Ophidia

{  {(set: $ultPoints to $sb + $pc + $ts) (set: $cypherCalled to false) (set: $kjCalled to false)} =><= (float-box: "X","Y====")[ Well, $title[(if: $name is "Viper" or "Sabine" or "Dr. Callas")[$name](else-if: $name is "A killer")[killer](else-if: $name is "A doctor")[//doctor//](else-if: $name is "A bitch")[bitch](else-if: $name is "nobody.")[//nobody//](else-if: $name is "A scientist")[scientist]], why don't we take a trip down memory lane? ] }  { |chotkey>[ (link-repeat: "hotkey")[ (if: $sb is 0)[(go-to: "SB1")] (if: $sb is 1)[(go-to: "SB2")] (if: $sb is >= 2)[(go-to: "SB3")] ] ] } { |qhotkey>[ (link-repeat: "hotkey")[ (if: $pc is 0)[(go-to: "PC1")] (if: $pc is 1)[(go-to: "PC2")] (if: $pc is >= 2)[(go-to: "PC3")] ] ] } { |ehotkey>[ (link-repeat: "hotkey")[ (if: $ts is 0)[(go-to: "TS1")] (if: $ts is 1)[(go-to: "TS2")] (if: $ts is >= 2)[(go-to: "TS3")] ] ] } { |xhotkey>[ (link-repeat: "hotkey")[ (if: $ultPoints is >= 9)[(go-to: "ULT")] ] ] } =><= (float-box:"X===","====Y")[$title[Snake Bite (C)]] (float-box:"X===","===Y=")[(link-goto:"Beta","SB1")] (if: $sb is 1)[(float-box:"X===","==Y==")[(link-goto:"SB-022","SB2")]] (else-if: $sb is >= 2)[(float-box:"X===","==Y==")[(link-goto:"SB-022","SB2")](float-box:"X===","=Y===")[(link-goto:"SB-034","SB3")]] (float-box:"=X==","====Y")[$title[Poison Cloud (Q)]] (float-box:"=X==","===Y=")[(link-goto:"Inoculation","PC1")] (if: $pc is 1)[(float-box:"=X==","==Y==")[(link-goto:"PC-036","PC2")]] (else-if: $pc is >= 2)[(float-box:"=X==","==Y==")[(link-goto:"PC-036","PC2")](float-box:"=X==","=Y===")[(link-goto:"PC-050","PC3")]] (float-box:"==X=","====Y")[$title[Toxic Screen (E)]] (float-box:"==X=","===Y=")[(link-goto:"TS-013","TS1")] (if: $ts is 1)[(float-box:"==X=","==Y==")[(link-goto:"TS-016","TS2")]] (else-if: $ts is >= 2)[(float-box:"==X=","==Y==")[(link-goto:"TS-016","TS2")](float-box:"==X=","=Y===")[(link-goto:"TS-017","TS3")]] (float-box:"===X","====Y")[(if: $ultPoints is 9)[(link-goto:"$title[Ultimate (X)]","ULT")](else:)[$title[Ultimate]]] (float-box:"===X","=========Y==")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 1)[◆](else:)[◇]] (float-box:"===X","========Y===")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 2)[◆](else:)[◇]] (float-box:"===X","=======Y====")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 3)[◆](else:)[◇]] (float-box:"===X","======Y=====")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 4)[◆](else:)[◇]] (float-box:"===X","=====Y======")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 5)[◆](else:)[◇]] (float-box:"===X","====Y=======")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 6)[◆](else:)[◇]] (float-box:"===X","===Y=======")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 7)[◆](else:)[◇]] (float-box:"===X","==Y========")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 8)[◆](else:)[◇]] (float-box:"===X","=Y=========")[(if: $ultPoints is >= 9)[◆](else:)[◇]]

{ (if: $sb is 0)[(set: $sb to 1)] }It’s barely a scratch against tile that reveals you’re not alone in the room. A bolt of fear up your spine, and your grip tightens around the vial. A (link-reveal: "mouse?")[ A (link-reveal: "rat?")[ ... a (link-reveal: "human?")[ You whirl around and your heart practically stops in your chest. Fuck. You don’t want to die. He’s got a knife, and you’ve got the vial, and you don’t want to die. His screams curdle your insides and the smell of burning flesh fills your nose. God, what have you done? You weren’t even thinking about how your research could be a weapon, how— He grabs at your arm, reaching for the knife again, and something in you switches off. This isn’t how you go out. (link-goto: "It’s a blur.","SB1-A") (link-goto: "You remember in startling clarity.","SB1-B") ]]]

(if: $sb is 1)[(set: $sb to 2)] Your hands shake as you unscrew the canister. You tell yourself it’s because you pulled a wrist muscle (link-goto:"yesterday with Reyna.","SB2-1") You know you’re lying. Sage keeps telling you to lay off the hours; be more careful with the chemicals. It’s all bullshit. You were never a good shot even before your hands started to twitch. They didn’t need your bullets then, and they don’t need your bullets now. Maybe her concern is valid. Maybe it’s good that you hired that cocky bastard with the snipers to cover your long shots. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. It doesn’t matter that no matter what you do, (link-goto:"(text-colour:#ffd43b)[Lucia]","SB2-2") doesn’t get any better. It doesn’t matter that Sage keeps (link-goto:"offering to help","SB2-3"), it doesn’t matter that you can’t get electrified screams and deep brown eyes out of your head. It doesn’t even matter that you can’t open the fucking canister. You’ll open it eventually. Tomorrow will be a better day and your body will listen to you for once—//who do you think you are? Marie fucking Curie? Get over yourself//—or else you’ll get someone different to open it for you. Out with one poison, it’ll be. In with the next. You grip the workbench edge against a sudden tidal wave of anger. You’re better than this. It rushes through you, a hot flush from your head to your toes that shoots into the floor and leaves you flushed out, empty. You half-fall into the hard chair behind you, and eye the boiling green canister through strands of hair you’re too detached to push out of your eyes right now. It looks forbidden. Almost tempting in its dull glow. You want to give up. You want to never do this again, get out of this lab, live a life. It doesn’t matter. You’ve always been good at finding better and quicker ways to hurt people. Why stop now, when you’re finally helping, (link-goto:"too?","start")

