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Flamel Parsons	Flamel Parsons has been busy. For the last several years, in fact, he's been very, very busy. He's studied Applied Ontology, he's studied the Storm, he's studied the Light, a dozen other things -- he's studied all kinds of things that expand the definition of psionics, but for all that studying, he's never had an applied, definitive result that he can put forward to justify it. And the more he encounters terrible, horrible sitations in Elibe, the more he struggles with the limits of psychic abilities in his many adventures, the more he finds himself seeking new options. Developing new methods. A breakthrough was made yesterday. Some people are hearing this from the man himself, aboard a sleek and powerful spy-jet that's taking them, as well as a variety of Concord scientists and officials, directly to the mysterious locale. Some are hearing it from a gruff, short man, dark-skinned and thick-moustached, over a video call, between quick directions to help them navigate Green Needle Gulch on foot -- apparently the psychically-cursed forest surrounding the Motherlobe requires specific directions to navigate. He's got thick sunglasses on and some dark lighting, presumably to make it hard to tell that he's Morceau Oleander, semi-disgraced Psychonaut well-known to the Paladins and Watch. ================================================================================ Flamel rambles quickly. "I'm calling ! The sour, tiny man speaks gruffly, it the Psychogate. You don't care ? like a military commander. "He's about the details and it would take @ calling it the Psychogate. I don't the whole flight to cover them. Astral # know all the details and I don't care. Projection, as a technology, it's $ Astral Projection's something we've something we've always used for & always done on one person at a time, individuals, for working on the + the mastermind of a problem, using mastermind of a big problem, using ! Psychoportals. But after something Pschoportals. But after all that stuff ? that happened in Elibe, something with Lugh, after everything in Elibe, @ about that kid he was counseling, he's I just... It's not been enough, right? # gotten... worse. I've been there. It's So..." He takes a big breath. "This, $ why they won't listen to me." Oleander this'll be enough. It's mass Astral & sucks air through his teeth. "This, Projection. Long-distance + this'll be too much. It's mass Astral individual-target if we can calibrate ! Projection. Long-distance individual it right, but more importantly..." ? target, maybe, but worse*..." @ "Projection directly into the # "Projection directly into the Collective Unconscious. Fighting $ Collective Unconscious. Amplifying psychohazards and helping people on a & psychohazards and making mistakes at a worldwide scale. Moving clear thoughts + worldwide scale. Bumbling conscious and and real kindness directly into ! thoughts and problems directly into the uncharted Unconscious." ? the uncharted Unconscious." ================================================================================ "So I need help."
Flamel Parsons	The plane touches down: http://files.at.decompressed.space/bRJswBtc The informant's designated campsite is finally found: http://files.at.decompressed.space/3e1YexXM More shortly. For now, everyone files out. Today's delegation of Concord scientists and officials heads through reception, white Elites get handed a pre-approved pass. The delegation of Concerned Auditors, backed by some current-era Foundation officials mixed with odd Watch agents, already set up camp in the cursed forest yesterday, but could certainly do with more help. A disturbingly chilly November wind drives both to move quickly and to frequently stay indoors. It bites a little more than the cold normally would around this time of year, around the Summer zones. The early efforts of the Hoffman team, alongside Chuyao, have already mapped some of the interior -- projected up against the flat-cut bottom of a titanic old-growth fallen tree: http://files.at.decompressed.space/kJQWCQXI http://files.at.decompressed.space/AB3xqkah Oleander's false credentials (for the more mature and operative-style) and technically-true intern credentials (for those who seem on the younger side) are being handled by the Watch agents and current-era outer Foundation, reserved mostly for Elites or especially suitable infiltrators. The false employee credentials have greater access, but more risk. The intern credentials have less access, but greater restriction. A bright-blue tube-cap, labelled 'OTTOBON', offers quick light-rail movement to and from the Motherlobe. The mail-room icon on the map up on the wall is marked 'DO NOT APPROACH'. For those joining Flamel, they may already have seen a particularly unusual batch of requests. They've been asked to bring along materials necessary for them to set up a camp, a base of operations, in a location with a truly unknown environment. More on that is surely coming. For now, simply arrive and get your bearings, ask your questions. Reception is no object for a trusted Partner of the Concord -- or any friend of Flamel Parsons.
Rufus Shinra	Rufus has his own ride. What good is a private helicopter if you don't make use of it? It also affords him the ability to airlift in a cargo container that has, essentially, an entire 15 minute Bass Pro Shop shopping spree inside of it. The container gets put down on a pad, with the helicopter landing beside it, and Rufus (brandishing a hiking-style backpack and a walking stick that obviously has a sword hidden inside of it) steps out. "So, this thing, I'm asking just to get this on the record and for no other reason," he lies. "You're talking about long-distance and pinpoint accuracy here. Can it be used as a weapon?" "Like," he feels the need to clarify in case his request wasn't obvious, "a gun? A big gigantic cannon artillery thing, but for mental stuff?" He glances at the map. "Second question, is the mail room this way?"
Xion	Were Flamel Parsons and Xion friends? Xion didn't really know. The shadowy government agent (intentional) was a bit of a cipher to Xion, and part of that was due to his status as a rock that men with ties tricked into thinking (not that kind) (probably) and wearing sunglasses (definitely, but very cool). Another part of that was their quantity and quality of interactions -- Xion had been at her broodiest during the war for the Light, but also, fought besides Flamel. Did they talk? Did they bond? Were they even 'work friends'? This was the struggle Xion went through as she sat in Castle Oblivion and stared at her phonescreen. The top email in her 'Quests/Business Notifications' main inbox was flagged as urgent and came from a government agency she had never heard of, but what really made her double take was the direct-to-spam burner account had the summary title 'you will not regret clicking my email' and it was a little unsettling to get so directly requested. Then there was another spam that failed her filters, replacing the message with 'FREE MUNNY INVESTMENT - WHAT THEY DON'T WANT YOU' with the ending chopped for display limit. Chewing on inner lip and hovering her thumb over the inbox email, Xion tries to remember if there was a reason not to do this. Struggling, working at doubt and swiftly mounting head of steam to just see what this was all about, Xion comes to a decision. She goes across the hall to Larxene's room, where the older Nobody is working on a laptop while lounging on her bed. Raising her voice, Larxene snaps a quick "Knock! Id--" before looking up and seeing it's Xion looking at her phone and scoffs. "Knock. Now what've you got?" She asks, pushing laptop aside to see the latest gossip or obvious quest-baiting. Instead, Xion shows her a government request! ... For her presence at some sort of summit? An ongoing audit of a program? Bring... "Camping supplies? Really?" Xion asks, before shaking her head, looking to Larxene, and putting on her best pleading-face to impress her need to her immovable blonde 'cousin'. Scoffing, Larxene hands Xion back her phone while automatically thumbing the power button and forcing Xion to unlock the screen to use it again, seeing the open email in its full text and her spam box's latest being 'get on my mysterious spy jet'. "Don't you do fetch quests anyway? This is just a fetch quest for the government. Bring me something more interesting than being a state subcontractor, next time." Larxene adds, shooing Xion away with a brush of her hands in the air as her eyes slide back to her laptop besides her. "Oo-kay." Xion sighs, flicking down the email to read the travel details. "I'll bring the portable stove to Flamel and see if he needs to borrow some tents. If he's actually asking for me, he probably has a reason to, so. . ." "So get out of my room." "Right. Sorry, Larxene. Thanks!" "Not lea~ving!!"
Xion	--- Deciding to listen, for once, to surprisingly directly timed spam email messages with no sender line, Xion does get on to the private spy jet, getting off the extremely swoopy jet looking like a Spy Kids extra in a long black t-shirt with a high neck and a dark red short sleeve with a silhouette-black winter forest pattern all under a denim jacket with fleeced interior and a pair of black jeans into hikers. Accessorized with a checkerboard black and magenta baseball cap, she trots down the ramp and looks around, working towards an 'okay, I can work with this' as she trails at the back of the Concord group. Passing through Reception by showing her phone like she's getting into a movie theater with the email solicitation, she drops the impromptu badge and looks around. "So we're going camping? Here?" She leads in with, not sure how to break the ice.
