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Owner	Pose
Kale Hearthward	NOW ENTERING: The Caboose. This is our last stop. Please gather together all of your personal belongings and emotional baggage, and prepare to exit the train. Thank you for riding on the Infinity Train. We hope you won't have to ride with us again. The Caboose. The last car in the train. After what amounts to (conveniently for scheduling purposes) a solid week of effort in tracing signals, tracking down reports, eliminating possibilities, and in the end just simply putting in the footwork to check more cars... *this* is the last car he can be in, fittingly enough. The Caboose has just the one door, on the front side. It looks as though the roof opens up, to admit (or eject) other cars similar to how the engine had its own mechanism for docking cars via the roof, but it's closed and there seems to be no way to open it. Thus, just one door. The choices are entering or not entering, and... well, you showed up, so the choice is just going to be made for you. In you go. No waiting, no messing about, no door paralysis or choices or anything of that sort, this scene is on rails! (Okay, okay, so you do get a chance to be cautious if you want, send in a drone or whatever, peek in quickly, consult tarot cards, take air temperature and barometer readings - whatever. Just... get in the door.) Inside... there's a train yard. The purpose of the Caboose rapidly becomes clear as more of the car is seen. The Engine makes cars, the Caboose maintains them - using the Train's hammerspace properties to put an entire maintenance depot inside itself. There's rows and rows of train tracks, some of which have cars in various states of (dis)repair, along with testing stations and maintenance platforms and large piles of both spare parts and junked pieces of old cars. And all along the rim of the city sized room, there's a large circular testing track, miles long. There's also Lance. He's standing on top of one of the stationary cars. He's not that difficult to spot, really, at a couple hundred feet away from the entrance. "You're resolved, then." He turns to face the group. "To deny my offer. I suppose it was foolish of me to hope for otherwise..." "... Even so. I still hold out hope, that you can see reason. To do what is best for yourselves, and close yourselves off to the evils of the real world. If not by your own volition, then by mine." Immediately as he stops talking, two things happen. The first being his number increasing - he's still wearing his gloves, so it's not clear what he's up to at this point, but the glowing digits can be perceived through the fabric none the less. The other, more pressing thing, is Lance's presence is made known - felt, rather than seen. It's draining, but in a good feeling way - like how warm blankets on a cold winter morning drain your will to get up. It's a full hearty meal, lulling you to sleep. Wouldn't it be nice, to just go back to dreaming? "Wonderworld awaits. Won't you join me?" It hits some less hard than others, but everyone feels at least some of it - overwhelming, pacifying positivity, that'll erode away their wills if they don't push back against it. It'd be nice to just stop fighting it, wouldn't it?
Ishirou	Ishirou hasn't let himself out of the RESCUE the entire time they were on the train, spending time searching for Lance and trying to figure out where he could be.  Honestly, at this point, it's just a single point in the train, because everywhere else has been ruled out.   NOW ENTERING: The Caboose. Lance is already speaking, but Ishirou doesn't want to hear it.  People always say things, always claim they know what is best, and then they just turn around and hurt you.  Nobody who wants to hurt him is his ally, nobody who claims to 'know what is best for him', is his ally.   Even if he sees the corner of his edges turn dream-like.  He fights the feelings off, it's not right.  Obviously what he deserves is to suffer, not a dream, not an unreality, not an escape.  He needs to suffer and pay for his crimes.  Not that /that/ would change anything... not that he'd gain anything he'd lost.   Parts of the Flight unit fly out of his subspace pocket, breaking apart and attaching to him, forming the flight form of the RESCUE unit.  Already, two drones fly out, OPTIONs.  One attaches to Hibiki's gloves, aiding in correcting her strikes to place them where they need to be.  The other hovers over Arcadia's shoulder, launching firepower down toward whatever she decides to target.   He's already scanning Lance, trying to figure out more about him.  Trying to keep his eyes focused.
Futaba Nuki	It's almost time. In the cars leading to the Caboose, Futaba does a largely unnecessary check of her own gear out of habit. She snatches up random objects and scenery on the way there, shrinking down pipes and tables and the occasional pile of floating debris, all to shove them into that strange little pouch she wears around her hip. She's dressed in her black ninja-ing outfit today, and there's a rather severe look on her face when she comes up to the door of anti-paralysis. "Are we all on the same page with this? I /was/ thinking about wrecking this train once we got everyone off, but..." She scratches her cheek lightly, looking up and behind herself once she figures out how to word it best. "... Changing the filters up should be fine for whoever actually wants to stay on this thing. If you got any objections, now's the time to raise 'em!" And then it's time to head on in. She glances arund slowly at the interior of the Caboose, taking all of those sights in and realizing it's more of a train yard rather than a train car in the state it's currently in. She spots Lance on the way in, and she doesn't take too long shrinking/shoving a car into her pouch before leaping onto another one to get a better look at him from higher than ground level. "You bet we are. The real world's got issues, but dealing with them is how we're supposed to get better at making the world better. Hiding in here..." For someone like Futaba, living in that dream world, letting the fugue state settle in again would be a nightmare more than anything else. It's certainly tempting when it hits her, and it reminds her of far simpler days back home. Days when she was far dumber than she is now, innocent to the ways of the world, long before becoming a hero was ever in consideration for her. "... Ngh. Screw that! We're not letting you mess with anyone's head any more!" Drawing her katana out with a flaming flourish and an angry stomp, Futaba holds it near her face in an underhanded grip as she blows out a massive fireball at Lance. The tanuki herself disappears in the process, though, but soon reveals herself to have BECOME the fireball hurtling right at him. Still made mostly of fire, she flings all four limbs forward like burning ropes, trying to wrap them around Lance to drag him right off that car.
Aidan Proudpick	Aidan sits on top of the nearest car, staring off into the wastelands. He is a fool, after all. Isn't he? He should run. Go back home. And do what? A Breath Weapon once imprinted can't be UNimprinted. That. That alone hangs over his head. The greatest shadow hanging over him. One of the few weapons that Quicknest has is attached to him. It's not courage. It isn't a burning in his chest that he was hoping for. Instead, it's a chain around his heart, one that drags him down. If he IS just a fool, if he IS just a wannabe, he can't walk away without dooming his home to being more quickly crushed. Behind is a cowardly run, and in front of him is a thorny path he realizes he can only barely walk. The squirrel appears next to the others. He can't look into anyone's eyes. He isn't quite sure that anyone else really saw what he saw. Or watched him fully consumed by the trap. But even the slightest bit of judgment might make him crumble. He has to move forward. Only forward. Even if he can't bring the same spirit into his steps, he HAS to trudge forward. Keep taking steps, it should eventually lead to a proper life... a goal... And that PRESENCE. Aidan is back home, everything is normal. His mother is not there. But it's warm in their home, and there's warm soup to drink. There is no war. No thoughts of war. No shield. Aidan's shield roars to life as he circumnavigates the room, looking for something that looks A) vaguely important and B) mobile. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" The shield hits up against a mobile repair platform and both he and the shield ram it towards Lance!
Arcadia	Onward! The final car awaits! Though it turns out to be the final rail car, being the Caboose ... but not the FINAL railcar as this is apparently the place where all the other cars are brought in for work so there's a lot of them around. In a railway that should not fit in such a space, but it does, because this train is like that. By this point it pulling a TARDIS when it comes to interiors is just accepted and you go along with it it. Especially when there is a more important matter to attend to. Arcadia is not going to complain that the expansive interior allows her to spread her wings, physically and metaphorically. The sphinx does so and takes to the air, followed by Ishirou's OPTION assist. It makes spotting Lance all the easier. Of course it also makes it easier for him to spot her as he tries to again subdue and delude the group into his realm. She feels the supressive energy rippled through her, but fortunately her sensory filters are still weeding out most of the cognitive hazard effects. "Your Wonderworld is going to be nothing but a boulevard of broken dreams!" Arcane rings of runes spin briefly around her arm as her magitek weaponry system cranks up, then settle in an electric blue hue as it arcs between her fingertips and then generate multiple sparks that fire out, their zigzagging crackling movement making them harder to preditct and dodge. Or so the concept goes. It is rarely ever that easy, but still, when the enemy is going to have multiple assailants to consider at once.
Hibiki Tachibana	The Caboose.     Even Hibiki can tell what it's meant for, given the opposite end of the train tried to flatten them before. This is how it keeps itself maintained and functioning over long periods of time. It feels a little strange, after their experiences in most of the cars, even after the events in the Tape Car, to enter a place like this. No gimmicks, no odd occupants. Simply the incredibly large depot...     ...and Lance, here in person and waiting for them. Hibiki, already transformed ahead of time, is on guard and tensed up. She would get a word out in response--     If not for what happens right as he's done. That warm, /smothering/ feel-good sensation, like a weight that makes it hard to put one foot in front of the other. The undeniable temptation of how simple, how easy it would be to reject reality and exist in a world where she could solve everything the simple way, win every fight, not /need/ to fight, be able to--     "Don't screw with me like this again..." Hibiki murmurs with a shaky voice through clenched teeth, trudging forward one pace, and then another. "Ignoring your problems, running away from your problems--that's not anything more than being selfish..." And another. "I'd be leaving behind everything I care about...just to play pretend and turn my eyes away. Maybe that's fine for some people..."     "...But not for me! The place I want to go back to is the furthest thing from your 'Wonderworld'--!"     And all at once, she launches herself forward to cross the distance between their entry point and Lance in almost no time at all. All of her strength put into an abrupt leap, placing her several meters in the air right above Lance, with an armored heel raised high overhead. "Who the hell gave you the right to decide what 'reason' or 'what's best' is, anyway!? It looks like even this place doesn't agree with you, and you're not doing any better than it!"     And she descends, all her momentum behind her being put into a truly vicious heel drop aimed right for his head. Even on a miss, she's surely going to smash in the entire train car he's standing on.
Father Berislav	THE DOOR      "Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid." Berislav's hand pushes through a burning orange wound in space, retrieving a spotless white stole, with gold borders embroidered at the edges, and gold crosses at either end. He peers down at the crosses thoughtfully as the garment lies draped across his arms. "Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, so that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name, through Christ our Lord. Amen." Berislav slips on the stole, draping it over his shoulders.     "Glory to God in the highest, and peace to his people on earth." As Berislav softly sings the Gloria, a revolver is pulled from that subspace tear, heavy and lethal and gleaming. The cylinder swings open with a click, and cartridges tumble from an orange tear in Berislav's palm, one at a time, in a practiced little dance. Three bear brass heads with divots, two more complete points. Each of them is easily larger than a human index finger. "...for you alone are the Holy One, you alone are the Lord, you alone are the Most High, Jesus Christ, with the Holy Spirit, in the glory of God the Father. Amen." NOW ENTERING: The Caboose     In he goes, a gun in either hand. Berislav's glasses hang from his clerical collar, neatly folded. His silver eyes narrow, his brow furrows in concentration as he searches through row after row of train cars, stepping over lengths of track, until--     The priest looks up. It'd be nice, to just stop fighting it, wouldn't it?     Berislav's index fingers rest along the frames of either gun.     For a moment, he isn't in the train yard. He is several cars back, on the phone, seated, as particulate clouds of Hyperglass are thrown about by a sandstorm outside, rendering the moon's light a faint suggestion. PHONE: Buttercup, low and dry. "Is that why you burn people? Padre?" O God, who on the holy mount didst reveal to chosen witnesses thy well-beloved Son, wonderfully transfigured, in raiment white and glistening-- PHONE: Phoning Buttercup, Father Berislav says, "I burn things, not people. For people who have devoted themselves to harm, I have bullets." Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world-- PHONE: Buttercup, low and dry. "Is that the brick you laid, then? What you tell yourself? That you're that discriminate? That the fire always finds the things, and the bullet always finds the people?" PHONE: Phoning Buttercup, Father Berislav says, "That brick came much later." --may by faith behold the King in his beauty-- PHONE: Buttercup, hot. "Does it matter? If it's down low, in the wall, or up high? Really?" She clips and ratchets back her tone, but a sizzle escapes. "It's still in the wall, isn't it? You built it yourself, chose it yourself, chose fire, hot and in-discriminate, chose every missile and mix." PHONE: Phoning Buttercup, Father Berislav says, "Yes, it does matter. The house is not the brick, but the placement and order thereof. My foundation is one of kindness and care. The roof was only placed after repeated disillusionment with the ability of those inured by spiritual temptation to change." PHONE: Phoning Buttercup, Father Berislav says, "If the missiles and the fire were the foundation, then this would be a very different conversation." --who with thee, O Father, and thee, O Holy Ghost, liveth and reigneth, one God, world without end.