(if: $sb is 2)[(set: $sb to 3)] “Can I help?” he rasps, hovering beside you. You don’t mind his presence, though maybe you should. Sometimes your emotions feel more like afterimages than anything real. You feel (link-goto:"bad","SB3-1") when you see him, but only because when you see him at first you feel nothing at all. Sage would tell you it’s probably a coping mechanism; your body’s way of forgetting what he tried to do in order to accept him as an ally now. There’s probably just something wrong with you. “If you’d like,” you respond, because there is unequivocally something wrong with you. You watch him examine it, rolling smooth glass between half-solid half-claws. He hums, though it reverberates more like the low growl of a monster in the closet. There’s a deep, awful irony to what you’re doing, letting him help you develop the same weapon that scarred him. You hand him a vial. You either trust him more than you thought, or you really don’t care what happens to him. You stare at your hand like it’s not attached to your body, and eventually your lips move of their own accord. “This will neutralize the compound. Pour about a milliliter in, and then dispose of it there. Got it?” He stares. Nods. God. Why are you doing this? (link-goto:"You like him.","SB3-A") (link-goto:"He scares you.","SB3-B") (link-goto:"You’re sorry.","SB3-C")

{   (set: $sb to 0) (set: $pc to 0) (set: $ts to 0) (set: $name to "")  { (set: $title to (text-color:#39FF14)+(text-style:"bold")) } }

=><= (live: 3.5s)[(float-box:"=X=","===Y") []] (live: 5.5s)[(float-box:"=XXX=","===YY") []] (live: 7s)[(float-box:"=XXXXX=","==YY") []] (live: 9s)[(float-box:"=XXXXXXXXX=","=YYY") []] (live: 10.5s)[(float-box:"X","Y") []] (link-goto:"REGRET.","ULT1")

(if: $pc is 0)[(set: $pc to 1)] The real problem with switching your compounds all the time isn’t the chemistry. It’s the inoculations. Masks alone won’t work—if anything you and your mirror dreamed up was that simple, you wouldn’t be locked in this ever compounding battle, would you? No. Each time you shift the formula, you have to shift the very fabric of your team alongside it. Half-dead poison in their veins, introducing the antivenom. The process is a strange intimacy that you (text-colour:red)[''hate hate hate'']. You have a deal with Sage. She does half, you do half. It’s the most you could twist her guilt into agreeing to. You can’t stand the apprehension on the younger agent’s faces. You wish you could make them do it themselves, but they’d undoubtably do it wrong. Everyone is just so fucking incompetent. You’re always first on the roster. If there’s something wrong with it, if it hurts more than usual, or fails when you test it, it’s better you than them. If it went wrong on someone else, Brimstone would tell you to stop. You can’t stop. He doesn’t understand and he never has. They need you. And anyway it’s simple enough. Siphon up the bubbling green sludge, find a vein, plunge, depress. Hiss pain between your teeth like a snake would; feel it boil through your blood like it's eating you alive. When you can move your arm without screaming, you know it’s time to continue. //Next contestant to the stand//, you think bitterly. You call for (link-goto:"Chamber.","chamber") (link-goto:"Reyna.","reyna") (link-replace:"Klara.")[~~Klara~~ (link-goto:"//Killjoy.//","kj")] (link-goto:"Cypher.","cypher") (link-goto:"Sage.","sage")

(if: $pc is 1)[(set: $pc to 2)] You hate her. Black hair, twitching hands, neon green poisons. She is a shade of you, and you hate her. You cough blood into your fist, and it’s the (text-style:"fidget","underline")[''wrong color''] but that’s fine. You can go to Sage after you’ve fixed this. Your mirror’s formulas are always rotating just as quickly as your own, and your only satisfaction is in knowing that every time her poison burns against your skin, so does yours against hers. Disgustingly, you are evenly matched. You pull up the randomizer. It’s the only thing you could think of to circumvent the horrible, terrible fact that she is you and you are her, and (link-goto:"all her thoughts are yours.","PC2-1") Self hatred was never a stranger to you, but now it is given the strength of an enemy. (link-goto:"Spin the randomizer.","PC2-A")

(if: $pc is 2)[(set: $pc to 3)] “Anything you need,” Sage says, laying a hand over yours. You suppress the urge to slap her. And then there’s an (link-goto:"idea.","PC3-1") (if: $idea is true)[//“Anything?”// you ask. Her hand lifts slightly off yours; a leaf caught momentarily in the wind. She’s looking at you like she knows this is a bad idea. She’s looking at you like all she wants is to be forgiven. “Anything.” You pause. Are you really going to do this? (link-goto:"Yes.","PC3-A") (link-goto:"No.","PC3-B") (if: $yesCloud is true and $noCloud is true)[(link-goto:"It doesn't really matter.","PC3-C")] ]

