ic Psichology [IC]

[Blarghy]

GM

 

"He is smart enough to know that his mere presence didn't cause the incident, yes," the agent agreed.  "But he is also pragmatic enough to know that if he kept his distance, he would never have been involved.  The Reids and their neighbors would still have met their fate, and perhaps the infection could have spread even further, but it would've spared Warne the pain.  In a grim way, even though he failed to stop the situation, he still helped bring it to light earlier than it probably would've otherwise.  Hard to find pride in such a thing, yet even so, it points to the theme of his career: suffer when necessary for the greater good."

 

For a final time, the television changed. 

 

Now there was a thin, ratty man with the top three buttons of his shirt undone, decked in cheap, gaudy jewelry, his hairline receding, and an unsettling disjunction between the emotions on his face.  His smile felt faintly subservient yet also sleazy, like a car salesperson who wants to flatter and praise, but will cheat you the second you allow it.  His eyes, however, had something darkly gleeful in them. 

 

"...And the last, Raul Berns, for all the good that fake name does.  A nightclub owner in New York.  Warne had been in the FBI for about three years when he was assigned to this case, under the command of a more senior agent.  Their team was cooperating with the local police on a long missing persons case in the area; at first, homeless individuals would disappear, which wasn't too unusual, but the problem worsened until the FBI started to suspect a serial killer, or perhaps human trafficking.  They found almost twenty captives under the nightclub, but as you can imagine, Berns wasn't so ordinary as they thought."

 

The screen recreated the female NYPD officer from Sam's previous visions, firing her pistol repeatedly at him, while agents and cops alike fought viciously behind her. 

 

"He used some sort of voice-based mind control to turn them against one another.  Warne almost killed his supervisor, revealing his telekinesis to the local police in the process.  He probably would've murdered them all, if not for the rules violation of a rookie; Agent Carr, a former Special Forces soldier with more adrenaline than good sense, had smuggled along a hand grenade in addition to his sanctioned gear.  That almost killed Warne, but it also broke the trance."

 

The image shifted to show Warne in his hospital bed, his lower torso a mass of bandages, tubes in his nose and down his throat.  Those scars dominated his stomach today, far too severe for plastic surgery even if he wanted to attempt it.

 

"Berns escaped, and remains at large to this day.  They rescued his victims--those in the nightclub, at least--but we don't know what his motives were, how his abilities function, or even his true identity.  Further investigation revealed that his ID and records were falsified.  Somewhere, the man is still out there, probably kidnapping people and torturing them with his voice for reasons only he understands."

[Sophistemon]

Steiner watched the television with growing horror, revulsion coalescing in his bellow and squirming its way through his guts. He stared at the screen, committing the man's face to memory. Raul Berns. He seared them into his brain, the face and the name, and consigned himself to revisit it later. "Monster," he said, and meant it. Samuel was no innocent man. He had done bad things in his life, acted out of greed and selfishness, commit elaborate crimes out of a desperation to remain relevant to and beloved by the public. But he was not an evil man, or at least he didn't think so. But this Berns was, of that he was sure. "How would Warne react if... if this Berns was captured?" he asked. "What would happen then, if he were brought to justice and punished for his crimes?"

[Blarghy]

GM

 

"He would feel relief, of course."  Becker raised her eyebrows, appearing puzzled by the magician's question.  "Or do you wonder if he would seek revenge?  No, that's not Warne's style.  He only takes things personally in the sense that all crime is a personal affront.  In fact, during this incident, violence initially manifested as hatred against Berns, and Warne helped stop the local police from distributing punishment then and there."

 

"Stand down, officer!" Warne's voice warned from the TV.  Angry faces surrounded him, with the exception of Berns himself, who sat on the concrete floor with his hands cuffed behind his back.  The unpleasant man had his lips slightly open, apparently humming in disjointed rhythm.

 

"HmmmmMMMMMmmmmmmMMMMMMMMmmmm..."

