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Ein	LOGAL New Lamp City, You're here, again. You're pretty sure you're here. The fog, the air, the way colors only exist in lamplight (or, curiously, in the eyes) - it's all the same. But the locale is different. The ROYCE idles, purringly, the shockingly atypical red of its body remaining visible. It looks like it doesn't belong. But then again, don't you look that way? Visitors on a foggy, empty street. It's all a blur, like a hangover with no bite: One minute, you were doing anythig but being here convincing the crocodiles to help you out with a HEIST. Roxas gave them bus fare. And then... you left to go about your lives! ...you apparetly left in the ROYCE to the HIGHRISE district. It has to be the HIGHRISE district, what with the tall buildings plastered with monochrome screens declaring stupid things, like advertisements for the TOTALLY LEGITIMATE CONSTRUCTION COMPANY (whose ads are grainy films of absolutely nothing happening but actual construction work, with hardhats, and proper code-compliant best practices), BOOMY MCNAK'S BOOMSTICK EMPORIUM AND OUTLET (purporting to be FINE SUPPLIERS of QUALITY PIECES since FOREVER), and SOME CLEVER NAME BODY ARMOR CO. (Whose ads involve a bunch of shitty crocodiles shooting each other - apparetly the ones that are still standing at the end while they very coolly adjust their clothes are the ones wearing the CLEVER stuff). Ads for all sorts of similarly named companies and operations are represented across billboards and windows. A boggling array of purportions all featuring crocodiles doing absurd things! You even spot a full-building-side billboard for: THE LOGAL LIBRARY - LEARN YOU SOME STUFF. A light drizzle of rain patters against the black asphalt and soaks into the grey sidewalks, and GLASSES seems to be hanging out by a BLACK PANEL VAN that lacks tyres. It does not, however, lack stupidity. Three additional crocodiles - one with a GI HELMET, one with a set of SPECTACLES, and one with CIGARETTES in both nostrils mill about saying nothing but 'naknak' to each other. They appear to be scheming while waiting for you.
Ein	A quick INVESTIGATION of the area reveals: * The four IDIOTS conspiring next to a tyre-less PANEL VAN. It's parked in front of the ROYCE. They are the only two cars on the steet. * Many of the WINDOWS are lit up, but there don't seem to be any street-level DOORS. In fact, there's relatively little activity whatsoever. Like a video game area that never got the NPC pathing done, it's just a lot of assets and references and upkept things that never once saw use. A DLC area that never got explored. * A notable HIGHRISE you're parked outside of, the only location with a door: It's locked. The handle is pitch black. Two alleys are fenced off - one to either side - and full of thick fog of the same sort that surrounds the city's walls. The top of the HIGHRISE with a door rises so far into the fog that it pierces the clouds - though the local clouds are pretty dang low, all told. It's impossible to see what's at the top.
Roxas	"You... know you don't use those like that, right?" Roxas, who is in FULL CULTIST GEAR with his hood up because he thinks it looks cool on this planet, is standing just to one side of the cluster of crocodiles. He's specifically addressing the nakkadile with cigarettes in its nostrils. Roxas reaches up to gesture towards his face, "You're supposed to... you know. Put them in your mouth and inhale, I guess? Or..." He scratches at his head through the hood, "Or does that not work with a mouth like yours?"
Doctor Strange	"Oh, for..." Strange sighs through his nose, upon seeing the PANEL VAN. Namely, upon seeing its lack of tires. He presumes this is what they intend to use as a getaway. The problem is, this is not a getaway van. This is something you sit in and move with the power of imagination--probably making 'vroom' noises and turning the steering wheel for effect.      A white band of congealed time shines against the greyscale of his sorcerous sleeve. Strange extends his hand and turns back the passage of hours, days--at some point, this thing must've had tires. As he manipulates, he spies the nakkadile that Roxas is speaking to.      "Terrible habit," he dryly adds.
Raphael Cousteau	============>: Be the rockstar detective. Solve the case. You cannot solve the case because you are currently performing a HEIST. This is somewhat perpendicular if not outright contraindicative of POLICE WORK, which is somewhat troubling. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Relax! Don't think of it as a heist. We are calling it a heist to be *cool* and *undercover*. What we're actually doing is *investigating without a warrant*, which is what cool cops do. E'SPRIT DU CORPS: This is not, in fact, what *cool cops* do. This is the exact opposite of how being a police officer works, normally. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Tell me more about 'normalcy'. In fact, tell it to me like you're one of those crocodiles smoking cigarettes through his nostrils. At any rate, that leaves Raphael to investigate The Impending Crime Scene, and most importantly, the PANEL VAN. INTERFACING: So, this car can't run. Got no wheels. Just thought I'd let you know. LOGIC: Thank all that is holy you filled us in on that one. INLAND EMPIRE: It can absolutely run--at least, it can escape the people it needs to, if you only drive it correctly. > CAN we 'drive it correctly'? [.][.:] INTERFACING: ???? INLAND EMPIRE: I 'unno. At the very least, he can INVESTIGATE the van. It's probably worth checking the inside of it, like seat pockets, glove compartments, all the various small containers that can hold various random objects of dubious importance for later. What's more, the nakkadiles will have to respect his authority on the matter--he has a badge that reads STAND-IN IDIOT, after all. "Does this car radio work, at least? I feel like we need some *fitting music* for all of this."