Father Berislav	PHONE: Buttercup, empty. "Nah. Same conversation with a man of iron selling god with the guns as the rest." PHONE: Buttercup says, "You look from the inside. You count the bricks. You laid them. But I'm pretty sure your God sees the roof first, padre. I know I do."" PHONE: Phoning Buttercup, Father Berislav says, "I am more than willing to give up my seat at His right hand and my place in His Kingdom, if it means fighting back in the war against His people on Earth."     "Amen," says Father Berislav, in the train yard, finishing the muttered Collect as a bead of sweat trickles down his brow. The word is like a splash of cold water to the face--the metaphorical blanket is cast off. "I see *you've* declined *my* offer, Lance. I wish you'd taken it seriously. I won't be joining you in Wonderworld--but you'll meet your Father at the End of Days." Berislav is off like a bullet, before either of his guns fire, breaking line of sight by disappearing behind a train car.     Cylinders spin, pushed by his thumbs, each stopping on rounds with tipped poiints capable of punching through cars. That's precisely what they two, two fist-sized holes blown through the car before Berislav clears the other side, each send on an upwards trajectory for Lance's position. Two of those left. Keep moving and keep him guessing. His stole billows in the displaced air as he leaps, foot finding purchase on the side of an aging car in need of care. Up he goes, sailing backwards, over laid tracks and the tops of cars alike. Two more triggerpulls, and two more thunderclaps. Sparks fly from metal braces as bullets ricochet upwards, on trajectories pinpointed to trap the Wonderworld's custodian in a pincer.
Dysnomia	Dysnomia stormed ahead, single-minded in her focus. She had never met this Lance character herself, but she'd seen the train he was running, and the people he drew in, and that was more than enough reason to hate him. Her wings itched to stretch, so much she almost imagined that the points behind her shoulderblades hurt from the effort of keeping them in, tight, wanting to uncoil, and...     Won't you join me?     ...For a moment, walking into the Caboose, she felt everything grow fuzzy at the edges, a haze coming over her eyes. A man with heavy creases in his face and graying hair laid a hand atop her shoulder, the words slipped past her notice, but they were warm, and his eyes were kind, and Dysnomia knew, with a dreamlike certainty, she would be saf--     "You think you could stop me with that...?" A blade of plasma cut through the hallucination, and she was back.     "What a joke." She said, desolately. The Sphyinx taking flight leaves her less conciouss about her own, as great silver-blue, scaley wings erupt from her back. Her jaw distended, opened...And a line of fire emerged, burning behind Lance, pining the illusionist between Hibiki's frontal assault and burning fire from behind!
Angela	Cinder... There once was a girl who sold matches. And in the flame of those matches, she saw visions of a better life in the visions provided by their light. She saw her family. She saw her Grandmother. She saw the people who treated her kindly. To keep the vision alive, the girl lit those matches again and again and longing for the happy and joyous stories in those flames, hoping and hoping that they'd become her own. The flames grew large and encompassing enough that she could walk righ into those tales and so she did. Burning into charcoal. But ah, her last memory was a happy one. When Cinder steps into the Caboose (she doesn't have any ability to check things out and she's a very direct individual) her gaze take in the surroundings briefly before focusing on Lance. ''You're resolved, then. To deny my offer'' Cinder thinks back to a warm bed in a cold house. She remembers waking up and finding her so called adopted parents have already left, again--they never linger long. Sometimes it was for work, but often it was for vacation. What did Yuri call it? Adopting for Clout? The Outskirts wouldn't take her back, not her family there at least... But she'd at least be damned if she would be a doll for them. And so she... Cinder swings the Fourth Match Flame, a wave of fire, using the flame to focus herself back into an alert state. "Got no need for the trappings of a cold heaven. Got plenty to look forward in this world." That first wave is not aimed near Cinder hereself, but the second swing of that blade sends a surge of fire rippling out towards Lance! MEANWHILE Angela has eggpacked in and even has those two limbs out. It's not exactly ideal for fighting but they are, ultimately, two extra arms operating independently of Petra herself. On the screen is Angela--wearing her Gold Rush EGO gear because if this being was able to pull her into a false reality simply through the video screen, he may be able to do it again. For now she is largely just glowering at Lance as if she hopes to kill with a gaze. "He might have strange abilities we don't know of yet." She advises to Petra.
Petra Soroka	<Q-Conversation> Kale Hearthward says, "I just got word - we've got him. Lance is in the last car of the train." <Q-Conversation> Kale Hearthward says, "I feel like I need to bring up what we're doing with both Lance and the train itself, afterward, if we manage to bring things to an end here." <Q-Conversation> Petra Soroka says, "Probably killing him and blowing it up, I think." <Q-Conversation> Kale Hearthward says, "Little bit extreme, but noted. Any other thoughts?"     Petra has mixed feelings about the train, despite her fervor. She wants to hate the train, of course, and she does, because it kidnapped her to trap her in a potentially lethal puzzle room until she became a better person by its arbitrary standards. And she does hate it. It's easy to hate the train.     But it's also kind of pretty, and it's fascinating to be able to travel through these incredibly different worlds in less than an hour each, usually. The cartoonish, alien nature of the cars, plus the isolation, was genuinely disarming for Petra during some of her visits-- and the constant threat of violence was actually a benefit, for that feeling.     Every thought about the train is tainted, though. Petra can't tell if her mild reluctance to blow it up is because of familiarity, indecisiveness, or worst of all, as an instinctual backlash to what happened to Angela last time. Because now, Petra *has* to hate the train, for Angela's sake, and *having* to do anything always makes her squirm and resist.     But she has to hate it, so she will. Petra steps out of the door of the previous car, a little tide of morphmetal around her feet, and within the metallic ripples her reflection is just a little bit different, flashing Petra an encouraging thumbs-up before Petra disperses the pool to break the mirror. She's wearing her bomber jacket over her typical overalls, and worn on her back is the clunky metal screen with robotic arms that houses Angela.     Petra raises her hand to squeeze one of the robot hands, and before joining the others says to the screen over her shoulder, "Destroying it, right? Are you alright? Remember, since you're close to me, you won't-- that thing won't happen again."     After that quick check-in, Petra enters the Caboose herself, and is immediately greeted with Lance making a villain speech and trying to do the one thing that Petra has always been able to resist, by trying to drag her into a psychic utopia. Rather than tugging at her perception even slightly, what Lance's presence does is scald and itch against Petra's skin, as wave after wave of rejecting pressure pushes back against it.     "*You* don't have a fucking *fraction* of the sales pitch that everyone else like you has. You'll be spared from the fucking evils of the real world after I kill you." Petra, still only having her revolver, fires it into the ground to launch up onto the train car Lance is doing his theatrics on, and the swirling droplets of morphmetal around her coalesce into a spear that she drives towards him with that same momentum.
Kale Hearthward	Kale's with the group too. He doesn't have much to say, but he's throwing pressure bombs to disrupt Lance's concentration. Ishirou can tell that Lance has quite a bit of power at his disposal. Psychic, psychokinetic, and empathetic on both the positive and negative axis, and more besides. He's ramping up, and this is just the initial salvo. > "You bet we are. The real world's got issues, but dealing with them is how we're supposed to get better at making the world better. Hiding in here..." "Others can deal with those issues. You don't need to take the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, nor should you be expected to." > "I see *you've* declined *my* offer, Lance." "My most sincere apologies that I could not take you up on it. I did not think I could live with myself if I did not make one last attempt to extend my help to you all. If that becomes literal in the end, so be it," says Lance neutrally. Futaba's wrap attack hits, setting Lance up for Aidan to slam objects into him. He gets free after that, and obstinately takes another perch- - Just for Hibiki to slam her heel down on that one. Now again in motion, with Berislav hot on his heels with a pincer attack, Lance finds himself hard pressed to avoid the bullets flying - and mostly doesn't succeed. Cinder coming at him from one direction with fire, and Dysnomia with more fire from another, cuts off Lance's other avenues of escape. In the end he has to just pick one direction and run straight through, come what may. This includes Petra's morphmetal bullets, which he doesn't notice till too late. > "Your Wonderworld is going to be nothing but a boulevard of broken dreams!" "And that's where you are wrong." "Even if denied the train as the basis for the new Wonderworld, I still have ample means of my own. The new Wonderworld need not solely be a dream." Another change - this time seen, not felt. It's very hard to miss, since everyone is abruptly inside a house. Actual physical houses, not illusions, constructed instantaneously inside of the train yard. Nobody's been moved from where they were a second ago, but the house walls have sprung up in a way that's separating everyone from everyone else. (For Hibiki and others who might be airborne, the houses are constructed on stilts.) The cupboards are bursting to full with your favorite foods. The shelves are stocked with your favorite games and activities. The television's running a 24/7 marathon of your favorite shows. There's everything you'd want here, and you wouldn't have to leave. Ever. Helping your decision to not leave is that there aren't any doors or windows. "The world is cruel, and full of cruel people and cruel things. That's all you need to know about it. I can protect you from it." Lance's voice comes through clear despite the lack of apertures in your new residences. "I have no ulterior motives. I have no hidden plots. I simply want... to save you. I can give you everything, and all I ask in return is that you do nothing else. Why won't you let me?" There's, finally, a hint of desperation in Lance's voice for the first time. And with that, more pressure to just stop fighting and stay put.
Ishirou	A house wraps around Ishirou. He is staggered as he's forced to look at... well less a house and more an apartment.  Something in a high rise, something in... Indus.  He knows it's there.  Everything about this is perfect, a highrise place, high above the city... looking over everything he's won through hard work and making the right arguments.   Shows about how he saved Indus play in his honor on TV, his cabinets are filled with... This isn't real.  It can't be real.  His dream of viewing Indus as a home was stolen from him, out of petty spite from Eggman.  Made worse because he chose to save the humans.  He thought he could save them and still keep his home.  He thought he could save everyone and everyone be happy.  He told people he'd make the right sacrifice... He didn't really understand what he was saying.  He didn't know the depths of what he was giving up.  He sinks to his knees.  He threw that all away for /them/.  Right now, everything he's said sounds so hollow.  He did the right thing, but ... he didn't get rewarded for it.  It sucks.  It is terrible... aren't the heroes supposed to be rewarded..?   No.  Lilian never was rewarded for her actions and her suffering.  Anything she carved out was on her own.  He grips the soft carpet he's sitting on and pushes himself up.  This isn't his home anymore... and it was hard to say if it ever was.  Indus was the shell of a home he tried to surround himself with.   His hand reaches up, aiming for the side of the building.  And a lot of explosions rock the side of the enclosure he was in.  He steps out, eyes angry.  OPTIONs fly out, hovering over Hibiki.  Data is sent into her mind, showing her weaknesses he can see.  More than that, what he was about to do to distract him.  His projections have Lance moving a specific way, and if she follows his instructions... She'll be right there to deliver her own pain. Missiles fly out from Ishirou, aiming to pepper the ground and obscure others.  He dives in, rapier in hand as he attempts to engage Lance in melee, something he does not do often.  He's trying to force him into try and avoid his blows, though they are light... they have a sting to them if he does not move. "You can't give me what I want.  What I want..."