Tamiel Luxis	Tamiel's knowledge of Flamel is very little. What she knows, though, is enough to get her latched onto Oldeander's story--she helped him when he asked for help. And then he helped fight her--and get a bunch of people killed on her watch. She had to settle her shadow several times, while the military man huffed and stammered. Oh sure, it's not like it matters, I'll just roll right over, right? She bit down on her lip, clasping at her elbow. She blanched a little, when after introducing herself and offering for for help, Tamiel was graced with a little 'intern' stamp. She spent a little while in a back-and-forth, only retreating--sullen--with her little stamp later. Her dress didn't help things--her halo hidden under a sun hat, her wings hidden beneath a jacket--both gray--with heavy boots and leggings, and with a white shirt decorated with what could only be called 'colorful scribbles.' Her flashing her ID earns her a brief lecture about an upcoming lesson with Forsythe that couldn't be missed just made her more irritated--and especially aggravatingly--more passable as an irritable intern to anyone keeping a pulse on her mental state as she filed through reception, and plucked UP into the lobby, milling about with the usual awkwardness of someone who isn't completely sure what she's doing there.
Vantablitz Remnants	So, Ahn's last operation as a Watchman kind of sucked, but also wasn't the worst? She got to meet Petra there! That was nice! And Regulus was funny! More importantly, she actually accomplished something! Something she can be dubiously proud of, maybe! And that alone is kind of a completely insane drug. Where there would normally come the pattern of returning to the same old, letting months slip by without realizing, kicking herself for little mistakes and procrastinating 'having a life now' below even the level of 'doing the dishes, eventually', her last couple of weeks have been heavily occupied with talking about the City to her lightly disturbing 'rooommate', and involved a lot of staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping. And so, much to both of their surprise, she turned on the scanner again before long, and went looking for a second hit of feeling like she's saving the world. Her first regret is doing it in November. This girl lives right near Vietnamese jungle. Her pink puffer jacket and daffodil knit sweater are kind of a waste of time if she's going to show up in jeans anyways. No, lined boots and nice gloves aren't going to help, nor are earmuffs; it's your legs, girl. Ahn's second regret is the amount of gear she brought in her big, stupid, obviously military backpack, considering they're all now heading into a Facility (which is not a real campsite). Her third regret is doing this while Lotus is still . . . It's complicated. Surely nobody will look too closely. Really, anxiety about a fake ID is so far down her list of Bravely Not Complaining (she's so strong!) that it's funny to consider. "Xion!!!" Oh thank god. The magic incantation worked! That's two for two on people she joined the Watch for, missed entirely, and managed to summon again by: touching grass. Whether or not Xion and Flamel and friends, Ahn certainly believes that she and they are, and waves her down immediately.
Timekeeper	Only a little while ago, Flamel was a welcome face at the LSCC for two large research projects, one of which involved the single most important thing in the world. A short time after, it became known that he was allied with the Manus Vindictae, and in fact was even while working on his Stormchaser procedure in the Artificial Somnambulism machines, and Vertin, specifically, is the reason why he saw the Storm of 1966 in the first place. So when it comes across the Foundation's desks that Flamel is performing some psychic experiment that possibly derives from his knowledge about the Storm, it falls to the Timekeeper to investigate. In a rare instance, she hasn't brought Sonetto with her. Ideally, this won't be a combat mission, and for all of Sonetto's many strengths, subtle infiltration and political and organizational maneuvering isn't among them. Who she has brought along with her, instead, succeeds thoroughly enough in the former that her complete lack of ability in the latter can be ignored. "So, allow me to rephrase," Vertin says to the disguised Oleander, politely omitting that she's doing so largely for Regulus's benefit. Mr. Parsons is in the midst of a project whose details aren't fully known even to the organization. You're concerned that this project-- whose nature involves large-scale tampering directly with the psychic environment of a world, similar to his Stormchaser procedure-- is reckless and ill-considered, but the objections you've raised aren't currently being taken seriously. Mr. Parsons is still in good standing with the Psychonauts, and so can't be acted against directly, but there's effectively no oversight on his actions and you believe that they'll result in disaster." Vertin looks to the side at Regulus. "Well. Shall we get on with it? I imagine we'll have to change in order to be convincing as employees." Despite the fact that a black suit would be perfectly fitting attire for the Psychonauts, Vertin's getup instead has her in a black turtleneck sweater, Psychonauts badge pinned to her chest. She's very specifically trained in this kind of thing, both from field agent training and because she feels a little bit like she's infiltrating the Foundation every day that she works there, so there's no hesitating before she takes credentials for a full-fledged employee, despite the risk. "Are we looking to get to his personal workspace, then?" She points at the part of the map with the agents' offices. "Regulus, be sure to keep contact with me. Your arcane skill will certainly be useful if our progress forwards is blocked." Once there, Vertin is, herself, an agent of a vague yet ominous organization. Her focus at first is on trying to get an outline of the more readily available information about the project to those who are supposed to be in the know about it-- how long it's been going on, the general state of it at this point, what containment measures it's under, and what future plans are in place around it. She's got all the vocabulary, even if the language is shifted from magic to psionics, and she's a little schmoozer when it gets her way too.
Chuyao He	CONCERNED AUDITORS - CURSED FOREST CAMP GROUP: Chuyao's early preparations (consulting the coins, as he'd call it; casting spells, as Oleander put it) have also uncovered information about how to avoid stoking paranoia over inside agents. The scholar is quick to share this information with new arrivals to the camp, in hushed tones. "Do not discuss or make mention of the weather, nor bloodright nor inheritance, nor distant kings." Gesturing with a nod towards the projected map, eyes on the forbidden mailroom, he adds, "Neither should letters or their couriers be discussed." Chuyao is not an operative by any stretch of the imagination, but he's a little old to be an intern, and so he's opted for false credentials. He has no experience whatsoever with infiltration. However, he plans to mitigate this with perseverance and excellent manners.
Regulus	Regulus can't help but be a BIT sour at yesterday's radio but Regulus's nature is to more or less to 'show them' that they are wrong about her, whomever 'they' have to be. Of course, what Regulus considers worth being upset about can be pretty different from most but despite all that, her sourness at radio has been supplanted by a bigger emotion and need: She's gotta help Vertin out with whatever she needs. The pirate's model for expressing care to someone younger than you who happens to be in a bind is, lets face it, probably modeled some after the APPLe that is doing his very best to keep her alive. It is, however, probably a good idea to helpfully rephrease the mission prompt to something that doesn't make Regulus's eyes glaze over from all the proper nouns, some of which she has never heard before. ''But there's effectively no oversight on his actions and you bellieve that they'll result in disaster.'' Regulus perks up at this. APPLe is sitting on her shoulder but will, of course, find his own way to properly blend in, but Regulus is just thrilled that she finally gets to GET FLAMEL BACK a bit. Ho ho ho, he thinks he can go around and get her trust and then BETRAY HER FOREVER to the people who TURN PEOPLE INTO GOO? Well well well, WELL WELL WELL. ''I imagine we'll have to change in order to be convincing as employees.'' Regulus blinks. "Uh." She says. "Wait am I gonna have to dress as some vaguely menacing government type?" She frowns. "...Well fine, but I'm keeping the sunglasses." rShe DOES dress up in a suit and slacks, even sliding in an earpiece that is actually connected to APPLe who has also received sunglasses to look appropriately governmental. He is also still wearing his tie, but no pants. He is also still an apple. They both have added the psychonauts badge, Regulus to her suit, APPLe to his tie. r"Okay...! Will do, love." She hides APPLe in her suit before following after Vertin, staying quiet, doing her best to look ominously and more importantly vaguely menacing by lurking behind and slightly to the side of Vertin. The effect is mitigated some by the fact that this is Regulus, but she is ready to make herself, APPLe, and Vertin disappear in a moment's notice. She's so gonna getcha Flamel. She's gonna oversight him so hard that he's going to cry about it to Schneider who will be so upset that she won't shoot everybody's favorite Regulus ever again!