(if: $ts is 0)[(set: $ts to 1)] Sometimes you run your fingers along the dispensers absentmindedly, smoothing over their dips and crests, and wonder at your own genius. Did you mean to make them look like scales? Doesn’t matter; it’s what they are. Hard metal painted along the delicate skin of your wrist and forearm. Today, you take one in your hand and rip it violently from your suit. It clatters against the floor, the toxicant bursting out and bubbling a shallow hole into the floor of your lab. You wrinkle your nose at the wisps of burnt smoke. Failure. You, the release mechanism, the toxicant—it’s all the same. Fucking failure. You need to fix this. It can’t happen again. This equipment failure almost cost you your team. More importantly, it almost cost you the battle. You tear away another scale, controlled this time, but you still revel in the rip. You’ll have to rebind the nanofibers. You don’t have time to rebind the nanofibers. You’ll do it anyway. The device looks so puny in your hand. Who knows how many mirror agents you’ve brought gasping to their knees with this, and it’s just metal and acid and glass. The issue has to be in the mechanics, and you’re a genius, but not this kind. (link-goto:"Call her.","TS1-A") (link-goto:"Don't call her.","TS1-B")

(if: $ts is 1)[(set: $ts to 2)] Your screens are working much better now. The gear change has made the dispensing mechanism ninety-five percent reliable, up from just eighty. ~~You're so relieved you could kiss her.~~ Now you’re just tweaking the formula. The lighter you make it, the higher and longer it can dispense, and the more cover you can give your team. Things have been going … genuinely okay, recently, so the last thing you expect is for anyone to walk through your lab door unannounced. “We need to talk,” Cypher says. (cycling-link: bind $wentWrong, '"There’s a new Omega plot."', '"Phoenix burned down the training center."', '"Chamber finally betrayed the protocol."', '"Brimstone needs help with basic technology again."', '"Jett baked everyone cookies except for me!"',"Whatever.") (event: when $wentWrong is "Whatever.")[ What//ever.// Someone has done something incompetent and somehow it’s going to be //your// mess to clean up.] “About?” “(link-goto:'(text-colour:#845ef7)[Klara]',"TS2-1").” Shit. “I’m not HR, Viper. If VALORANT had an HR, I’d probably be the first to go,” he tries to joke. (link-goto:"It's funny.","TS2-A") (link-goto:"It's not funny.","TS2-B")

(if: $ts is 2)[(set: $ts to 3)] They’re malfunctioning again. You can’t figure it out. You can’t. Figure. It. Out. You could //kill// somebody. (link-goto:'Call //her//.',"TS3-A") (link-goto:"Call Cypher.","TS3-B") (link-goto:'Call ... him.',"TS3-C")

You rub a hand against your throat. (link-goto:"It’s a good thing you wear turtlenecks.","ULT1-1") Reyna draws a claw across one of the bruises. “Sorry,” she says, and you think she means it. “I still can’t believe you were into Killjoy,” she half-jokes, spitting the name and always too honest after sex. But her eyes are burning with the bursting purple of garden violets and that’s enough. You’ve bought Lucia another few days—//years//, if you offer again and again. (text-size:0.5)[(how could you not?)] You hum. You wish you were stupid enough to smoke cigarettes. It would be thematic, and easier than rasping out a reply. “Knew that … would get you in the mood.” //To hurt me,// you don’t add. That seems blunt, even for you. Reyna shifts away. Slightly; suddenly. It would be weak of you to reach out for her and you //are// feeling weak but not like that. Never like that. “You know, I should go,” she says. “It’s better if I deposit this, uh, energy, before I use it up myself.” Your hand twitches beneath the sheets, cold on your naked thigh. The comforter shifts as she pulls away completely now, revealing her stupid perfect body and the pulsing of her tattoos. It must hurt her to refrain from consuming the energy, when she’s already gone almost a week without any souls. She's right. She should probably go. You don’t want her to. (link-goto:'“Stay.”',"ULT1-A") (link-goto:'“Fuck off.”',"ULT1-B") (link-goto:'"..."',"ULT1-C") (link-goto:'Something stupider.',"ULT1-D")

(align:"=><=")+(float-box:"=X=","=Y=")[end.] (live: 3s)[(align:"=><=")+(float-box:"=X=","===Y=")[ (link-goto: "back to start","start")]]

(live:1s)[.] (live:2.5s)[.] (live:4s)[.] (live:5.5s)[(stop:)(link-reveal:". . .")[ (live: 2s)[You $title[poison] everyone around yourself down to their weakest versions,] (live: 6s)[and //still// ] (live: 8s)[you miss] (live: 10s)[your ](live: 10.7s)[FUCKING] (live: 12.2s)[ (link-goto: "(text-colour:red)[SHOTS.]","end")]]]

Oh. Hello there. And who might (link-reveal: "you")[(show: ?you)] be? |you)[ (cycling-link: bind $name, "Viper", "Dr. Callas","Sabine", "A killer","A doctor","A scientist","A bitch","nobody.") (event: when $name is "A doctor")[|doctor>[It's been a while since you've healed anyone.]] (event: when $name is "A scientist")[(replace: ?doctor)[]] (event: when $name is "nobody.")[(link-goto: "That's me.","start")] ]

Shoving him in the containment area. Flipping the switch. His crying, his begging, the thunderous crack of lightning and a feeling like splitting apart. You remember it as bits and pieces and you know that forgetting, as much as anything, proves how much of a selfish (if: $name is "A bitch")[$title[bitch]](else:)[//bitch//] you are. You remember, always: all of this, it was (link-goto:"your fault.","start")

Shoving him in the containment area. Flipping the switch. His crying, his begging, the thunderous crack of lightning and a feeling like splitting apart. You remember more than you want to. You wish you could forget the way his scratching at the glass walls slowly grew clawed. You remember, always: all of this, it was (link-goto:"your fault.","start")

Say what you want about her flaws, that woman can //fuck.// (link-goto: "back","SB2")

Lucia. Lucia who looks just like her sister, but innocent, but young, but fragile and decaying. She needs more time, you need more energy, and Reyna needs more souls. The soul-conversion machine isn't efficient enough. Her body isn't strong enough. You're no (if: $name is "A doctor")[$title[doctor]](else:)[doctor], not anymore, and you're not sure if you can save her. (text-size:0.5)[(you're not sure what Reyna will do if you can't)] (link-goto:"back","SB2")