Arcadia	Somehow being airborne isn't a determent to the attack as Lance flexes his control over the facility and a housing unit is somehow raised up in a manner that it can lock together around Arcadia before she can zoom out of the way. For a moment she's disoriented as the TV and pantry and games and everything else tries to conspire against her. It is a stressful experience to endure. Then Arcadia lets out a roar appropriate to the lion part of sphinx components to steel her nerves and her resolve. It also just happens to produce flames. Giving a very literal turn to the phrase 'roaring inferno' as it ignites the shelves and contents of temptations. The TV starts to melt and static. There's no windows or doors so the resulting smoke and flames compiles within, and would do so until they expended all the available fuel within. Or would of, if Arcadia didn't solve the lack of apetures by blasting an opening herself, flames and splinters erupting upward as she escapes out of what remains of the roof. "Fool!" Her voice is still at a volume that could be considered roaring, though now it's volumenous with determination. "Your temptations cannot styme a Guardian from their dedication! No pleasantries would suffice over the hollows that would remain in disregarding duty!" Then she unleashes the flames once more. This time directing them at the stilts the house trap had risen on, tearing them apart to send the entire blazing structure crashing down in Lance's direction. And the railyard in general, mayhaps taking out more of the machinery he's using to try to entrap them with.
Dysnomia	It was quaint little house. The holo-projector was on a resting screen of herself and another ember-eyed girl, holding each other close and intimate, looking into the recorder. Her childhood toys littered the ground around her.     She walked to her bed, running her hand gently over it. He meant this to touch her. He meant this to get to her. Couldn't he tell?     Couldn't he tell that this was was just dripping poison into her eyes? Couldn't he tell that all the happy memories were salt in a wound that would never heal? Her teeth sharpened to points, and her tail-When had it come out? She didn't know. Didn't care-slammed against the house floor hard, casting up splinters around her as the structure rocked.     Muffled, from within Dysnomia's airborne house, is a ragged, brokenhearted, rumbling laughter. Then, the indent of a great impact from with, shaking it on its stilted foundations. Then, it began to melt.     The flames the beam left were violet, the color it tinged the world around it, but it was too bright, too intense...Too LARGE for that. A laser blast large enough to engulf a grown man and leave nothing but slag in its place.
Aidan Proudpick	The Self Proclaimed Knight is one of the quickest to weaken among those gathered in the caboose. Petra... well, wouldn't Petra even want a moment to sit down? Mia and Angela, able to stand up against Lance without thinking. Berislav. Filled with conviction, a heroic(?) spirit. At least a fire. Aidan leans against one of the walls. Even if it isn't the trappings he would expect. It's... safety. Comfort. Normalcy. What if he rested? Just a little while. He could eat real food again. He could sleep. Really sleep, on a nice bed. Watch those TV shows that are available. It would be... perfect. Futaba and Hibiki's shouts, however, needle their way past the comfort. The warm blank of safety wearing him down. Past the pity of being a wannabe. They reach in and pull the one thing this place can't give him. A look of mixed worry and pride on a father's face. The People's Knights looking back at him, pride and hope. The look of awe when he tells Cole about his day in the multiverse. Aidan pushes himself up from the wall. "Because I can't go alone. I swore. I swore to everyone. I swore I'd do something to make everything better for them. Until then-" He licks his lips. Everything feels dry. That chain around his heart suddenly drags towards the center of gravity. He has said it countless times in his head. It is until this instanst, he has never really realized what those words mean. Even now, they feel weak and useless in this crowd of self-assured Elites. His shoulders set, shield coming up. "My life is not my own." Rather than attack Lance directly, Aidan takes a step against the wall he is seeking comfort on and presses the shield against it. The Aegis roars to life, an unstoppable force building up speed against the projection, diverting everything around it. Light bends around the shield, making the walls warp and ripple around the shield.
Angela	Consider this dismaying observation, this chamber has no windows...and no doors! Angela of course is going to have to rely on Petra to figure this one out. Those mechanical limbs might be useful if there was a locked door or window or something but... How does Angela react to seeing the things Petra loves (if they even appear)? Stay tuned for that! But before all that, Angela's opinion on the train is (ironically) relaxing somewhat now that she's had time to recognize that Lance is responsible for what happened to her there more than the Train itself. She has resolved to support whatever Petra needs to do to satisfy herself here since her number hasn't come up in some time--but she knows that she wants to be rid of it. But she still very much wants Lance dead. It's not likely to be up to her. "Understood." Angela says to Petra, oblivious to her inner struggle (since she's busy with her own but also because this is a quality she just can't read off Petra). Being on Petra's back--did she just see something in the reflection there?--Angela doesn't have time to inquire about it. She's reminded that Petra is a psionic dead zone in effect (she didn't forget) but she relaxes visibly all the same. "Thank you, we are here to support you." MEANWHILE Cinder yelps as she's suddenly entombed... IN A HOME. NEW CINDER DETAILS UNLOCKED Favorite Food: Meat Buns! Favorite games: Roleplaying Games! Favorite Activities: Spending time with friends! Favorite Shows: Chinchillas?!?! "Oh this is so embarrassing..." Cinder says. She's trapped INSIDE the house. She tries beating her way out with her fists before frowning and unleashing flame all around her to try and burn out a way to escape since that's her only real option. "Fucking hope this works!" CInder says before remembering she probably should save her breath.
Futaba Nuki	'Others can deal with those issues. You don't need to take the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, nor should you be expected to.' "Wha... Of course I'm supposed to take on those kinds of problems! That's what royalty's supposed to do!" Glaring at Lance in utter disbelief, Futaba keeps swinging herself about to continue forcing Lance into her allies' attacks. "It's what people with power are meant to do!" Dropping off of him as bullets and flames start coming in, Futaba slips in between a pair of train cars and tries to find another angle of attack to keep Lance on his toes. Spotting a potential exit point, she bursts upwards, and... Wait. Why's she in a house? Why's there all this food? Good food, too, including all sorts of funky new things Futaba's only seen since coming out into the Multiverse. New tech, too, and... Is that the latest episode in the documentary about Kamen Rider S***r? She knows she's only ten episodes in, but it's sure to be a thrilling tale by the time she finishes it! No. This can't be real, either. It must be some kind of dream again. Noticing the lack of doors and windows, Futaba makes a run for the farthest wall, ready to just slip through the other side and instead smashes through it, flaming-face first, and stops herself before she can crash into another train car. He's still talking.  Gritting her teeth again, Futaba's hackle start to raise a bit as she digs her fingers into the car in front of her, then yanks it right off the track it's sitting on. Despite that and trying to get her anger to build back up again, however, it's... Harder now. Why is it harder? 'I have no ulterior motives. I have no hidden plots. I simply want... to save you.' "... We don't need it. There's people out there that really do need saving, and holding us here means they won't be saved. That's why we can't stay here and do nothing." Futaba's giant-growing fire hands start to melt the surface of the car she's holding, but not for long. She tightens her grip on the train car while starting to spin her upper body around like a wheel on an axle, whipping it around herself rapidly before launching the train car and herself at Lance. "There's ways you can really help people, but you need to stop all this first!"
Father Berislav	"Hmh." Disappointing.      Berislav's landing is as graceful as ever, but his feet touch an entirely different ground than the one they'd carried him across a moment ago. His eyes narrow, and his thumbs spin the cylinders again, applying a practiced amount of force to have the wall-punching rounds stop just under the hammers of his guns.      The smell of his mother's chilli rises to meet him, smoky and sweet with a deceptive level of heat that grows steadily. As a child, that dish, simmered all day and stirred every so often, taught him the value of patience. The recipe is with him, even now, an occasional treat for himself and his congregations, in colder climes. Berislav heaves a sigh, passing by shelves full of period romance novels and intricate board games, which surely stretch on longer the more new players are involved. There are no windows. There are no doors.      "Because this is a worse cruelty by far," Says Berislav, over the gentle back-and-forth chatter-laughter of a sitcom about the community surrounding a beloved bar. "This fantasy. We are, all of us, social creatures," says Berislav, tucking one gun into a subspace tear. "Possessed of the urge to care, and help one another." The same hand comes out, with an explosive. "To put us in this... animal pen, robs us of any ability to *fight* the evils of the world."      "What is the world, but the people in it?" He asks, placing the explosive against the wall and priming it. Another button press sets the timer ticking down, and the priest briskly heads into the kitchen, putting the dividing wall between himself and the impending explosion. "You've already said that it's impossible for any of us to be better, in so many ways. But none of the people in this train are the sort of slavering beasts that would necessitate either the train or your Wonderland." The explosive is deafening, punctuated by the plinking of mortar and planks as they fall to the ground outside. A plume of backwash races past Berislav's place of cover.      "Governments must make enormous efforts to mobilize populations for war. City councils and corporate covens must squeeze blood from a stone, for the dreaded, yet ill-defined 'crime' to appear." He steps out from around the corner, peering through the hole in the wall.      "Evil is not inherent to the world, it is *cultivated.*" His white-gold stole billows again as he takes off, making a graceful dive that turns to a frontflip as he descends, placing him squarely on his feet. The other revolver is thus procured from subspace once more, as he breaks into a jog, silver eyes sweeping for signs of Lance. "Through the Holy Spirit we are each given the knowledge of evil, that we may resist and fight it when we see it. No one deserves to have the chance taken from them, simply because you have lost faith."
Hibiki Tachibana	"...!" A visible change is definitely a whole lot different, from the last attempt at 'peaceful' convincing Lance attempted. Before Hibiki can even land, she finds herself in...a home? For a moment, her head she almost thinks she's been brought back into another mental dreamland. There's all sorts of her favorite meals. But they're not prepared by the one who would. There are plenty of idle games. And not anyone to enjoy them with. There are tons of shows to waste time away with. Alone, and all on her own. And even if the person she did want to experience was here, it wouldn't be anything but a surface-level facsimile with no warmth behind it. There's nobody here, separated from all of the others.     "If you're genuine about wanting to help people, Lance..." Hibiki's voice isn't quite shouting, but shudderingly level, and still carrying through the walls. Only two seconds later, an entire side of the building is instantly destroyed in an outwards-directed explosion, and the magical girl is lunging right out of the smoke long before it's even cleared.     Ishirou's missile barrage is a distraction for her, and one that she willingly dives right into as they explode and cause chaos in the area. No sooner has he gone on the offensive in melee than Hibiki appears jumping up from right behind him - with a fist reared back, the piston within her gauntlet primed back beyond its mechanical limits to extend well past her elbow.     "--Then start by listening to them when they say something to your thick skull! I'm not ever going to be satisfied with a world that selfish! And I'm sure--you wouldn't want to be stuck in your own Wonderworld while you thought people still needed your help, would you!?"     And predictably, not that that will do much to stop it, Hibiki's fist comes in. There's the extreme impact of her absurd amount of strength behind the punch, and then the even stronger one when the piston slams back into place with a deafening metal-on-metal boom.
Petra Soroka	Angela is brought along with Petra into Lance's approximation of Petra's ideal home. Every aspect is guessed at from observations of Petra during the course of the month, combined with the impressions of her that those whose minds *can* be read have. It's a colossal amount of information, easily enough to make a rough model of her personality.     And the home is...     Incoherent. It's a sloppy mashup between a rat's nest and a gamer cave, airbrushed over to look 'presentable'. A beanbag chair sits in front of an array of televisions, all playing different versions of Halo. The cupboards are full of cup noodles labeled "Now With Necessary Vitamins And Nutrients!", the fridge has energy drinks and alcohol. Parts of the Kana's cockpit, picked out of people's memories, are shoved around the walls as if the idealized house had no idea where to put them.     It really, really feels like it's a house made out of the sincere belief that every shitty joke and insult that people tell about Petra is true.     "Come *on*. What the fuck is *this*! Angela, I swear, this is *not* what my apartment looks like."     Petra grabs one of the huge TVs and throws it at a wall to break through-- and it doesn't, the TV just shatters against it and falls to the ground. Petra looks at it blankly for a moment, then stomps over the shards and tears through the wall herself, wedging herself through the crack she makes before it's really big enough for her to.     "You can't give me *shit*, dumbass! You don't know anything about me! You can't ever understand me!" Petra clambers out ungracefully onto the top of the train car she'd been fighting Lance on. "And even if you actually wanted the best for everyone and could give it to them, I'd beat the shit out of you anyways! You could be a fucking saint and I'd still be your enemy after last time!"     Petra glances around, looking for Lance's new position, but instead sees a house that hasn't been busted open yet, with smoke pouring from its chimney. She pauses, quickly runs through in her head if anyone but Cinder could be responsible for that-- it'd be embarrassing to rescue anyone but her-- and sees Futaba's fiery form, Dysnomia's plasma, and Berislav's explosions, which means that Cinder is, in fact, the only one it could be. Petra jumps on top of the roof of Cinder's fake house, jams her fingers under the roofing, and pries up a car-sized chunk, throwing it to the side.     The sudden influx of oxygen causes Cinder's E.G.O. weapon to flare up in a column of fire that singes Petra's face, leaning over the hole. That accounts for the damage this round, because the mental pressure still doesn't affect her.
