to you. Your companions don’t seem to have noticed.

“It’s another brownout, dash it all.” The Helpful Passenger in the bowler hat tells you. “Happening more and more, lately. The Anarchists haven’t been taking care of the old girl while you were indisposed, sir. Once the situation has become more civilised, we’re rather hoping you’ll be able to take a look at it.”

The Evasive Doctor makes a noncommittal noise using just his nose. “I rather think there’s more pressing business the engineer should see to than the lighting, don’t you? We must figure out what to do about it, and what these bounders are planning. But first, we must get to safety.”

The gas lights hiss back into life just as suddenly as they went dark. “Ah, there we are. Onwards!” the Passenger says.

You pass out of the carriage and for a moment are between carriages in the open air. The noise is immense, and it’s dark enough that you can’t make out any features of the terrain that rushes past the train, except the infinite stars above. They appear still, high above, and looking at them you could fancy the train were not moving at all.

Onwards, into the next carriage. And then the next, which appears to consist of many open tables and crowded booths. Passengers drink brandy or smoke, or gamble at cards, even though there are ladies present. One woman appears to be selling watches and smoking pipes out of a large bag. As you pass a table, a Scarred Cardsharp looks up at you. His poker face doesn’t change, but he recognises you. He immediately ignores you, but you can see him side-eying you with intense interest as you pass through the carriage. He lays down his cards, loses a hand, suddenly no longer paying attention to the game.

[Ceyx]

The man's commanding air instill his words with an added spike, though the words alone would be enough to upset my balance. A bomb of that magnitude? Yes, I could see how it could be done. The calculations race through my mind. Not remembering any of the research I had done, it would be difficult to say whether or not any of my thoughts would hold true to reality, but the idea was there. It dominated half my mind.

The other half screamed at me. A weapon that could wreak that level of havoc... What could I have been thinking? For that, too, I had an answer. Perhaps it started off as simply another avenue of research, before its true potential caught up to me. Why would I have continued, though? Perhaps I believed that if destructive enough means were afforded to enough countries, the principle of mutually assured destruction would become more clear. Or maybe I just didn't want my research to be squirreled away into some drawer in the Pentagon when my intellect and sacrifices entitled me to so much more.

Regardless, the idea of such a weapon coming to exist... didn't chill me as much as it should.

"Shortsighted," I murmur, backing away from the man. "You cannot imagine what would happen if the weapon were developed and deployed by our enemies before us. Preventative armament is the only solution." I turn to dash away, towards the underpopulated area of town that I had noticed earlier.

[Iceseer]

"Well you see. I seem to have received memory loss from the crash. I will still try to help but, frankly I wasn't sure why anything is happening nor why i even tried to get here."(I play my queen of pentacles to try and play down my lack of knowledge.)

[Konatsat]

Making a mental note that I am the engineer and that the scarred cardsharp looks like someone I would rather not get to know, I keep my head down and follow the two men while attempting to avoid the eyes of the Scarred Cardsharp. As I pass the watch and pipe vendor I take a glance at the watches to see whether or not I can tell the time.

[SlyJohnny]

The man narrows his eyes, seeming furious and contemptous. "Short sighted? You are already working for our enemies, you cracked egghead! You don't even remember who you are, do you?"

He was wary of you before, but when you try to run, he seems to assume that he has the upper hand. He lunges forward, grabbing for your arm.

"You're not going anywhere, doctor! You're sick, and delusional, and you are going to follow me back to the base and receive treatment so that you can assist the project the way it needs assisting!"

He glances round, apparently looking for help. But there are no MP's here, and everyone else on the street has suddenly found somewhere else to be. The street has emptied out.

((This guy will attempt to stop you from leaving, so this is an opposed check. Escaping his grasp and running would make Swords the preferred suit, forcing him to let go or otherwise attacking him is Rods, threatening him into backing off is Cups, etc))

Everyone looks supremely disappointed by your answer. The reaction is immediate: slumped shoulders, heavy sighs all round. A couple of them even seem to be holding back tears. The Plucky Partisan exchanges glances with an older man, wincing. He glances away from you, seeming ashamed.

An older man waves everyone to silence. "Well, that's only to be expected. We hope it'll come back to you later. You did well just getting here. Please, have a seat. We will see what we can figure out, together." This man, who appears to be the leader of this little resistance cell, smiles at you reassuringly.