Flamel Parsons	TEAM MOTHERLOBE: In all fairness to the misconception about camping inside the Motherlobe, it's not exactly a place that wouldn't accommodate a little camp. Hell, you could build a whole-ass survivalcraft complex in this atrium if you really wanted, but you'd have to maneuver it around all the nice little conversation pits and well-cared-for trees and nice art that maximizes the mental health and wellness of everyone inside the Motherlobe. http://files.at.decompressed.space/KtoHP3Q5 http://files.at.decompressed.space/hTa2Sx3d And the first thing Flamel Parsons does when Rufus asks his first question is raise a finger and clarify, "It's not a gun. Psychogate." He points harshly at one of the Concord officials that just raised a hand: "And it doesn't summon weapons either." He slumps, despondent, and leaves towards a conference room. Progressing, Flamel says, "But the purpose of a weapon is to change minds with force. The Psychogate exists to attack psychohazards at-scale, directly. Without the collateral damage of weapons and bodies, or the bad scaling of psychic powers. Why go indirect? You'll understand when we get there, though!" Rufus's second question gets a short pause. http://files.at.decompressed.space/iFBuJ7jI "Nah!" He says cheerfully, with a broad and beaming smile. He waggles a finger at Xion brightly. "I'll show you where we're setting up camp. I know it's odd for me to be inviting you, I know, but you'll understand when you see it for yourself. Your expertise is gonna go pretty far for this case. And your network, of friends!" Ahn's here! Flamel... can't recognize her meaningfully! But his cheerful nature surely helps. He waves her down and begins bringing the Flamel-cooperative group through the Agent labs, and further back, further-and-further back past them, through long and winding hallways, past an odd number of complex security doors... It's not even in what's labelled as his designated personal lab, a sign he walks right by. It's deeper. Further down, too. "Are any of you familiar with the Eliberian war?" He asks. "There's a march in the Lycian League called Araphen, where the town got sacked and an orphanage burned down. All because they chose to help a woman who was fleeing warmongers and begging for assistance." He says as he walks. "And as a Psychonaut, I've had to deal with that by... what, giving therapy, just to the leaders who ordered all that? So they won't do it again? No healing for the traumatized orphans? It's not right, you know? Intuitively. So! After a few months, and a few nice epiphanies, and a few unique motivators, I finally figured out the solution. I finally found the Psychogate. And Araphen is... I'd say 'where' we're going next, but we don't really have a relative adverb form, for what we're doing here. And the pain, the psychohazardous psychic construct of trauma from that day, is what we'll try out targeting."
Storm Investigators	Marcus and Greta Hofmann are here as well, joining any CONCERNED AUDITORS at the CURSED FOREST CAMP. Having acquired a set of intern and false credentials from Oleander respectively, they're still mulling over their options with this entire situation. It's uncharted territory for the both of them, but Greta's at least confident that something could be done if need be. Marcus... Marcus is just glad there's several more people here, and some of them even familiar. She's not dressed any differently than she usually is, though, between the chin-obscuring scarf and body-obscuring blue coat, and the way she keeps tugging her hat down might almost make her look like a true socially awkward camper. Greta, meanwhile, looks almost exactly the same except for the fact that she's picked up a brown hat to match her coat, truly leaning into the (false) operative role here while sharing the bits of information they've been able to gather already. "We may encounter many familiar faces, if anyone has met people from the Concord before. That could make things difficult if they know that we are looking into Mister Flamel. Then again, if the Thinkerprint masker works, perhaps not...? Oh, but if it malfunctions, or our body language gives anything away and we are caught in the act.... We may be able to afford a couch?"
Persephone Kore	CONCERNED AUDITORS: "I'm just a little concerned with the trustworthiness of gruff backlit figures in dark rooms, as a rule," says Marc Heller, arriving at Oleander's campsite while warming his manicured hands against a thermos (minus one pinkie, extended). "I trust them a lot more than Flamel Moonvisit Parsons, as a rule," says Dylan Cruise, nudging vines and branches away for both of them with a stickered baseball bat like a gentler machete. They both sigh, slightly out-of-breath from the walk, as they step into the clearing with Chuyao. "... We should've told Phony." "We should not have told Phony." "The word 'global' is a little above our pay-grade--" "She'll know as soon as she asks the manifest 'why', so--" "I just--" "Don't want to worry her." "... Yeah." Agreeing on accident, all the steam goes out of them. They look around aimlessly, and their gazes alight on Chuyao He: "Oh, good afternoon, Chuyao." "Those specific topics? Know why?" They're a very Psychonauts-styled pair. Dylan's shortish, athletic but a little baby-pudgy, a few shades darker-skinned than Phony, and has a curly-messy butch haircut to fit her jeans and t-shirt. Marc's taller, a little too skinny, frosty-white, and his combed blonde hair and sweatervest make him look like an overgrown private-schoolboy. Fanart, somewhere, draws them as a pouty dog and an aloof cat. Unfortunately they're not quite real Partners, so they do take the fake IDs, both as employees. "Hm. But what do we do if he spots us?" "Hide the lanyards and say you're here for a haircut." "Their facilities are top-notch..." "See?" "Chin up. You're doing great," Marc says to Tamiel, giving her a little encouraging shoulder-pat. "Great idea. I'll try to get us directions," Dylan murmurs to Vertin, before peeling off and... well, just asking someone which way to Flamel's office! That's how they raise 'em at SH.
Flamel Parsons	TEAM CURSED FOREST... Can become TEAM ALSO IN THE MOTHERLOBE at a moment's notice. Tamiel, for example, has no trouble getting through the Ottobon and into the headquarters, at least once she allows the machinery to scan one of Oleander's spoofed Thinkerprint devices. But despite being awakward in form, she's not harshly regarded. Most people here are awkward in one way or another. At the very least, the leadership certainly is. Speaking of leadership, Flamel's leading a group off through the agent labs... Tamiel would have a tough time following there, but she'll surely hear a fragment or two of conversation, maybe the repetition of the phrase Araphen, and maybe a vague direction. Sometimes there's value to milling around. She also has the radio reception needed to pick up on the odd military-man informant's explanation. "No clue if it'll be a disaster, but... well he wouldn't be ramming it through so hard and taking no oversight if it was all safe!" Oleander had been grumbling, over the forest's hardlined PA system above, to Vertin -- who will somehow successfully pass as full-fledged employee (an analyst, probably) purely on emotional control, if not, necessarily, wellness. Ah, one of Sasha Nein's team, passing psychonauts will surely think to themselves. APPLe is offered a simple way to fly under the radar, something Marcus and Hoffman can have confirmed through personal experience: Stay a mostly-pink color (or get some paint) and get in this mysterious little hamster-ball half-filled with odd green fluid, like a bobbing-for-apples case, and APPLe will face no trouble. Yes, in fact, once Regulus and APPLe get in there, they'll notice that many of the employees are actually brains in jars, temporarily or permanently: http://files.at.decompressed.space/fCXBoZES Speaking of the agents in there, one such brain telepathically answers Dylan in a friendly way, rolling a little wave motion with a telekinetic hand, "Is he your mentor? Over through Agent Labs, fifth door on the right. Need something moved again?" Again?
Xion	TEAM MOTHERLOBE: Hearing her name called out so suddenly makes Xion react, of course - who wouldn't, with someone so particularly pointedly pleased to see them! Immediately turning, her bright blues regard Ahn for a moment as she senses the palpable flow of relief just on expression and tone and barely any special understanding. "Hey!" She greets, flashing a smile, but it's distant. She's still processing Ahn's face, trying to remember who this person was. Names could leap at her, but the context took her time. . . "The... Union Santiago dive, right? Wow, it's been an age. Are we diving?" She asks, the realization placing dimmest memory to activity and person but still foggy. "You're not dressed for diving. Well good!" She laughs. "Neither am I." Smirks the noirette, and she turns to pocket her phone in her jacket pocket and extend a hand to shake. "It's good to be working with you." It's professional, drawn in from the environment, but meant all the same. Being appreciated by someone that seemed like 'her fan' was largely new to Xion, but she didn't want to let down Ahn! A campsite in the Facility just really isn't apparent unless you wanted to take over - or break up - some other area! Really, it's a great place for a cup of tea. Xion, used to severity and angularity and harsh pure colors, has the odd deadfall of negative mental interaction and feels a little cotton candy headed. Pushing through the feeling, she's led through the Motherlobe by Flamel and doesn't quite field the full thought of the Concord's strange (not really) interest in alleged gun-shaped mind interaction devices. There's something else on her mind as she follows along - something Flamel brings up quickly. "You wanted my expertise specifically? I'm guessing this isn't about camping." Xion is quick to surmise, though she still expects the excursion to be camping-themed as he talks about going someplace. A low cross of the arms accents coming to a stop before the brightly beaming man in a suit and sunglasses cheerfully pointing at her. "My expertise..." She looks down at herself. "And my friends..?" She tracks that same gaze to Ahn, and then something starts working through her mind while they carry on down deeper. The labs keep her lost in thought, stairs giving her a kind of dissociative pause where she is both autonomically present and far away. The question about the Eliberian war gets a soft 'no', but the story sets enough of the final pieces into place that Xion ends by pointing at Flamel. "You're going to target the construct form? You mean, you're going to send us to some kind of alternate mind-reality where there'll probably be a big, violent knot of trauma that's probably some kind of tornado or tempest or something, and we'll be attacking it directly?" Xion asks, cold, squinting. She sounds, oddly, a little into it. "Yeah, okay, if it's that I can see why you called me in. Friends and all, even."