You really don’t mind Omen. He’s quiet, efficient, and ruthless when it counts. He isn’t trying to be what he’s not—unlike every other damn agent Brimstone hires. He’s still stuck on trying to understand what he //is.// (You could tell him everything, who he was, //why// he is, who he could be—and you don’t. You (if: $name is "A bitch")[$title[bitch]](else:)[bitch].) You know who you are. Heartless. Brilliant. (if: $name is "A bitch")[$title[Bitch]](else:)[Bitch]. You wish the others could be more like Omen, and accept things as they are. You wish the others could be more like you. But wishing is useless, so you just hand him another vial when he’s done with the (link-goto:"first.","start")

Maybe Sage is right and you just want him dead. Maybe you don’t care about him or anybody else, and you’re just as selfish as your father said you were, except you’re not young and brimming with potential anymore. Just (link-reveal: "hate.")[ (You don’t want to hate him.) (link-goto:"...","start")]

The thing is that Omen didn’t try to kill you. Omen is the product of your violence and your brilliance and your fear, an extension of yourself in a way that can only exist so long as you lie through your teeth. You gave him a name and a gender and a home; you gave him a (text-style:"fidget")[body] and you gave him endless questions. (text-size:0.5)[(~~It’s the closest you’ll ever come to being a mother.~~)] Omen is not the man who came for you with a knife and grabbed at your lab coat with a boiled-off face. You’re not even sure if he’s really still a man. And yet you punish him every day, withholding the one prize he ever asks for: the truth. So you’re sorry. Or at least you know you should be, logically. But you can’t tell him, so you just hand him another vial when he’s done with the (link-goto:"first.","start")

It’s a little vindictive. You usually leave him for Sage, but today has pissed you off and at least he doesn’t bitch and moan too much. It’s always a game you have to play; who to leave for Sage and who to inoculate yourself. “Missed me?” he asks. “It’s been two days.” You already regret this. “You counted!” He plops himself down on the side of the bed and leans back on his wrists. You siphon a dose. He crosses his legs. “You usually have Sage do me.” You feel along his forearm for a vein. He looks up at you, imploring with his gaze, something sharp tucked away inside it. You hate him. “I was feeling a little self-loathing today, apparently,” you deadpan, ignoring the way he leans in. It’s not his flirting that bothers you, exactly. It’s not like you feel unsafe, or harassed, or even leered at, but that’s almost the problem. Chamber is insincerity personified, and you wonder what it all means. But that doesn’t mean the flirting doesn’t get annoying. He cracks a smile. “Did my veins shrink or are you just feeling me up?” “Veins shrank,” you say, and stab the syringe in despite the fact that you aren’t quite sure you’ve found the right spot. Whatever. If you missed, it’s not like it’ll kill him. Probably. A sharp inhale, and he jerks away slightly while you depress the plunger. You expect it and move with it. “There, there,” you say. He’s doubled over slightly. A tiny flare of satisfaction lights somewhere sick inside of you. Sicker than the rest of you, at least. “You need a lollipop?” “Ah, no thanks, (if: $name is "A doctor")[$title[Doctor]](else:)[Doctor].” He can’t quite wipe the grimace off his face as he shakes out his arm. “A pleasure as always.” “Can’t say I feel the same,” you say, and he doesn’t smile while he leaves. (link-goto:"Interesting.","start")

She’s more bearable than most. Comes in with a smile and a wink. Sometimes a kiss if it’s been a while, and she’ll laugh while you wipe off her lipstick with a tissue. “My little snake has a bite to her, hm?” she says when the poison hits her veins, and flirts and talks through gritted teeth until her jaw can come unstuck again. When she stands up, all the grace of a dancer caught in her movement, you’re always struck by how beautiful she is. Sometimes, by how surprisingly wise. She puts a hand on your shoulder. “I trust Lucia is well?” “Well as she can be,” you answer. Her expression flickers, hand clenching just shy of too-tight on your shoulder, but just as quickly she slides it kindly down your arm, smiling. “I understand,” she says. You don’t think the anger was for you, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be, (link-goto:"eventually.","start")

You really (link-goto:"shouldn't.","start")

You always, //always// call for Cypher. You don’t particularly like him, but at least he’s good at what he does. And he knows not to piss you off. Too much, at least. “So what is it this time?” he asks. “Fluorine? Neon? Forgive me, chemistry is not my strong suit.” The talking, though, is not your favorite. You stay turned to the wall, waiting for him to venipuncture himself. It’s comical. He won’t even let you see the centimeters of skin it would take to insert a needle. “Okay, got it,” he says, and he offers the end of a tube that winds down beneath his suit. When you finally get the tip screwed in, you inject him just a little too fast, and it (cycling-link: "was", "wasn't") a mistake. He takes it in stride. Never even winces. It’s the reason you put up with all his chatter. “Oh! This one’s got a kick! Am I getting hints of sulfur?” You pull off your gloves, soaping up your hands and again staring down the wall so he can remove the IV. “You can go.” “Has anyone ever told you you have terrible bedside manner?” he asks. “Yes,” you say. By the time you turn the tap he’s already (link-goto:"gone.","start")