 

"How can you say that?!" the woman demanded furiously.  She had one hand on her holstered pistol.  "The things he did to people here...prison isn't enough!  He deserves punishment!"

 

Berns cut his eyes back and forth between them, and smiled an ugly smile.

 

"Hhhhhmm-mm-mm-mm-MMMMMM..."

[Sophistemon]

"No," said Steiner, his voice soft. "Not revenge. Resolution." He watched the screen, and couldn't help but agree with the policewoman: Berns needed to be punished. Samuel thought back to Baku, another villain who had kept captives in monstrous circumstances and who was the source of his current miseries. His blood boiled. "He's humming, do you hear that? Is this right before things go south? I think he needs the noise." Was it a kind of spell, then, requiring an auditory component? Or was it something else, a form of sonic hypnosis or coercion? He couldn't tell, he didn't have enough to go on, but he filed it away for later.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Becker nodded her agreement.  "That is what Warne and the others reported too, in the aftermath.  None of them noticed it until too late, which Warne also regrets.  At least it helped make him more perceptive.  You don't forget a lesson like that easily.  Unfortunately, we don't have any other details.  The FBI tried brain scans on everyone involved, comparing them to Berns' long-term victims, hoping for clues as to how he did what he did.  If any solid information came from it, then they declined to pass it along to Warne.  Very likely, we will never know, unless someone catches him.  If you have to venture through this memory and see any new evidence that Warne hasn't consciously processed, then you should submit it to the authorities.  As an anonymous tip, I suggest.  If you make it out of here alive, then I wouldn't tell Warne where you've been.  He isn't likely to appreciate the intrusion, regardless of your intentions."

[Sophistemon]

"No," agreed the magician. "No, he'd turn me inside-out if he knew." Presto didn't know the extend of Warne's psychic abilities, and he was almost positive that he didn't want to, especially if it meant experiencing them firsthand. Then, his eyes widened. "If I make it out of here alive?" He turned to face the senior agent... or, rather, her mental construct. And then, perhaps to her surprise, Steiner smiled. "It's just a monster," he said. "It's not even that. It's the idea of a monster. Do you have any idea what I've dealt with?" He chuckled, darkly. "The things I've done to get where I am..." He spoke to gird himself, to prepare for what was coming, to hide his fear of an alternative outcome. The bravado helped, it built up a wall of temporary self-assurance. The magician conjured his wand and gave it an artful twirl that drew silver lines in the air. "I've torn magic from books so old they crumbled in my hands, ma'am. If I can't banish a psychological delusion, what kind of sorcerer would I be?"

[Blarghy]

GM

 

"The kind that got caught and went to prison?" Becker pointed out dryly. 

 

The TV flickered off.  "Remember that you aren't just fighting Warne's old demons, or his rampant Id.  You're here to stop something more than just phantoms, and Baku doesn't have to even beat you--he just has to be faster.  If he reaches that gate, uses whatever magic he has planned, and then leaves you stranded here, then I very much doubt it'll end well for any of us.  So.  Do you have any other questions, or are you ready for the home stretch?"

[Sophistemon]

The bravado vanished as quickly as it'd come, and Presto's shoulders slump in mild defeat. "Right," he said. "Of course, I remember." He hadn't actually forgotten the threat that Baku posed, but fighting for his own life had driven that line of thinking from his mind. "No," he answered, after a pause. "No, I think I have everything I need." He shook his head. "The little rodent. If I'd just remembered his intangibility..." Thankfully, that didn't seem to be as much a concern here, in the twilight-world of Warne's subconscious. "I'd have had him beaten and cornered. We could have locked him up somewhere safe, where he couldn't hurt anymore. And maybe he'd have come out of it for the better."

[Blarghy]

GM

 

"...You really are an optimist, aren't you?"  Becker shook her head and walked away from the TV.  Near the corner of the room, back toward the suite's front door, was a closet.  The real hotel used it for coats, but tonight, it held only a set of downward stairs.