Rufus Shinra	Rufus eyes the door to the mail room. He'll be good... for now. > "But the purpose of a weapon is to change minds with force." "I'd think the point of a weapon is to change minds by existing, and if you ever need to actually fire it, then clearly you haven't bought enough weapons." "Although if you're fighting things like wild animals, or, psychohazardous... psychic... constructs... that don't recognize what weapons are, then the goalposts shift! So if you ever need to fire it more than once, then clearly you haven't bought enough weapons in that case." "Which brings me to my third question, if this neat little at-scale indirect assault emplacement works, how soon are we going to move into mass production? I can think of three dozen buyers without even cracking open my little black book here." There's Xion! "Alright! What have you been up to?" Rufus asks, as if it wasn't him that's been away from Sector Zero business for months on end. And there's... well, actually, that's all of everyone that Rufus recognizes. He'll have to work on networking some more. "I've got extra equipment out on the helipad, if anyone needs," he says, tapping his walking stick (which obviously has a sword hidden in it) on the ground. "Consider it a small token. What's mine is yours." He flashes a grin.
Tamiel Luxis	Tamiel tries not to lean too suspiciously as she hears the group talking, slowly fading out of her hearing--she leans against the side of the wall, giving a long yawwwn as she plays the part of an intern lazing around. She jumps a little when Marc claps a hand on her shoulder, and Tamiel finds herself rubbing at the back of her head, in wordless apology for something she couldn't have pinned down if she was asked. "I'm sure I could be doing better," she deflected, a sentiment that would have almost certaintly been considered radioactive to any Sapient Heuristics censors. She finds herself drawn along afte the pair of them, without really realizing. Party Member Get! Tamiel is a little winded by Dylan just walking up to ASK for directions--but half of infiltraiton was confidence, right? And Dylan wasn't acting like she was doing anything anything suspicious at all! "...He keeps mentioning something...'Araphen.' Sounds like a name." She murmurs to Vertin and Marc, while Dylan is doing her own thing. Just Workplace gossip, right...? She's biting on her lip again, looking around them, "...My name's Tammy," she offers Marc, with a little smile. "Hi."
Chuyao He	"So, it's brother Marc," says Chuyao with a pleasant smile, rising from his seat. "And... sister Dylan, yes? You are a most welcome sight among these strange boughs." He offers them both a fist-in-palm greeting, smiling warmly despite the chill wind. Those specific topics? Know why? "Sometimes, what is forgotten is forgotten for good reason," says Chuyao with a frown. "When the memory of fearful times has left, symbols of such an age's passing may yet remain, to agitate the memory of wounds suffered and healed long ago--even if the weapons themselves are buried." "Of course... this is only an educated guess. Be it coins, tortoise shells or the hidden doors, it is best to heed what is divined. One may not understand it in the present, but it is for the future that we consult the oracle." Now that everyone has been briefed on his divination, however, there's one last detail to tend to. It is written that one must act appropriately to one's surroundings. Marc and Dylan are colleagues of Flamel's, so their attire may be excused away if push comes to shove. Vertin and Regulus are not; their choice of apparel concerns him enough to ask. "This lowly scholar wonders if his attire is within acceptable variance for the culture of the Motherlobe?" If it isn't, he'll politely ask Oleander for something appropriate. Whether it is or it isn't, eventually, he heads through the Ottobon with a measured breath and hopes for the best. The first hexagram did extoll the virtue of perseverance, even in the absence of practice! If he looks official enough (and, of course, is polite enough) people will surely assume that he belongs here. As fortune would have it, Marc and Dylan prove that manners are a very effective form of infiltration, though Chuyao is not privy to telepathic conversation. He'll follow the two of them, and, for good measure, will have his abacus out, keeping track of... well, he's doing the math for Lala and Hikaru's debt again, in his head, but he isn't blind to how official it looks to walk around counting things.
Storm Investigators	"Are we looking to get to his personal workspace, then?" "That could be our best bet at finding the Psychogate. If he is an avid note taker and not nearly as diligent about cleaning his space, even moreso." "Hide the lanyards and say you're here for a haircut." "That's not a bad idea at all. Oh, but... Only once?" "Unless they also happen to have a remarkable hair growth formula here, yes." "...Well fine, but I'm keeping the sunglasses." Marcus looks up and over at Greta, suddenly getting one entire idea! She whispers something to her mentor, drawing a slowly raised eyebrow towards herself. Before long, however, Greta has some shades on, too. It's the same ones from the Halloween party in the suitcase! They're only slightly crushed from having been forgotten in her pocket. INSIDE THE MOTHERLOBE: With a new host of allies to rely on, Marcus and Greta can get back to work looking into things! With the mapping already accounted for, they quickly scribble in smaller versions into their notepads for convenient review before following everyone else in. They keep their distance to avoid raising suspicions as best they can, though, opting instead to check out the western side of the facility! Is it actually the western side? That's something they're (mostly Marcus) going to ask around about as the two head over in the direction of the Second's office and storage, especially in the context of the Noodle Bowl and bathrooms. It's important for new interns to know where those places are, after all, and Marcus can even play up not knowing what the right terms are or if the cardinal directions exist here!
Regulus	''APPLe...FORM OF BRAIN'' Okay yeah that totally happens. APPLe suffers as he bobs around in his brain ball but Regulus is having fun holding the brainball aloft. Sometimes she asks APPLe if he'd like it if he'd be rolled across the ground, but so far this APPLe has preferred to be carried rather than batted about like a soccerbrain which is, honestly, maybe a LITTLE suspicious. The brains are probably supposed to enjoy being bounced around right? ''This lowly scholar wonders if his attire is within acceptable variance for the culture of the Motherlobe?'' Regulus is literally wearing a suit, slacks, and sunglasses with an earpiece. Admittedly, she mostly knew what FLAMEL wore as a Psychonaut rather than the average psychonaut who seems to be wearing 'a brain ball' but Regulus really doesn't want to be a brainball so this is the option she had. But at the same time, if Chuyao FIGURES HER OUT (well he probably can, she didn't exactly change her hair or anything she learned she was here as an INSPECTOR when she got here and there are limits to which Regulus is willing to pretend) then she won't be able to oversight Flamel which, while not very rock, becomes rock when one takes into account that she's MAD at him and actually does think something's up with the guy if he's trying to covnince her to join a vague government before signing on with the supremacist organization. Maybe this will be helpful revenge, how about that! So she has to at least fend Chuyao off with a completely reasonable explanation. "This is regulation Psychonauts suit and tie, I filled out forms XYZ-123 and ABC-987 to requisition form CLO-735 which I filled out to the fashion committee whereupon, six to seven weeks later, they finally delivered fourteen sets of the same uniform and requisite ironing board with a regulation iron to keep them regulation pressed." APPLe starts to say something before remembering brains don't have mouths and he remains silent. It doesn't occur to him to consider maybe it'll be okay because apples don't have mouths and yet here we are.