It’s easier when she’s on your side of half. “Good evening,” she greets. Is it evening already? You hadn’t noticed. “How are you?” “Alright.” You draw a dose out. You don’t ask her how she’s doing because that would mean she’s (link-goto:"forgiven") and she’s not. A tiny part of you enjoys the gasp she lets out when you inject it. Perfect, put-together Sage, finally come apart. Mostly you just resent her for (link-goto:"failing you","forgiven") all those years ago, but on occasion it bleeds into something more violent, vengeful. And then quick as the neon has disappeared into her, Sage puts herself together again, drawing deep, long breaths like lapping ocean waves, and you almost, almost feel ashamed. But you’re not sorry. You’re (link-goto:"not.","start")

|lie>[She failed you, is the thing. When you needed her most. You needed her to put back the broken slop on your laboratory floor, and she failed, and you called it Omen. No. That's not it.] (link-replace: "...")[(replace: ?lie)[What you //needed// was for her to put the worlds back together after your stupid fucking assassination attempt left you splitting every atom of the universe into a mirror image of itself, but she couldn't. She was supposed to fix everything. If she just could have stopped his decay, Omega wouldn't even exist. None of this would be happening. It's her fault. Not (link-goto:"yours.","sage") ]]

In the beginning, you made your poisons and were done with them. Then you realized she was making the same ones, coming up with the same ideas, and, of course, you each had inoculated your own team. You were useless. Then you refused to be. And now you're here, spinning a damn wheel to make your poisons. (link-goto:"back","PC2")

''566873.'' Chlorine will be this week’s activation key, then, and hydrogen the neutralization agent. (link-reveal:"... but ...")[ What if she got the same numbers—what if, what if it’s not just thoughts? It’s not just developing the same poisons day after day, it’s fate itself. You have to spin again. You have to— (link-goto:"Spin again.","PC2-AA") (link-goto:"Don't.","PC2-AB") ]

You feel stupid the moment after clicking the button. She would never have rolled the same keys. It’s impossible. You don’t even know if she’s devised the same system—you rolled a die over which of six ways you would begin your randomization. Why can’t you just (link-goto:"//accept it already?//","PC2-AA1") ''732871''. Mercury activation. Sulfur neutralization. That’s a challenge. You’ll make it (link-goto:"work.","start")

Spinning again doesn’t make any sense. You’re in different universes. Even if she has the same thoughts, the context of the generator will be different. Six numbers and your randomized system of assignment cannot be the same. They haven’t been since you started doing this, same time as she did, and started choking on each other’s gasses again. You set to work on developing a chlorine based reaction with dipole neutralization. Everything's (link-goto:"//fine.//","start")

You're unloved. Unlovable. The only thing you're good for is for hurting other people, and hurting other people doesn't come with rainbows and happy endings. But you //are// good at it. Really //fucking// good. (link-goto:"back","PC2-AA")

Ever since KAY/O joined, you’ve been thinking. What if there was a way to add something new to your poisons—to change the game, once and for all? (link-goto:"back","PC3") (set: $idea to true)

{ (set: $yesCloud to true) }“Sit there.” You point her to the chair in front of your microscope, turning to search the shelves for what you’ll need. An empty poison cloud capsule. Raw radianite, chunks glimmering in the harsh inset lighting. Karaya gum. Emulsifier. Your mask. It’s not like you haven’t done this before, the grating and the blending and the pouring. You’ve just never … tested it; always disposed of any prototype before Brimstone could find out and tell you how insane you were being. But Sage owes you, and she knows it. (God. What are you //doing//? Sage is a terrible choice. You shouldn’t be testing this in the first place but if you’re going to, at least let it be someone who the team still has a fighting chance without. Are you really this stupid? This overconfident? Do you want to //kill// her?) You hand her the device. Instead of the usual neon green teeming at the clear ports, the liquid inside glows a faint, pulsing blue. You adjust your mask over your face. It shouldn’t affect you, but why risk it? “What will it do?” she asks. She trusts you too much. “Stop your powers.” She considers the thing, rolling its weight in her hands. It isn’t often that you let her touch anything of yours. “I hope.” “Okay,” she says again, and puts it down. She really, //really// trusts you too much. After one last adjusting of your mask straps, you tap the button to detonate on your bracer, and a quick hiss fills the room—then a (text-style:"shudder")[//boom!//] as everything around you explodes into shades of blue. The mineral grit stings your eyes but you force them open wide, watching Sage’s reaction as she breathes in the stuff. She coughs. “Hurts,” she chokes. You check to make sure the deactivation window is still open on your bracer, but you don’t make a move to shut off the flow. Not yet. What are you //doing?// “Powers?” you ask. She shakes her head, coughing again, coughing and coughing and coughing. //Well there’s a benefit,// you think. //We’ll know when someone’s coming.// “No powers, or you don’t know?” She’s slumping slightly in the chair. You should stop this. Instead, you grab a utility knife from the lab bench and slash across your palm. You hold it out to her. Pulverized radianite starts to settle on open skin and you wince. She reaches for your hand. You watch blue power coalesce in lazy rivulets and leave the air around it blank, only filler gas, but before the familiar relief of Sage’s healing it bursts apart like dandelion seeds, and Sage gasps like she’s been punched. You shiver. Something feels deeply, terribly wrong. (link-goto:"Let it keep running.","PC3-AA") (link-goto:"Deactivate it.","PC3-AB")

{ (set: $noCloud to true) }“Then leave me alone,” you spit. “You can’t help me, and you can’t help anyone else. So just try not to make things worse for once, would you?” Sage purses her lips, pulling away. “Okay,” she says, softly-firmly. You think that what she calls “emotional regulation” would be better termed “emotional repression.” You’ve hurt her, but not as much as you could have. Really, it’s kinder this (link-goto:"way.","start")

You thought about doing it. That’s just as bad. You’re sick and ambitious and they were always right. You don’t deserve your team and you don’t deserve the power of your poisons and when you’re honest with yourself you know: Sage doesn’t need your forgiveness. //You// need the (link-goto:"world's.","start")

You can tell she’s getting lightheaded. You don’t want to deal with her reaction to all of this, and maybe if she just passes out now it will make things easier to explain later. (Really, you don’t know why you do it, just that you do, and that watching her gasp and choke and finally sag forward, you don’t feel much of (link-goto:"anything at all","start").)