 

"I don't care what you do with Baku, just so long as you get him out of here.  If you can contain him safely, then...well, I still don't think he's headed for a happy ending.  Warne doesn't believe prison changes people--at least not for the better.  It's about public safety, and frankly, a lot of vengeful punishment.  Rehabilitation doesn't have much place there.  Just the way of the world, Steiner.  I assume you're trying to prove otherwise, given where you've been.  I see why you take the view that you do.  But I still think you're wrong.  Nobody ever changes.  At least not for the better."

[Sophistemon]

Presto looked at Becker, smiled thinly, and then looked away. "I have to be an optimist," he said. His voice was soft, words spoken mostly to himself. "Otherwise it's all been for nothing." He sighed and squared his shoulders before heading to the stairs. "This is the end of the line, then?" he asked the senior agent. "I either capture Baku and escape with my life, or... it's over? For Warne and I both?" He shook his head, and his silver eyes flashed like distant lightning. "Then I guess it's showtime."

[Blarghy]

GM

 

"I guess it is," Becker agreed solemnly.  She paused, perhaps thinking of what to say, and lifted her guns before turning away. 

 

"I'll keep the guards busy as best I can, but they aren't looking for me.  Be fast, Steiner.  And good luck."

 

Then he was alone again, the silent hotel room behind and a dark descent ahead. 

 

Presto the Preposterous had a fair walk in store for him, and would soon find that the stairwell had no lights.  He could solve this problem himself, of course, but using his Art would draw down the figments of Warne's mind.  The temptation might still nag at him as he fumbled in the darkness, step by step, especially when he began to hear sounds somewhere below.  Voices, perhaps?  And...other, less human things. 

[Sophistemon]

Darkness crept in, without and within, as Presto descended the stairs. He thought about lighting the way, of holding his wand aloft and conjuring a bright silver flame, but decided against it. He was already approaching the lair of the enemy, and if his trips through trap-ridden temples had taught him anything, it's that the element of surprise is the most valuable weapon of all. Instead, he reached into a pocket and withdrew his battered old cellphone. It was only just barely smart, but it did have a flash. He set the light to its lowest setting, just high enough that he wouldn't trip over a step, and kept going. He blocked the screen with one hand, and hoped it would be enough to keep his position a secret from whatever it was waiting for him below.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Having cleverly solved at least one problem, Presto crept on down.  The sounds continued, gradually seeming to come from beyond the walls to either side, but so far, nothing more troubled him.  Physically, at least; the noises could be quite unsettling.  Scraping, shuffling tones.  Soft breaths.  A faint "Whoop whoop whoop," answered to his other side by a "Wop wop."  When he at last heard something human--the bottom of the stairs still somewhere beyond the light of his phone--it likely came as a serious relief.

 

"Relax," a muffled man's voice said.  "This'll be fun."

 

"I just...this isn't my thing," another voice replied, this one faintly familiar.  "You know that.  I don't even go home to my own family when I'm on leave."

 

An uncomfortable pause followed, and then with forced levity, the first man said, "Yeah, well, your family sucks.  Mine's awesome, and you'll love them.  My cousin's coming back from Berkeley, and I hear she finally left her deadbeat boyfriend this past semester.  Apparently she's into grim assholes, so you two should be married by the weekend."

 

"Screw you too," the second voice chuckled. 

 

"Seriously, Warne, just relax.  We can go back to crawling through the mud and getting shot at next month, but right now it's Beer and LadyVille.  I'm mayor of this town, and you're about to get the grand tour."

[Sophistemon]

Warne? Attending a party? The idea was almost alien in scope, so far was it beyond the ken of mortals. And was that a laugh? "When was this?" Presto mused, as he followed the sound of voices. Regardless, a little bit of levity would be a welcome distraction from the grim nature of his visit to this, the dark recesses of the mind of a dreadfully damaged man. The magician sighed as he approached, and glanced over his shoulder. He wasn't normally paranoid, but he felt it likely something might be sneaking up on him -- if not literally, then metaphorically. Things had gone from bad to worse since he'd set food within Warne's subconscious, and it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped and the frantic, screaming terror started up all over again.