Kale Hearthward	> "There's ways you can really help people, but you need to stop all this first!" "Not before I help all of you." Is that a bit of frustration coming through Lance heretofore neutral tone? "I won't let you deny yourselves relief, in the name of helping others. No longer. I care about you too much." > "What is the world, but the people in it?" Hold that thought. > "You wouldn't want to be stuck in your own Wonderworld while you thought people still needed your help, would you!?" The frustration's visible on Lance's face now, not just in his tone. "Do you not know that's what's happened? I help them, I put my all into working through their problems, into making them feel better - and then they leave. They leave back to the world that hurt them so, and they leave me alone." "No longer." Cinder can burn her way out pretty easily! This also sets her house on fire. It's actually going to set most of the houses on fire, since there's enough of them close enough together that they're basically adjacent. The burning houses distract Lance enough that Hibiki gets the cleanest of clean shots on the side of his jaw. It makes a very satisfying noise. Ishirou closes in on Lance, delivering a series of rapier blows, while Arcadia launches a barrage to bring the house down - and to deal with both, he jumps backwards - and from there, takes to the skies, being lifted up without any visible means of ascension. He continues flying backwards and upwards, trying to stay clear of Dysnomia's plasma stream, and the flying charge from Aidan, and Berislav's revolver, and - yeah there's a whole lot of violence being directed towards him, and he doesn't nearly manage to get clear of all of it, flight or not. Despite taking to the air, he's moving slower - being worn down, bit by bit. With each new injury or impact, he loses a bit of his concentration, a bit of the overwhelming pressure being lessened. It's just a question on if he can be made to ease up before everyone else is worn down.
Kale Hearthward	"If you won't see the good in what I'm trying to do..." Lance's number has been glowing with each action he takes, which has been a useful visual indication for his often less-than-visual powerset. Now, though, it's not glowing - it's shining. Whatever it is that's coming next is... not good. Which turns out to be a literal statement. "... Then I can emphasize the bad in what the alternative is." Something gets grabbed, internally, from everyone. Something in their emotional core. It's gripped onto, and held tightly for a second - a moderately unpleasant experience - and then something emerges - also a moderately unpleasant experience. Something starts leaking out of everyone (besides Petra, though Lance makes an effort). "I've listened to and watched enough of your actions. Your allies, your friends, your rivals, the people you protect - you claim that those are the good in the world, that those are what would be missing from anything that isn't the reality you all cling to." Lance raises his hand. The presence in the room changes, coincidentally matching the darkening from the smoke that's filling up the caboose from the burning houses. "I've seen the truth of it. The arguments, the shouting, the insults, the awful messages, the hurtful words." "You all make each other miserable." There's no saturation of it this time - the source isn't Lance pumping out vibes this time, instead it's the dark presence leaking from everyone else in the room, spreading out and flowing towards everyone else. Anyone who doesn't get clear feels terrible, in new and awful ways.
Arcadia	"You don't understand -anything-." Lancer takes to the air as well, trying to keep his distance. But now he's put himself in Arcadia's playing field and she's quick to engage her thrusters to pursue him. "Everyone can't get along with everyone every time, all the time. That's just not how the nature of the world works." The darkness swells out, seeks to consume and enervate all... But she just blasts straight into it, through it, feeling the drain but unwavering in her determination. "But you're not listening, so why bother with talking farther." With her phenomenal speed Arcadia has little issue closing in on the man, she's chased down many foes faster and more elusive... But then she bolts right past him? Only to turn sharper than anyone should be possible to do at that speed and come banking back past his opposite side. Then turn again and making another pass. She's not striking at him. But every pass she makes is faster, and narrowing in. Making a ring and tightening it in. While her speed is distorting the air around her, kicking it up into winds in her wake. Which the circular movement quickly turns into an cyclonic frenzy. Then it becomes apparent what she's really doing, creating the whirling windstorm that, while it might not be very harmful directly, is intended to draw Lancer in and try to hold him down in the vortex for others to hone in on. See, she's learning to be more of a team player.
Dysnomia	Dysnomia pushed herself from the smoldering smoke that came from the hole in her prison, just long enough to see what was happening. She threw herself from the house. As the shadows spiraled out of them all, Dysnomia just laughed again, with her own voice. The shadows clawed around her and she felt the Lance's psychic claws tear deep into her soul.     "You condescending little pest." Mia said, as too-deep shadows coiled around her. She sneered at the conductor. "You finally meet someone who can tell you 'no,' who can tell your damn train 'no,' and all you can do is snivel and cry about how you were left all alone."     "Left behind by everyone who you trapped until they agreed that they were made better. If the world that hurt them was so awful, why do you think they all wanted to get off your little 'therapy' prison? They want out, and you're so lonely you'll trap them here and tell yourself it was all for the best."     There were tears running down her face, but she was still smiling. It wasn't a happy smile. "Even knowing they'd rather leave, you trap them here, just because you can't stand to be without them. You're completely pathetic."     "But don't worry." She said, mockingly. "I'll make all those baaaad feelings not matter anymore..." Her hands extended into long, viscious claws, sheathed in plasmafire.     Dysnomia flew above, and then dove into the center of Arcadia's vortex, claws outstretched, her smile too long and too sharp.
Angela	''Angela, I swear, this is *not* what my apartment looks like.'' Angela was looking at the Halo in bewilderment--with her range of vision, that's about what she can get--that and the pieces of Kana's cockpit, which she doesn't really understand (she's never experienced the Kana). "I...would be rather shocked if this was your apartment." Mostly because of the Kana pieces, honestly--she couldn't say that Petra DISLIKES games or cup noodles and whatnot, after all. Cinder, meanwhile, says, "Oh shit!! Petra! I'm sorry! I didn't expect the fire to spread so quickly, you okay??" Cinder shouts out as she throws herself out onto the ground. "Are you getting desperate, Lance?" Angela asks. She doesn't seem affected by the wave (though that might be because of her being merely in a video more than anything). "I am afraid that they do not make me miserable. Even the ones I dislike..." She narrows her eyes. "Are nothing compared to the happiness I've gained through their company. If anything..." She does not share the last of that thought. Cinder is less resilient--she has EGO Gear, of course, but that is RESISTANCE--not immunity. Heaven is less real to her than Hell. And 'reality' imposes on itself. Cinder thinks, for a moment, about how she has struggled to find a new home, the fear that she'll lose it again, the feeling that she'll never really be able to act on her desire... She shudders, like she's cold, the flame on the 4th Match Flame flickering as it dims, revealing a charred and ashen blade. She hears Petra shout. You gotta match her, you gotta be as cool and strong as Petra. As confident as her and-- --She owes her. Cinder screams as the ashen blade suddenly reignites, but more powerfully than before. Cinder's right arm burns to an ashen color as she leaps and tries to stab Lance through the chest with it. "It's not up to you to make us happy or unhappy! We don't need anybody to decide how we should feel!"
Ishirou	The shadows started to wrap around, things were leaking out of Ishirou... things he didn't want to reveal to anyone.  Things he didn't want anyone to know... "Stop..." he says, pleading with Lance.   But it was far, far too late.     "You should just die."         "You should have just stayed dead."             "Finally it's about time you decided to do something!"                 "Die!"                     "How could you betray us... we should kill you..!" Shadows swarm and voices hit him again and again.  Those he trusted... those he loved.  The other Androids of Indus, who he put below saving the enslaved humans.       "Why didn't we get a say!"         "They took our lives away!"             "How could you betray us like that!"                 "How dare you come back as a human!"                     "Traitor!" Ishirou's crying, trying to do anything he can to keep it together... but the shadows keep showing more.       "Procedure 256 was a success.  Terminate, save the settings, and             recycle his soul again."         "Procedure 255 is a failure.  Terminate and recycle his soul."             "Procedure 254 is a failure.  Terminate..."                 "Procedure 253 is a failure..."                     "Procedure 252..."                         "Procedure..." The callous procedure that had turned him into Ishirou.  The repeated ego deaths she put him through, again and again.  The cold voice that woman had... someone who should have been close to him.  He can't escape this... he can't escape this...!         "You stand between me and my goals, so now die for them.." The first time... the sheer uncaring look in her eyes.  Why did she do this to him..?   He's hyperventilating.           "Why are you pretending to be a human!" Petra's voice.   He screams in return... no!  No!  "I AM A HUMAN!" he screams finally, unable to take it anymore.  He releases another barrage of missiles.  He doesn't even think anymore, he has to stop it!  He has to stop it!   Everywhere where shadow voices were coming from are detonated, but he knows Lance is the source.  More follow.   OPTIONs dash from Hibiki to Aidren.  Data is uploaded, information is sent, and everything he can think to optimize is optimized... Ishirou flies up, and then back down at Lance with every amount of speed he could put behind the RESCUE unit, aiming to toss him right towards Aidren. "MAKEHIMSTOPMAKEHIMSTOP!"
Father Berislav	They leave back to the world that hurt them so, and they leave me alone.     "Oh, Lance..." The muzzle of the priest's revolver smokes, his eyes close, just for a moment, and he sighs. The moment passes.     Something starts leaking out of him. A strand, woven into a tightly knotted snarl. The roof. The application of unflinching force, behind the sad smile of a self-appointed caretaker. It is simply a less cartoonish, less insulting facsimile of the Berislav that no one in the simulation but Hibiki even bothered to question. Of course it hurt, to watch that, even in a few seconds of fast-forward. "You still don't see it, do you? You live in it, carry it with you, every day, but you still don't get it." Pity. Despite everything. He runs, from that feeling. Towards the source of it.     The last two high-penetration rounds are skipped from the lips of the roofs of now-empty houses, purposefully robbed of their momentum to deliver not lethal force, but the force of a human-thrown haymaker. Three rounds remain in each pistol. But as Berislav runs nimbly, inhumanly, up the stilts of a raised would-be prison, those bullets aren't given to Lance directly.     They are leveraged against his purposefully woven misery; bounced between train cars, track braces and still-standing houses to weave paths intended to annihilate the manufactured immaterial, without harming the affected material people. He doesn't and can't know if it will work, but--     "Do you see, Angela? The slave owner, deprived of his profit." His voice rings out, as he pushes off the roof of the house, sailing towards another, higher up. Lance is flying. It's a capability Berislav doesn't have--but what he does have is superhuman strength and agility. His feet shave off shingles as he lands, pistols twirled, grips forward. Just a few feet now, and... He leaps.     A stomach-lurching drop awaits below, but it may as well not exist for the priest. His eyes are locked on Lance--on the vortex that holds him in place. It pulls Berislav, too, as he draws near. His legs wrap around the custodian's waist. "If you had been honest with what you wanted, if you had been honest from the start--none of this would have happened." A flurry of pistol-whips follows, aimed at the temples and face, like 'sticking hands' but armed with short, unyielding bludgeons. The strikes are meant to make future defenses more difficult, for the disorientation and the implied vision-obscuring cuts and bruises.     The priest's legs slip free, and he clears himself of the vortex with a push. "Goodbye, Lance." His right palm illuminates the butt of the heavy revolver as it twirls, muzzle forward, pointed at Lance. Back to the ground, Berislav rolls and tucks a hollow-point into the swung open cylinder. The ground below cracks with the force of his impact, but his aim is true. The revolver thunders one last time.