You notice that one of the men, who remained sitting when you entered, is dressed differently to the others. He’s wearing a flight suit similar in design to yours, but his has different markings. A vague memory suggests this means he’s not a pilot, but a refuelling technician or an aircraft engineer. He’s holding a handgun in hisap- a german luger, like one carried by some of the soldiers you saw earlier- with a line of what might be blood staining the barrel. He has a wary, appraising look about him when compared with the sheer puppylike enthusiasm that the French have been treating you to, but his expression changes when he spots you. A flicker of recognition?

“Hey, buddy. You seem familiar. Were we ever on the same flight together, or something?" He asks, in an American accent.

The Focused Resistance Leader leans forward, putting his whispered face closer to yours. "Sirs, please listen carefully and try to understand. This town has been occupied by German forces for years, now. They are arrogant and cruel, and we must restore our sovereignty. The time has come for us to retake our birthright. Their officers have made their HQ in the old chateaux on the hill. There are many caves running beneath it, and we know there is a cache of weapons and explosives, in the old mines. If we could locate them, we could destroy the seat of the enemy power. But we don't know where the explosives are. We understand that you do... or at least, you did, once. There is a method by which you might remember. Some special drugs, the Germans use for interrogating prisoners. Would you be willing to try?"

You proceed down the train. The time is 11pm, if the stopwatches being sold are to be believed. You pass out of the crowded car, and into one that seems deserted. The air is ice cold, and the gas lamps burn low. Shivering, your two companions usher you through.

While passing through the next carriage- this one much too hot, causing the Evasive Doctor to loosen his collar as he huffs and puffs behind you- two men emerge from the compartment in front of you. They're dressed in shabby woollen suits, and one carries a wicked looking knife, while the other twirls a wooden billyclub on a leather thong around his worst.

"Going somewhere, gentlemen?" One of them asks, archly.

The door behind you opens, and two more people, a man and a woman, emerge from the carriage you just passed through, brandishing clubs and knives.

"No sudden moves out of you, sirs. Let's not see things get bloody." The woman says.

The Helpful Passenger gasps in dismay. "The Anarchists. They've caught up with us. What should we do?"

The man in the WW2 fighter pilot costume frowns at the Intense Stagehand. "Yeah, if I'm honest, I'm not sure I remember my part, either. And I don't know where this screening room is." He tells her. His confession gets a similar reactions to yours: the assembled stagehands, technicians, and cameramen look dejected, or resigned, or frustrated.

He shoots you a glance. "You seem familiar. But I don't think I ever caught any of your flicks, no. What roles do you normally land? I always get typecast as pilots and stuff, since that time I was a helmsman on Star Trek." He turns back to the Intense Stagehand and nods. "I'll give it a shot, if you think it'd help us out. I got questions I don't have an answer to.

There's clothes in the briefcase that are very much like the slacks or overalls everyone's wearing.

[Iceseer]

While he was standing he said "I'm willing to try anything. It helps you guys and frankly I want to know what happened myself. Though even if it doesn't work i'll try to help you guys as best as i can. " The thought occurred to hum what if this side wasn't the one he belonged to after all. what did he truly know about these guys. He tried to sound reassuring thought he wasn't confident himself.

[Ceyx]

"'Egghead'?!" I bellow, more than fed up with the constant dodging, running, and worrying about something I can't even remember. The seductive idea of just going with him, getting treatment for my amnesia, and maybe figuring all this out once and for all danced its way across my thoughts, but the contempt in the man's voice and the treatment that I'd seen I could expect banished it. Instead, I was simply furious. I snarled at him, pulling not away, but in close, my face inches from his own. "Unhand me, you buffoon! I've seen what to expect from your pet brutes!" After the brief moment of slack I was given from closing in faster than he was expecting, I reversed direction and pulled away hard, trying to outjuke him, slip his grip, and escape.

(Spending 2 of Cups, 6 of Swords, and the (Traced) King of Swords on escape attempt, via a small threat and attempting to escape.)

[SlyJohnny]

The Focused Resistance Leader nods, and clasps your hand in gratitude. "Excellent. We must go back into the town, to where the drugs are cached. Hopefully your friend here hasn't stirred up the hornets nest, hah!" He shoots a glance at the burly serviceman who spoke to you earlier, and you realise he's somewhat afraid of him. There's a wariness about him whenever they speak, as if he doesn't trust what the American will do next. Perhaps it's the casual, almost careless way the American is handling his gun.

