Kintsugi Plays Fallen Hero: Rebirth

also

 

fjhdsklagjkl
not sorry in the slightest. also this is a great song

 

Yeah, I figured I could count on this crowd to make that joke for me. :P

 

If the MC was truly prepared for emergencies, they would have read Homestuck before this so they could trap invading evil psychics in a catalogue of interminable Homestuck meme quotes instead of the listed options.

 

We have to unlock that option with a password after we advance far enough in the story

 

do you want their PTSD nightmares to involve jpeg artifacts

because this is how you get nightmares with jpeg artifacts

 

> Despair…I'm no stranger to wishing I could disappear.

That's the most terrible part of this; you're not certain you want to succeed. Just giving up, just letting yourself end…it's a terribly seductive feeling. You've wanted to end yourself more than once during the last decade, you just never…

(you couldn't give up)

And that's just it. You can feel whatever this is slowly infecting your mind, playing up your dark thoughts. But you've been down this path before, and you know how to deal with it.

Put it off.

Just one more day. Just one more breath. Just one more step.

The pressure is still there; you can feel the desperation growing, but you know you have enough time to finish this. Your smile has gone a little cold as you draw your gun, feeling the weight in your hand. A weapon.

Good. All you need is one shot.

You have no idea what setting your gun is on. It's an energy caster, so it's variable, from stun to possibly lethal. What did you put it on? Does it matter?

Not really, you suppose. Whatever this is killed so many people, killed Anathema, wants to kill…you.

You want to kill…you.

No. You shake your head, eyes still on the floor, mind strangely calm despite the onslaught. The carpet is a dirty brown. The gun in your hand is cool and familiar and so heavy. You feel nothing….

No. You shake your head because you do feel something. Kinship, perhaps?

(or is this just an imagined memory?)

It doesn't matter, really—you have to act now, while you still have command of your body.

　‣ I fire blindly right at the heart of whatever this thing is, and hope I hit.
　‣ I slowly raise the gun towards my mouth.
　‣ I slowly turn my head and look this thing right in the eyes.
　‣ (i wake up with a scream)

Spoiler: Show Stats

CLASSIFIED

Secret Identity: Josie Jacobs
Gender: Non-binary
Description: An average mixed person in their thirties with brown eyes and short, neat curly dark brown hair.

Josie Jacobs is a seasoned, tech-savvy tactician.

Physical Status
Stamina: You are rested.
Willpower: You feel calm.
Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds.

Telepathy

Strength of Mind: 50%
████████████████████
Subtle Manipulations: 74%
██████████████▒█████

Standard of Living: You are comfortable.

Psychological Profile

Infamy: 0% / Obscurity: 100%
████████████████████
Arrogance: 12% (-2) / Anonymity: 88%
██▒█████████████████
Ruthlessness: 37% / Empathy: 63%
███████▒████████████
Daring: 49% / Caution: 51%
█████████▒██████████

Main Puppet

Name: Barbara
Puppet Status: Fine.
Description: A tall white woman in her twenties, with blue eyes and long straight blond hair.

Allies and Enemies

Josie's relationship with Ortega: old friend.
Ortega and Josie: 86%
█████████████████▒██

Barbara's relationship with Dr. Mortum: flirting.
Mortum and Barbara: 49%
█████████▒██████████

Josie's relationship with Lady Argent: distant.
Lady Argent and Josie: 0%
████████████████████

Josie's relationship with Marshal Steel: former ally.
Marshal Steel and Josie: 24%
████▒███████████████

Josie's relationship with Herald: distant.
Herald and Josie: 20%
████████████████████

 

>look at it

 

I 100% want this

 

goddammit I am not making a sbahj adaptation of the heartbreak incident

 

> I slowly turn my head and look this thing right in the eyes.

Your neck feels like it is cramping up, one hand still clenching the gun, as you turn and look and see her clearly for the first time.

A woman wrapped in dirty hospital scrubs, cables dripping from her body like seaweed. They don't move; they just hang there, dead weight, bleeding rust or blood over the carpet. Not much, just a slow drip. And from the sway of her body, you can see she is not far from collapsing. But why here? Why come here?

The answer comes to you as the walls pale into white, the greenish silhouettes solidifying. Because this is home.

Everyone wants to go home to die.

(not you)

But you do. Right now, you do. It's a struggle to keep the gun and not raise it towards yourself. It's a struggle to form a word, even though it is just a grunt.

She still hears it. Still opens her eyes.

Brown. Empathic attachment.

The room is closing in around you. Not this room. Another one. A familiar one.

(but is that your familiarity or hers?)

You're frozen now, tumbling into her brown eyes, the room gone, the gun forgotten, your shields…

Shields…gone. You've lost. She's inside now. Connecting. You…are…

…Lost.

>

Nine white walls, fluorescent lights painting the angular surfaces in blues and iridescence. Four men and women in pale green scrubs, tending their instruments like holy artifacts. One prone woman wrapped in white, strapped down on a table, wires crawling over her like spider webs.

"Approaching oxygen saturation level."

"All systems are green."

"Starting recording in three, two, one."

"Body temperature 97.3 and dropping."

Air cold enough for breath to mist.

(how can you see? is she already aware? watching herself?)

A subsonic rumble gone unheard, making ripples in the clear drip running into the woman's arm. Nine dull, black rectangles circling the table, equally connected to the wiring.

"Is she dreaming?"

"We've got REM movement."

"Sleep paralysis is in effect. We won't lose this one."

"Her. We won't lose her."

A soft hand gently touching a cool forehead.

(your forehead? her forehead? you should be terrified, but you are watching. just watching them.)

The scrape of a pen marking numbers down on paper. A pair of hands rubbing together for warmth, or perhaps due to nervousness.

"Is the inquiry finished? I mean, are we doing this again?"

"It was ruled an accident. Nobody thought they'd start to move."

"Guess they might have been a sleepwalker as a child."

"Nobody checked for that?"

A question gone unanswered, blame hanging there unassigned. Fingers leaping over keyboards, the clack-clack-clack like cockroach feet over the quiet hum of the room. A throat being cleared, a deep breath taken.

"Activating gates one through five."

"Heartbeat down to 28 bpm."

"All systems are still green. She's holding up fine."

"REM is still going. Proceed when ready."

Scrubs rustle as people move to check their stations, but the woman at the center does not move at all. Just her (your) eyes, pupils twitching behind closed eyelids. Five of the dull, black rectangles hum to life, the oscillation field coming into effect.

　‣ (i remember a feeling of kinship, of despair)
　‣ (i remember wondering why this felt so familiar)
　‣ (i remember feeling excited. so this is how it ends)

 

(So this is how it ends)

 

> (i remember feeling excited. so this is how it ends)

(on top of the world and now the falling starts)

"Lowering the descent path by 0.57."

"That steep? We've already got theta waves."

"We went slow last time. That didn't work, did it?"

"No need to snap. Keep an eye on the vitals."

Green lights are flickering into yellow, and on the screens, the brainwaves are slowing down their dance. Checking printouts, one man crosses himself out of sight of the others (but not you). Four dull, black rectangles are left, inert in the tensing atmosphere.

"Activating gates six through eight."

"Wait, got an alpha wave flicker."

"Dammit, lower her temperature!"

"She's already at 96.2. If her core drops more, she might go into hypothermia."

Fingertips are turning blue, cyanosis bruising pale (not your) skin. Breathing is a barely perceptible ripple in the stiff, white fabric covering her narrow chest (how can you see this? how can she?). The skull is visible under the shaved scalp, eyes sunken and fluttering under the dark brows.

"REM still stable. Theta is borderline delta. I think we should open the ninth gate."

I feel like if you ever find yourself saying, "I think we should open the ninth gate," no matter the context, that should be an immediate red flag to stop what you're doing and reexamine your life choices.​

"Check the restraints. Sleep paralysis or not, I'm not taking any risks this time."

"Heartbeat down to 20 bpm. Showing signs of hypoxia—we can't keep this up long."

"Let's do this, people. Activating the ninth gate."

>

The last dull, black rectangle hums to life, and in the room, people grimace as the subsonic waves invade their bodies. Nobody is standing near the woman where she lies, alone (always alone), surrounded by active gates. Needles flicker, showing the steady drain of power as the feeling of unease intensifies.

"Theta field active. Christ, I can feel it in my teeth."

"Still no response. Should we go deeper?"

"Heartbeat down to 17 bpm, signs of cyanosis, but the vitals are stable. I vote go."

"Maximum psychic depth exceeded."

Silence follows those words, everybody waiting for a reaction. Eyes flicker between glowing screens; the readouts snake paper down onto the dark floor. And yet, nothing happens (you keep screaming but you can't wake up). The placid thunderstorm keeps building, immobile yet raging.

"Still nothing. Are you sure she's not slipped into delta by mistake?"

"Check the eyes. REM is too strong."

"Wait! We have harmonic tremors!"

"Finally. Let's do this thing."

A quiet nosebleed is running untended, staining green scrubs black. Lights are flickering tornado green, the dull, black rectangles fuzzy with vibrations. The woman on the table jerks convulsively, held fast by soft (familiar) restraints, her mouth opening in a quiet scream.

"She's breached. She's breached!"

"Quick, track her path, track her path goddammit. I need numbers!"

"Our father who art in heaven…"

"She's still here, I swear—the numbers don't track."

　‣ (still here still here you all will regret this)
　‣ (no please run i can't stop i don't want to stop)
　‣ (not me this is not me not my memories)

 

Honestly I still can't get over this line. I just… like, it's not just me having this reaction, right?

Actually, here, have a bonus poll on that subject: Should we open the ninth gate?

 

‣ (still here still here you all will regret this)

focusing on revenge

 

Whoever voted yes, please report immediately for remedial workplace safety training. This is not a drill.

 

> (still here still here you all will regret this)

Eyes jerking open (yes), flickering back and forth in a vortex of blue on black. A tongue extended, slowly at first, then faster, as if tasting the air for scent.

(antiseptic. ozone. blood.)

Lips pulling back, nostrils widening in a baleful grimace, gums stained with tiny blisters.

"Shit. The numbers don’t track. Her id is still here, trapped in the field."

"…Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom comes."

"Her heart rate’s through the roof. She's flatlining."

"God almighty, did she bring it back with her?"

Nine dull, black rectangles, fizzling out one by one. (you can feel them) The fluorescent lights staining red blood black. Four men and women frozen like Hiroshima shadows, turning towards the center. One door behind them all, now closed.

Another door opens.

(you can feel them all)

(you can feel them feeling you)

(no)

(you can feel your hand move)

(no)

(their hand)

(their hands)

> No!

You tear yourself awake with a scream, throat raw, covered in sweat. Your hands are shaking, the bedding a tangled mess around your feet.

You hate dreams, but you hate this dream in particular.

Just one more day, you promise yourself. Just one more week. One more month. You're moving forward. Soon you will have the suit; soon you will have a weapon you can use to…

To do what? Change things? Change yourself?

You don't know. But you do know that right now, it is your reason for getting up in the morning, and your reason for not doing anything stupid.

It's better than nothing.

No. That's not safe to think about. It's the past, it's over and done with, and you are alive, and here, and free to make your own decisions. That's what matters.

Looking over at the alarm, you see that it will be morning soon. You should get some more sleep. You know you need it, but…lying there in bed, looking at the ceiling, you don't want to close your eyes. There are too many things ready to crawl back into your head.

Too many ghosts ready to haunt you.