Futaba Nuki	Futaba doesn't see everyone. At least, not yet. Not right away. Are the others alright? She can't see them all from where she's going, but she can trust what she hears. Nobody's happy about this, and plenty of them sound like they might want Lance dead. It's not like she can blame them, though, especially considering everything that had happened in that Tape Room. She still needs to make it up to Kale and Petra. Berislav and Cinder, too, but she doesn't know (of) them quite as well yet. "Your timing sucks, dude! Look, I get you care, but we've got people we care about, too. You pull this off, and nobody's gonna be happy!" Leaping off the flying train car, Futaba finds herself diving right at the dream weaver. Before she can reach him, though, she sees his shining number, she feels something reaching for her, and- She remembers the failures. She remembers not being old enough to even realize what was going on, but just knowing that something was wrong. She remembers the sense of loss that hasn't quite left her despite not remembering enough about that person at all. The failures still linger. That utter feeling of weakness at not being able to turn someone she wanted to call her friend away from a darker path. That feeling of regret at not trying harder sooner, of not even thinking about what struggles they were facing, and not even thinking about how to help them until things already went terribly wrong. She remembers hearing all those very things Lance speaks about. Not knowing about the problems going on was only an excuse, and even that didn't help at the time nor does it now. It still doesn't change that she hasn't been able to help any of them yet. At least only three of them are here right now. "They... We do sometimes, huh? Darn it, you already know we know it'd be way easier to stay in that dream world. But if we do that... None of that's gonna get fixed. We'll just be hiding from our problems instead of fixing anything!" Snapping out of that funk finally, Futaba sprouts a massive set of wings from her back to start taking flight, headed right for Lance. 'Even the ones I dislike... Are nothing compared to the happiness I've gained through their company.' "Like hell we're gonna let you keep us from that!" As Futaba gets closer, she starts transforming again, once again turning into that semi-translucent sludgy form. Once she's close enough, her form expands outwards rapidly, then compresses just as quickly, turning herself into a sort of straight jacket aimed at confining Lance's movements utterly. The goal, of course, is to start trying to steer him into everyone's attacks, binding him in vortexes, pushing hard towards plasma and flame, slowing him down further for their impaling thrusts and powerful shots.
Aidan Proudpick	Aidan lands in a roll as he pushes away the walls from around him. His tail makes a fine cover for him to roll forward with and spring back up onto his feet and turn to face Lance. Then comes the pain. He full on crumples to the ground, grabbing at his chest. A dull powerful ache builds up behind his chest. He can feel his mind growing fuzzy. Like... static? It's grey at the ends of his vision. A young squirrel looks up at his father. "Why do the other children hate me?" The burly squirrel miner smiles sadly, "Your mother was a Knight. And a very intelligent general. And the Empire isn't always generous with us. Don't worry. One day, you'll set yourself apart." A teenager, standing among a crowd in his sunday finest, pushing towards a wagon. A bigger hand pushes him down back into the crowd and mud. A tall lanky red squirrel, wearing the house colors, and the mark of a squire. "Back off, bastard. The next time, I'll be using a bow." The mud. The blood. Foot steps and dirt churn the blood up. It's just a woman. A dead ferret woman. Aidan had been to a funeral. He'd seen dead people. But to stare at someone's eyes. To watch the sucking hole in their chest bleed out. To watch them simply... take a single blow, and then fall. And that's it. They don't exist anymore. Dead, forever. Just one mistake. Just because she wasn't an Elite, or didn't have a Breath Weapon. Air rushes into Aidan's lungs. He can't see. It takes him a moment to realize he is crying. Here of all places. In front of everyone. Aidan grinds his leather bracer across his face, forcing himself to stare up at Lance. "I have to. I told everyone. I swore. I swore I would be the one to make them not hurt anymore." His shield pushes down again to push himself up, a crutch. Power from Ishirou's drones flow into him. Bring your head up. Look directly at Lance. Breathe steadily. And then out. A single long breath into the Aegis, through which energy roars. Green swirls of magic run along the sides of the Lion Headed shield. Aidan points it directly at Lance. "AND A KNIGHT IS NOTHING BUT HIS HONOR!" Yes. That feels right. His heartbeat races, his breathing stumbling as the comet trail of the Aegis kicks up, roaring into a sudden shower of energy around Aidan.
Hibiki Tachibana	I won't let you deny yourselves relief, in the name of helping others. No longer. I care about you too much. I help them, I put my all into working through their problems, into making them feel better - and then they leave. They leave back to the world that hurt them so, and they leave me alone.     "Lance--"     Hibiki, face scrunching up in a wince and a frustrated clicking of her teeth, doesn't get out anything beyond his name. Until something is wrenched out of her, and her eyes go wide as she doubles over, clutching at her chest. More than the efforts at keeping her in an ideal world, more than the attempts at convincing her to accept his help, this is what strikes her deeply. For Hibiki, it's more than just 'moderately' unpleasant.     And it strikes alongside words that are difficult to deny. He's right. Completely right. If it weren't for being around each other--if it weren't for her being around others, none of that hurt could ever happen. She was right to think the way she did, all that time ago. It was stupid to think otherwise.     The more it spirals around in her head, the more something deeper than what he grabbed hold of tries to force itself out, darker than the flooding darkness. I don't need anyone else because I'll end up alone anyway. I should have been alone from the start.         I can't protect other people. I don't want to protect anybody...             ...I hate it. Why does nothing ever go the way I want?     Something as stupid as this won't make my heart ache.             No one's helped me, so why should I help anyone else--     All at once, she lunges forward despite the dark foulness seeping off of her, moving to seize Lance's wrist tightly and firmly. But somehow, not painfully. Heaving for air, she turns her head up at him, beads of sweat dripping down her face, and...is that a tiny grin? Strained and forced, but not an insincere one.     "That's...more like it. Finally. I'm kind of glad...Lance. You really are doing all of this...because you seriously do care. I think you might even be a little tougher...than I am."     "...But it's also because...you're hurting too, aren't you? So you don't know how to do anything else but try and force it to happen, hurting yourself, /and/ everyone else..." Now her grip gets tighter, enough to start hurting. And the tired smile gives way to her face stiffening up with resolution. "If you're so set on stopping us from putting other people before ourselves--"     "--Then I'll make it /my/ job to stop you from making mistakes you can't take back!" Or being able to ever make up for them.     And with that, Hibiki uses the leverage to twist on her heel and begin /laying/ into him, punch after punch after punch after punch and into a judo throw over the shoulder. It looks violent. It kind of is.     But every hit is done intentionally, to try and knock him into positions where he won't take lethal damage from all the other attacks coming in. Right down to the final full-force toss.
Petra Soroka	"They leave back to the world that hurt them so, and they leave me alone."     "Ahaha! That's the first honest thing you've said, right? Fucking dumbass. Of course people will abandon you if you don't have pain keeping them around. That's how it works for everyone."     Obviously, Lance's efforts to drag out all the things that Petra hates about the world from her heart doesn't work. Some of them are already in the room.     "It's a fucking currency. All you've been doing is paying into a debt over and over and over, and doesn't *get* you anything. You're still fucking broke. If you'd dragged yourself out of your fucking wonderland and suffered in the real world instead, you'd be better off." "I didn't expect the fire to spread so quickly, you okay??"     Petra coughs and waves smoke out of her face, "I'm-- I'm fine. That was kind of on me actually. You're-- you're okay?"     After Petra helps Cinder out of her house, rubbing at the scorch marks on her face, she takes a deep breath, and her reactor shriek kicks up a notch in volume, making the edges of Angela's screen waver. The abused wood of the makeshift house crumples, and Petra lands on the ground with a soft splash, pooling mercury kicked up in glittering droplets to cushion her heavy fall. She swipes her hands out to either side, and spikes of morphmetal leap up into her hands, twisting into alien spirals that harden into dual spears. "You all make each other miserable."     "Fucking genius. What led you to that fucking epiphany? Did that thought take weeks to work its way through the gears in your brain?" The puddle of morphmetal on the ground follows Petra as she takes slow steps towards Lance, more and more of it crawling up the hafts of her spears to make them longer and heavier. "I know *better* than you! I *always* know better than you! Show them how hurtful the world can be, and you show them *me*! They make me miserable and I'll make them *worse*! If these people were all the world had to offer, I would've fucking killed myself ages ago. So let *me* show you what the alternative is."     With the two spears both longer than Petra is tall, she rears back with her whole body and hurls them at Lance one after another. The spears, heavy as a car and moving faster than one, concentrated into sharp points, fly into Lance and have enough followthrough to embed in the ceiling of the Car half a mile away.
Kale Hearthward	> "You don't understand -anything-." "Wrong." There's no eloquence left. > You're completely pathetic." "So much spite. So much awfulness." "It's not up to you to make us happy or unhappy! We don't need anybody to decide how we should feel!" "And so you decide to be miserable." Lance gets absolutely bodied, held mostly in place by the wind storm and Futaba's forceful equipment. He's gotten stabbed. He's gotten rammed into, several times. He's barely avoided the claws - the air-dodge taking yet more of his focus even so. He gets pierced through by the spears, and punched and thrown repeatedly. Through it all, he endures. He can show them. He just needs to... > "MAKEHIMSTOPMAKEHIMSTOP!" Lance pauses. The frustration on his face is replaced by alarm. He went too far. He was trying to show them the truth, but he went too far and he's pushed them too far and he needs to- Berislav's revolver fires. Lance is still in the air for a moment... and then he falls to the ground, at first slowly and then quickly, slamming into the soft dirt of the train yard like a puppet whose strings have been cut. The presence fades away to nothing. Mere seconds pass before one of the piles of junked train parts start rustling, and a basketball-sized orb with four legs squeezes its way out. "I was having the most strange dream just now. I was happy. That's the strange part." The orb turns to look at those assembled. "Oh! New friends! And a bunch of houses on fire. The first will get along like the second, I'm sure." The orb starts moving, but doesn't get very far, as Kale swoops down and grabs him/it, holding the orb aloft with both hands. "Gotcha. Amelia told me what to look for - everyone, this is One-One, the Conductor, even if he doesn't look like it." "Oh, hello! Yes, I'm the Conductor, are we playing a game here? As long as it's not kickball, I'm terrible at it."
Arcadia	The presence fades as Lancer drops to the ground. Arcadia looks visibly relieved as she lets out an exasperated rumble. "Finally, that guy was really grating on the nerves." Now lets see what else they can do here to put an end to all the problems for good. Normally she'd go inspect the fallen, but her attention is grabbed by the rattling and then picked up by Kale. "That's the Conductor? Interesting." She glides down to the others, hovering around Kale as she inspects the spheroid. "Not what I would of expected, considering this is a train.... but I don't think the usual conductor garb would fit him either." She gives it a light poke with one fingertip (claws retracted thankfully). "No, you wouldn't make a very good kickball. It'd just hurt someone's foot." Who would want to kick such a delightful duality anyways? That's just mean.
Ishirou	RESCUE and user hit the ground and ungracefully crash into the side of one of the burning houses before evening out and then crashing again.  Eventually, Ishirou stops, before the RESCUE detaches the flight unit parts and just leaves Ishirou laying down.  His hands come up to his ears, though he can't hear the stuff in the smoke anymore, he can still hear it in his head.   Hearing those thoughts... those people... it hits him harder than anything.  He hears it again and again... he shakes and tries to just make himself look small.  He tries to pull himself somewhere where he can't be seen.  He just wants to...     Disappear. What he doesn't notice is the disappearance of Lance and the appearance of One-One.  He just doesn't want to hurt anymore.  He doesn't want people to hurt him.  If he... if he could disappear then he'd stop hurting, right?
Aidan Proudpick	Aidan feels... POWER as he travels through Lance, slamming through the presence. The wall of the train car is hit by an unstoppable force, and the shockwave CRACKS through the air. The indestructible wall ripples, then pushes back. As he falls, Aidan reorients himself, twisting his body, lifting his tail, and landing in a soft 3 point crouch. THen Aidan starts to choke, barely able to hold himself on the ground with his shield. He has both hands flat against the ground, looking over at the ball. Air stutters into his throat. "That's..." He wavers. "Just stop him. Whatever you need to do. Just stop him."
Hibiki Tachibana	"Lance--!"     Berislav's revolver fires off, and the former and future steward of Wonderworld falls like a stone, into a heap on the ground. The presence recedes, although the twisting deep in Hibiki's gut doesn't follow with it. Her efforts weren't good enough, compared to all the other desires to put an end to it once and for all. Like the time with Phreak's father all over again.     She has to stifle a steadily growing urge to retch bubbling up beneath her chest. But what snaps her out of her fugue, stuck staring wide-eyed, is surprisingly(?) the little Conductor that Kale got a hold of. She didn't even notice at first. But it's the last thing he says that gets her. Are we playing a game here?     That, somehow, is what jolts her into moving. With everyone else - or at least most of everyone else, one can only hope - focused on dealing with the sudden appearance of the Conductor or their own lingering traumas brought to the surface, she takes the chance to hurry over in a panting rush to get to where Lance hit the ground, at least to be the first one to do so. Before anything else, she has to get there, she has to check--     If he's still alive, or if he really is dead.