You stab the button on your bracer and at once the hissing stops, dust settling back into itself in a circle around the two of you. Sage coughs a few blue sparkles, wiping her mouth. “Let me see that,” she says, and you hate that the first thing out of her mouth is a kindness. Still, you hold out your hand. You don’t want to get radianite poisoning (great idea Sabine! Let’s gas our team’s main medic and then expose an open wound to highly reactive material to test a theory!), and if it works you’ll know the power-damping effects are temporary. If it doesn’t work, well … She takes it. Blue gathers, gathers—(link-goto:"relief.","PC-AB1") You examine the cut. Perfectly sealed, no scars, nothing to prove this even happened other than the (link-goto:"look in her eyes.","PC-AB2") At least there’s no way your mirror sees this coming. (link-goto:"...","start")

Blue skies on a summer day. Laughter like bells. The breeze. The smell of your mother's hair. (link-goto:"back","PC3-AB")

Like you're crazy. (link-goto:"back","PC3-AB")

//Tap tap.// You should unpin her contact before Cypher notices, but the bracer is already ringing and it’s too late to hang up. Why would you even think about hanging up? She’s your engineer; that’s why you hired her. This is a professional call and you need help—you can admit when you need help, no matter what anybody else says. “Viper?” Killjoy’s voice crackles sleep-soft out of the bracer. It’s … cute. “I need you,” you say. Your hand tightens against the ridges of the screwdriver you’re holding. “In the lab.” Rustling. You can imagine the yawn she stifles, the way hair strands will drag across the mic port as she puts up her rustled hair. (link-reveal:'“I’ll be right there,”')[(show: ?rightthere)] she says. |rightthere)[She finds the problem in a matter of minutes. You were using the five millimeter gears instead of the six, and it was causing a problem where the spokes wouldn’t catch when the activation latch was opened. Or something. You’re working in silence next to each other, picking out tiny, slippery gears with tweezers, and the anger from before is starting to cool off into something more manageable. You wonder if she’s noticed the hole in the floor, and what she thinks about it if she has. (link-reveal:'“I can do this alone, you know.”')[ It comes out more severe than you intend. But so does everything, and she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she hums softly in response. “I don’t mind.” You put down the emitter you’re working on. She pries out another gear. Stops. Looks at you. She’s looking at you like she wants something. Like she doesn't know she wants something. You really shouldn’t give it to her, whatever it is. (link-goto:'"Thank you."',"TS1-AA") (link-goto:"She doesn't know what she's asking for.","TS1-AB") (link-goto:'//"Goodnight."//',"TS1-AC") ]]

You pull up the schematics, setting to taking the device apart. You crack the glass while trying to poke a borehole, and acid explodes over the table. You pour a couple drops of neutralizer onto the mess before it can eat through your table and realize again that you have no idea what you’re doing. You don’t even know what went //wrong//. (link-goto:"Call her.","TS1-A") (link-goto:"Don't.","TS1-BA")

“Thank you.” A pause, considering. You’ve always been weak where it counts. “Good job,” you say, “little mouse.” Her eyes go a little wide and you look away before you can betray yourself. (link-goto:"//Little mouse.//","TS1-AA1") It fits too well. Little hands, quick feet. Shy in some ways, bold in others. You should be so bold. You look her in the eyes and dare her to pretend you don’t know what you’re doing. She swallows softly, audible in the silent lab, and you turn back to your work. You’ve given her what she wanted, and you don’t know how to feel about (link-goto:"that.","start")

You glance away, letting your hair act as a barrier against words. Silence envelops the both of you (link-goto:"once again.","start")

//“Goodnight.”// It’s cold and simple as fresh snow. She bites her lip. You pick up the tweezers. She pushes away from the desk and the chair legs make a wince-worthy screech. You pick out a gear. (link-goto:"She leaves.","start")

You took German in college. You know it's an endearment. Little mouse; //mäuschen//. She's cute like a mouse. |cute>[She's dear to you. ](click:?cute, (action:'mouseover'))[(replace: ?cute)[~~She's dear to you.~~ There's nothing more to it. (text-size:0.5)[(unless she wants there to be)]]] (link-goto: "back","TS1-AA")

You stare at the device. It stares at you. (link-goto:"Call her.","TS1-A") (link-goto:"Don't.","TS1-BA")

You snort. The audacity gets to you, it really does. “God, you’re fucking insufferable. Has anyone ever told you that?” You laugh again at the irony. “Viper—” Is he trying to //console// you? “Shut the fuck up.” You have to grab the side of your workbench to stabilize yourself against more laughter. “Seriously, shut the fuck up. You think—what, you think I like her? Seriously? //Killjoy?// Killjoy who comes into my lab and annoys me all day with ideas? Killjoy who follows me around like a lost puppy? Killjoy who still thinks rainbows have pots of gold at the end and people get happy endings?// Seriously?//” You hate that you can’t read Cypher’s expression. His voice, though. “Just because you cannot accept your feelings doesn’t mean you can talk about her that way.” “What feelings?” you say, but the absurdity is already melting away, leaving something raw and tender-to-the-touch in its wake. “Mild dislike? Apathy?” He crosses his arms, and you have never seen someone telegraph coldness so completely through a single gesture. “She’s seeing someone, and you better stay out of it.” It hits you like a physical slap. “Or else I might do something I regret.” Shit. (link-goto:"Shit, shit, shit.","start")