Timekeeper	"Then again, if the Thinkerprint masker works, perhaps not...?" Vertin gives Marcus a nod, tying up her hair into a bun on the back of her head rather than to the side. That'll fool 'em for sure. She's practically unrecognizable, without the one outfit she wears, and a big suitcase in hand. "Great idea. I'll try to get us directions," Of all the people here infiltrating the Psychonauts, Dylan and Marc are the only ones Vertin is entirely unfamiliar with. It's not particularly good form to do proper introductions in the middle of an undercover operation, of course, so she simply doesn't, and categorizes them in her mind as being about as trustworthy as Coach Oleander to her-- unknowns who presumably have some investment in this organization and the project, but whose end goals can't necessarily be assumed to be the same as hers. Her methods aren't actually entirely dissimilar from theirs, though. The most suspicious thing to do in an office is to not make conversation-- back home, Mesmer Jr. is suspicious to her peers for that very reason despite being a fully legitimate employee. Rather than heading straight towards Flamel's office as Dylan very easily ascertains, Vertin lingers in the common areas for a bit, looking for all the world like she's going in and out of various important tasks without any one person actually seeing her doing anything. It's not really like she could know anything about the tech just by looking at it. She's not a Psychonaut! Better to ask them what their feelings about it all are, and what they'd share to another employee casually, couched between meandering office conversation about whatever other topic. "It's all quite a lot of resources being funneled into that Parsons project, isn't it? Do you think it'll be worth it?" After mixing around with Psychonauts personnel for some time, Vertin feels their transponder buzz in their back pocket. Taking it out, there's a cheery little 32x32 sprite of a certain brown-haired digital girl, currently wearing a suit and sunglasses. "Ooooh, I've always wanted to get in on some undercover action! Fancy meeting you here, you convenient stranger you?" "TTT? Are you offering your help?" "Shush! We're in America! My codename's WWW!" "Alright." "But yeah, yeah! That Flamel guy's got some ideas! And hey, I know better than to bite at the hand that hosts my servers, but if the Foundation's gonna endorse snooping 'round, then you bet I'm gonna snoop." "That's great to hear. Would you mind checking for materials requisition lists put through by Parsons?"} "I was thinking more along the lines of disaster reports, maybe mysterious disappearances in nearby towns, strange animal behavior...?"} "I'd love to hear about that if you come across it as well."
Vantablitz Remnants	Ahn is quickly becoming quite sure that she fucked up somewhere along the line here. Xion is a friend! That's good! Xion is also not with the Watch, which she remembers (painfully) but sort of forgot (in that it implies about a million other things). She'd definitely read the general premise of the mission statement, and remembered some guy called Oleander, but after that part she'd gotten a little hazy, and after asking one or two questions on the minuscule number of personal contact lines she has with the Watch, any more would just be embarrassing! And awkward! What do you mean you don't know what a concerned auditor does or how they get in there?! That's stupid! You're stupid! The only logical thing to do is to figure out how to get to Psychonauts HQ on her own and read the room when she gets there. Parsons going on about the Fabulous Applications of the Technology has an effect on her that she'd completely forgotten: sitting down in the wrong class and only realizing after ten minutes of lecture. It's a little too late for Ahn to quiet panic about it now, but that doesn't stop her from doing it anyways. 'I've had to deal with that by... what, giving therapy, just to the leaders who ordered all that? So they won't do it again? No healing for the traumatized orphans? It's not right, you know?' Ahn nods every couple of sentences to Show She Is Listening. Awkwardly fishing out her (battered, sixfold-replaced battery) smartphone, she starts tapping random keys on her notes app to make it look like she's taking notes, then realizes a minute later that she could be taking actual notes (for the Watch, as intel), and disguises the cringe sound she makes as a failed sneeze. 'The... Union Santiago dive, right? Wow, it's been an age. Are we diving?' Ahn makes a sound normally reserved for martial artists receiving a gut punch as part of a demonstratin. "S-since we did something like this in person, y-yeah!" she replies with a little forced enthusiasm. Blow it off with cheer! Show how mature you are about this! You're a cool, grass-touching Watch superspy badass now! Don't think about how nobody is thinking twice about this precisely because you don't go outside enough! "I guess we kind of are? I have a change of clothes but it's-- N-not a wetsuit. Haha. Um." Oh god. 'It's good to be working with you. "You as well!" Thank you Xion. "I really wanna make a habit of it if I can!" God dammit. Does that sound gay? No, it's probably fine. 'You're going to target the construct form? You mean, you're going to send us to some kind of alternate mind-reality where there'll probably be a big, violent knot of trauma that's probably some kind of tornado or tempest or something, and we'll be attacking it directly?' Ahn takes notes as fast as she can. "Mhm, mhm, that's basically what, um, Elites are good at, so I can totally see why the technology is practically begging to be made." How the fuck do you attack a tornado?
Persephone Kore	Marc inclines his head respectfully to answer Chuyao He's bow, while Dylan does that same 'woah, sorry' palms-out defraying gesture. "Yeah, hey!" "And you as well, Chuyao He." ("Does he think we're related...?") Dylan asides quietly. ("Well...") (They do say 'one big family'.) ("You know what I mean.") ("No, Brother Chuyao just talks like that.") "... what is forgotten is forgotten for good reason." "Let the dead past bury its dead," Marc nods, satisfied. "That's a pretty morbid saying, isn't it?" "Ah... you're right. I'm sorry." "I'm sure I could be doing better." "...My name's Tammy. Hi." "A pleasure to meet you, Tammy," Marc says, smiling after a thermos-sip. His pinky, with its cerulean-painted nail, is stuck out. "We don't blame a flower for struggling to thrive, do we? Think a snack from the cafe would calm your nerves?" He hangs back at a distance while Dylan schmoozes... Oh, thanks! No, but I'm, uh, my mentor's worked with him before, Dylan telepathically corresponds with a brain. She's low on bluff, but high on charm. Oh, I really like your orb? The color coordination for the green goo with your, uh, pink brains is really good! "What'd they say?" "Agent labs, fifth door on the right." "You go, you've got the psychometry." "I'm going!" Dylan nods at Hofmann to get her to follow, and strikes off towards Flamel's office for psychogate-related things to rub her 'why' psychometry on for intel on the project, especially its possible failure modes. "Oh, I like their little hat," she says of Vertin on her way out. "It's really of complementary function to the vest." "Oh, knock it off." "It's the clear star of the show, there." "You've never understood looking cool."
Flamel Parsons	PRO-FLAMEL TEAM Flamel snaps and points at Xion as he walks and talks. "You're seeing it exactly. I've got someone else who'll be handling the tactical and logistical side of the expedition, someone who I've picked out as someone decently familiar with internal psychodynamics but nothing external and definitely nothing astral -- she won't have any false preconceptions. You, on the other hand, you're used to external operations like this, you've worked in this kind of thing before, and on this kind of scale -- so if you're taking my invite, you're going to be a bit of a guide and a bit of a heavy-hitter for the team." Flamel nods at Rufus, excited to have his eagerness matched, and to hear about wonderful things like actually having funding. "We're actually working on ramping up the technology. I'm trying to produce Psychogates into a lot of different zones. I've got targeting calculations in the works for Kagoshima to try to take on some antimemetics, but we're having trouble getting a fix. Angela's in charge of Concord maneuvers about the City's Collective Unconscious, so I'm waiting on her okay for there. But I've got another site I want to clean up pain in, Sector L-57, which is almost a mass natural disaster case. Plus there's this Earth variant that's been dealing with a totally unique psychohazard called Storm Syndrome..." Looks like there's plans for lots of production. And thankfully, somehow, he's so focused on his work that he isn't noticing the psychic waves of anxiety. Or maybe it's the conditions of the building dampening the infectious or echoing nature of stress. After all... During the talk, things have gotten deeper: http://files.at.decompressed.space/g5o3HGbS It feels like a psychic decontamination. The plants along the walls are perfectly spaced for enrichment, the light is relaxing in its softness yet energizing in its blueness, the snapes are consistent enough for comfort but unique enough to keep the space feeling fresh. It's meant to purge surface-layer psychohazards. It might feel like the top layer of everyone's skin got exfoliated, in a mental sense. It's enough to take the edge off of the sense that they've gone deep into the depths of a quarry. Ahn's phone loses signal when they enter the lab. The lab? Ah-- there it is. http://files.at.decompressed.space/XrJIy97e "You'll understand why this changes everything now." Flamel says. He's been working with White extensively on setting up an expedition here. In the center of stacks of supplies, where there would normally be an examination table, or a sample, or a large machine, there is just... a door. Much like a normal Psychoportal from Flamel's usual work. "This is a Psychogate." A rather plain thing, aged brown wood that's aged just a little less than the different material that makes up the doorframe. "This is what'll change everything." It looks like it would fit perfectly in a home built in the seventies or so -- but innately, it doesn't especially show any sign of being unusual. Just one thing, though. Pull the shot back, zoom out. Because unlike a Psychoportal, this one is person-sized. Flamel doesn't wait. He opens it, gesturing with his head silently for the others to follow. And slowly opens it with a long, agonizing creak. http://files.at.decompressed.space/S21EsbdZ
Persephone Kore	Marc is thus, for a moment- because Dylan is gone and Tamiel is a little lost- without a woman to tell him what to do. Ssiiiiiippp. . . . "Tell me if I can help with that," he says to Vertin casually, pinkie-gesturing at the TTT transponder. "Otherwise, I... suppose I'll try to follow that group passing by."