Ein	* Help A Nakker Out "I'm SMOKES, naknak." A nasal draw heralds a curl of smoke from the trashcan mouthing crocodile. "Nice coat." It observes to Roxas. "Wanna hear the PLAN?" Glasses gives a short-armed thumbs-up to Roxas. "Got the whole crew, nak. SMOKES." The nasal-smoking crocodile gives an affirmative 'nak!'. "SPECS." The quivering crocodile with spectacles vibrates slightly more intensely. Is he... okay? "JARHEAD." Nobody responds. Glasses makes an uncomfortable sound. "Um... ... ... Jarhead?" The GI HELMET crocodile blinks asynchronously. "I'm BUCKET. Jarhead couldn't make it. Nak the man, naknak." Oh it looks like this crocodile was the crocodile Strange recruited to FIREBOMB THE COPS. He got his helmet from the ogre. Now he has BACKSTORY. * TURN BACK TIME Sweet Agamotto, there's a lot to spin back here. The weird thing is, the actual experienced 'physical motion' required to spin it back is a quarter-turn of the wrist. The actually experience of it is cranking back something like eons. Beyond geologic scales. This shitty PANEL VAN was probably left jacked since before the dawn of subjective time. For a heist that never happened.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Leave to go about your life     Huh? Arthur's LIFE is here, he can't LEAVE to do that! >Arthur: Heist a lot of paintings     This is that business, isn't it? Arthur actually can't tell, as he has found himself in an unmapped zone. Only on a void player's planet could something of this sort have happened. Maybe there's a way to approach this in the more literal sense. She used to always hide that artwork, didn't she...? >Arthur: Just open the door, stupid     But there aren't any visible doors. "HEY HOMESLICES. Do we got a FLOOR PLAN?" Arthur is depending on the idea that a proper heist will have been dramatically planned with a large floor plan layed out across a card table, or, like, some crates or some shit. He'll doubtlessly have to deal with the big hole left in it where someone (possibly Arthur himself) dramatically slammed a knife down on the most important part of it, but hopefully there'll be a marked doorway entrance. One he ought to take!     Otherwise he's just gonna need to scan for entrances that are more accessible to his gravity-warping, such as which of those windows are more inclined to be opened without an alarm going wild, or maybe if there are some leftover bits of city planning where the sidewalk was lightly adjusted to accommodate a door that never was, allowing him to shove through a hidden entrance. She was always hiding her art like that.
Roxas	"Thanks. But you really should--" Roxas sighs, and shakes his head, "Well, you do you I guess. I /do/ want to hear the plan, though. It's kind of why... we're... here?" Suddenly, he gets distracted. Specifically, by what Arthur is doing. He turns 'round to watch the Mage attempt to locate a door that doesn't apparently exist. This makes plenty of sense, but... He points towards the LIT WINDOWS, which may or may not actually be windows, "Couldn't we just go in through one of those? Or maybe... a skylight?" He wonders. Roxas, truly, Has No Clue.
Ein	* LOOT THE VAN You can't loot it, it's yours. You can only loot other people's things. * GET EQUIPPED FROM THE VAN Alright, cool cats, the van: Inside the van, which is sized for full scale human adults, is a plotting table sized for shitty crocodiles. Arthur drives a knife RIGHT INTO a floor plan of the only highrise that seems to matter, to the center of a circle with an x through it drawn in grey crayon. On one side of the wall is an absurdity of GUNS. Tommyguns, man-portable rocket launchers, an entire liquor cabinet converted into un-lit molotov cocktails, and two gasoline cans for extra flammability. On the other side is a bank of PHONES. None of them seem connected to anything. At the front, on the dash, is a RADIO. The only stations that aren't static are SLOW JAZZ, JAZZ, and UPTEMPO JAZZ. * Surprise the locals with your knife skills! "NICE KNIFE" naks Smokes. "That's our first step. Get through the door. Specs figured out a way in. We nak this glove, see?" A TOTALLY NORMAL LEATHER GLOVE is deposited on the table. SPECS vibrates with powerful intensity. "Nak, we get it real stickylike." A pot of GLUE is applied to it. SPECS begins convulsing with what may or may not be joy. "Then we STICK it to the handle. Cuz' you can't grip it nakkin' normal-like." BUCKET chimes in: "Naknak. Wheels fixed. Drive the van?" * SKIP A STEP? Apparently you can just skip this step because Strange fixed the Wheels That Never Were thus obviating a whole heist breakin sequence. * SCAN IT DOWN: Ooooh man, no. The feeling of every other building in the Highrise district is an emptiness of form and function - a potential for vibrant 'something' never filled or fulfilled. A canvas untouched by a brush. Except the one the party is outside: This one reeks of nostalgia. An emptiness, and a lack, of agency - not purpose. Something was done here eons ago that Arthur was here for. Back before. This was where the final act of LOGAL took place. Memory grows hazy, and fuzzy, with the presence of the fog. Actions do not want to be remembered. From a window on the highrise, a light switches on, and a person-like shape silhouettes against the light. It's probably watching you.