Futaba Nuki	Being in such close proximity to so many attacks at once means that Futaba's getting smacked around a fair bit herself. It's not unexpected, though, especially since stopping Lance would necessitate such violent measures to prevent him from doing to everyone what was already happening to Ishirou. Even as a jacket, though, Futaba notices something off. She sees that alarm on Lance's face. Before she can release him, or give him a chance, that gunshot comes ringing through the air. She feels that accelerating descent, and she grunts lightly as she feels her straight jacket-y self  pinned between Lance and the ground. Feeling that presence fade is enoguh to get her to quickly transform back into her regular form, quickly scrambling away a good ten yards or so just to get away from the corpse(?). Futaba needs a few moments to recollect herself, but she doesn't quite get enough when a new pair of voices comes out from the rubble. "... Huh? Who? You're..." The sight of the orb thing jars her mind enough not to dwell further on how it felt to wear a dead person, at least. She takes a second to clear her throat and turns away from the body even as Hibiki moves to check on him, then places her hands on her hips while puffing up a bit for the alleged Conductor. "That's right! We went through a lot of trouble just to find you, you know." She grimaces briefly when One-One mentions games, recalling that room she had seen shortly before Lance died. "... No games yet. We need to change the filters on this place so it doesn't pick anyone else up anymore. How do we do it?" Just focus on the work. It's easier not to think about other things that way, even if she can still feel the flashes of something struggling from inside of her, then stopping.
Father Berislav	"...A reading from Peter's second letter." Berislav rises from the divot his fall had made in the floor of the Caboose, his pistols disappearing into subspace. Out comes his Bible, open to a certain page. The field generators in his palms silently turn off, and the tears disappear, leaving him a moment to brush debris from his white-gold stole with his free hand.     Stepping out of that impact point, back onto level ground, he places his reading glasses on, then recites from the scripture. "'I think it right, as long as I am in this body, to refresh your memory, since I know that my death will come soon, as indeed our Lord Jesus Christ has made clear to me. And I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able--'"     I was having the most strange dream just now. I was happy. That's the strange part.     "'...to recall these things.'" Berislav's eyes drift upwards from the Bible--     Everyone, this is One-One, the Conductor, even if he doesn't look like it.     --as it is closed with a definitive 'thump.'     "Hello," says Berislav, perfectly polite. "I'm Father Waters Berislav. Please listen to what I have to say, very carefully, Conductor. This train, and the prison you've made of it, are both going to stop. The abductions will stop. Anyone who wishes will be allowed to return to their old lives--such as they are following your interference. This isn't a game, or a joke, and it's not up for debate."     "What I want, from you," says the priest. "Is a commitment to do and be better than the systemic misery you have here erected. I want you to make these people whole. I want you to ensure that those who wish to leave are given homes or otherwise whatever compensation you can meaningfully render to ensure their peaceful and smooth reintegration into society. Then, I want you to adjust the filters," he says, eyes flicking towards Futaba, "*Yourself,* so that the train no longer abducts anyone, at all, ever. After--you will leave the train, pick a world, any world--and start a life there, far away from any sort of correctional, rehabilitational, or otherwise care-forward profession. You will stay there, you will learn how show care without engineering systemic abuse--and if I find out that you have left, or backslid, I will find you and send you to meet Christ--" He pauses, pursing his lips. "By which I mean," he clarifies, "I will end your mortal life, just as I did with your captor, Lance."     Berislav sighs sharply, taking a step forward. "I am not interested in your opinion, or your recriminations. Only your agreement." His free hand finds a revolver from subspace, and in a practiced, dextrous motion like a wave passing through it, rolls a hollow-point bullet the size of a human finger down the grip and into the open chamber. Click.
Petra Soroka	Petra lets out a breath when Lance falls. Almost out of sight, the two spears drop from the ceiling, surface tension vanishing and turning them into goop that slowly crawls across the length of the car back to Petra.     "No fucking way that's the Conductor. He's just a little guy." Petra's reactor doesn't quiet down much, even though the fight is over. She flexes her fingers and clenches them into a fist, the morphmetal beneath her feet squirming and warping with pent-up energy. "Why is *this* what's responsible for this whole fucking train? What's your *deal*, little creep?"     Even Petra can't stay angry at One-One long, though. Look at him! He's so full of joy. And despair. There's plenty of other people in the room to be angry at, though, and Petra tilts her chin up at Ishirou while he scurries away.     "Real melodramatic show you had going on there, Ishirou. I wasn't paying attention, but I'm glad my voice showed up in there, at least. Means Lance got one thing right."     The next is Hibiki, standing next to Lance's crumpled form. Petra walks over to her deliberately, spike forming in her hand. She doesn't get there before Hibiki, but she doesn't need to. "Hey. Tachibana. Do you think it's your decision whether he lives or not? I--"     Petra is cut off in her demented monologue of blowing off steam when she takes one final step to stand alongside Hibiki, and the morphmetal around her feet settles to form a perfect mirror for just a moment. Her boot plunges into the puddle at the same time as another boot steps upwards within the reflection, and when Petra feels the pushback she jumps away, pulling Qetra out of the ground accidentally, in the middle of the train car. "Ahaha! Look at that! Got you, ajoeto! Hi, Bikki!"     All of Petra's attention is immediately diverted away from Lance, and she flies into a panic pulling the jacket off of Qetra's waist and trying to hastily conceal the black and gold collar around her neck. "Oh my god holy shit go away right *now*! What are you *doing*!"
Kale Hearthward	> "No, you wouldn't make a very good kickball. It'd just hurt someone's foot." "Yeah, but I make a pretty good dodgeball! Though bouncing continually eludes me..." > "Just stop him. Whatever you need to do. Just stop him." "Okay! Sure thing, crying squirrel! He looks pretty stopped already, though." Lance is still moving, at least slightly. He doesn't seem to have blood, so human-ish physiology might not apply vis a vis the many many holes in him. He doesn't look too good, regardless. "Oooh, he's not looking too good. The hat guy might not be too happy. He might need to go buy a black hat. For the funeral." > "... No games yet. We need to change the filters on this place so it doesn't pick anyone else up anymore. How do we do it?" "Oh, that's easy! I just need to plug into the tape car and we can change the rules. Rules were meant to be changed. Like embarrassing causes of death in obituaries. Though, uh, why are we changing the rules, again? I feel like I missed something. Like that one time in dodgeball. We never did get the dent out of the wall." > Berislav Berislav's ultimatum gets a Kale reaction. "I appreciate your strength of feeling, Father, but I'm hoping we don't need to resort to threats *yet*. We can talk things out first and-" "Okay." Kale pauses. "Wait. Okay to... what he said? Just like that?" "Sure, why not. Just a few questions first, is all! Like, are you going to take responsibility for all the people getting off the train?"
Angela	Cinder blushing fiercely is clearly because of the heat and not because Cinder helped her out of a burning house, no doubt saving her some serious pain again. Cinder sheathes her weapon. She gives Ishirou a concerned look because she definitely heard him shouting but he pulls away where she loses sight of him. Angela heard Ishirou of course, but she tells herself that Petra is priority one today and she's heard his troubles plenty. And of people like him even more. Could she even be who he needs if she wanted to be? Berislav's words shimmer in her ears--Angela doesn't REALLY need convincing that Ayin is a piece of shit but she has seen him at his weakest, and the way Berislav puts it...makes him feel stronger than she wants to give him credit for. Maybe she'll allow partial credit. That seems to salvage her pride a bit more. Angela can't stay mad at One One either--though her reasons are not wholly based on how (admittedly) adorable they are. "You are an AI." Angela says. "...No, I suppose it would have to be an AI wouldn't it? The train would be too large to manage..." And like her, apparently not resilient to mental fuckery either. "It is good to meet--" Petra pulls a girl out of the floor accidentally. "...Hello there." Angela manages. "Who are you?"
Hibiki Tachibana	The largest wave of relief Hibiki thinks she's felt in a long while washes over her all at once, seeing Lance still moving. It's not too late. It might be if nothing is done about his condition, but it means--...it wasn't all for nothing. Swallowing, she's just starting the movement to try and pick him up, gently and carefully...     ...but never gets that far. It is, of course, interrupted by the sound of Petra's voice behind her. She barely gets past her own name being said before the urge to spin around and clock the other girl in the face fills in the shrinking cold void in her gut with heat. She doesn't have time for this, and she really doesn't want to get into a shouting match with her right now.     She's really about to do it, too. Fist clenched and everything.     And she gets halfway towards doing that too, before Petra is cut off, and she whirls around just in time to see--     A...second...Petra? Calling her Bikki? Not Tachibana? She looks a whole lot different with a better look at her, although she can't really take in all the details right now. And Petra herself is...     It's kind of hard to hang onto that bubbling anger with how surprised she is. So the only thing that manages to come out is a dumbfounded, "H--...Huh?"
Father Berislav	"Thank you," says Berislav, finger still resting on the frame of the heavy revolver.      "As for the people who choose to disembark--I understand that many of them, even absent your arbitrary system of measuring 'improvement,' were in a bad way, when you abducted them. We already intended to take responsibility for them in a number of ways. However, I believe I know the way you mean."      "My answer is yes," he says. "When the Holy Spirit shook apart the prison and flung open the doors, do you not imagine there were 'guilty' mixed in with 'innocent?' Yet, all of them bore witness to the grace of God. All of them heard the hymns of the disciples, and all of them were given the chance to start anew."      "Send me your landlords, your governors, your chief executive officers. I will have them watched, and intervene as I see necessary." The priest turns to kale.      "Mr. Hearthward--I'm sure whatever princely sum your organization spends on power projection isn't so large as to blot out more useful affairs. The Paladins can also assist, with those in less dire need of salvation?" He pauses. "Filling in, with whatever reparition the Conductor here isn't able to render."
Aidan Proudpick	"I meant... the train. Stop the train. Imnotacryingsquirrel." His eyes drift to Berislav, listening to him, so calm, confident, reassured, and the conductor... just immediately agrees. "I'll... help I guess?" Aidan stares at the ball. That's it. That's it? Aidan turns his eyes just slightly to see a double of Petra with a COLLAR. His eyes widen slightly, and there is a BRIEF second where he lifts his finger. Then he lowers it quickly, out of respect for the thing it symbolizes, just nodding once. He leans back, hoping to catch a wall. He does not, falling back onto his back and lying spread eagle.
Ishirou	He can hear Petra out there.  Mocking him.  Of course, she was.  She was awful.  He can see others out there.  Angela is focused on Petra, Hibiki is going for Lance.  Most others care about the Conductor.  Threats are going out, people are getting hot.  Another Petra voice, which is what the world needs right now.   He finds a spot to lean his back against, pulling his legs against his chest and resting his head against his knees with his hands wrapped around his head.  It doesn't look like it was hard to convince the conductor.   He just sits there, hoping the intrusive thoughts and tortured memories would just leave him alone.  That Petra would find someone else to sink her teeth into.
Arcadia	"Isn't he," then Arcadia pauses. "They?" Her expression briefly scrunches in confusion from the duality in One-One's tones of voice. "It.. isn't it just delightful?" But moving on to business. To which Arcadia nods with some vigor. "The Scholary of Argo Alexandria is prepared to help assist in the relocation of the train's unwilling passengers, be it transport, assisting in locating home realms, or providing a place for those who do not have a home to return to." They mostly just want the train to stop speeding through the Line abducting people, as the area's self-proclaimed protectors it's not a good look. "There's also resource harvesting penal colonies for those who actually do belong in some manner of imprisonment," she adds with a much cheerier tone than one would expect prison labor to be mentioned in.