So, you take the easy way out and close your eyes, not to sleep, but to let go of your body. Sliding into Barbara is the best option available to you.

　‣ Being anybody but myself sounds really good right now.
　‣ My body needs sleep, but I can still get things done with my puppet.
　‣ Right now, being head blind is what I need.

Sometimes we get achievements for unlocking new story branches; sometimes we get them for unlocking new PTSD symptoms. That's just how it goes.

Anyway, how do we feel about taking a Barbie intermission?​

Spoiler: Show Stats

CLASSIFIED

Secret Identity: Josie Jacobs
Gender: Non-binary
Description: An average mixed person in their thirties with brown eyes and short, neat curly dark brown hair.

Josie Jacobs is a seasoned, tech-savvy tactician.

Physical Status
Stamina: You are rested.
Willpower: You feel calm.
Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds.

Telepathy

Strength of Mind: 50%
████████████████████
Subtle Manipulations: 74%
██████████████▒█████

Standard of Living: You are comfortable.

Psychological Profile

Infamy: 0% / Obscurity: 100%
████████████████████
Arrogance: 12% / Anonymity: 88%
██▒█████████████████
Ruthlessness: 49% (+12) / Empathy: 51%
█████████▒██████████
Daring: 49% / Caution: 51%
█████████▒██████████

Main Puppet

Name: Barbara
Puppet Status: Fine.
Description: A tall white woman in her twenties, with blue eyes and long straight blond hair.

Allies and Enemies

Josie's relationship with Ortega: old friend.
Ortega and Josie: 86%
█████████████████▒██

Barbara's relationship with Dr. Mortum: flirting.
Mortum and Barbara: 49%
█████████▒██████████

Josie's relationship with Lady Argent: distant.
Lady Argent and Josie: 0%
████████████████████

Josie's relationship with Marshal Steel: former ally.
Marshal Steel and Josie: 24%
████▒███████████████

Josie's relationship with Herald: distant.
Herald and Josie: 20%
████████████████████

 

>body needs sleep

 

Forget whatever we said about needing "real rest" instead of more body-hopping. Past us clearly didn't think that one through.

(FYI, this post contains some Josie-typical suicidal ideation.)​

> My body needs sleep, but I can still get things done with my puppet.

You can't afford to let your physical body get run into the ground. Not when you are so close to achieving your goals.

That's why you have a puppet; you don't have to lie there, twisting and turning, trying to force yourself to go back to sleep. You can just leave your body—a much faster remedy than any sleeping pill.

And you can still get some work done.

> You Close Your Eyes

The void between bodies is as familiar as it is brief.

Vertigo sucks you in as you let go, and you open your eyes somewhere else. No, not your eyes. Barbara's eyes.

Moving between bodies is more disconcerting than people might think. The body feels different, moves differently, and you need a few moments to adjust as you awkwardly stand up and stretch away the accumulated inertia.

Outside your window, the sun is slowly rising into what promises to be yet another searing Los Diablos day. Dawn. Not a time that Barbara is usually awake, unless it is to stumble into bed to fall asleep.

Yawning wide, you stumble into the shower, the hot spray helping to center you in your new body. It's strangely freeing not to have to avoid the mirrors, wiping away the fog to meet your borrowed face with a wide smile. There's nothing to fear here; everything inside Barbara is so much simpler.

Good. You've got enough complications to last you a lifetime.

The restless night has not left you unscathed; even in this body, you're filled with a restless energy that needs to be released. You need to regain your focus, and for that, there is no better place than the dojo. That's why you've taken up aikido. Even if Barbara was never meant to fight in person, she is where you go to get your aggression out in a controlled manner.

Physical training was a necessity at first. She was in such a bad shape after being comatose for years that you needed to put in a lot of work to build your new woman from the ground up. But after a while, you began to enjoy the escape. You can be a part of your regular aikido sessions and take a shower afterwards without worrying about a thing. When people look at you, you don't know what they are thinking. When you spar with someone, you have to read their stance the old-fashioned way, no cheating involved, no thoughts or intentions to unravel.