Regulus	''Angela's in charge of Concord maneuvers about the City's Collective Unconscious, so I'm waiting on her okay for there.'' Angela helpfully printed out the request, folded it up, slid it into an envelope, sealed it shut with glue, and slid it into the lowest drawer on her desk and placed a bunch of books on top of it. ''Tell me if I can help with that.'' Regulus looks at Marc. Regulus doesn't know anything about Marc. "Are you." She asks him. "A programmer?" She tries to think of a suitable Normal Perseon Psychonauts Government name and the best she can come up with is Regu Lars instead of Regu Lus. But she'll keep thinkiung about it because she doesn't really want to think about things that far. Regulus gives TTT a smile. "Nice to meet you, WWW." but then she remembers she's also undercover. "Nice to meet you... /Citizen/ WWW." She winks at TTT, but this time she remembers she's wearing sunglasses so she pulls down her shades and winks again at her. She glances over to Tamiel for a moment, frowning as she jumps at a shoulderclap, but her feelings are a bit complicated and definitely not really something she should bringing up here so she shakes her head to clear the vibes. "What should I do ... ... ''Boss''?" The ''brain'' in the ball that Regulus is carrying eventually looks over to Marc. "Oh hello there. I do not believe we met." The brain says to him. "My name is..." He catches a look from Regulus. "...BRAINe."
Chuyao He	I filled out forms XYZ-123 and ABC-987 to requisition form CLO-735 which I filled out to the fashion committee whereupon, six to seven weeks later, they finally delivered fourteen sets of the same uniform and requisite ironing board with a regulation iron to keep them regulation pressed. Chuyao takes Regulus at her word. "Junior sister Regulus is to be lauded for her foresight and patience in preparing for this assignment. Fourteen sets is quite a number. If, by chance, one such uniform fits this lowly scholar, your assistance would be welcomed." --- In the midst of his investigation, Chuyao pauses in his accounting, and, a moment later, in his stride, as a revelation strikes him. Silently, he sorts through his thoughts, stepping out of the way of foot traffic to do so. Our contact's issue is that his own mistakes have damaged his credibility in the eyes of this organization--thus, the need for independent auditors. He is dressed in a neat black suit (he had to watch Regulus tie her tie in order to see how to do it himself) though his traveling pack, hair crown and coral pin remain. Dylan has obviously met with success in politely asking after the whereabouts of Flamel's office.* Abacus tucked under one arm, he strokes his chin thoughtfully with his free hand. Absent the issue of credibility, any ordinary person with concerns over this project could be heard in fairness. If our contact is subject to such scrutiny after his mistake, then there is surely a responsible leader in office here. What was the title--ah! Yes. Chuyao smiles beatifically and breathes a sigh of relief at his plan. What a simple solution! I'll simply report this matter to the Grand Head, who, hearing such a concern from someone whose reputation with this body is untarnished, will naturally delegate responsibly to see that this matter receives the attention it deserves, despite the issue of the Delugionists. Chuyao follows in Dylan's footsteps, figuratively, rather than literally, asking the first random passer-by where the Grand Head's office is. How does Flamel refer to himself? Maybe it would be a good idea to affect some of that here, with these people. "Hello, I am a responsibly appointed member of an vague yet benevolent auditing committee. I, the auditor, earnestly wish to speak with the Grand Head."
Rufus Shinra	> Funding "Yeah, can you imagine the use cases for this sort of tech? You don't need to worry about freedom fighters popping up, you just point the trauma eraser gun at the memories of their village being suppressed, and bang, it's like it never happened." Finger-guns. "People getting radicalized because you fucked up the climate and a hurricane took out their island? Just fire up the trauma eraser gun and they'll go back to peacefully picking up the pieces of their broken lives like nothing ever happened. Grand Poobah's kid took a joyride through main street and they're still cleaning globs out of the front bumper? You can just trauma eraser gun your chances of having a dynasty back into existence." "Honestly, you could probably make just as much cash by getting the Commonwealth to pay you to not sell it." The group's being joined by a bunch more people that Rufus doesn't recognize. "I see our party is growing, welcome! You all set for camping equipment?" He gestures with his walking stick (that obviously has a sword inside). "Bunch of it out on the helipad, if you need to stock up." And then, the psychogate. Rufus reflexively pulls his phone out and holds it up. "Neat." click And then... through the door. "Neat." This time, Rufus starts turning in place, holding up his phone to take a photosphere panorama shot of the whole thing. "So do we need to... not think impure thoughts while we're in here? Watch out for our emotions turning into literal monsters? Kill anyone who has the same face as we do? I'm not sure how this works."
Storm Investigators	While Marcus is busy with her own mini-investigation on what direction everything is supposed to be in, Greta's mostly keeping her eye on her junior to make sure she doesn't freak out too much! What manages to draw her attention away from Marcus, then, is the fact that one of her fellow auditors is trying to get her attention! Could they have been noticed already? Unlikely. Most of the people here seem to have alibis (in Greta's perspective, anyway), and Regulus is the only one that strikes her as wanting to get back at him for anything. Is this an opportunity, then? She recognizes Dylan from the camp earlier, but can she afford to leave Marcus alone for a minute or two? Best to check straight from the source. "Marcus. Will you be alright here for a little while?" "Eh? Oh... Um. Y.. Yes, Madam Hofmann. I know where the food is, and where the bathrooms are." Greta makes sure her face is still neutral there, even though their plan is already trucking along the way they practiced. "Good. Don't get into any trouble, then." Seeming satisfied enough with that, Greta then approaches Dylan and follows her on the way towards... "Where are we headed?" She asks with only a cursory glance towards Marcus as she leaves her behind with Marc and Vertin, furrowing her brow slightly after a moment. She's familiar-ish with the area so far, but she still needs to glance around once to to get her bearings based on the map data. "Have you found any leads? Or are we scouting further?" Marcus, meanwhile, ends up hanging out with Marc and Vertin (with TTT)! Vertin and TTT, even in pixel form, are familiar faces already (even if it takes Marcus a moment to re-recognize them with the hairstyle and wardrobe change). Marc's a new one entirely, though, aside from seeing him in the camp a little while back. She's tempted to just loiter near the bathrooms the entire time, but Greta's counting on her to keep an eye on things here! Thus, she approaches them, and she psyches herself up briefly before waving meekly at Marc. "He... Hello. My name is Marcus. Are you a... New interns here as well?" So far, no mistakes. She already knows why Marc and Vertin are here, but a bit of small talk to give her a reason to stand around and keep an eye on the area until Greta's return is (probably) vital! "What... Um. What do you think they'll serve at the Noodle Bowl?" She totally realizes her flub right after saying the name, but she's not going to call MORE attention to it now. Insetad, she pulls some of her hair front of her to try and tie it up a bit into a ponytail. She clearly has never done this before today.
Xion	ROUTE FLAMEL: Rufus gets an appraising glance, and then an acknowledging nod and a reach out to shake the Shinra heir's hand as well with a repeat of 'Pleasure'. In this particular case, Xion had faith that Rufus would reliably operate fairly well - and probably get an interesting Enemy Skill or two - under the pressure of an entirely apocalyptic set of events, so... It seemed normal Flamel was calling in the heavy hitters! "Me? Well, mercenary heroine work more or less. I don't have to pay for my space but I get restless. And, if I don't keep working my skills degrade, so, there's that. Lilian had some work, and there's a few new-seeming players on the field. I'm sure you'll be entertained by whatever type of atmosphere we've got to shoot the anguish out of." Carrying on, she also doesn't notice Ahn going from fake taking notes to real taking notes, pleased to reconnect with the slightly awkward seeming woman. It was okay, though! Flamel, and also the prospect of tornados, often distressed people. "It's fine not to have a wetsuit. It's not going to be real wet, probably. That has to have a liquid medium, and... well, okay. I know my dreamscape puzzle anguish dimensions, and they're basically puzzle dimensions with platforms and little nuggets or chests or things you can push into other spots for little treasures and hidden things that get slotted into other things, and the metaphor sometimes is that perseverance in the face of small tasks is rewarding... or just that sometimes there's hidden little treasure chests in weird spots because there should be. He said collective unconscious so it's probably that." Xion's excited explanations - they were finally going someplace normal to do what she does! - brightens in a different way when Ahn says 'make a habit of it'. "Well, if you like." She suggests, voice lowered a level, just for Ahn, but not in a gay way. Flamel putting Xion on getting it exactly relaxes Xion's attitude even more. "It's good that you're working on the City. I had thought this would have been pointed at the City with priority, as a goal, but it's nice of you to think bigger. The Concord sure makes big plans, but," She nods. "This one I'm pretty interested in obviously. It's good you've already set up a tutorial support for us, I was hoping you'd be doing the guide work but that saves us a step. So, the test use of this mind-gate is to jump into a pre-dialed in mind area. Where we can remotely, from this location, address damage to the collective unconscious. Well - you might've overcome losing the use of the light, even if I'd bet the City would be a war of trauma response. That'd be more than a few Heartless or Nightmares, for sure. Or. Um," Xion looks to the staff - are there staff left? Other investigators, or just the ensmalled group? "Is there a more technical term? Honestly it's a good amount of pressure but this sort of job, if it could be applied externally, could be incredible."