Lilian Rook	"You know, I thought they were idiotic at first, but now I think I sort of like those advertisements. They're subversively straightforward. Boldly conceptual. Vague and stupid, but in a compellingly earnest way." Lilian, for some surreal reason, likes the Highrise District. The sights are so 'an artist who'd only heard of a city once' that it becomes an amusing distraction. She's taking it in stride this time.     She briefly spends a time perusing the street, looking through lit windows at curious buildings with no doors and snazzy company posters, mildly interested in seeing if there's actually anything in them or if they're really just that advanced a level of nothing backdrop. It doesn't hold her attention for long though, short of one suddenly being a fully stocked antique shop or something. She suspects out loud that the billboards are for real places with real goods, but would probably have to be *found* in this sprawl of dumbassery --in more polite words.     Eventually just sighing, Lilian struts to the van and picks up a tommygun off the wall. This is bizarrely fitting in an period appropriately unfitting way by the fact she's stuck in heels and a black dress for this impromptu session, looking like something out of a noire film where she shoots the gritty gumshoe in the back as a surprise betrayal. She also takes a phone because they're incredibly stupid-looking and thus probably important.
Doctor Strange	Strange finds out pretty quickly that the van was jacked. He closes the Eye, and the white light which bathes his form winks out as the silvery amulet's complex lattice closes. "I'm thinking bebop for the getaway," says Strange to Raphael. "Something like Buddy Rich. Fast, lively."      When Arthur mentions a FLOOR PLAN, Strange turns, peering into the van without stepping in. It looks like it's just an X where the HIGHRISE is. He rubs his face with a scarred, leathery hand. "Okay," he says to no one in particular. If they haven't even been able to get inside the place, then what's the chance they could provide useful information about security? He furrows his brow. What's the chance there even /is/ security? Well... there was a pretty heavy presence at that garage, wasn't there?      Strange ponders. A scry-mark is too obvious. So, too, would be the Mirror Dimension. Astral projection is out, too.      Strange adopts the lotus position, hovering in midair as he opens the Eye once more. He begins peering through possible futures. How much resistance do they face, on average, between all of the timelines wherein they simply use the GLOVE?
Lilian Rook	Lilian considers the air. It's not thoughtful, or spaced out. It's the kind of eerie chills endemic to a pet cat constantly staring over it's owner's shoulder as they move around the house."     "Don't bother." she says. "The security isn't something you're going to cleverly subvert with a trick or two. The whole thing is basically, what would you call it, a dungeon? A comedically overwrought gauntlet of too much to make sense, or really be worth it. We could drive the van straight through the wall and fight an entire mafia over fifty floors of intentionally pointless firefights, or we could, quite emphatically, not do that."     She points upwards, in a way wherein her finger kind of drifts as if lightly magnetized. "Top floor."
Arthur Lowell	>==>     Arthur stares up at the figure in the window. He almost, for a moment... speaks up. As if saying something would do anything. But he doesn't; he does nothing, and lets the figure alone. That seems to make more sense to him right now, in a way that's sort of like how he acted before. >Arthur: Recall     "Yeah, LEGIT CONSTRUCTION CO was my JAM back in THE DAY." Arthur nods to Lilian, seeming to appreciate her compliment of his old works. But the moment he casts his mind backwards in time, something messes with him. This place and his history with it hits him ambiguously in the gut; as a Space player, his experience of Ultimate Self realization has always been centered around places, and the connections formed with them. He looks ill. Roxas's question helps give him something to focus on. "Yeah, just kind of a diceroll, the windows. Y'know? No idea the traffic levels, whatever. Plus alarms. Maybe we can be smashy-and-grabby." >Arthur: Get equipped     He considers taking a TOMMYGUN on account of it technically qualifies as a STREET SWEEPER, but that reminds him of the actual STREET SWEEPER he alchemized out of a broom and a tommy gun eons back, so he just grabs that out of his STRIFE DECK. Which is distinct from his SYLLADEX in its clear capacity and simple access. Obviously.     He also grabs some molotov cocktails, 'cuz those are cool. >Arthur: Assess door     "So, what, you want us to just head to the top? I mean, I can change up the GRAVITY, get us some WALL-WALKIN'." He gestures a path up the side of the building. "Ya don't think it'll kinda, like, DEVALUE THE WORK or whatever?"
Raphael Cousteau	You cannot loot the van. It is yours. INLAND EMPIRE: Hey. That thing. You should grab that thing. Raphael looks into a corner of the van. There's nothing in that corner. It's not a weapon. PERCEPTION: You're not missing it. I swear. There's really actually nothing there. That is an empty space. INLAND EMPIRE: It is and it isn't. Just pick it up. Raphael looks around furtively, settling on very firmly and seriously grabbing forward, acquiring... THE SCARF THAT DOESN'T EXIST This scarf is a deep vantablack. It's also not really in your possession, but nobody else can prove that, since it also doesn't exist OUTSIDE of your possession, either. You probably shouldn't put it on. Just hold onto it for later. Or don't hold onto it, since it doesn't exist. Take your pick. Having successfully not accomplished something, Raphael wanders over to Arthur, instead. It feels important. INLAND EMPIRE: It is. That scarf is either the key or the firearm in this matter. The test not mattering is what matters. "Wait. ...Wait." He holds up his hand. "...It's...subtracted...into..." His other hand grips his head a little. [.][::] CONCEPTUALIZATION: Are you *fucking* serious right now? This is obviously meant for someone competent at nothing. ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: I don't mean to *interrupt*, party man, but you-- CONCEPTUALIZATION: No. It's..meant for someone competent at *nothing*, not incompetent at everything. We're not good enough at nothing to explain this. There is a pained look in Raphael's eyes, as he keeps looking at Arthur. "...The test is nothing. It...it's... The challenge is -nothing-. Not the challenge -is- the challenge." He visibly winces. RHETORIC: Well, this is going swimmingly. What is even happening? INLAND EMPIRE: Something. When it should be nothing. "...There needs to be nothing here, instead of something here. It was always the point." Raphael manages to settle on that, at least, taking the time to pop a painkiller. This is giving him a nasty, nasty headache.