Edited May 3, 2017 by Sophistemon

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Presto's apprehension would probably only grow as he descended; the voices turned faint, but the bizarre shuffling sounds--like insect wings rubbing together--and the occasional soft, high-pitched whoop! continued.  Minutes passed, and at long last, Sam saw a door at the base of the stairs from the light of his phone. 

 

Only when he got there would he notice that the composition of the stairwell had changed.  No longer was it concrete, steel, and tile; now he was surrounded by old, faded wood.  Whatever the reason for this shift, Sam had more pressing concerns: he could hear breathing on the other side of the door.  Something scraped against it, like nails gently brushing the lumber. 

 

Then a series of loud knocks echoed from below and beyond the door, and the breathing abruptly stopped. 

 

"Hello?" one of the male voices called out.  "Anybody home?"

 

Whatever was beyond the door listened with the same silent tension as Sam, the seconds ticking by painfully slow.  Then in a burst of movement, he heard it scramble away.  The uncomfortable sounds dwindled until he seemed--seemed--to be alone again.

Edited May 5, 2017 by Blarghy

[Sophistemon]

Presto quirked his head and looked around, silver eyes shining. He frowned, and the unfamiliar expression warped the carefully groomed contours of his goatee. "A basement, now," he murmured to himself. "An old one." He sucked in a breath and tasted the mustiness in the air, the dust and age that permeated the illusion he was experiencing. He wrinkled his nose and stifled a cough before pushing his free hand flat against the wood of the door. "All right," he told himself. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained. This is for Warne... and for Baku, I guess." He took another breath, to psych himself up, and pushed the door open. As it swung, he pivoted and pressed his back to the wall beside it, just in case something came through. Breathing softly, he waited.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Fortunately, nothing waited for him on the other side--although glancing hastily through the doorway, he would see that down the hall, someone was walking away from him.  In the second before they turned a corner and vanished, Presto could see they were human, but the person moved oddly.  They had a hasty but shuffling walk and didn't swing their arms, making the brief glimpse feel disturbing and unnatural. 

 

After that, he would see that he wasn't in fact in a basement, but actually at the foot of the stairs leading to an attic.  Looking back at where he'd been, the impossibly-long staircase was now much more reasonable and seemed to just end in a big, open space at the top. 

 

Then he heard another few measured knocks.  They sounded far too clear, a consequence of any memory's limited reliability (especially since he wasn't following in Warne's footsteps).  Sam could clearly tell where the noise came from: he saw an open room across from the attic door, and in it, a window looking outside.  There, on the ground floor (he appeared to be on the second), were two young men waiting at the front door.  They wore matching camo pants, sturdy boots, and tan shirts. 

 

One was a fresh-faced Warne, and the other was Private Reid. 

[Sophistemon]

Samuel thinned his lips and approached. In one hand he held his phone, still emitting a pale electronic light. In the other he gripped his wand, a shaft of black wood tipped at both ends with silver caps. Just holding the thing gave him a small degree of much-needed comfort. Freudian connotations aside, he felt much more secure and sure of himself when he was armed with his mystic paraphernalia. He walked softly, in part to avoid drawing unwanted attention to himself, but mostly so that he could hear someone -- or something -- approaching. The last thing he wanted was to be caught unawares. Warne's mind was a powerful thing; he knew as much from his first adventure with the man, when they'd encountered Baku and earned his current wrath. The magician didn't want to be on the receiving end of any more of the telekinetic's subconscious constructs, though he had the feeling such a meeting was inevitable. In more normal circumstances he would have uttered a word of power and teleported himself to the two men, where he could eavesdrop on them without the hassle of walking, but to use his magic here would alert Warne's mental defenses and, while they were purely imaginary, they were all too deadly within the confines of the mind.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Presto's fears weren't entirely unfounded; before he turned away from the window, he watched a black SUV, typical of AEGIS, drive down the street.  A SWAT-clad soldier rode in the front seat, scanning the area.  However, neither of the young men at the door appeared to notice, and if Sam thought back, previous memories treated him no differently.  At least these snapshots from Warne's past probably didn't want him dead--although whether or not he was entirely safe from their effects remained to be seen. 