Xion	Not quite remembering, but imagining this will gas up Ahn anyway, Xion decides to clarify a point with a little side-grin and a head-tip of her hatbrim. "It's okay even it'll be hard, I bet. You're pretty strong, right?"
Regulus	''Junior sister Regulus is to be lauded for her foresight and patience--'' Oh no, Regulus thinks, Chuyao is precious and now she feels bad and she didn't actually trick him into thinking she was anybody else and she most definitely didn't prepare fourteen suits she was just trying to emulate how she thought psychonauts were. She pushes her shades back up on her face and she leans in and says, "So you recognized me... I'm actually undercover. Just call me Regula R. Person." She looks around a bit before adding, "But alright. I'll grab one of the spare suits. But I'm obviously not carrying them now so--I'll fetch it right where I stashed 'em." She sets BRAINe down for a moment and rushes off and briefly out of sight where she finds a psychonaut sitting down at a table. "I need your suit." Regulus says. "Quickly. It's for a very important operation...!" The psychonaut sighs, "Not again... This is the second time this week...!" "We must do our duty as psychonauts." Regulus says solemnly. Suffice it to say after some quick hijinks, Regulus returns with a fresh(ish) suit at hand which she promptly offers to Chuyao. "Here you go. I rushed so it got a little crinkled, but still good. Thanks for keeping my secret mission secret, Senior brother Chuyao." She says in a low voice.
Flamel Parsons	TEAM AUDITORS Oddly, Oleander seems fine with Chuyao. "What? We got all kinds of guys from all over the world around here." He says. "I mean, I think everyone ought to have some decent fatigues. But Forsythe won't let me set dress code..." He's clearly resentful about that. "Still. Smart to keep a badge. Maybe a little black if you want to be a light-foot on the minefield." He pronounces it ominously, grimly. 'My-en-field'. Like it could blow up in their faces. Team Hoffman doesn't have trouble verifying the map. http://files.at.decompressed.space/JM2lF5HG The Noodle Bowl is another wonderfully enriching space, where so many gather. Great place to pick up gossip, especially with Vertin's approach if she follows Hoffman's guidance. Squat fellow by the name of Chet is all too eager to share some critique. "Pfft. Worth it? Better be. Half the R&D department's locked out and the other half are too up their own brainstems to give anyone the time of day. Heck, I hear Otto Mentalis," He says the name like it carries weight. "Tried to run some radiation and contamination scans around there and the Concord started locking him out. Geiger counter didn't even go off! What gives there, huh?" Elsewhere, Team Hoffman and the Sapient Heuristics-aligned auditors are guided to Flamel's personal lab... Which has been almost completely cleared out, with nothing in sight. Oleander's intel indicated that this was where the Psychogate would be if it were under oversight, but he's moved it elsewhere, taking advantage of other resources in the Motherlobe... Why is this the way it is, though? What caused him to move this project? What caused this project at all? An old man's shining brain gleams in misty dark. Young and vulnerable people are harmed, over and over. Voices call out. Lilian's, Persephone's. An unrecognizable young man's. Two young girls and a third void. A sobbing woman. A woman's distraught voice echoing in a chamber. A young boy, urgent and wavering in confidence, cries out. They each say the name: "Flamel..." Flamel sits at a fire. He strums his guitar. "Melted holes in celluloid," "Give me back what you've destroyed." "You who come demanding proof," "Let your God rebuild this roof..." The limits of Flamel Parsons, nonperson mechanism of the world, are why this is the way it is. Those limits, and the pain they cause. And that is why it was cleaned out this way. Maybe Marcus would have better luck. Place was cleaned out, though Greta has plenty to work with. Marks indicating heavy manufacturing and brief high heat processes. Notes discussing amplification of psychic energies and something called "Applied Ontology Recompression Principles", seemingly discussing a twisting method of bouncing energies of 'truth' between individual subjective experience, social subjective experience, and a third, ineffable source -- but discussing 'truth' as if it were some kind of laser-beam, or volts of electricity, or particles in a collider.
Flamel Parsons	Anyway, TTT certainly gets into the local hardware, if she can jump to one of the right screens. http://files.at.decompressed.space/O2GB0YNl But oddly, it's all rather redacted in here, at least the construction of the devices involved. Flamel's been thorough here as well, with covering his tracks. His material requisitions are straightforward though. Not a large amount of Psitanium, but extreme purity of small samples of Psitanium -- the material that amplifies psychic energy. The purity thresholds are achingly high, and over the weeks, they grow constantly. 99.98%. 99.9995%. 99.99999965%. 99.9999999999... Whatever he's been doing has been incredibly sensitive to impurities. People have also been going missing, coming back in strange and disoriented states, and there's been all kinds of anomalous objects, animals, and-- wait, no, that's not statistically significant and it's been happening for the last several hundred years. It's unrelated to Flamel's plan and is just sort of how things work in a spooky high-psychic-activity zone. Speaking of the wisdom of the last several hundred years, Chuyao steps up to one of the passerby groundskeepers. Who gives him a look. It's, possibly, lucky that the Mole was found recently, which rules out anyone else also being the Mole, as you can't have more than one Mole in your organization at one time. "Are you one of Parsons' friends?" He asks, sort of critically. "Zanotto's office is up through the Nerve Center, but you're gonna want an appointment." He puts a hand up frankly. "Which isn't my job. It's Forsythe's, but she's on vacation, so maybe it's Bob's? But Bob's..." He counts on his fingers for several long seconds, mentally trying to navigate the labyrinthine hierarchy of the Psychonauts. Eventually he just says, "Maybe just wait at the bowling alley near the end of workdays, until Truman stops by. Probably easier, it's what I do." He gets back to cramming fertilizer into the yearning soil of a psychic tree that's busy emitting waves and energies.
Chuyao He	Are you one of Parsons' friends? "This auditor knows of him, but cannot say that we are friends as such. This is for the best," Answers the scholar dispassionately. "An audit must be impartial, of course." Zanotto's office is up through the Nerve Center, but you're gonna want an appointment. Chuyao brightens attentively, smiling. He can do appointments! It's Forsythe's, but she's on vacation... His smile fades. ...so maybe it's Bob's? It brightens again. But Bob's... His brow lifts in anticipation, which gradually dims until it bottoms out at resigned disappointment upon mention of the bowling alley. "This is most improper. The bowling alley is for bowling! How can one keep appointments in the bowling alley? I, the auditor, will have to report this, of course. Still, if I must wait by the bowling alley to see my audit completed, then wait this auditor shall." He turns, then pauses, putting his abacus away. Chuyao next procures one of his capped calligraphy brushes and a bound notebook, dipping the brush in the inkstone and preparing to take a note. "Before this humble auditor departs, it seems as though you have opinions about Agent Parsons. Would you care to share them? Your testimony is anonymous, of course."
Timekeeper	"Tell me if I can help with that," There's not much that's more useful than a man waiting for Vertin to push them in the right direction to do something. She purses her lips, arms folded. "We're far too directionless right now. I'd like at the very least to know where it's being worked on in order to solidify our approach. It's got to be somewhere that isn't regularly overseen, and somewhere not sensitive to psychic fluctuations, so I imagine it's likely underground in some far-off corner of the facility." "It's simultaneously a project that's got a lot of hands on it, and one with no cohesive oversight," She reasons. "Which means that its security clearance can only be a matter of interpersonal trust. I imagine they'd likely find you more trustworthy than me." TTT just needs a surreptitious plug from Vertin's transponder into a port on one of the monitors on the wall, while Vertin leans up against it casually. From there-- she's playing the Pink Panther theme, but there's a little mute symbol over her head-- she creeps around the corners and edges of the TVs, making her way around the circumference of the lobby. After coming away from the records office with a roll of papers tucked under her arms, she navigates to the closest screen to being above the receptionist and rappells down onto her computer when she isn't looking. From there, she rifles through excel sheets, looking for meetings Flamel's scheduled in the past and future. "Geiger counter didn't even go off! What gives there, huh?" "It's frustrating, isn't it? It hardly seems like there's any need for that level of security when there's already so much personnel involved, unless there's a particular trait they're selecting for in who's allowed in the know." She shakes her head sympathetically, being that Chet is evidently one of the people lacking that trait. "I'd like to know good could come from giving Parsons the authority to turn away Otto Mentalis. What other tests might not have been ran?"