Ein	* Contemplate Eternity Damn, there is some ETERNITY going on here. Strange feels the skeins of Time here with a strong hold. There's SO much time here, spinning, doing nothig important. It is a place where there's a thin barrier between 'time' and 'Time' with a capital T, some association that's not quite articulate. Perhaps this place is a place of death - time's ending, or its lack. Strange contemplates the many timelines where the door is accessed, or bypassed with EXPLOSIVES or the VAN. In every scenario: it's the same. A montage of goons. The bloody, terrible work of crawling up some fifty storeys of bullshit. Cracking a vault, reaching the top, a timer stopped at-- Wait those are just Heist movie tropes. Focus! In every scenario that they use the front door, it's total garbage. Not a single happy ending. Just a tired realization. If they go up the side, it's impossible. Can't work. The fog's too thick, even Time can't pierce it. A color darker than black, an emptiness, the depth of the oc--- > Raphael: Peel Back The Veil There's a sound like tape being peeled off the roll as the side of the building is scraped by an invisible force, from the bottom of the tower, at the wrapped doorhandle serving as an anchor, alllllll the way up. Up, up, up, past the clouds, where a hole is punched through fog and dreary rainy sky as well. It comes lathed off and tumbles into Raphael's hands as a scarf that is TOO BLACK. It's lack, in the shape of a scarf. * Contemplate just walking up the building? Yeah, that's... totally possible now. There's a lamp-lit floor-to-cieling window that you can spot all the way up in the PENTHOUSE SUITE. It'd be a walk, but you can just jog up there. Or fly! Whatever, that's cool.
Roxas	Roxas doesn't have any sort of objection to the plan to just go straight to the top... but he /does/ want to at least let the nakkadiles in. He asked /them/ to do the heist, after all. Wtih a ringing flash, he calls Oathkeeper into existence. It provides a sharp contrast with the surroundings, bright white with gold and blue accenting. Also, it is a giant skeleton key, so it has /some/ cultural implications in this place that are kind of nuts. He raises the Keyblade to the troublesome DOOR and UNLOCKS it. He does not attempt to open it himself, though. Of all the people, though... The Nobody turns to face Raphael. Though his face is concealed within the shadow of his hood, the lighting effects of the world make his eyes visible. Slowly, he blinks. Then, he says, woth complete understanding, "I know what you mean, but sometimes Nothing can take a form too, you know. Just because it's not /there/, doesn't mean it's not Nothing." He turns back to look at the building, whose door he just unlocked. "Actually, part of the reason I keep coming here is that I can come from one Nothing to the other just fine. It's all connected up. Where I live is Nowhere, you see. It never existed." He explains, matter-of-factly.
Ein	* UNLOCK that DOOR The door clicks. It's extremely unlocked. It lacks a locking. Like a defeated enemy, it gasps up a few EXP and AP that Roxas can use to gain the ability to dodge roll or some other basic feature that should come standard. It also drops a curious scattering of FIST SIZED outlines of GUSHERS, and some weird droplets of INK that reflect light the wrong way.
Doctor Strange	"Good thing I have a lot more tricks than one or two."      The Eye is closed, again. The Sorcerer Supreme, armed with knowledge, glances at Arthur. "I'm the Sorcerer Supreme and you're a Mage of Space. The workaround /is/ the work, for us. Wading all the way up or doing the puzzle the normal way is..." He shrugs. "...for suckers."      "In fact."      Strange watches Roxas unlock the door. "Stand back before you open that." It's spoken in the tone of someone who has an Idea. Strange punches reality hard enough to shatter it. A ring of broken space forms around the base of the building. He knows there's a safe at the top. Why climb the whole thing when he can just drag the very top down to the bottom?
Roxas	"Oh, I wasn't going to open it at all. But okay!" Roxas says, stepping back away from the door. He does not take the GUSHERS, because he doesn't have 90s nostalgia goggles for EXTREMELY GROSS CANDY and doesn't realize it is GRIST.
Lilian Rook	"Okay, hold the phone a minute." says Lilian. She points more firmly to Raphael. "What did you do." It isn't really a question in the traditional sense of one. "Seriously, this isn't a funny little 'haha so strange' comment. What did you do." The thing that Raphael did that is a thing that wasn't done because he did nothing is enough nothing that it is a reason to hold Lilian up. It seems Important. Actually capital i Important.     "You're all speaking nonsense. Is this to try and sound deep? Like you're nodding your heads and acting like you know what's going on? Or is this some obtuse thing where 'nothing' is a local term for something that is a thing? It isn't clever. You're not being cute. It's just annoying."     After suggestions of gushers fall out of the lock, Lilian takes a deep breath, reflects back to what Arthur said last time, then lets out that breath slowly and with more frustration. "Void bullshit." she decides out loud, quite lacking in capacity for caring to be eloquent and polite. "An entire building that is a void of any point to being inside of it. Fun. Okay."
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Collect Grist     "Well shit dude, if you're not gonna take the LOOT." Arthur steps forward to collect the BUILD GRIST and INK GRIST. >==>     He'd start his gravity shenanigans, but it looks like Strange has his own solution. He's going to wait. While he does, he answers Lilian and Raphael. "Nah, nah. He's a BARD OF VOID. Didn't I tell ya before?" He gestures up. "Homie's done enough DERSE-DREAMING VOID-TALKIN' for a LIFETIME it looks like." He looks like he's trying to decode what's being said. "Alright, makin' sense. She always tried to HIDE HER ART, kinda ADDS UP that part of the test would be makin' sure the ART is..." Some vague gestures. "Fittin' in with the NOTHING around here. Am I TUNED on your FREQUENCY there, VOID-TALKER?"
Raphael Cousteau	Inspector Raphael Ambrosius Cousteau looks over to Lilian. "I grabbed something that wasn't, which made the wasn't that--" He stops. He takes a breath, digging fingernails into his scalp for a moment. He scratches. He's taking a role that unfortunately only parts of his brain are set up to handle, and it's clearly grating on him. There's a breath. Then another. VOLITION: That's it. Just calm down. Deep breaths, buddy, you can do this. SUGGESTION: Try to keep this as straightforward as you can. I get that this *is* complicated, in that it...just try to keep it straightforward. He bites his lip a bit, offering that same, winsome, awkward smile. He rubs the back of his head. Okay. He's got this. "This was a test for a 'Void'...person. This is far more about things that are *not*. The part of my brain that *gets* that, unfortunately, is not the part of my brain that says *useful* things." INLAND EMPIRE: I say useful things all the time! Liar! He stops to correct himself. "It's..not the part of my brain that says things that are going to directly make sense to people outside of my head. I'm doing the best I *can* with what I've got. Which, right now, is...uh..." He stops. He doesn't want to say it. INLAND EMPIRE: Do it. "..I've got nothing." Which is a /great/ time to bail on this conversation and look right over to Arthur, and offer a thumbs up. "I'm *absolutely* almost sure that's something to do with what's going on here. I feel like this is the sort of thing where normally the person doing this would know more nothing and less something about what's going on."
Roxas	"Um... no." Roxas replies to Lilian, tugging his hood down and cocking his head to one side, "Resisting nothingness is a part of the nature of most of the people around me. We're pretty close to it. So I kinda get the here-but-not thing, even though it also kinda doesn't make sense." "I don't think I really know how to just sound cool." He admits, blinking as Arthur collects the GUSHERS. He makes a mental note that they are, in fact, not candy of dubious quality.
Ein	* Collect ANTIGRIST Arthur loses 7 Build Grist, and 2 Ink Grist. He is somehow more poor than when he started. Protecting Roxas from DEBT, he feels Nakuza loan repayment sharks eyeing him... from a distance. They squint their crocodile eyes and prowl... or something. * FUCK IT, REALITY IS FAKE AS HELL! In this case, yes it is. This entire building is extremely fake. Like a round of Rampage, Doctor Stephen Strange works out his aggression on the bullshit reality that has pesented him with. There's a CRACK and a SMASH and a CRUNCH. Stephen Strage puts the whole tower into a mirror, and then breaks it. The results are gobsmackingly spectacular. The whole tower goes down like a controlled imposion demolition, as the PENTHOUSE collapses down. It crushes floors 1 through 49, fountaining COMPLETELY NORMAL Build & Ink grist, as well as a heady pile of GLASS, a few dozen COBALT, a half-dozen BOON, and a piece of DEFINITELY GRIST OF SOME TYPE that resembles a sheet of black cloth or canvas with a jagged thunderbolt tear through it, observed on a 2-D plane. It is inventoried as TEAR grist. It is of the sixth tier. Billions of BOONDOLLARS and an absurdity of EXPERIENCE fountains into the sky in radiant rainbows of DOSH. An entire endgame dungeon is obliterated, and the trap: the terrible Lack of any real drops is mirrored across reality. -1 x -1 = 1. Stephen Strange double negatives the draining, destructive trap, and the party is showered in useless game rewards. Which leaves the pentouse suite:
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Resent loss of grist     "Hey, what the fuck? We doin' GRIST ALGEBRA now? That shit STOLE MY GRIST, it's ANTI-GRIST. What the fuck!" Well, let's focus on this weirdness with Raphael at least. >Arthur: Process     Alright kid. Void isn't opposite Space, so you won't have Aspect dissonance. Can you tune this? Arthur cocks his head to one side. "When we get to the safe... I should try to take something that isn't there. That's what a Void person would do. We solve this by making it not exist, and we get what we're looking for by grabbing what isn't there. I think I'm on your track now?" Is that what she would have done? Back then? Would she have been doing things like that?     She would have been flailing and pouting without guidance. Idiot. Remember? Stupid. You always basically knew how this sort of thing worked and you never helped her. Yes, go ahead and use the wisdom when it helps you, and just keep your cool around friends who need actual help. Keep up the cool kid act, or grow some balls thirteen billion years late, and ditch it for a second.     Arthur winces with a moment of pain, briefly, then smiles broadly. "Well, doin' WEIRD SHIT BLIND is basically MY WHOLE GIMMICK. I'll do plenty of BLIND GRABS on NON-THINGS. Because if there's ONE THING everyone says I got right in my WHEELHOUSE," He gestures broadly. "It's STUPID NON-SENSE."     As if to punctuate his idiocy, the grist explosion happens all at once. >Arthur: Swagger inside at maximum confidence levels. You definitely understand everything about how to solve this problem.