You feel suddenly blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You need to stop jerking her around,” he says, seriousness finally bleeding into his tone, filling out the corners of his character that always feel so conspicuously absent. “She—” “You think—you think, what? I like her?” Cypher stills. You take a step back. “You—she’s ten years younger than me. I’m her boss. A mentor. That’s wildly inappropriate even //ignoring// our fraternization policy.” The chemicals you were mixing pop softly behind you. Cypher shifts his weight. “I told you, I’m not HR,” he says. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” (link-goto:"I'm not.","TS2-BA") (link-goto:"I'm not!","TS2-BB")

Brilliant, stunning Klara. Klara with the mousy brown hair and the bright ideas and the big round frames that she built herself. Klara who should get on your nerves. Klara whom you think about ... too much, too kindly. (link-goto:"back","TS2")

“I’m not. I’m not trying to //prove// anything. I don’t like her.” You flatten your expression against the twinge of wrongness that (cycling-link:"is","isn’t") echoing through you right now. “I only said that because I know about the ... rumors.” Cypher appraises you. You wonder if his eyes can see anything special; if he’s running numbers on your complexion or peripheral heart rate, trying to figure out if you mean it. Nosy bastard. You let him stare. “Now, what was it you needed to talk to me about?” “Nothing,” he says. Stupid, stupid stupid (link-goto:"$title[you.]","start")

“I’m not!” Your face is getting red. You can feel the heat in your face like a sunburn. This is absurd. “I’m not trying to prove anything! I don’t—” “Viper …” his tone is consoling, and that, more than anything, gets you to shut up. Cypher, consoling? Just how obvious have you been? “She’s seeing someone.” You grit your teeth. You’re not going to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Who?” “Not seeing, exactly. But I can tell she wants to. She wants to and the only thing holding her back is—” //“Who?”// “(link-goto:'(text-colour:orange)[Raze]',"TS2-BB1").” It explains everything. The shrinking number of visits to the lab, the absentmindedness that creeps into Killjoy’s ideas when she is here, the shallow reactions when you reject them. She’s been preoccupied, but you didn’t think … You just didn’t think, is what it is. “You need to give her closure,” Cypher says. “Or at least stop this game of cat and mouse.” “Okay,” you say. He shifts forward, slightly, as if to go to you, then back. By the time he’s leaving you’ve already returned to your (link-goto:"work.","start")

Annoying. Big hair and bigger personality. Despite her volatility she's effective, and you've never really minded her before. Now, you're not so sure ... (link-goto:"back","TS2-BB")

Like walking past an abandoned pet on the side of the road. Not guilt, exactly—maybe it's pity, more than anything. (link-goto:"back","SB3")

{(set: $kjCalled to true) }She’s not pinned anymore, there’s that at least. (live: 2s)[(transition:"dissolve")+(text-size: 0.5)[//ring...//(stop:)]] (live: 3.5s)[(transition:"dissolve")+(text-size: 0.5)[//ringgggg...//(stop:)]] (live: 5.5s)[(transition:"dissolve")+(text-size: 0.5)[//ringgggggggggg........//(stop:)]] (live: 8s)[(text-size: 0.5)[''click!''] //Hallo! Killyjoy on the line. Haha, just kidding. I cannot take a call right now—//(stop:) (live: 3s)[(link-replace: "Hm.")[(show:?hmm)](stop:)|hmm)[It would be unbelievably embarrassing if you accidentally left a voicemail, so you hang up. It’s already embarrassing that you let it play at all. Are you really so starved for the sound of her voice? Pathetic. You (link-goto:"get back to work.","TS3-AA") ]]]

{Your bracer only rings twice before you get a text. (set: $cypherCalled to true)} (live: 3s)[(text-indent:50)[//Can’t talk, sorry!//](stop:) (live: 3s)[Damn it. (stop:) (live: 2s)[(link-goto:'Call //her//.',"TS3-A") (link-goto:'Call ... him.',"TS3-C")](stop:)]]

He picks up instantly. You’re simultaneously disgusted and flattered. “I need a favor,” you say. “Ah! It’s good to hear your voice, //Mademoiselle//. And I am doing well, thank you for asking.” As always, his sass lacks any real bite. He really lets you walk all over him, huh? “My toxic screen dispensers are having issues. I can’t figure out why.” You unscrew the toxicant capsule on one of them, dropping in neutralizer so you don’t lose a finger trying to do just that. A pause. You wonder what he’s doing that has half his attention but is ignorable enough to pick up your call one ring in. “And you’re coming to me? I’m flattered.” (if: $kjCalled is true and $cypherCalled is true)[“Don’t be. You were my last resort.”](else:)[“I'll hang up,” you threaten.] You can hear his pout over the line, the one he makes when he is trying to hide that really you’ve made him laugh. He really does enjoy annoying you too much. “You are not selling this well, Ms. Viper. I fear I must ask what’s in it for me.” You bite back the urge to correct him. //Dr. Viper. Not Ms.// (link-goto:'"Your paycheck."',"TS3-CA") (link-goto:'"A date."',"TS3-CB")

You still don’t know what’s wrong, and the utility knife keeps twitching in your grasp, and— Your bracer lights up. ''//Incoming Call.//'' Your heart leaps in your chest for a moment before the caller ID shows. Cypher? (if: $cypherCalled is true)[Why //now?// ](else:)[Well, at least you don't have to call him yourself. ] (link-goto:'Answer.',"TS3-AAA") (link-goto:"Don't answer.","TS3-AAB")

{(set: $cypherCalled to true) }You accept the call. “Yes?” you say, flattening your tone to an even unimpressed. “Viper,” he says. “Why were you calling Killjoy?” You suck in a breath. “You’re monitoring my calls.” “You’re deflecting.” “What I am is //trying to fix my tech.// I only called her because she’s better than you.” “Hm,” Cypher says, like he’s really considering your answer, then a sudden grunt of surprise. “Well, best of luck. I’m busy.” You think you hear faint gunshots. Is he //in the field// right now? “Bye!” What the hell is wrong with him? ... Only one option left now. (link-goto:'Call ... him.',"TS3-C")