Futaba Nuki	While Berislav puts the terms into words that are far more direct than what Futaba could come with, the ninja has an opportunity to just listen and let herself get distracted. Better to listen to that than to think right now, and another oddity steals her attention when there's suddenly... Two Petras? There's the regular one, and then there's a different one that the first is trying to cover up. Futaba looks over at Bersilav and One-One, then back at the Petras, then at Hibiki to mirror her confusion, and finally she settles on Qetra before raising her hand in a slow wave. "Er... Hey there. Are you a clone or something? You okay in there?" When One-One responds weirdly favorably to Berislav's ultimatum compared to Kale, though, she too ends up being a little surprised. "Realy? Huh. Alright! Oh. Getting people off the train shouldn't be that hard." Something resembling a confident grin appears on Futaba's face. It's considerably easier to do that after seeing Lance move a bit, but that doesn't completely take away from the initial scare yet. "I mean, we did a heck of a lot of digging just to find out where you and the... VIP over there were hiding. Rounding up everyone that wants off should be a breeze compared to that." She nods at Berislav when he asks (Kale) about getting the Paladins involved, too. "Oh, totally. If anyone wants to join us after seeing how cool we were coming through, I don't think they'll say no to whoever wants to join up with us."
Futaba Nuki	'There's also resource harvesting penal colonies for those who actually do belong in some manner of imprisonment.' Futaba looks over at Arcadia, stares her dead in the eye, then shakes her head and turns right back to One-One. "... Don't do that. Paladins'll help these folks get sorted without any of that prison slavery."
Petra Soroka	"...Hello there. Who are you?" "Angela! Hi! Petra named me Qetra, because she's really kind of stupid when put on the spot! You should see how she comes up with other names, though, like when writing, she--"     "Shut up!!! Shut up! I swear to *god* I'll snap your neck! I don't care what happens!" Petra trembles in place, practically vibrating from the surge of panic, hands trembling as she holds down the jacket around Qetra's neck. The differences between them are so vast that they could seem like twins, but every part that *isn't* pointedly different is exactly the same. Even her mannerisms, as different as they are from Petra's rigid trembling neuroticism, are something that Hibiki and Angela have seen in Petra's most carefree moments, though never to this degree. "Aha~ coward~ but fine, fine, I won't embarrass you in front of your friends." "*Angela* and *Cinder* are my friends, Bikki isn-- Tachibana. Fucking-- go away, seriously, why are you even here? I thought you were just wandering the train?" "I was! But here's the last stop, ajoeto!~ I'll be departing with you! I thought you'd want to know, before I jumped out of your TV like the girl from that movie Val likes." "That's The *Ring*, idiot, you should know that." "I do! I just wanted you to say it too!"     After bickering with Qetra for a bit, Petra turns to the Elites, face in her hands. "Jesus. This is-- she's like, a denizen--" "Say that again and I'll prove I'm not~" "This is *Qetra*. The name isn't *good*, but I didn't expect anyone else to ever *hear* it. She showed up in a car that was full of mirrors, and she's like, a reflection, that's alive. My reflection. But she's weird and you shouldn't trust her." "That's true!"
Kale Hearthward	"Hmm. You know, that sounds less like responsibility and more like control. And also murder. And negligence." "Some of the people here are here because they're terrible to others. But some of the people here are here because they're terrible to themselves. Those are the people you need to take responsibility for too. You'd be letting them have a stale start, really. Sending them back to square one." "I'm a little iffy on committing Commonwealth resources to what sounds to me like an op where the Watch is setting the terms," says Kale, still holding the wriggling ball firmly. "Can you at least meet me halfway on some things, Father?"
Aidan Proudpick	Aidan lifts a finger into the air from the floor. "What fucking terms are those."
Angela	Angela listens carefully to Qetra. "Please do not call my friend Petra..." Then she frowns, wondering if she really has the right to make this request. Before she can follow through, Petra interrupts by saying Shut up (twice) and threatens neck snappings. Angela eventually says, "I trust her to share the details of her life when she is ready and she need not ever choose to do so." ''That movie Val likes'' "Val?" Angela asks. "No, do not answer." She frowns as her natural CURIOUSITY is rampaging against her desire to be respectful. She just says, "Understood." To the matter of her departing with them. Angela crosses her arms. "I find the work to be unethical even if it may be utilitarian." Angela adds, simply enough.
Father Berislav	"With respect, Conductor, I don't want to hear anything about control from you. That being said--I am a priest, and spiritual healing is one of my responsibilities."      A back-and-forth is going on behind him, between two Petras. He pauses, for effect.      "One thing that we do seem to agree on, despite our vast differences in the proper methods, is that recovery, being better, *change,* is not a sprint, but a marathon. I am more than happy to take on as many as I'm able." What fucking terms are those.      "I'm sorry," says Berislav, looking over his shoulder. "I'm sure you heard my name--and the terms I set with the Conductor, of course--but I don't think I got yours."      Turning to Kale again, "Name them, and I'll consider them."
Arcadia	The organizing has gone beyond what Arcadia is really suited to do so she's mostly just here for the moment. Drifting a little off to the side, poking about the Caboose now that it's not being used to try and trap them all in some twisted dream eating lotus world. She's not trained to be a mediator so she's not going to muddle in and possibly make the matter worse. Seems to be enough strong conflict in moral ethics between Kale, Berislav and the Conductor as it is.
Ishirou	Ishirou can hear disagreement starting to bubble.  Father Berislav is a hardliner, and... so is Kale.  Though Kale is being diplomatic, this might not go very well.  He takes a moment to run some calculations.   An OPTION pops out from behind where he is and approaches Kale.  directly it starts providing data directly to his mind that Ishirou is currently calculating.  The number of people, necessary rehabilitation for the really bad ones, and facilities for those who are more dangerous to themselves.  More than that, what is needed to process the, and carefully find their individual needs. Then the denizens, which have their own issues, combined with releasing them back into the multiverse, needing time to reduce culture shock, and provide them fulfillment employment and stable housing.   "This can be something each group brings, and need not be terms handled at the end of a gun," he says, through the OPTION.  "You yourself are an elite in the Watch, and you probably do not have the time to dedicate to people who really need it." "Those who are too awful, need to be agreed on.  We can fight over this, but then nobody gets anything and people get hurt in the process.  Please, at least try to work with us and I'll make sure we can meet you more than equitably."
Hibiki Tachibana	At first, Hibiki is still entirely unsure of what to make of this. Did Petra get...a third clone? Is that what this is? Did that body of morphing metal somehow create an alter ego for her or something? Is this like one of those shows where someone has a part of their mind manifest, and it turns out it was real all along?     Oh. She's...from the train. That...explains...it?     I mean, she believes it. This train is weird, man.     It also elicits some...complex feelings. Mostly because despite...no, /because/ of the extreme similarities as one would expect from a reflection, she can't help but see a Petra that reminds her of...different times. Taken to another level that reminds her a little too much of someone else, but it's a tug on her heart that she can't shake no matter how much she wants to, seeing her so...     "...Well," Hibiki starts, still very obviously not sure of how she herself should even be reacting right now. "I-It's nice to meet you...Qetra?" Saying that feels weird. Both in terms of how the name feels on her tongue, and in saying that to someone she feels like she /should/ know. "You're going to be...with her from now on?" That's...going to be weird. Petra's rush to cover her also means she didn't get to see what the other girl was trying so desperately to hide either, leaving her more confused at the efforts than anything else.     Although after a moment, a bit of reality and the feelings that came with it rubber-bands back onto her, and she glances down at Lance's barely moving body once again. With an exhale and no other words, she makes to do what she originally went to do - and carefully pick him up, one arm beneath his shoulders and the other, the knees.
Kale Hearthward	"The ball seems willing to cooperate, with this one condition for responsibility it keeps bringing up. I'd like to keep it cooperating, instead of seeing what it can do in response to threats." "We get everyone on here moved to protective custody, and we set up a panel to review things case by case. Panel is one representative from the Paladins, one from the Concord, one from the Watch, and Petra can send a representative if she wants." "If they're a danger to themselves, we've got Commonwealth social resources. Actual therapists and facilities. If they're a danger to others, and they haven't *done* anything, and they don't want the therapy, I'm... okay letting the Watch keep an eye on them. And if there's some complicated expensive third thing going on with someone's situation, then the Concord can pay for it." He nods over at Ishirou. "Kinda like that."
Futaba Nuki	"Qetra... Oh. Mhm." Futaba nods slowly at the pair as she conveniently morphs away her mouth, making it harder to tell what she's feeling with anything to crack a smile with. She's still shaking a bit at that flustered display and denial, although her mouth soon comes back once Petra actually starts to explain. "So she's... What you're really feeling inside? No. More like... An opposite?" She looks mildly disappointed at first, then confused again when both of them agree that Qetra shouldn't be trusted. "Why is that? I mean, I get why you-" She nods at Qetra. "-or anyone else wouldn't wanna trust a reflection, but why would you-" She gestures at Qetra again. "-agree with that?" Maybe Futaba just doesn't understand reflection logic yet. With Kale and Berislav and Ishirou discussing the terms, meanwhile, Futaba shuffles back over to extend her neck so she can get a better look at the Conductor without any regard to how gross she might look doing it. "So about those filters... Did you change them so that Elites could get picked up, or was that Lance over there?" Perhaps pre-emptively, she holds her hands up  in a nonthreatening gesture attempt. "Not gonna get mad if it was you. I just want to know, so we know who to come knocking after if it ever happens again."
Kale Hearthward	"Oooh, those filters. Yeah, had to change them for hat guy's friend. Having someone too powerful on the train causes problems. I don't even have to say anything here, do I?"
Father Berislav	"Thank you for your input, Ishirou. I know how best to use what time I -do- have," says the priest to Ishirou, eyes shifting back to focus on the Conductor. "You'll note that I pointedly said that I'd take who I could, not 'everyone.' My duties as an Elite will be what they are--and they are not limited to combat intervention, nor are all of them satisfied within view of others. You'll also note, as will Mr. Hearthward, that my finger hasn't moved an inch closer to the trigger."      "That said," he says, nodding courteously at Kale, "I do think Mr. Hearthward's proposal is quite reasonable. Surprisingly so, if you'll forgive me for saying so."
Aidan Proudpick	A little bit of consciousness penetrates collar thoughts to the frontal cortex of Aidan's brain. He sits up on his elbows, "Hat guy?"
Petra Soroka	"Why are you doing this *now*? I should be figuring out what to do with the Conductor and you're *bothering* me." "You could go right over and join the conversation if you want! But we both know you don't actually have anything to say about it~" "Hey, what the fuck, I thought you wanted to help?" "Mmm, too much? I'll tone it down, nedankin~de."     Petra looks at Angela's screen over her shoulder, seeming a little exhausted. "I honestly have no idea what to do about this.She's just like-- a whole person?-- Well, not quite-- that's suddenly attached on to me? I, like-- I can't get *rid* of her, a-and I don't really know if I should want to? I-it's just, a lot, and she's-- a lot." It sounds like a rhetorical question, but the way Petra says it, it really isn't.     Meanwhile, Qetra circles around Hibiki to earnestly stare at her... forehead, not able to quite find her eyes, while she's picking Lance up. "Hmmm, hey, Bikki? If most of the people in this car want that guy dead, do you really think you're worth so much that you can go against that? Is your decision so strong that it's more important than what anyone else wants? Anyone here could finish him off right now and cover you with his viscera, you know. Even Petra could!" "So she's... What you're really feeling inside? No. More like... An opposite?"     "*No*!" Petra shakes her head emphatically at Futaba, clenching her fist. "There's no secret fucking window into my goddamn head. She's, like, a *different person*. It's not that fucking *deep*." "And I said not to trust me because I'm not trustworthy! I'm kind of stupid too, you know?~"     Petra finally turns back to Hibiki, her-- slightly-- relaxed demeanor stiffening again at Hibiki's motion to carry Lance away. "... Angela? What do you think?" Petra's reactor has dimmed back down to a steady, quiet hum at this point, despite her posturing.
Ishirou	The OPTION drone turns towards Berislav and transmits an 'mmm' sound, though doesn't say anything further.  He doesn't really have anything to add to that, and saying anything else might endanger what is already happening.   Honestly, Ishirou has nothing to say, though he's already feeding more data to Kale.  In case that finger /does/ move closer to his pistol.   Right now it's a holding pattern.  Ishirou himself is still curled up and hidden.  He really just wants to not deal with any of this.