Sometimes a little silence goes a long way to keep a body sane.

> Head to the Dojo

Finding a good dojo wasn't easy: you didn't want it to be close enough for someone to follow you home, and it couldn't be popular enough to be crowded, or so small that you would stick out.

In the end, you found something you could live with: a quiet, unassuming place, though the membership fee was steeper than it should have been. You normally come here in the afternoon, and this early, the place has a completely different feel. The people practicing right now seem to be the types to do their kata before heading off to a day at the office—a richer, more affluent clientèle than you normally see. Not that it matters; right now you don't want interaction, just distraction.

Clear your mind.

You need that clarity more than ever. Being aware of every part of your body helps when possessing others, and controlling your breathing is a vital part of your telepathic talents. You cannot separate the body and the mind, even though you have discovered that it might not matter very much to you exactly which body and which mind.

Reality is mutable to a powerful telepath like you.

But not mutable enough to really change anything. Not even your own mind. You wish you didn't have to remember the dead, but you do.

Sometimes…sometimes you wish you were one of them. Those are the bad days, when you keep yourself busy in Barbara's body so you don't have to think. Like now.

Bad days come, but they go as well. All you have to do is survive them, promise yourself to last one more morning. Even if things don't change, at least you're not letting them win.

Stubbornness is the last refuge of the doomed.

Since you are too early for your regular session, you keep to the side designated for people practicing aiki taiso and the various kata on their own. Some have formed up in pairs, but you stand alone in front of one of the mirrors, echoing your own movements as you try to lose yourself to the form.

Not surprisingly, you find it hard to let yourself relax into the kata. Your movements are choppy, and you struggle to let go of the frustration you've been feeling lately.

Taking a deep breath to clear your mind, you attempt to dispel the face of the person responsible for your current frustration.

　‣ Ortega, for letting me down one too many times.
　‣ Steel, for never treating me like one of them.
　‣ Lady Argent, for thinking I was a nobody.
　‣ Herald, for being what I could never be.
　‣ Myself, because I was a naive idiot in the past.
　‣ Myself, because I know I'm heading down the wrong path—but I can't stop.

We have plenty of cause for frustration, but who is the face of it right now? If we had to pick one face for our mental dartboard, whose would it be?​

Spoiler: Show Stats (no change)

CLASSIFIED

Secret Identity: Josie Jacobs
Gender: Non-binary
Description: An average mixed person in their thirties with brown eyes and short, neat curly dark brown hair.

Josie Jacobs is a seasoned, tech-savvy tactician.

Physical Status
Stamina: You are rested.
Willpower: You feel calm.
Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds.

Telepathy

Strength of Mind: 50%
████████████████████
Subtle Manipulations: 74%
██████████████▒█████

Standard of Living: You are comfortable.

Psychological Profile

Infamy: 0% / Obscurity: 100%
████████████████████
Arrogance: 12% / Anonymity: 88%
██▒█████████████████
Ruthlessness: 49% / Empathy: 51%
█████████▒██████████
Daring: 49% / Caution: 51%
█████████▒██████████

Main Puppet

Name: Barbara
Puppet Status: Fine.
Description: A tall white woman in her twenties, with blue eyes and long straight blond hair.

Allies and Enemies

Josie's relationship with Ortega: old friend.
Ortega and Josie: 86%
█████████████████▒██

Barbara's relationship with Dr. Mortum: flirting.
Mortum and Barbara: 49%
█████████▒██████████

Josie's relationship with Lady Argent: distant.
Lady Argent and Josie: 0%
████████████████████

Josie's relationship with Marshal Steel: former ally.
Marshal Steel and Josie: 24%
████▒███████████████

Josie's relationship with Herald: distant.
Herald and Josie: 20%
████████████████████

 

No option for "Ortega, for going to THE WRONG RESTAURANT"?