The various resistance fighters around you button up their coats and don their gloves, and lead you back out into the cold. they spread out, some trailing behind, others taking point. The Plucky Partisan and the Focused Resistance Leader stay with you and the American. You're heading back into town by a different route to before, through bombed-out houses with collapsed roofs, past some alleyways that make you sweat with the number of trash-barrel fires that light them. It's hard to keep track of where you are. The layout of the town doesn't seem to make any sense, the way it's alleys and streets wind back on themselves.

The Plucky Partisan starts down a street, then motions you to stop. "Patrol. Wait for them to pass." He whispers. The four of you loiter by the window of a second-hand bookshop. The owner is inside appears to be closing for the night, though he's old and scatterbrained, so it's a drawn out process. Amoung the nearest table of books, one red-covered manual catches your eye.
It appears to be an aircraft spotters guide, written in German and heavily annotated by whoever it's last owner was. It's lolling open on a page with a drawing that looks exactly like the aircraft you woke up in.

((That 6 is of Pentacles, and can't be played on Swords tests, unfortunately. You have a score of 22.

Administrator draws 4 cards, discards an Ace, deck is empty. Discard pile is reshuffled and is now the deck. He gets:10 Pentacles, 5 and Page of Swords, 8 of Cups. Score of 25, wins by 3.))

He's taken aback by your fierceness and releases his grip, but a moment later, he barrels after you in pursuit.

He's surprisingly fast, and surprisingly angry with you. He kicks you hard in the back of the knee before you've made it twenty paces, and you tumble face first onto the asphalt. The impact stuns you for a moment, and your face hurts, but it's that kick to the knee that's the doozy. You can feel an intense throbbing pain, which worsens whenever you move the joint even slightly. Running on it might be difficult.

((You are suffering from Pain. Your King of Swords cards has been flipped, and is unavailable for the rest of this scene, though it still counts against your hand limit. If your entire hand is flipped through pain, you'll fall unconscious.))

The Embittered Administrator leans down, attempting to haul you to your feet and throw you against a stand of newspapers by a newsagents. "You self-righteous little know-it-all! Who the hell are you, to tell us how to run our society?! We no longer need your brand of 'genius', doctor! Maybe you should go back to sleep for good!" He screams at you, apparently a man who's normally practiced air of civility has given over to rage.

Ceyx's hand: Knight of Rods, 6 of Pentacles
Trace: King of Pentacles, King of Swords (flipped)

[Centaurion]

Most of the passengers in the dining room are too preoccupied with their own affairs or worries to take much note of you, but one man dressed in a cheap smoking jacket does a double take when his eyes meet yours. As you pass, you see him sidle over to the door and strain to see out of the porthole, to watch what the three of you are doing.

The shiny metal stairs come down, and the Nervous Crewman scurries up there first, taking shelter amidst the shadows and the metal beams of what you suppose are the ship's supporting structure. As he does so, the man who was watching you opens the door to the dining room, and starts slipping away purposefully down the corridor in the opposite direction to you. Your companions don’t seem to have noticed.


I still have no idea what's really going on, but this guy sneaking away seemed kind of suspicious to me... He seemed to know me, or at least seeing me had some implications for him... If only I knew who I am myself... Following the man with my eyes, I ask the others: "Where's he going?"

[Iceseer]

"Wait that looks familiar." I Act confidently but hurriedly to pick it up hoping it may provide more information about my situation. Though it is in german I will need a translation book, or translator to read this for me.
(If needed i use my 7 of cups, and my knight of Swords)

[Konatsat]

"Perhaps we can reach a compromise," I whisper to the Helpful Passenger, "what do they want?"

[SlyJohnny]

"Who?" One of the crewmen asks, barely glancing towards the man. "I don't know. He's just one of the airship's passengers, sir."

You glance back at the passenger. Your initial instincts were correct. He's definitely taken an interest in you, and from the way he's trying to be surreptitious about it, it's not a friendly interest. He's watching you rather hawkishly, in fact.

You feel a drop of water hit your head. You glance up, and see only the ceiling of the airship's companionway. Is the roof leaking? "We need to go, Mister Hammer". An impatient American-accented voice says from behind you. You turn around, and everything is different.

It was raining in the city. The kind of rain that could beat a man down. But he couldn't let that happen.

The two suits flanking him were getting impatient. Didn't understand why he'd stopped. Hadn't seen the tail. He was important to them, somehow; their golden goose. It gave him leverage.