Angela	Angela considers it, she really considers it, just telling Cinder--maybe even Petra--to just go over there and finish Lance off. The battle was pretty tense but she's pretty sure the Concord rep here won't result in a winning battle to take him down besides. And Petra has honestly already been imprisoned. She doesn't want to put her in that position again. Then again, Qetra has a point too. She decides to answer the more important matters first. "I understand Petra." Angela says. "It is not a matter I feel I have much room to say on, but I do feel it would not be fair to Qetra to 'get rid of her', if you wanted a second opinion." "Is your number settled? You saved the Train, so if you wish to remove it, you should take this opportunity." Angela adds. "Is that what you wish to do?" But what does she think about MURDER. "I certainly wish him dead." Angela says. "...But I will follow your lead, Petra as the field agent in charge here."
Kale Hearthward	Agreement is made via a radio discussion. "Alright then. The agreement has been made. In that case, we can discuss the matter of Lance next..." Kale keeps himself from smirking. It's unprofessional, even if he feels like he just got one up on most of those here. He *does* smile a bit more, though. "... Which is to say that there isn't really a discussion, as Lance counts among those who have been picked up by the train, and thus is subject to the same terms as everyone else. Ishirou, Nuki?" Kale starts moving over towards Lance. "And Tachibana, if you could give us a hand as well?"
Futaba Nuki	'There's no secret fucking window into my goddamn head. She's, like, a *different person*. It's not that fucking *deep*.' "I can see that." Futaba replies with a brief snicker, partially at Petra's expense! It's amusing enough to see her getting so flustered around whoever Qetra is, anyway, and hearing Qetra's banter with Petra is still giving her some new insights on Petra! Maybe not correct ones, but she'll figure those out sooner or later. 'And I said not to trust me because I'm not trustworthy! I'm kind of stupid too, you know?~' Futaba's thinking way too hard about this, and it shows from the mildly pained expression on her face. "But if you're saying you're stupid and untrustworthy, then does that mean you /are/ smart and trustworthy...?" After straining a bit longer, she instead turns her attention to the matter of Lance's fate.  Looking over where Hibiki's got him and then Berislav with his revolver, she lets out a weary noise before sliding over to where they're standing as Kale goes for a technicality. "No objections there!! And... I think he just got off on the wrong foot, going all nuts like he did. If we give him another shot-" She eyes Berislav's gun again. "-... Chance, we can try guiding him towards not doing such crazy stuff with that power he's got. And then if he does go back to doing it again..." Futaba looks over at Hibiki, then gestures between the both of them. "We'll take him out. How's that sound?"
Hibiki Tachibana	As much as Hibiki initially decided to not take any crap from Petra when she first started approaching her, Qetra's appearance did quite a bit to diminish the immediate flare of anger. And, as she moves to gently scoop up Lance, the reflection's questioning and not-quite-eye-contact is something she finds she can't ignore. Though Qetra can't find her eyes, she can do her best to glance back at them for a moment.     "I don't know how much I'm worth," she replies back to Qetra, shifting her attention back down to Lance after that instant. For some reason, she finds her to be much easier to be plain with, even if the genuine Petra is still right behind her. "...But there's something important inside of me that I'd lose if I just left him like this. A friend of mine asked me a long time ago--if I was so weak that I couldn't do the right thing without others."     With her kind of strength, lifting up Lance might as well be the easiest thing in the world, so long as she's actually allowed to do it. She can't entirely shake off a cold feeling running down her spine from Qetra's warning. "Well, I guess I was. But I don't want to be that kind of person. Better late than never, right?" She sounds very close to sarcastic, even without her expression changing, before her tone drops low again.     "...I saw how he really felt. Some people...can't ever admit what those are until they realize it's too late. But he's still alive, right now--...so I want to give him that chance, one more, instead of standing around and leaving him to die. And that means...believing in my decision enough to be willing to fight for it."     Which certainly is an implicit promise that she's not going to let him go out that easily. It'd be different, if he was already gone. But he's still clinging onto life.
Father Berislav	At last, Berislav stows the revolver in another subspace tear, leaving him holding only the Bible.      "Thank you, Mr. Hearthward." His response is nothing but polite. If we give him another shot--... Chance, we can try guiding him towards not doing such crazy stuff with that power he's got. We'll take him out. How's that sound?      "Like wasted effort, Futaba." He repeats what he'd told Hibiki, over the radio. "'If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.' This *was* to be his chance. But I have no interest in breaking the terms of our agreement and jeopardizing the well-being of everyone else on this train, simply to take him to task."      "This panel will decide what happens to him."
Petra Soroka	"But he's still alive, right now--...so I want to give him that chance, one more, instead of standing around and leaving him to die."     Qetra cracks an overly wide smile at Hibiki, completely unreserved and earnest. "That's a good answer, for the type of hero you are! But isn't it pathetic of you to believe in second chances still? Ahahaha~ you want the same treatment yourself, don't you, Bikki? What if you pour all that effort into him and he's still irredeemable? What if he never gets it, what does that say about you?"     Qetra twirls a strand of purple-blonde hair around her finger, hanging below one of those heart hairpins, staring into space and smiling. "People never want to actually admit they're too weak to do the right thing without others. Isn't it better to fill your head with smarter people's ideas? What happens when you get it wrong, Bikki?" "It is not a matter I feel I have much room to say on, but I do feel it would not be fair to Qetra to 'get rid of her', if you wanted a second opinion."     Petra winces, looking at Qetra while she harasses people, then glances away to roam her eyes over the rest of the massive car. "It's not-- not like I'd, like, *kill* her. It's just... how do I deal with... someone being stuck to me? Like... if she shows up anytime I use the Silver, then that's... it's like I'm never alone. I don't-- don't know how to feel about that. And she's..." Petra can't make the words 'weird' or 'a freak' leave her mouth. "... Which is to say that there isn't really a discussion, as Lance counts among those who have been picked up by the train, and thus is subject to the same terms as everyone else." "We'll take him out. How's that sound?" "I certainly wish him dead."     One of those assertions takes precedence in Petra's mind above the others-- effortfully. It's not like Hibiki's words are static to her, or like Kale's maneuvering went over her head, or anyone else's empathy towards Lance's situation doesn't register to her.     Petra just knows where her allegiance lies, and she's willing to show it. The crawling morphmass that's slowly traversed across the car from where Petra's spears landed is finally close enough, and it splits into two spears again, while no one is looking. Each of the spikes launch silently into the air, and then plunge down towards Lance, aiming to pierce him in the stomach and neck.     In the brief moment that they're whistling through the air, Petra blandly says to Kale, and broadly to everyone, "Nice move, Hearthward. But it's too bad, that I'm not actually part of any of the factions, or part of your fucking *panel*. You people don't get to decide what happens, not when Angela says otherwise."
Father Berislav	Berislav has scarcely cracked open the Bible to read a passage by the time Petra makes her move. He looks up, turns around. No--*wheels* around.      A twist draw pulls the revolver from subspace, his face still a perfect mask of placidity. The triggerpull is heavy; the report thunderous. The heavy hollowpoint collides with one spear, knocking it off course, away from Lance's neck.      After the others have acted:      "Angela does not decide the fate of everyone on this train. Neither do you. If *I* can put my sword away, then you have no excuse, Petra. Thank you for your input. Please never make me intervene like that again."
Ishirou	Ishirou isn't coming out of his spot, not for a minute.  He does keep the OPTION's close to Kale.  It seems they came to an agreement, and Kale used a technicality on the issue of Lance.  That's... certainly probably not going to leave bad blood later, and right now even Ishirou is feeling pretty embittered by it.  He sighs, there isn't anything he can do about it.   Spears fly.   In that small little window, Ishirou could not warn anyone.  It is unlikely anyone could respond in time if they don't see it.  He could look the other way.  He could make Lance pay for what he did to him... That's not what she'd do.  Is it?  That's not how Lilian does things, a knight protects.  Lance is a downed foe, he's helpless... and there is something being set up to give him a chance to help him.   He wants Lance to hurt... he wants to make him bleed.  He wants it so bad!  But... would he be willing to give up that?  He... No. Ishirou jumps out of his location, he can't make it that far that fast to stop the spears, but he does give out the warning.  The OPTION feeds data directly to Kale on the telemetry on the spears.  Ishirou fires a shot from his right hand, aiming to land it in front of Petra, Angela, and Cinder.  It is an immediate flash bang, aiming to try and blind and deafen them while others can get Lance away. He does notice Berislav's choice to aid them.  So much is going on he can't say anything specific to him, but he does remember it.
Angela	Angela stares at Kale. She stares at Kale as he takes an hour to tell her that she fucked up. That she misunderstood the matter of the deal. She endures it for the full length of time and condenses the rage of that hour into one short glare. Petra moves while Aurora is considering what to say about Qetra. That prevents her from speaking up on that matter (for now) and she says, "Cinder...!" instead because while she can't go against the agreement she had, even if she was fooled, she isn't about to let Petra take a thousand blows by those who wish to enforce it. "On it!" Cinder shouts. She swings up a wave of flame, intending to create an escape route for Petra irrespective of how well the murder attempt goes. Angela doesn't answer Father Berislav. Overriding her hatred of Lance is her concern that Petra gets off this train without getting arrested (again).
Kale Hearthward	> "This panel will decide what happens to him." And Angela's glaring fresh new holes into him, but she's holding to the deal. That's probably the best outcome he can get right now. Kale breathes a very premature sigh of relief. And then Petra decides to take a shot anyway. "Stale winds-" curses Kale as he kicks his boots on, and *jets*. Hopefully moving Lance a bit roughly isn't going to cause things to get too much worse, because he's getting him (and possibly also Hibiki) *out of here*. The East Wind's not far away, and it has a medical facility on board. He'll figure out what comes after, after.
Hibiki Tachibana	"I'm not a hero," Hibiki feels like she's had to elucidate more times than she can count, although it hasn't actually been that often. "...There's just some things I can't watch happen right in front of me."     Her expression contorts into a slight wince, at the rest of what Qetra says, though. Being a reflection of Petra who says what she says without any restraint certainly doesn't mean words can't sting, just in a different way. What /if/ she puts all her effort in and it doesn't go anywhere? Fill her head with smarter people's ideas...that, coming from her...     "...If I get it wrong," again, "then that means I..."     Hibiki trails off, as Ishirou's warning goes out, and the shadow of something physical descending from above is just barely picked up in her peripheral vision. Berislav's revolver gets one. But not the other. She doesn't think about it--     She just is forced to drop Lance far more hastily than she'd like to in his condition, and barely push her body over him and in the way like a human shield in the short bit of time she has. The remaining spear comes down right on top of her.     And in an arc of blood, impales her right through the left shoulder. Hardly fatal, but it gets her biting down in a barely-restrained gasp of pain, the projectile not quite penetrating all the way through--but still deeply enough that the arm loses most of its ability to move while it's embedded in there.     "Petra--!" She chokes out, one eye shut tight as she grips at the same shoulder with her uninjured arm, already getting up from a knee and whirling around with a whole mix of emotions in her eyes--     Just in time for them to escape, with Cinder providing the cover. And she's certainly in no state to chase.
Father Berislav	Ishirou's flashbang is inconvenient for Berislav, given his proximity and the direction he was facing. Cinder's wall of fire isn't, so much--because despite his strong words for Petra, he wouldn't think to pursue, much less apprehend.      This isn't a combat situation. There's no need for a drug to suppress the response, nor any need for him to pursue or keep his gun out. He'd only chambered the one cartridge, anyway.      Ears ringing, vision out of focus, the priest exits at a brisk walk. His mind returns to the phone conversation, the night before, with Buttercup. Something he'd said. It *is* effortful. It's different from Bubbles. But in nine cases out of ten, I simply don't wish to let the worst parts of the world influence my presentation to other people. Especially not when reconciliation, consolation and counsel are part of my duties.      The revolver is dropped into subspace, the Bible held so close to his side that it creaks. This was nearly the one case out of ten--and it wouldn't even have mattered. He pauses, near the exit, and takes a breath.      "We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything."