Archive of Our Own

ACT I- THE MURDER

GREAT LOCUST SWARM - Back again, Your Majesty?

1. Fuck yeah.
2. Look, it’s not like I want to be here.
3. Where else would I go?
4. Where is this, again?

CUNO - Where is this, again?

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- Here is nice. Here is safe, warm. Perfect, beautiful blackness.

1. Fuck yeah.
2. Look, it’s not like I want to be here.
3. Where else would I go?
4. Where is this, again?

CUNO - Where else would I go?

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- A king can go wherever he pleases.

CUNO - Anywhere?

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- Anywhere.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- ... until you wake up, of course.

1. I wish I didn't have to wake up.
2. What would it be like to sleep forever?

CUNO - I wish I didn't have to wake up.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- Then don’t. 

1. I wish I didn't have to wake up.
2. What would it be like to sleep forever?

CUNO - What would it be like to sleep forever?

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- It would be so nice. So warm. We like warmth. Warmth means comfort. Warmth means we aren’t cold, or hungry, or scared.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- We hate being scared.

1. I hate being scared too.
2. I’ll protect you.
3. What do you have to be scared of?

CUNO - What do you have to be scared of?

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- Everything. An idle shoe can crush us until we are but a smear at its sole. Too much heat can fry us like fritters, too cold and we slow to ice. An animal could eat up the whole horde, or we could starve to death at the hands of a neglectful god… but mostly… the great and terrible Beast is the worst horror of all.

1. I hate being scared too.
2. I’ll protect you.
3. What do you have to be scared of?

CUNO - I’ll protect you.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- We know you will. Of course you will. A good King looks after his loyal subjects.

1. I hate being scared too.
2. I’ll protect you.
3. What do you have to be scared of?

CUNO - I hate being scared too.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- You would be stupid if you weren’t scared. Not when there’s so much to fear. Always looking over your shoulder. Always flinching to brace for the next blow. Forever cowering at the feet of the mighty Beast.

1. Please, no.
2. Is he here now?
3. I don’t cower before anyone. The WORLD cowers before me!

CUNO - I don’t cower before anyone. The WORLD cowers before me!

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- We are honored to have such a magnificent man as our reigning king.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- But the Beast is something else entirely. Something inhuman. Something that can't feel, can't think, can only hurt and maim. A murder-machine, and you're the only target, Your Highness.

1. Please, no.
2. Is he here now?
3. I don’t cower before anyone. The WORLD cowers before me!

CUNO - Please, no.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- Oh, yes.

1. Please, no.
2. Is he here now?
3. I don’t cower before anyone. The WORLD cowers before me!

CUNO - Is he here now?

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- He is always here. Watching. Panting like a dog. Drooling. Dying…

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- But not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.

1. I won’t let him hurt you.
2. I’ll fucking kill him.
3. Dying?

CUNO - Dying?

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- He’s killing his body from the inside out. It won’t be long now, and yet, still far, far too long.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- It’s comforting, isn’t it? Despite everything, even the Beast is made of rotting flesh and broken bones, an overworked liver and a slowing heart. 

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- Every dragon has a chink in their scale armor.

1. I won’t let him hurt you.
2. I’ll fucking kill him.
3. Dying?

CUNO - I won’t let him hurt you.

GREAT LOCUST SWARM- You can’t even stop him from hurting *you*.

1. I won’t let him hurt you.
2. I’ll fucking kill him.
3. Dying?

CUNO - I’ll fucking kill him.

SCAR SHIELD- A white-hot flash of pain lances through your skull, cleaving your brains clean in half. Knife-sharp, and you think if you open your eyes now, you’ll see it splattering the grey matter on the floor.

PAIN THRESHOLD- The pummels invariably beat on your head, your face, your chest. You are nothing but a punching bag of meat and blood.

CUNO - Agh... ow….

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- Are you just gonna take it?! Come on! Fight back!

INLAND EMPIRE- You wade from the brilliance of the dream-world, of the opulent Locust City, to the slogging wake of consciousness, as if you are wading through thick black molasses. It clings to your legs and chokes your throat and one day, you swear *one day*, you’ll *stay* asleep.

VOLITION- But you are most definitely awake *now*.

PERCEPTION- You know because that perfect beautiful blackness is no longer complete. It’s dots of tar pinpricking your eyes, the great big Beast coming into blurred focus, the bright shock of hair contrasting the pale, pallid skin.

PERCEPTION- Like blood on snow.

COMPOSURE- You manage to drag your sleep-addled body to a sitting position, attempting to pull yourself into some semblance of a living human once more.

SCAR SHIELD- Barely.

BEAST DE Ruyter- “You want another eviction? Is that it?!” His breath is hot and rancid on your face. Something fucking *died* in his mouth.

ENCYCLOPEDIA- The stench is of a potent alcohol-drug cocktail, a one-way ticket to another stroke. His breath is a physical, tangible thing, clogging your nostrils, choking down your throat.

SCAR SHIELD- This man is capable of tearing a door from his hinges, of killing people with a flick of his wrist, of destroying all you are, all you have, with a single word.

RHETORIC- Play dead. You know how this goes.

PAIN THRESHOLD- No. You are David braving Goliath. You can take it.

LOGIC- No. Don’t be an idiot. You can’t, and you know you can’t.

CUNO - Cuno’s got this.

TASK GAINED: Make it out of this alive.

PAIN THRESHOLD- His meaty, hammy fists hammer into you as if you are not a person at all. You must not be a person, because no one would ever treat a human like this. You're not even an animal, because no one would treat an animal like this, either. You're an insect. A locust. Someone people would have no problem tramping on, peeling off their boot, entrapping to use as bait, existing only to be eaten up by prey, garotting with bug spray until you curl up and die.

RHETORIC- Locusts aren’t just bug-shit. They come out of the sky like a fucking shadow. Shit *descends*.

BEAST DE Ruyter- He froths, a rabid, rabies-ridden dog, white spittle foaming at his big beast mouth. “No water, no electricity, no food… worthless fucking f****t of a kid...”

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- Each word is punctuated by a kick, a punch, backhanded slap.

PAIN THRESHOLD- It is blind madness. It is the thrashing of a ship in a storm. No part of you is spared.

INLAND EMPIRE- You think you want something to break.

LOGIC- Something already has.

1. Breathe.
2. Lie there and take it like a dog.
3. [Physical Instrument- Challenging] Fight back. 
4. [Scar Shield - Legendary] Escape.

CUNO - Lie there and take it like a dog.

SCAR SHIELD- The Beast pulls at your hair and digs his filthy, crusted nails in your dandruff-ridden scalp and yanks at your hair and uses it as a handhold to bang your head into the wall till you are sure your skull will shatter from the impact, jagged nails raking across your small face in long craggy lines and big fat hands choking at your throat till you are sure it crushes your windpipe, kicking your stomach till it forces the food up your throat, planting his foot on your chest and beating your ribcage till you think it'll puncture your lungs, white teeth bared so wide you think he’ll bite.

COMPOSURE- Breathe. Stay with me here.

1. Breathe.
2. Lie there and take it like a dog.
3. [Physical Instrument- Challenging] Fight back. 
4. [Scar Shield - Legendary] Escape.

CUNO - Fight back.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Challenging: Failure]- You grapple your weak, tiny, flimsy bony little baby hands up to his own, in a desperate, pathetic attempt to pull them off.

It does nothing, but you already knew that.

COMPOSURE-- Breathe.

1. Breathe.
2. Lie there and take it like a dog.
3. [Locked] Fight back. 
4. [Scar Shield - Legendary 12] Escape.

CUNO - Breathe.

COMPOSURE- Your ears ring. Your heart beats in your tongue. Your mouth floods with sour vomit. Your head *hurts*.

COMPOSURE [Challenging: Failure]- You are going to die.

1. Breathe.
2. Lie there and take it like a dog.
3. [Locked] Fight back. 
4. [Scar Shield - Legendary 12] Escape.

CUNO [Legendary: Success]- Escape.

HALF-LIGHT- Instinct kicks in, and you chomp down your teeth on his hands, drawing blood, biting off a good chunk of putrid flesh— the mythical Beast wails, a dragon slain, a terrible, guttural, choking thing, instinct kicking into a reflex to jerk his hands back, and you use that sliver of an opportunity to bolt out of the minuscule room, tripping over yourself- he may be big, but big is slow and small is fast- leaping over broken beer bottles and lines of powdery coke into the living room, hands grasping at the door and yanking it open— the vast hallway yawns open, freedom is *just* in sight, a fingertip away from reach—

HALF-LIGHT- And the great and terrible Beast yanks you back by the scalp, hard, and you lose your footing, staggering back as the invulnerable Beast drags you around like a rag doll.

HALF-LIGHT- The Herculean Beast has never needed anything more than his fists, so when he picks up the jagged brown beer bottle, broken edges glinting, you know:

HALF-LIGHT- You are going to die.

1. [Endurance- Challenging 11] Get the fuck up.
2. Shield your face with your arms- at least you can minimize the damage.
3. Scream for help.
4. [Physical Instrument - Godly] Try to wrestle the broken bottle from his hands.

CUNO [Challenging: Failure]- Get the fuck up.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- He’s too strong. Even with his slowed reaction time, he sends you crashing to the ground with a single hand.

INLAND EMPIRE- Perhaps not all dragons can be slain, after all.

LOGIC- What use is a chink you can’t touch?

1. [Locked] Get the fuck up.
2. Shield your face with your arms- at least you can minimize the damage.
3. Scream for help.
4. [Physical Instrument - Godly] Try to wrestle the broken bottle from his hands.

CUNO - Shield your face with your arms- at least you can minimize the damage.

SCAR SHIELD- It is a done battle, one you have faced and lost a thousand times before and will endure a thousand times once more. All you can do is drag your lanky, bruised arms up to your face, and brace for impact. If you die, you die.

VOLITION- No. You will make it through this. Look.

PERCEPTION- Your knight in shining armor.

SCAR SHIELD- The King’s right hand.

That brilliant girl wonder, that streak of red, hurls some big heavy lump right at the unconquerable Beast’s head.

LOGIC- Of course! The head is always the weak point.

HALF-LIGHT - The Beast’s surprise grants you the half-second, the split moment of hesitation, of catching him off guard, for you to follow her, the both of you bolting out into the hallway, running and running with the Beast in hot pursuit on your heels. You bolt out of the apartment complex, and still he chases you, a predator after its petty, having already scented the blood and thirsting for more.

ENCYCLOPEDIA- Bloodlust.

SCAR SHIELD- If you could just escape… if you could just make it out of here…

C- She clasps your arm, and it’s the first kind touch- the only kind touch- in far too long. It's not like anyone but her would gift you this anyway.

C- “C’mon, this way!” Her eyes, wild and bright, shine like a cat in the dark. She guides you with the most adroit expertise, leads you this way and that, zigging and zagging and leaping and bounding and ducking and it hurts, it hurts, who knows for sure however many bones have broken and you can't breathe, can't see, can’t, can’t, can’t—

A dead end.

SCAR SHIELD- How could you have gotten to a dead end?!

PERCEPTION- Nothing but water as far as the eye can see, a great sheet of iron rolled out like a carpet.

INLAND EMPIRE- It’s always water, with her.

SCAR SHIELD- The Beast corners you.

HALF-LIGHT- Nowhere to run.

VOLITION- No. You still have a chance.

LOGIC- A small one.

VOLITION- A small chance is still a chance.

1. Stand your goddamn ground.
2. [Perception- Medium] Find a good way to kill him.
3. Make a run for it.
4. Turn to C for help.

CUNO - Stand your goddamn ground.

The Capeside Boat Dock. You half-consider just leaping into the water instead. It would be safer than your father— anything would, really— and besides, C is an excellent swimmer. She’d save you.

SCAR SHIELD- Probably.

EMPATHY- … hopefully.

HALF-LIGHT- Fight or flight. Half-light. Kill or be killed, dog eat dog. 

INLAND EMPIRE- That's how the Beast says the world works.

BEAST DE Ruyter- “Pulling a fucking stunt like that…” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the meat now mottled and pink from where you’d bitten off a small-yet-sizable chunk, the blood already clotting, the puckered wound wanting to close, but still too fresh, too weeping red.

PERCEPTION- The red oozes down his hand, hot blood splattering on the docks, and pride *swells* in your chest, knowing that you did this. *You* hurt him.

MORALE: +1

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- You could drown the Beast.

PAIN THRESHOLD- Could you really?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- It would be so easy. Just shove him in the water, hold his head under—

PAIN THRESHOLD- But you're too weak. He would fight you off, and then he'd be *really* mad.

LOGIC- Drowning would take too long anyway, and what if it doesn’t hold? You need something real. Something savage. Something not even the Beast can survive.

1. Stand your goddamn ground.
2. [Perception- Medium] Find a good way to kill him.
3. Make a run for it.
4. Turn to C for help.

CUNO - Turn to C for help.

C- You don’t even need to say anything. Cunoesse is two steps ahead of you. Always is. She’s wrapping her hand round a wicked shard of glass.

LOGIC- A guaranteed death. 

COMPOSURE- The Beast takes one step towards you, and you flinch.

BEAST DE Ruyter- His eyes narrow on you, tunnel-vision like a rifle taking its aim, his good hand grabbing you by the throat and pulling you up till your little feet dangle inches above the rotting wooden boards of the dock.

PERCEPTION- His focus is on you and you alone. C doesn’t even exist to him, and she knows it, and she knows how to use it.

PAIN THRESHOLD- His fist tightens around your throat, a metal vice choking the life out of you, your eyes bulging, your face purpling.

HALF-LIGHT- She plunges the glass shard like a dagger to his wrist, and he drops you, your knees banging and your hands just barely breaking your fall.

PERCEPTION- He’s screaming. She wrenches the glass shard back out of his wrist, his sliced veins gushing blood everywhere— on your face, on his shoes, on your hair.

PAIN THRESHOLD- It hurts. You can barely breathe, your lungs greedily gulping down air, your hands and legs scraped raw and bloody.

It would be so easy to give up.

So easy.

1. Stand your goddamn ground.
2. [Perception- Medium] Find a good way to kill him.
3. Make a run for it.
4. Turn to C for help.

CUNO - Find a good way to kill him.

PERCEPTION[Medium: Success] - You scrabble for a rock, one of the bigger ones you use for target practice on the Hanged Man--

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- --and bring it swinging to the side of his head, bludgeoning him again and again, each grunt of pain spurning you on faster, faster, faster.

C- She skewers the glass into the Beast like he is merely a human pincushion, and it’s not the first time you’re grateful she’s on *your* side. Her eyes shine with something terrifying and determined— so much stronger, so much *better* than you— because it is not the mad, desperate, hopeless beating of your own hands, but the methodical stabbing of someone who knows exactly where to puncture for the liver, the lungs, the heart, the kidneys.

LOGIC- She’s good at this.

SCAR SHIELD- She’s *too* good at this. She’s done this before. But you knew that, too.

C- “Fuck him up, Cuno!”

PERCEPTION- It’s loud, too loud, too noisy, too much of cacophony beating against your eardrums when all you want is to listen to the pleasant buzz of Locust City. Here, it’s the waves crashing against the docks— crashing like a car crash, crashcrashcrash— the Beast’s pained groans, death-grunts and blood-gurlged screams— the brick, now splattered in blood and spit, beating his head till he just fucking dies already, the squish squish squish of the soft pulpy meat as C methodically tabs into him—

??? - “Oh. Oh, God…”

INLAND EMPIRE- It’s the Union man, usually so lackadaisical and laconic, now turning a shade of yellow-green previously only known to amphibians.

C-  She raises the blood-slicked shard menacingly, her eyes glinting like the sharp glass cutting into her hands, and the threat is clear:

C- “You’ll be dead before you can call the fucking cops, sicko!"

CALL ME MAÑANA- “Look, I don’t…” He swallows thickly, his throat bobbing.

1. [Physical Instrument- Challenging] Kill him too.
2. Threaten to kill him.
3. [Empathy- Medium] Tell him to run before C kills him.
4. Maybe he’s friendly. Ask for help.

CUNO - Threaten to kill him.

SCAR SHIELD- Kill or be killed, dog-eat-dog. If you don't, he'll ruin your lives. 

CUNO - You wield the brick like Excalibur, like a king. “You want some of this shit? Think you can report Cuno to the pigs?! Think again! We’ll fuck you up!”

C- “That's right, Cuno! We'll fucking obliterate him! Serial-killer shit!"

CALL ME MAÑANA- He bristles, the way most grown adults do when threatened by little drug-addicted children. All anxious and skittish, like he knows he shouldn't be here. Of course he shouldn't. He wishes he was anywhere but here. “Now, listen here—”

1. [Physical Instrument- Challenging] Kill him too.
2. Threaten to kill him.
3. [Empathy- Medium] Tell him to run before C kills him.
4. Maybe he’s friendly. Ask for help.

CUNO - Tell him to run before C kills him.

CUNO - Scram! Scram before the Cuno fucking murder-hobos you!

EMPATHY- If he doesn’t, C will kill him. On one hand, C is fucking terrifying, and you don’t want to see her kill again- *you* don’t want to kill again.

LOGIC- On the other, what are the odds he’ll be ‘just’ a witness? Besides, it was self-defense. You didn’t even do anything wrong. Murder isn’t so bad, really.

C- “What the fuck are you doing?! That shithead’s going to report us!” For a moment, she turns her burning eyes on you, and you have to remember not to flinch from her, either.

CALL ME MAÑANA- He scrambles away, but not without a single backwards glance at you, the kind that promises he won’t just forget this. The kind that tells you letting him go will have consequences. Will fuck up your life forever. You’ve made a big mistake, one after the other.

1. Take stock of the situation.
2. Go after him and finish the job.
3. Pull yourself together.
4. Process what you just did.

CUNO - Take stock of the situation.

SCAR SHIELD- What a cutting tableau this makes. The Beast laying at the feet of the King and the Knight, a pool of red crowning his head like a halo. You watch a rivulet of blood stream into the water, dripping into it, mingling with it. 

PERCEPTION (Sound) - Seagulls crow and cry above you, oblivious to your deeds. As if nothing had happened at all.

PERCEPTION (Smell) - Your shoes are sticky and soaking with the blood, his viscera splattered on your ratty shirt, your ragged pants, your sweaty face.

PERCEPTION (Taste) - You lick your chapped lips, and taste your old man’s blood.

CUNO - You look down at the mangled corpse, the dragon defeated. “What are we supposed to do with the body? It’s evidence!”

C- “Fuck all does it matter if we get rid of evidence.” She shrugs as if her world hasn’t been turned all topsy-turvy. Maybe it hasn’t. “We have an eye witness, Cuno.”

CUNO - Your eyes scan the coast, the water lapping docks, indifferent to it all. “We could push his body into the sea.”

C- She draws her nose up in distaste, soured and disapproving. “And contaminate the ocean with his pungent body?” She hisses, adjusting her green pipo-hat with bloodied hands.

CUNO - “Do you have a better idea?!”

C- “Calm the fuck down, Cuno! Quit freaking out like a little bitch.”

1. Take stock of the situation.
2. Go after him and finish the job.
3. Pull yourself together.
4. Process what you just did.

CUNO - Pull yourself together.

COMPOSURE- She’s right. Screaming and shrieking won’t get you anywhere. You need to breathe.

EMPATHY- Actually, freaking out is a perfectly reasonable reaction to what just happened. It would be weird if you were calm about this. If you were like C.

EMPATHY- If she’s even a little fazed by what she just committed, she doesn’t let it on. Not one bit.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- Quit hyperventilating. It’s embarrassing. And don’t you dare let the prickling building up behind your eyes get any further.

INLAND EMPIRE- There’ll be time for that later.

C- “Hey.” She grips your shoulders, and her touch is sobering, calming. You may not have yourself together, but she’s fine. She’s got this. Her voice comes out mellow, even rehearsed. 

RHETORIC- Like she’s practiced for this. Prepared for it.

C- Her eyes are all the wild intensity of a cat satisfied with its kill. “There’s nothing in Martinaise left for us. We need to go.”

1. I don’t want to go.
2. Let’s high-tail it the fuck out of here.
3. [Logic- Medium] Come up with an escape route.

CUNO - I don’t want to go.

CUNO - Your voice comes out a pitch or three to high. “Fuck you mean, *go?* We still have the apartment. It’s Cuno’s now. All for Cuno. Cuno can-”

C- Her jaw tightens, pulsing, ticking. Tick-tick-tick. How long before another eye witness stumbles across this scene, all splayed out in the open, just waiting to be caught? 

C- “You mean the dump with 3 months of late rent and a 5-day eviction notice from last week? All your fucking garbage will be tossed out by tomorrow anyway.”

SCAR SHIELD- She’s right. It’s a miracle you’ve stayed in this apartment as long as you have. 

TASK GAINED: Go back to your apartment to collect your things.

TASK GAINED: Find what's left of your people.

LOGIC- You’re basically homeless anyway. On top of being charged for murder. There’s really nothing for you here.

VOLITION[Challenging: Success] - As long as you bring your kingdom with you, you'll be fine. 

1. I don’t want to go.
2. Let’s high-tail it the fuck out of here.
3. [Logic- Medium] Come up with an escape route.

CUNO - Come up with an escape route.

LOGIC [Medium: Failure]- Think. Where can you run to? *Who* can you run to?

CUNO - You nod with bolstered resolve. “Then… Cuno’ll get his shit, and we can- we can go to that nice lady in the fishing-” 

C- She actually laughs, mirthless and cold. “Are you stupid?”

CUNO - “She- she has three kids, and she’s really nice to them…” Even as you speak, you know how fucking dumb you sound.

EMPATHY- But it… it would’ve been nice if…

INLAND EMPIRE- Yes. It would’ve been nice.

C- She sneers in your face. “Think she’s gonna adopt you, then? Think she’s gonna be your fucking mommy? Think she’ll brush your hair and kiss your forehead and tuck you into bed with a nice little lullaby and bedtime story and all that kiddy shit? Grow up, Cuno! We’re not like those pathetic little fucker kids! We don’t *get* to have those kinds of things!”

SCAR SHIELD- It isn’t fair. You should get to have them. If everyone else can, why not you?

LOGIC- Because no one wants a drug addict for a kid.

CUNO - “She—”

C-  She gives your shoulders a good shake to snap you out of it. “She’d be scared of you, Cuno! She'd report you to the cops herself, if she knew! You want that? Want to be locked up and made it into a bitch, a little-prison bitch getting your pasty ass raped?”

EMPATHY[Challenging: Success] - She absolutely cannot have you going to the fishing village. Her life depends on it.

SCAR SHIELD- She saved your life. You owe her that much. Besides, this is just embarrassing. 

CUNO - “It was just an idea, okay?! It’s not like Cuno was serious about it.” She knows that’s not true, but she’s generous enough to let you off the hook. “Cuno didn't actually mean it, obviously!”

C- “Good. Go get your shit, then.” She crosses her arms as if the matter is settled.

CUNO - “But… it's not like we have anywhere to go.” The Beast’s body cools at your feet. The seagulls squawk louder. “Martinaise is our— is my—”

C- She narrows her darkening eyes. “If you say home, I'll cut your fucking throat, Cuno.”

CUNO - That’s fair. “Then where—”

C- “Hämärä Maa.” She says it easily, as if she’s known it’ll end like this all along. 

RHETORIC- Maybe she did. She’s smart like that.

CUNO - “Is that…”

C- “My ancestral land.” She nods.

ENCYCLOPEDIA[Medium: Success] - The archipelago. Far away in Katla, beyond a certain latitude known as *winter's orbit*, where there are 25 hours in a day. It is a tremendously cold place, abandoned to drunks and failed rock stars. Full of eternite, depression and half finished ski flying hills. The Suru live there.

ENCYCLOPEDIA- The Suru are an indigenous ethnic minority in the social democratic powerhouse Vaasa, on the tundra and taiga covered isola of Katla. Far, far away from here -- as far as possible, really. 

ENCYCLOPEDIA- Suruese, like that Man-From-Hjelmdall shit. She could be... She could be that Hjelmdall shit.

1. I don’t want to go.
2. Let’s high-tail it the fuck out of here.
3. [Locked] Come up with an escape route.

CUNO - “Let’s high-tail it the fuck out of here!” And then, small and pathetic-like, as if too afraid to ask, you manage the words. “... We’ll be safe there?”

C- She shrugs. “As safe as fuckers like us can be.”

TASK GAINED: Leave Martinaise forever.

CUNO - “Will you… come back to the apartment with Cuno?”

SCAR SHIELD- It’s humiliating to ask.

C- She smiles. “Still need to hide the fucking corpse, don’t I?” 

CUNO - “How?”

C- “Don’t worry about it.” She gives you a crooked, lop-sided grin, and you know she knows how to take care of it.

INLAND EMPIRE [Trivial: Failure] - What if she eats it? Oh my god. She's going to eat it. She's a cannibal.

SCAR SHIELD- You always knew something was weird about her.

CUNO - But you have to ask. “C… why are you doing this?”

C- She looks at you like it’s a stupid question, and maybe it is. “You want to be arrested, is that it, Cuno?”

CUNO - You chew on your lips. The blood has soaked well into them by now. It won’t ever come off. “No, but wouldn't it be easier for you to run away… without Cuno? Why don't you just… leave… Cuno behind?"

LOGIC [Legendary: Failure] She's only doing it because she cares about you.

Because you saved her.

Because she needed help, once, and you gave it to her.

She's simply returning the favor.

Maybe she doesn't like being in someone's debt, and this is her way of evening things out.

LOGIC [Godly: Failure] Yeah… yeah that must be it.

That doesn't sound right but… welp! Guess there are no other possibilities.

CUNO - “You won’t regret it.”

C- She grins in a way that makes you think it would be safer to be arrested. “I know I won't.”

CUNO - “C?”

C- “I know. You don’t need to thank me. I hated him just as much as you did, so don't go getting all soft about it.” She adds fondly, “bitch.” And for that one shining moment things are normal again. She always has a way of making you feel normal again.

INLAND EMPIRE- It's you, her, and Locust City against the world, baby.

VOLITION- Not a bad team. Not bad at all.

CUNO - The walk back into your apartment is a watercolor blur. You think you smell blood, on your hands, on your face, in your mouth. Maybe you’re the cannibal.

ENCYCLOPEDIA- Patricide. One of the worst crimes you can commit.

SCAR SHIELD- But no worse than what the beast was doing.

INLAND EMPIRE- Oh yeah. Not by a long shot.

1. Take stock of the situation.
2. Go after him and finish the job.
3. Pull yourself together.
4. Process what you just did.

CUNO - Process what you just did.

PERCEPTION- The smell of blood is too overwhelming. You’re going to choke on it. You stumble into your bathroom, all crack-lined and with marijua ashes scattered on the toilet, and flip on the tap, the stream of water gushing out— stuttering— spluttering— then stopping.

LOGIC- Right. The water bill. Unpaid, like everything else…

COMPOSURE[Medium: Failure] - Your head rings like a hot metal band is tightening round your skull, and you know, if you had the ability, if you had the resources, that you should be going to a hospital. 

LOGIC- You’ve simply sustained too many injuries, too many bruises all shiny purple and sickly yellow and vomit green and deep blue and swollen black, to go on.

HALF-LIGHT- Pills from the med cabinet will have to do for now.

CUNO - You uncap pain killers with tremoring hands, shaking out pills into your palm and downing them dry.

TASK GAINED: Tend to your injuries before they get worse.

PERCEPTION- They taste of the unwashed blood still staining your hands.

SCAR SHIELD- Your father’s blood, or yours?

INLAND EMPIRE- The Beast is slain, never to return. Rejoice, mighty king, at your fallen foe.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- THE BEAST IS NO MORE. LONG LIVE THE KING.

LOGIC- You’d be all alone if it wasn’t for C. You better hold on to her with all you’ve got, or you’ll have nothing at all.

PERCEPTION- The blood. The blood. Will it ever wash off? The copper the iron the taint the taste-

CUNO - You scramble around for hand sanitizer, but know it's a fruitless search: the apartment doesn't have any, and besides the more you look the more the things you have to touch the more they get covered in the Beast’s blood too.

CUNO - Eventually you just take a towel and scourge your hand till they're red and raw. There are still flakes of blood caught between your pores, under your nails, but you can't really cut them out and besides, you don't want to keep C waiting.

SCAR SHIELD- (What if she leaves without you?)

CUNO - You scrub at your hands and grab a duffel bag and shove whatever you might need— mostly, just food for your locusts— and cradle the box in your arms like a baby.

LOCUST CITY- You open the box and scan your domain. The little locusts scuttle about, well cared for and well-loved. They scurry excitedly, nibbling on the bug grub you’d laid out for them last night, and little scraps of greens bitten into like they’ve been hole-punched. Their strong black legs leap over each other, antennae twitching and wings fluttering lightly. They climb the little branches and twigs you’d put in for them as entertainment, the box dry and clean to protect from any mold or rot. Wilted lettuce you’d dug out from the dumpster serves as their breakfast, the leaves just on the right side of pale green that you don’t have to worry too much about its quality.

EMPATHY- But it would be nice to give them fresh vegetables for once.

CUNO - You poke in a single, pale finger, and a single locust hops up to perch on it. You let its little legs skitter all over your skin, prickling and poking, and ponder your domain for a bit.

LOGIC- You’ll probably need a bigger box if they keep multiplying. Look at those two, just going at it, fucking in broad daylight.

ENCYCLOPEDIA- If you’re traveling, you’ll need a way to make sure the temperature is regulated, that there’s some kind of mesh both for breathing and to make sure they’re neither dehydrated nor drown, and of course so they’re not jostled around too wildly.

TASK GAINED: Find something to carry the survivors.

CUNO - You get a wad of toilet paper and use it to clean out old leftovers and feces and chitin, having learned the hard way that if you leave little bits of old food in there, it’ll just get old and stink up the box.

SCAR SHIELD- Locusts can’t live forever, but there’s a difference between letting one die after a week and watching one die after a month. What matters is you give them a good life, keep the kingdom flourishing, thriving.

EMPATHY- You raise those bugs better than your old man ever did you.

CUNO - You take one last look at the hovel that was your home, though the shoebox with your skittering locusts is more a home than this tiny apartment ever was. Trashed to all hell, you can at least take a sick sastification in knowing the landlord's gonna have a hell of a time clearing it out, all stinking garbage bags and every hard drug known to man and unwashed laundry.

VOLITION- You flip up both your middle fingers at it, free at last.

And then you’re off.

TASK COMPLETED: Go back to your apartment to collect your things.

TASK COMPLETED: Find what's left of your people.

1. Switch.

SURFACE TENSION- The water calls to you.

SENSORIUM - If only you could answer.

TASK COMPLETED: Kill Cuno's old man.

TASK COMPLETED: Convince Cuno to return to your homeland with you.

INTERVAL- The last time you hid a body, it was a failure. 

MIMICRY- There was only shame and banishment and the knowledge that you would somehow have to fix things.

PURSUIT- Whatever. The kid deserved it. You’d do it again.

MIGHT- The second killing was so much easier. Who knew taking down a man triple your size, triple your weight, would be so easy?

SURFACE TENSION- You deserve a reward. A good plunge in the water, cool and refreshing, just to recalibrate. Just to feel like yourself again. Wash off the filth, the sweat, the blood.

AMBUSH- Not now. We have to keep moving. Keep going. Someone will find the body and you’ll be arrested and the whole plan will be in shambles before you can even set it into motion.

STRIDE- Remove the teeth, the hair, the clothes. Burn them all. Nothing with your DNA, nothing with his.

MIMICRY[Easy: Success] - Not that it matters. This is not a man that will be missed. The sea will not mourn him, and if you left his corpse in his own apartment, the only way anyone would notice his death is the corpse stinking up the place.

AMBUSH- You can’t afford to have this come back to bite you. Better to chop him up into little pieces and bury him deep, deep in the ground.

STRIDE- If only there were some pigs you could feed it to.

PURSUIT[Medium: Success] - A dead animal will have to do. Bury a dead bird above it, that way if some hounds sniff it out, it’ll be marked off as a false positive.

MIMICRY- If only you knew all this before, maybe you could’ve stayed home. You wouldn't have been stuck here. Wouldn’t have to do all this just to go back home. If only…

SURFACE TENSION- The water is your only home. The only home you need.

CUNO - He comes back with a duffel bag overstuffed and slung over his lanky shoulders.

AMBUSH- Such fragile bones. So breakable. Snapping like a twig.

CUNO - “How… are we supposed to escape?” He’s still rattled. The first kill is always the hardest.

SENSORIUM - At least he’s not going into a murder hang-over.

C- “The train. To June Cite.” You begin to walk, and he follows you in stride. It’s nice, having someone who trails after you so thoughtlessly. Someone who really trusts you.

MIMICRY- No one *ever* trusts you. No one ever has faith. No one’s ever loyal.

CUNO - “For some reason Cuno thought we could take a boat.” He keeps scrubbing at his hands as if he can’t get the blood off, scratching and digging with his blunt square nails. “Can't you sail?”

C- “It’s a lot easier to sneak on a train than to smuggle a boat.”

CUNO - “So we just… walk? What if someone sees us?

C- You smile without pleasure. “We kill them,” seems the obvious answer to you, though he doesn't see how you two could fight off a whole squadron of cops.

PURSUIT- When the time comes, you'll just have to figure it out.

CONCEPTUALIZATION- You’re good at that. Figuring things out.

STRIDE- You walk. Walk walk walk all the way from Martinaise to Jamrock Central Station, bouncing ideas off each other along the way. Sometimes you think of holding his hand, just so you don’t lose each other. 

INTERVAL- That’s not necessary yet. But maybe when you get there.

CUNO - “That was fucking amazing. You know that, C? Ace shit. Killer shit. The way you… you were so cool, C.”

C- No one has ever praised your violence before, your murder. “It was fucking hilarious is what it was. The way he was gagging on his own blood like he was sucking dick, watching the light leave his eyes, collapsing like a puppet with its strings all cut— such a big man! Such a big, scary man, he thought he was! And now he’s nothing. Now he’s mincemeat.”

CUNO - “If Cuno had known his old man was so easy to do in, we would’ve… we could’ve…” Cuno makes a motion that’s cleary meant to indicate killing, juvenile it is.

1. [Pursuit- Challenging] Hatch a plan.
2. Tell him to grow a pair.
3. Tell him the real reason for going to your homeland.
4. Ask how he’s doing.

C- Ask how he’s doing.

C- “You don’t feel bad?”

CUNO - “Bad? This is the greatest thing to ever- I mean- on one hand, seeing the most powerful creature die so easily is… it’s fucked up. It’s weird. He’s so strong. He’s so amazing. And if even Cuno can kill him, then…” He wrings his hands with all the anxiety of a boy who’s had his whole world turned upside down. 

MIMICRY- It won’t do him any good to wallow, though. You need him spry and going.

1. [Pursuit- Challenging] Hatch a plan.
2. Tell Cuno to grow a pair.
3. Tell Cuno the real reason for going to your homeland.
4. Ask how he’s doing.

C- Tell Cuno to grow a pair.

C- “Quit being a pussy about this.”

CUNO - “Nothing pussy about it! Cuno’s balls are big-time. Father-murderer. Dragon slayer. King of the Kingdom of Cuno.”

HALF-LIGHT- He’s spiraling.

1. [Pursuit- Challenging] Hatch a plan.
2. Tell Cuno to grow a pair.
3. Tell Cuno the real reason for going to your homeland.
4. Ask how he’s doing.

C- Hatch a plan.

C- “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

CUNO - He tucks his chin over the locust box protectively. “Okay. Do we… uh… sneak on?”

TASK GAINED: Find a way aboard the 14:44 train.

C- “What, like leap on the train while it’s going?” Technicalities are always the worst part of a post-murder.

CUNO - “Have a better idea?”

C- Of course you do. “We could rob some sorry bitch. Snatch their tickets from them, fuck them up real good.”

AMBUSH- And he better not be too much of a pussy to do it.

CUNO - “If we get one ticket, one of us can smuggle the other. Sneaky shit. Two kids in a trenchcoat fucking shit up.” He nods, warming up to the idea. He’s shifting away from the mugging idea, steering you away from it too; probably thinks he’s being slick, but he isn’t. “Or like… in a fucking pet carrier or some shit.”

C- “We could create a distraction so they don't notice that we're getting on.” You hum. 

PURSUIT[Easy: Success] - It doesn’t really matter how you make it, so long as you do.

STRIDE- You *have* to. It’s the only way.

CUNO - He keeps turning the locust box this way and that, likely pondering how to smuggle it on the train, too. “How?”

C- “Fuck if I know.” You roll your eyes. “Set shit on fire?”

CONCEPTUALIZATION- It would be easy. 

MIGHT- Not easier than mugging someone, though.

CUNO - “Maybe we can just scrounge together enough money to buy it ourselves?” He suggests thoughtfully, skinny fingers tapping along his precious little locust box. “Think of it. Begging on the street shit, panhandling shit. Bring out the waterworks. Sorry fuckers will feel bad for the starving children.”

C- You snort. “Right.”

EMPATHY- He grins, something so boyish and hopeful that you almost want to ruffle his hair, almost want to change your plan, almost want to protect him. 

CUNO - “Let’s fucking go.”

STRIDE- And go you do. He's sustained the worst of the injuries, battered and bruised, low on health but high on energy, and maybe, when you're on the train, he can take care of it. Get some banadages, get some clean water. For now, though, his legs work well enough, and that's really all that matters.

SENSORIUM - The sun sets and rises and still you walk, watching the sky bleed above you, watching the sun taint the clouds in glowing oranges and bursting pinks. It rises to beat against the back of your neck, drawing beads of sweat along your hairline, dotting your upper lip.

MIGHT- You have *got* to pilfer some water bottles and food for the road, or you'll die of dehydration before you even see your folks again.

MIMICRY- As if they'd want to see you anyway.

INTERVAL[Trivial: Success] - It’s 7:30 in the morning. Jamrock Central Station.

PURSUIT- You’ve made it. 

SURFACE TENSION- The water calls to you. No matter where you are, no matter what you are doing, the water will always call to you.

INTERVAL- Now all you have to do is board the 14:44 train to June Cite, and it’s smooth sailing from there.

STRIDE- Right?

TASK GAINED: Find out how to get to Hämärä Maa.

TASK COMPLETED: Make it out of this alive (for now).