Flamel Parsons	"Anonymous? Really?" Chuyao gets a quick, sharp response that's more energized than it sounded before. Unlike the response Vertin got... "He's doing what we should have been doing for years. Since all this started. He wants to heal people who deserve healing. He wants to re-examine all the fundamentals that the founders stopped looking at after the Deluge. It's a revolution in Psychonautry and he shouldn't risk it stalling." He's focused on his work. That one just flowed right from the gut.
Storm Investigators	Once Marcus is called in to check on Flamel's lab, there's a lot to look at and an unknown amount of time to do it! With her trusty lamp in tow, Marcus lights up the area to make it easier for her to 'read' the room and what little is left inside of it. "I thought this was supposed to be... Mister Parson's room?" "It is. It matches the existing predictions, too. We'll need you to focus on looking for... Ah. There are markings here. Take a look at these, Marcus." "Was he building the...? There was something being built here. Something that produced a lot of heat, too... Or needed it?" "And these notes... He must have been using these to draw up the plans. But aside from the markings..." Greta closes her eyes, struggling some to try and piece things together. "It reads as though he's treating a concept as something with a physical form, or an observable energy." "Perhaps.. It is, Madam Hofmann? At least in this part of the world?" Marcus suggests, grasping at straws right until she gets an idea: She holds up her arm with the sleeve bunched up in her hand, and then she starts 'reading' around it to see if anything truth-related suddenly starts to show up between declarations: "This jacket is blue." "This jacket is red." "This is... A horse."
Vantablitz Remnants	'You're seeing it exactly.' Oh thank fuck. Now she can just turn her brain off and listen to Xion. Thank you, hero of Ahn's social anxiety! 'so if you're taking my invite, you're going to be a bit of a guide and a bit of a heavy-hitter for the team.' Fuck!!! 'Plus there's this Earth variant that's been dealing with a totally unique psychohazard called Storm Syndrome...' There! That's the one! Ahn hastily takes the names down with speed borne of relief. She has no idea what L-57 is, but the City is mentioned, so this is vaguely relevant to her, and thus recognizably intel! Honestly though, as far as Top Secret (false) Shadow Organization Strongholds (false) to Sneak Into (false) go, this one is oddly reassuring. Ahn's worries about being identified and detained in some horrible mad science laboratory situation are reduced by at least half just by wandering around the place. It spikes back up again about the time her phone loses signal, but still! 'This is what'll change everything.' "Wow. Chilling." Ahn says, out loud, accidentally, then blushes. It doesn't sound like sarcasm, because it isn't. After the sorts of things she's seen in mountain bunkers and underground labs, 'a boring, slightly worn door' earns a certain kind of foreboding gravity for not being anything like any of them. 'It's fine not to have a wetsuit. It's not going to be real wet, probably. That has to have a liquid medium, and... well, okay. I know my dreamscape puzzle anguish dimensions, and they're basically puzzle dimensions with platforms and little nuggets or chests or things you can push into other spots for little treasures and hidden things that get slotted into other things, and the metaphor sometimes is that perseverance in the face of small tasks is rewarding... or just that sometimes there's hidden little treasure chests in weird spots because there should be.' Finally; something Ahn is happy to active listen to just for the sake of it. Xion's patter of slightly nonsensical conversation, delivered at high energy, is actually more soothing for her than overwhelming. "Oh that actually sounds really fun . . ." she says, thoughtlessly. "Well, maybe it gets repetitive if you do it all the time as a job, but like, compared to what people usually do for work, it's kind of charismatic isn't it? And compared to the usual amount of danger those things he's talking about represent, maybe puzzle anguish is actually nice, you know? Like that's all so structured and interactive it makes me look forward to it a little, so I can definitely tell why you'd wanna make it your main thing even if it's kind of specific." Then she starts muttering. "If fixing things were just like pushing a million boxes around onto a million switches then I'd do it so fast. If you can change the world by just doing a lot of little tasks really really well then that'd be amazing and they'd probably get done instead of staying 'it's complicated' forever and ever. No wonder it's about the City." Slowly, Ahn puts her phone away.
Persephone Kore	"Marcus. Will you be alright here for a little while?" "Hm? Of course I--" Oh. She means the little girl, who's named Marcus. Right. Marc's face isn't red at all. "Are you... a programmer?" Marc's face squirms in a funny sort of way, getting to see his own awkwardness reflected in Regulus's big shiny sunglasses. "... I like to think I'm decent with spreadsheets," he finally says. "My name is... ...BRAINe." It squirms a teeny bit more. "I'm sorry," bubbles up out of him unbidden, and it's not clear if it's an excuse-me? kind of I'm-sorry, or sorry-your-parents-were-bad-at-names. "... You've got a minute to come up with another one you know." For BRAINe's benefit, as well as Marcus's: "I'm, ah, also Marcus. But everyone just calls me Marc. It's quite alright." No sense hiding that, here! "I, ah, heard they've got a wonderful psychquiche on today." "I'd like at the very least to know where it's being worked on..." "... I imagine they'd likely find you more trustworthy than me." "Hm?" Marc, leaning against a nearby wall nonchalantly and adjusting his cufflinks, stares at Vertin blankly. Though he's the most earthly of the SH subjects, his brain still jams for a long moment trying to remember why that might be. Then a small grimace. "Ah. Yes. Right; of course." Scanning for the most important-looking R&D-ish type in the Noodle Bowl that doesn't seem dejected about being locked out, he conspicuously dis-insinuates himself from his allies and ditches the lanyard to hit them up with an apologetic smile: "Hi, ah, yes, wonderful pleasure to meet you- Marc Heller, subject with the Sapient Heuristics lab, you might've seen that paper I co-authored- yes, yes. I'm afraid I've gotten lost- the psychoportal work is downstairs, isn't it?" He's a bit better at lying than Dylan. Still doesn't feel great. - - - - "Sure is," Dylan says to Marcus about jackets, but she's sweeping her hand over residue on the counters of Flamel's cleaned-out livingspace, murmuring to herself with a progressively more and more sympathetically-anguished expression. "Melted holes in celluloid..." she murmurs with her back turned to the other two women, staring down at her slightly-dusty hand. "Give me back what you've destroyed. You who come demanding proof..." There's a bit of a melody behind the words. They were sung around a campfire once. They were sad, then. They're sadder now. "I have to do something," she says, in her quiet and surprisingly-gentle voice. Then she turns around, slightly startled to remember other people are still there. "I mean, he had to do something. Otherwise, what's the point of everything? What does he have to show for it? I..." It's deeply, achingly sympathetic. She's felt the same thing. But it's a mindset prone to mistakes. "... I'm worried for him now. Hah, darn it...!"
Regulus	''I like to think I'm decent with spreadsheets.'' "Close enough, with WWW just jumping in I don't think they need any hardware suport." Regulus sounds moderately bothered by this but is trying to conceal it by harassing others on the team, apparently. ''You've got a minute to come up with another one you know.'' "Ah..ahem..." The 'brain' in a jar says. "Well in actuality, young Marc, I am actually an apple named APPLe." This probably isn't any better, unfortunately, but APPLe does say, "And as long as this apple or this brain is not an ingredient in this psychquiche, I will be quite grateful to give it a shot." Nevertheless, Regulus follows along with the others, occassionally saying 'Nothing to see here' and other phrases she's heard bodyguards or government employees say in real life or on the telly. ''I'm worried for him now. Hah, darn it...!'' "Oooh...yeah, he lured us here to make us feel bad for him when I'm still upset about him helping murders! But we'll show him." She sighs. "Because by performing oversight...we can help him AND get our revenge, simultaneously!" She might not realize that maybe she's the only one here for revenge but it's Regulus Revenge so it's probably fine.