Ein	Well, now the door is set into a bigass window. Good Job. * Remember Arthur really doesn't want to. * Observe Nah. This fucking sucks. This sucks eggs on ice. > Behold. It's an apartment art gallery. A studio apartment entirely unfurnished save for a single corner featuring a built in bar with black marble countertops and wooden cabinets. Paintings of all sorts sit on the wall. Four of them show PEOPLE: One of Arthur Lowell, without his God Tiers on. He looks incredibly Cool, and his jawline has an adventurous edge that makes him look absolutely blisterigly Bad-Ass. One of the MYSTERY GIRL from the mural with a grey-skinned and candy corn horned ALIEN at her side. The whole thing has been CUT or scored, TORN like the grist that was dropped. Another depicts a rather flatteringly beautiful picture of an adventure-lass in the same style of Arthur, and a fourth depicts someone hidden and sequestered under the lip of a building, features barely lit by a lighter's flame. There are also three portraits of landscapes, next to all but the TORN painting. There is a spot where the associated landscape is simply MISSING. There is a large VAULT behind everything, set into the wall of steel, behind the staircase that goes into rubble and foundational blocks. It isn't open, sealed air-tight. Yet... REDACTED Notice the Leak You fail your spot check successfully. There is a miasma that seeps from the sealed VAULT, oozing through the cracks. It smells like Underling.
Lilian Rook	"The building broke into money and little candy things." Lilian remarks on this in the most *dessicating* of all possible ways. A level of deadpan so advanced that it feels absolutely acerbic. The verbal equivalent of submerging one's head in a tub of battery acid.     "Okay."     She is just super super done with this abstract bullshit. She opens the door. If it refuses to open then she tears the doorknob off and kicks it open rather than smash a window because the principle is to discipline the door for being disobedient and not opening when she told it to. Walking into the room, she brings up an image capture of the mysterious noire photographs from earlier on her holographics, summoning up the [REDACTED] painting and comparing it to each of the pictures hung up around the room by its dimensions and frame, neither of which are vantablack censored like its drawn contents.
Doctor Strange	Strange will pick up some of the crafting materials, but he leaves the Boondollars be. Having left the door intact sop that everyone may stride triumphantly through it once the smoke clears, he gestures with a scarred hand to the entryway. It's sticking in the window and looks a little weird, but hey. Mirror dimension shenanigans.      The torn picture sees his frown tighten slightly at the corners. There's been something off about Arthur. Nothing he can put his finger on, but every so often he's caught the Mage's confident air faltering. He won't pry. But maybe repairing this picture might help.      Calling once more upon the powers of the Eye, Strange turns back time in the hopes of restoring it.
Raphael Cousteau	Raphael seems incredibly content to deal with this abstract bullshit. At the very least, he's left looking at some of the strange GRIST stuff. He rubs a thumb along a bristly lambchop. INLAND EMPIRE: Literally not one of us could do anything with that. Not even me. Leave it. It is for something that long ago wasn't important. So he breezily walks past all of the crafting materials and boondollars, looking around the apartment. There's important things going on here, and that means it's time for him to do what he does the absolute best. Close his eyes, take a deep breath, and find some completely irrelevant thread to tug to unravel this whole mess. He's going straight towards those cabinets. It's time to Jamrock Shuffle this room. Prioritize containers at all costs.
Ein	* Fuck that door, that door fucking sucks! Lilian applies totally normal BOOT to the DOOR and the force of the opening cracks the glass on the right side as it swings in. The Nakkadiles cheer. "YEAH! HEIST! HEIST! naknaknaknak-" The crocodiles continue trashcan mouthing. Lilian doesn't know SHIT and yet the world seems to react to this in a way strangely similar to how Raphael's knowing unknowing rubs this world the right way. This entire exercise feels pointless to her, and yet here she is. /She/ is here for a reason. She must be here for a reason, even as the strange menagerie of terms bounce off of her. The REDACTED painting isn't here, but the TORN painting is definitely absolutely Arthur's friend, which he was very serious over when they were going over the pictures. They're all his friends. Arthur's friends, and someone drawing flattering portraits of him on canvas. * JAM. ROCK. SHUFFLE. It's the motherload. The cabinets are FULL TO BURSTING of real liquor. It's a mixer's delight, a fully stocked bar. He could float for weeks - no, Months! - off of this stash. How is he going to CARRY it all? * Turn Back The Clock Strange rewinds time on the Torn painting. He turns and he turns and he turns. The TORN state remains, but... It begins to un-paint itself, after a shorter period than it took him to find wheels for the VAN. It's not a time thing - something's been added, or subtracted from the picture. REDACTED The VAULT seethes with prominence. REDACTED Arthur, Remember. You've been here. At the top of a staircase, at the end of things. Something was here. What was it?