The hood (or whoever was) was still lurking in the alley back there. Still tailing them. Hadn't got what he wanted yet. Whatever that was.

A car sped past, scattering rainwater and trash in it's wake. A little ways down the street, an older woman selling roast chestnuts from a little stand had apparently decided to start packing up for the night. Probably with a view to heading somewhere drier. His raincoat was doing a valiant job of protecting his cheap dark suit from the elements, but his fedora was getting soaked. The tenements and shops on the dark streets around him seemed foreboding. The neon sign hanging over the nearby tavern flickered, and went out.

"Hammer, our car is just around the corner. You need to come with us." The suit told him again, impatiently.

Why was he out on a night like this? Because he had a job to do, a case to solve? Maybe. If he could only remember what it was...

((The High Priestess has triggered, which mean you must discard your hand and Trace. Your new hand is: 6 and Knight of Cups, 9 and Page of Pentacles, 4 Swords. You drew the Ace of Pentacles, which means you draw... The Chariot. It often means Victory, or Speedy Travel. It does not activate immediately, but stays in play, waiting.

Your narration will be in the third person until further notice.))

Iceseer

You stride into the shop, and motion to leave with the book. The shopkeeper looks up from his bookkeeping with surprise. "Hey! Five francs, Monsieur, sil vous plait!" He says-

((Shopkeeper draws 8 Cups, Page of Swords. Loses the opposed check by 1.))

-but you quickly realise that he plucked a figure out of thin air, and doesn't think it's worth anything. You launch into an explanation about how it belongs to you and was stolen, and is only a second-hand journal anyway, and he waves you away rather than fight over it.

Back out on the street, the American Serviceman examines your prize. "What is that? I think it's about me. Can I see it?" Looking over it yourself, you realize that it's not written in German, but coded with some kind of cipher. You'll need an Enigma machine to crack it. Still, you can't help but feel that it's a useful find.

((Iceseer has acquired the Red Icon))

The Helpful Passenger whispers back. "They're anarchists, trying to wreck the train. They think it'll make their mark on the world. Sir, they don't even want the train to complete it's journey!" he says this last sentence in an utterly scandalized tone.

A Lazy-Eyed Anarchist steps forward. "Gentlemen. We're all reasonable people here. Perhaps if the engineer met with our leader, he'd see things differently. Will you come quietly, sir?"

The Helpful Passenger narrows his eyes. "We won't let you take him, you vermin."

The anarchists start advancing, manoeuvring their way around seats and discarded language towards you.

You head back out onto the lot, everyone in the technicians union filing out with you. They split into small groups, moving to watch the sides and rear, walking nonchalantly but alert. There's a practiced quality to the way they do it, as if this isn't the first time they've been under threat. The shadows outside are so deep here you can barely feel the sun. Your new flesh-and-blood arms get goosebumps. But soon enough, you're passing back through the lot, to where the sun kisses the earth once more.

You pass by the two scavengers you saw earlier. From somewhere nearby, a block or two away, you can hear a commotion of some kind; shouting, muffled detonations, a large number of footfall. The two old ladies are clearing out.

The actor in the WW2 uniform steps right over to them, and snatches the folder with your picture on it. The old lady scolds him. "Hey! That's mine, *******! You wanna pay for that?"

He shoots her a glance. "It's my portfolio. What good is it to you?"
She scowls. "I was gonna wipe the tape on it and reuse it."
"Yeah? How much does a second hand blank betamax tape go for, these days? It's not even yours, lady."

The old woman dismisses him with a gesture, and goes back to packing up the more easily saleable goods.

[Iceseer]

"Sure, It reminded me of my situation." I think and I turn to the page with the plane. "To be specific this reminded me of my situation the plane which i awoke on." Thinking perhaps the book is different from what i expected.

[LrsDude]

Dressed as a stagehand with the overalls from the briefcase, Kyle follows the group, squinting in the sunlight. He takes note of the interaction the WW2 actor has with the dumpster-diver. His curiosity gets the better of him.

"Hey uh, did I see my photo in there?"

[SlyJohnny]

The actor gives you an odd look.

"Uhh, I don't think so, buddy. I grabbed this because it reminded me of my last gig. Look, see? It's all me." He says, opening a page and gesturing to a laminated headshot. It's of you, giving the camera a smouldering look. "That's an action shots of me behind the cockpit of my 'plane in A Bridge Too Far. I was a pilot, got shot down over enemy territory. Powerful stuff." There's a betamax video tape in the folder too, an ancient form of storing recorded media. You'd need a cassette player to view it.

The Intense Stagehand taps your arm. "Street's clear ahead, but our destination may be hit, soon. Are you both ready to move on?"

((Did you leave your costume and blaster rifle prop behind, or are either of them about your person somewhere?)

[LrsDude]

((Kyle left the costume and prop blaster rifle behind.))

"Yeah, let's keep going." he says to the Intense Stagehand.

What the hell is going on? The portfolio was of myself, but this other guy thinks it's him? Another seam in the simulation, the value is set to the viewer... but what would a third party say if they saw the picture? Could there be other people in this simulation with me? Kyle looks around... weren't there movie posters up on the walls near here? Maybe that actor would think they were of himself as well... could be worth testing.

[Konatsat]

"So we run?" I quietly quip to the Helpful Passenger preparing to take flight if able.

[SlyJohnny]

((You drew the 7 and Page of Rods, and the 9 Cups.
Trace: Queen of Pentacles, Knight of Swords

Incidentally, I forgot to mention earlier, but the American Serviceman left his gun behind at the warehouse. You can retroactively have taken it with you, otherwise, one of the partisans will have picked it up.))

The American Serviceman frowns down at the picture of your plane, seeming puzzled, but says nothing.

You proceed through the streets, your companions deftly skirting around patrols. French civilians hurry on past you. There's a lot more soldiers on the street, now, patrolling or driving around in half-tracks, or sitting behind sand bags at checkpoints, harassing the French. There's a kind of tension in the air, like a storm cloud about to break.

Eventually, you pass through a dusty apartment building and approach a door. One of the partisians knocks, and for several seconds you hear the sounds of chains being released and bolts pulled back. Then the door opens, and an old woman waves you all inside.

You are ushered in to a room which is well-lit by electric lighting, unlike the rest of the building. There is an old wooden chair in the middle of the room, with leather belts resting over the arms. The old woman is holding the largest injection needle you've even seen, with some silver liquid sloshing around inside.

"Please, sit. The drug will need to be administered neurally. There may be some pain. Who's first?" she asks. You and the American Serviceman exchange a look.

The Helpful Passenger looks afraid, but determined. He reaches into his pocket, clasps something. "Ready when you are, sir." He whispers.

((Give me a Rods or Swords opposed test to break out and escape, your choice.))

You head back through the lot, and away from the distant sounds of conflict. The tour guides seem to be a lot more hurried with the crowds now, rushing through their spiels and outright ignoring questioning hands. Nobody is talking about Thought Police or raids, though. Everyone seems to be aggressively pretending that this is all normal.

You are ushered through a dark studio, littered with props and filming equipment, into a small back room. The Enthusiastic Technician who offered you a cigarette earlier is there, setting up a television and VCR. You realise that it's VHS, not a betamax, and so won't play the portfolio tape.

The Enthusiastic Technician inserts a tape, and the screen springs to life: an attractive woman with a very soothing voice is working out, and instructing a group of others. The stretches she performs are long and slow, not particularly difficult or energetic, and there's a emphasis on the release of breath. Beginner's Yoga.

The Technician moves around to behind a comfy chair that's set up in front of the TV. The arms of the chair have sleeves, as if for arms to be inserted. He holds his hands out with the fingers splayed near the top of the chair, as if preparing to give whoever sits down a head massage.

"This may be a bit of emotional journey, but it's a great film, and worth doing. Who's first? Please, sit." He smiles brightly.

The WW2 Actor makes a noise at the back of his throat.

[Iceseer]

Prior: I take the gun the american soldier somehow forgot to take with him.

"Unless the other one Wants to I'll do it. Might as well get this done as quickly as possible after all." I say.

[LrsDude]

Kyle's brow furrows. What could this even be? Some sort of farce? A distraction, or a channel to the next stage of the simulation? Or an invitation to tear apart his consciousness.

He looks at the WW2 actor. A real person sharing the simulation? Or another red herring? In the worst case, it doesn't matter.

"After you," offers Kyle.

[SlyJohnny]

“Be my guest.” The American Serviceman says, waving you forward. He seems glad that you’re going first.

You sit down on the chair. The Serviceman and the French partisans crowd round you, looking at you with expressions that are nervous, or pleased, or expectant. The Austrian Doctor straps your arms down to the arms of the chair. “This might sting a little. Try to stay focused on the details of your mission, on why you’re here in the first place.” She squeezes your arm in a reassuring sort of way, and then inserts the needle in to the side of your head, injecting some of the strange liquid. She follows this up with another injection on the other side of your head, then behind each of your ears. In each case you believe you can still feel the needle poking into your scalp, and a sensation of numbness that makes it difficult to move your head freely. Nothing else happens for about a minute. Everyone in the room continues to watch you closely.

The pain, when it arrives, is utterly overwhelming. You feel an immense pressure in your head that seems to move around inside your skull. Your lose all perception of the room you’re in and the people around you. Every coherent thought you have is swept away by a tide of random, disjointed imagery and sensory impressions. You feel as if you are losing your mind, as if you can no longer sort out what’s real and what isn’t.

(You can make an optional Pentacles test to keep a grip on reality.)

The Actor shrugs, and then sits down, slides his hands under the armrests, and stares at the TV screen. The Enthusiastic Technician smiles reassuringly, locks his hands around the actor’s head and starts rubbing with all ten fingers and thumbs, massaging in time with the yoga music while the actor watches. The actor raises an eyebrow at this, but says nothing.

Nothing happens for a moment, and the only sound in the room is the soothing yoga video, which is starting to become a little grating. After about a minute, the actor shoots you a “can you believe this ****?” kind of look. An amused smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. He glances back at the yoga video, and immediately starts screaming, thrashing around in the chair.

The Intense Stagehand takes a half step towards the chair, unsure what to do. The Enthusiastic Technician keeps rubbing his head speaking softly.

"Focus on the yoga, okay, buddy? Can you remember your part?"

The Actor is flailing around, making strange, almost animalistic noises. His eyes flick over to you,staring without evident recognition.

[LrsDude]

Kyle leans over toward the Intense Stagehand. "Is this normal?"

[Iceseer]

(I use my queen of pentacles.)

[SlyJohnny]

You open your eyes as the pain momentarily subsides, and realise you're no longer sitting, but lying down. You're lying on a thin, narrow pallet, inside a humming, tube-like machine. The purple lights on the walls illuminate the narrow space, and a repetitive gentle thumping sound is audible from all around you.

Your uniform is gone. You're wearing a thin green top and bottoms, scrubs like a doctor or hospital patient might wear. There's a plastic bracelet on your wrist, with typed letters that list the name "John Doe", a blood type, and a few other unfamiliar bits of information.

Down by your feet, a hatch opens. A man dressed similarly to you leans his head in.

"Anything, John? You want to keep going? Just nod, or shake your head."

Outside, you catch a glimpse of a dark room, with other human figures hovering around shiny chrome tables festooned with complicated equipment. All are watching you intently. The faint smell of astringent is all around you.

((If you remain inside the machine, give me another Pentacles test))


The Stagehands frowns. "I don't... Claude, what's happening?"

The Technician rubs the screaming man's head more vigorously,
as if a half-assed massage is what's causing the problem. "I don't know, ma'am. I've never done this before. Hey, buddy. You good? You want to keep going?" He asks the actor, who peers up at him uncomprehendingly.

[Konatsat]

Not seeing any avenue of escape I whisper "Change of plans then," to the passenger then announce to the Anarchists "Let's talk this out, pitch your ideals to me and I'll see whether or not I am willing to have a meeting with your leader. If you are able to convince me I'll go without any fuss, if you are not able to convince me, you'll let the three of us leave."
(use king of cups and 5 of pentacles)

[SlyJohnny]

((Lazy-Eyed Anarchist draws 5 cards, and not a single Cup. Plays his single highest card 10 Swords, loses))

Your argument sounds confident and reasonable. Everyone takes a moment to imagine this impasse ending in a way where noone punches or stabs them, and decides to give peace a chance. The anarchists stop advancing, for now.

The Anarchist spreads his palms out to you. "I'm glad you're being a good sport about this. If you do agree to come with us, I'll let those two go free. I'm not sure what drivel they've filled your head, sir, but this train is not going to make it on schedule. Not any longer. You must understand, sir, the situation has changed since you were knocked out. It is no longer feasible, and it's in the people's interest that we-"

The Evasive Doctor snorts. "He lies, sir. You are a stout fellow, and whatever problems there are with the engine are surely within your ability to fix, once-"

The Anarchist cuts him off. "Once he remembers how, you mean? Sir, the clumsy ministrations of this oaf are surely the source of your present confusion. But we can get you proper medical attention, if you come with us."