You hang up. He calls back. You hang up. He calls back again. God help you to not kill this man. (link-goto:'Answer.',"TS3-AAA")

“Your paycheck,” you say. “I //do// employ you.” “Ahhh, you drive a hard bargain as always. I’ll be there in twenty.” “Make it ten.” (Sometimes you just like to see how far you can push it.) You think you hear him stop a sigh halfway, but when he responds, it’s with the same cheerful ease as always. (link-goto:"“You’re the boss!”","start")

“A date,” you say. The line goes silent. You already regret this. It’s probably not the only way you could have gotten him to say yes. Really, just //please// would have done it. “... With you?” You sigh. “With me.” There’s a pause. You wonder what the look on his face is. “I’ll be there in (link-reveal:'five.”')[ He finds the problem almost immediately, and you curse yourself for not recognizing it sooner. Of course it was the compound reacting with the base materials, the compound is the only thing you ever change. You want to ask why Chamber knows enough about chemistry to have caught it. You don’t, because that would require admitting you find him a little bit interesting. “So, about that date,” he says. You could say it was a joke, except you don’t make jokes. Only snide comments. But whatever. (link-replace: "Klara")[~~Klara~~ Killjoy] isn’t taking your calls, Reyna would rather eat you out than hold your hand, and you can’t deny you’ve always been curious about Chamber’s endgame. You’ve steeled yourself to the reality of getting invited to some fancy restaurant tonight. “You really don’t have to.” //What?// “I would not want you to feel pressured into anything.” He’s not looking at you. This doesn’t make any sense. Why isn’t he looking at you? “Do I need to send you to Sage?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “A year of relentless flirting and you’re suddenly respectful now? Did you hit your head?” He finally meets your gaze, breaking into a sunny smile that feels less well-faked than his typical ones. Just what is he playing at? “You’re right,” he says. “Forget it. I'll (link-goto:'hold you to it.”',"TS3-CB1")]

“Stay,” you say. You lied to yourself earlier. Sometimes you //are// (link-goto:"weak.","ULT2")

“Why don’t you just fuck off?” you (link-goto:"say.","ULT2")

You just look at (link-goto:"her.","ULT2")

“I love you,” you say. You mean it and then all at once you don’t. You (link-goto:"wince.","ULT2")

Zyanya glances at you, just //glances// at you, then away, threading limbs expertly back into clothing like she’s done this a million times before. She probably has. ''“You knew what you were signing up for,”'' she says, simply, like it’s the only thing to say; like no matter what you had done or said tonight would have ended the same way: you cold under the covers and her hoops (link-reveal: "abandoned")[(show: ?abandoned)] on the nightstand. |abandoned)[ The door closes. { (link-replace: "You hate her.")[ (link-replace: "You hate //this//.")[ (link-replace: "You hate //this//. Being this way.")[ (link-replace: "Your throat aches.")[ (link-replace: "Your eyes burn.")[ (link-reveal: "You realize:")[ (link-goto:"$title[THIS]","ULT3") is your ultimate ability. ] ] ] ] ] ] } ]

Reyna's power takes the life force of others and uses it to amplify her own. Lucia needs this energy to live. Omega's been quiet. What else was there to offer but your own vitality? You figured if you were going to suggest she choke you out for science, you might as well get something out of it. And clearly the science worked. (link-goto:"back","ULT1")

"Deep breaths," Sage says. "It's okay." You bat her hands away; raw, heaving, coiled. "I can help. Let me help." (link-goto:"back","SB2")

It’s upscale and Moroccan and not until next week, which gives you plenty of time to think-not-think about it. Why did you even offer? You don’t want him; you haven’t thought about wanting a man since you realized women were on the menu. You don’t even really //like// him. When the date finally does come, rolling in on a Parisian sunset, you’ve put on your favorite pitch-black slip of a dress and ignored Reyna’s questions about where you were headed. |hah>[Hah. ](click:?hah, (action:'mouseover'))[(append: ?hah)[(Jealousy looks good on her.)]] When he sees you he smiles and opens the door for you and orders wine and fills your glass and tries to translate the menu before he realizes you speak French, just never with him. The revelation somehow doesn’t disrupt the flow. He stumbles for a moment when you order smoothly, barely accented, but catches himself, inserting himself back into conversation with an ease you can’t help but envy. If someone you were flirting with pretended not to speak your native language for an entire year just to spite you, you think it might get to you. He flirts easily but in the way he’d flirt with anyone; the way he flirts with the waiter before catching himself and directing his attention back to you. At the end of it he offers to pay and you don’t protest. It’s pleasant. Benign. Boring. The date is exactly like what you expected, and nothing like you expected at (link-reveal:'all.')[ The fraternization ban may be lifted, but you //are// his boss, so your last moment is outside of the restaurant doors and not your rooms. Something is nagging at you. Has been nagging at you since he offered to let you back out of the date. “Do you even like me?” you ask. Moonlight glimmers on the cobblestone streets. “I didn’t take you for insecure, Sabine.” He hasn’t touched you once all night. Not that you thought he would. He isn’t stupid. “The moment we’re back on base, it’s Viper. And that’s not what I mean.” Vincent hums to himself in a way that sounds thoughtful. It’s … it’s not //right//. This isn’t //right//. “Would you like me to prove it?” A hand reaches up to your face, and you bat it away. Somehow that settles it. From the day he was hired he’s been pressing you as far as you’ll go, and the moment you reciprocate he only gives when you ask. “I don’t know what games you’re playing, Chamber, but keep me out of them.” You could swear you see him smile at (link-goto:"that.","start")]