Roxas	"Hey, Um..." Roxas is having a hard time keeping up with what's going on here. But, he is /trying/, simply trailing along as doors are kicked in and states are ADJUSTED TEMPORALLY. He gestures his keyblade towards the PAINTING, "That looks like something we /were/ looking for... but I don't know what else to look for now that we're here. This is something to do with the person that you know, right, Arthur?" "But /what/ to do with them?" He meanders around the apartment art gallery, nudging things here and there with his keyblade. Not /really/ knowing where else to turn, he tries to identify a useful source of ART SUPPLIES to go through.
Ein	* Look for ART SUPPLIES Brother. You find so many. The second Roxas goes looking for art supplies, there's an ocean of them. It's strange how empty and unfurnished the place is, and then with a will to get down to paints and wet canvas they simply appear. Easels, stands, paint-smeared smocks, brushes, and-- Well, that's odd. Every single PEN is snapped almost the entire way through jaggedly, leaking inks of all colors (and in fact, a few ALL-COLOR leaks, like spilled rainbows) into wet pools that stain the hands. Every single one is broken identically - like a thunderbolt snapped them nearly in two, and they hang on by a single point of contact.
Doctor Strange	The good thing about CONGEALED TIME is that it goes both ways. Once he notices the color beginning to drain, Strange simply turns the clock forward, undoing his undoing. Again, the Eye is closed. The light is extinguished, and he is left staring at the torn painting. As he stated before, this is not his only trick.      The Sorcerer Supreme makes his hand gestures, his fingers tracing some new art in this gallery, spun from the fabric of reality itself. Here, in this place, it burns white, rather than amber, but it burns all the same. A chime sounds as the mandala is completed. With a thrust of his palms, it is cast. "It's like something is keeping us from knowing who that person is," says Strange to Roxas, as air ripples from his fingertips. The Phantom Forge of Fennlan, a run-of-the-mill repair spell. He's using it on the PAINTING in place of turning back time.
Raphael Cousteau	ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's all this? Is this heaven? Did we die? INLAND EMPIRE: The juice of creativity. Certainly worth keeping some for yourself. The owner isn't using it. VOLITION: So, do we need to go over why we shouldn't steal booze from a penthouse made of doesn't exist? Is this an argument we're about to have? LOGIC: ...Hey. Can you, like, knit your brow and squint a bit? Might help with something I'm working on. Raphael absolutely gets to knitting his brow and squinting at the liquor bar. Not focusing on anything in particular, just, you know, doing the things you do that help someone think. [:::][.] LOGIC: Why are the liquor bottles *all* full? There is some fumbling. Raphael was holding on to a bottle, in fact, and it nearly shatters, but he manages to catch it on his foot, rolling the bottle across the floor in the process. LOGIC: No, hold on here. Someone who enjoys drinking this much should have at least some of these not be completely full. They should be consumed, to some degree. Some of them. Any of them. This is, as you say, *fake bullshit*. Raphael stands up slowly, looking around a little. "...I'm not saying the answer here is to *drink* all of this, but my brain's informing me there's something very wrong with all of these bottles being full."
Ein	* Fix the thing NORMAL-like! A TORN grist pops out of the painting, clattering to the ground where it comes to rest at Doctor Strange's feet, the two halves just barely stuck together at a single point of contact near the base. The painting, without the TEAR, is a rather beautiful painting. The girl is drawn with the honest realism of someone looking in the mirror, while her companion is composed in a more 'heroic' way. Oh, there's a little plaque at the bottom the TEAR was covering up. On inspection, each portrait has one. Arthur's is labelled Arthur. The Mystery Couple is labelled Us. The adventure-lass is labelled Summer The hidden figure is labelled Missing.
Lilian Rook	There's a liquor cabinet behind the bar. It's even stocked. "Oh good." says Lilian. She snaps her fingers vaguely. "Mix up something nice." She absolutely anticipates Rahpael should be capable of this, given obvious habits. It's a bold assumption he doesn't just get himself shitfaced on cheap scotch all the time, like gritty sad cops are known to do.     None of these are particularly the paintings they're looking for, but she only needs the absolute barest of glances to know that they have some kind of sentimental value to Arthur. She walks up to one, grasps it by the bottom, and with a little 'hup' removes it for the wall and starts carting it to the van. On heels. Return, repeat. If anyone asks, she says "It's a heist." as if they're a fucking moron for even asking; it's a well-practised deflective tone.     The vault is obviously important though. Lilian knocks on it, hard, to get some idea if it's going to be one of those that is cavernous in structure so it can be lined with shelves filled with gold bricks, or if it's one of those stuffed full and/or rigged to blow in that secret safe crammed with cocaine sort of way.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Fondly regard creation     Arthur looks at the well-made paintings, and at first, it's fond. He feels a little sick. Art is meant to provoke emotion, and Arthur's emotions are provoked. It is lovingly-made, gorgeously-crafted, and it hurts him to think about. >Arthur: Fix this     Arthur regards the tear, scratching his cheek. What is this brand of void? Scratches in the canvas? Holes rent in the medium? What went on here? What was offscreen? What did they not do? How does this connect with Keanne? Roxas asks something important: "This is something to do with the person that you know, right Arthur?" And something changes in his posture. >Arthur: FIX THIS     "Yeah, uh. Yeah. Something to do with her. I mean, she was here, you're lookin' at her art. Dunno where she could have..." He trails, painfully. He's sweating, and looks like he's gone pale. He appears dizzy, but continues as if nothing is wrong. >Arthur: REDEEM YOURSELF OF YOUR GUILT     His eyes look unfocused, his breathing is barely controlled, and his posture is entirely off. Somehow he has the look of someone who might pass out or completely flip out, and there's a coinflip about which, but he's just keeping his cool otherwise. >Arthur: THE DENIZEN LEFT IT BEHIND >Arthur: IT WILL HELP YOU FIND HER >Arthur: WHERE NOTHING ELSE CAN >Arthur: MAKE YOUR BARGAIN WITH THE NIGHT MOTHER >Arthur: IT HAS BEEN WAITING FOR AN ETERNITY FOR YOU >Arthur: REMEMBER WHAT YOUR BLOOD BROTHER DID >Arthur: IF YOU REMEMBER NO OTHER WISDOM AT ALL >Arthur: STOP  BEING  AN  IDIOT     The commands are starting to be visible, in harsh black rectangles around him. Arthur nearly passes out. His hands are bleeding, surprisingly profusely, because of how intensely he's been driving his fingernails into them. He looks like death, but he wanders to the vault and looks at it, passing Lilian and being kind of unnerving in her proximity without so much as even a word of his usual idiotic habits. What is it sealed by? What would one bring to seal it? What would one bring nothing of to unseal it? His hands trace over its surface to operate its mechanisms, first with eyes open -- expecting no success -- then with eyes closed.
Roxas	"You mean, it's supposed to look lived in but whoever did it stumbled on the details?" Roxas asks Raphael, as he shuffles through ART SUPPLIES. The bizarrely split-apart pens are gradually sorted into a PILE OF THEIR OWN, because it seems like they'll probably ruin the other art supplies if they're allowed to just... sit there any longer than they already have been. Why pens, though? Because of this, he doesn't notice Arthur's distress. He asks, "Hey, do you think all these broken pens are a clue of any kind? I don't know your friend, but it's... I don't know, it's sort of like coming into somebody's house and finding a bunch of newspaper clippings with all the eyes cut out of the people pictured? Only for pens instead of people. If that... makes any kind of sense?"
Ein	Doctor Strange removes the TORN grist from the painting. Every PEN that Roxas has collected features the same mark: a tear. It is a systematic destruction. A removal from causality, a focused tantrum. This is a work, an act. It is specific. It is deliberate. Arthur touches the vault. It is unlocked. The way was not barred, though Stephen Strange removed from your path the petty complication of negative Underlings filled with negative Drops and negative Experience to tear the lot of you down. To keep you away. It was tuned for one god, not several. Tuned for one man that ultimately cared, not six heroes arranged with specific powers and an understanding of not just Space, but Time, and Nothingness. Of inquisitives, not speedrunners. > Piece together the Mystery Arthur can't do it. He hopes for something that's more kind than reality. > Understand, kid! But he cannot. REDACTED The Vault Beckons, Seething And Black ==> Lilian knocks on the vault door, and it sounds hollow on the inside. It's solid, but nothing she can't open if she heaves at it. Her visions, her own understanding whispers to her. It's a trap, yes, but one of door paralysis. An illusion. The complication isn't opening the door - and to Lilian, it's not even what's inside. For Lilian Rook, it's setting this entire situation right. The shortest path is swinging wide the vault door and ceasing this nonsense. And so she does, with Arthur's woozy help. > Vault: Make Everything Worse For Arthur Lowell Okay. Inside the vault is a single object. A bank vault of blank walls and a foggy miasma clinging to the ground like smoke from a coal plant. Inside is a wooden painting stand, and on that, a massive golden painting frame, easily twelve feet tall and eight feet wide. On the canvas is a nightscape, and a shape. No, a lack of a shape. A hole. It's a portrait of, alternatingly, a womanlike figure wearing a long flowing scarf, or alternatively, some sort of snakeperson. You cannot tell, because the entire subject is missing. It is not there. In its place is a darker-than-vantablack hole in reality where the fog that chokes the city seeps out from. The whole look is sickening, like TV static meeting ASMR chalkboard scratching meeting sensory deprivation. > Raphael: Wrap Your Head Around This What happens when you lack lack? Does it double negative, too?
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: FIND WHAT WAS TAKEN >Arthur: REPAIR WHAT YOU LET DECAY >Arthur: THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY TO MAKE THE BARGAIN >Arthur: ENTER HER LAIR >Arthur: FIX THIS     Arthur turns to the others. Flecks of starlight are burning the corner of his mouth as he speaks. "We're going to Nix's Lair." He says. "For clues. To find out who did this, and then we'll know how to put back what they stole. I'm going to go find where it is. This place, I-- I can't be here anymore. I can't be in this space more." He struggles with what he's trying to say. "I can't be... who I was here." Whatever the hell that means. >Arthur: Ask the ones who know     Arthur stumbles out and takes off. He's going to ask certain locals about where you find a hidden lair owned by an endgame boss defined by their alignment to the elements of obfuscation.