 

He would also remember the theme of this expedition: inward and downward.  Somewhere around here should be a path closer to his goal, but he first had to find it.  The window he found wasn't locked; he could likely climb out onto the roof and try his luck away from whatever--certainly horrible--events were about to take place inside, but the memory was here, and so, probably, was his next set of stairs. 

 

The wizard might find any number of routes if he searched, but the simplest could be following after the shuffling figment he saw moments earlier; that should at least take him down to the ground floor quickly.  Of course, Presto knew as well as any magician that the simplest solution wasn't necessarily the best.  What would he choose?

[Sophistemon]

Potential paths, branching and looping and weaving themselves throughout the whorls of Warne's mind. Presto felt his  head spinning and leaned against a wall to steady himself. The paralysis of choice was a terrible thing, and a perpetual burden with which he struggled often. He held his phone between his ear and shoulder and reached into a pocket. He felt around, weaving fingers through his keys, until he found something hard, round, and flat. He removed the nickle and, with a graceful gesture, flipped it. He caught the tumbling coin in his palm and took a look. Tails. The magician sighed, returned the coin to his pocket, and pulled the window open. "The road less traveled," he quipped, and stepped out onto the roof. It felt mildly liberating to do so, to start playing this game by his own rules instead of Warne's, instead of Baku's. To be unexpected, to engage in a bit of... misdirection. That thought brought a smile to his face. "Down, down, to goblin town..." he murmured, and stared down at the police below him. He returned the phone to his other pocket, now that he was outside the light wasn't strong enough to illuminate much of anything.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Nimbly climbing out onto the roof, Presto could now get a better view of the house and its property.  He was on the second floor, as he already knew, and behind and above him was the wall of the basement, rising like a little tower in the center of the building.  The hip roof had gentle slopes for him to ease down, closer to better hear Warne and his friend.  From here, if he was careful, Presto could drop down right at the front door, or make his way around the side of the home.  He could see part of a fenced lawn to his left; it appeared to spread out into a large backyard, where he would likely find another entrance if he preferred. 

 

Meanwhile, someone was finally answering those knocks.

 

"Amanda!" Warne's companion shouted happily.  There was the rustle of cloth, probably an embrace, but the partial glimpse Sam had of Warne's face showed him a spark of uncertainty.  He had looked uncomfortable before, but now, he saw something that gave him pause.

 

"...Ah...?"  That brief noise didn't seem to come from either soldier, but beyond that, it was too short to judge.

 

"Warne, this is my cousin Amanda; Amanda, this is Warne.  He's got a first name, but nobody uses it.  I think that's what even his mom calls him."

 

"It's true," Warne agreed dryly.  His eyes, however, remained slightly narrow.

 

"...Ahh...  Y-yes?"  Now Sam could be sure that it was a woman's voice.  She sounded dazed.  Confused. 

 

An awkward silence followed.  After several seconds, exasperated, the other soldier demanded, "Well, one or both of you could say 'hello.'" 

 

"Hello, ma'am," Warne complied.  He disappeared from Sam's view beneath the gutters, then stepped back into sight, probably after a handshake. 

 

"...Hello...?"  The woman had already forgotten his name. 

 

Warne's friend's laugh was a little forced.  "What, have you guys been day-drinking?  College kids, am I right, Warne?  Come on, let's go inside.  We're on vacation too, y'know.  Let's get a few beers and catch up."

Edited May 23, 2017 by Blarghy

[Sophistemon]

After they'd gone inside, Presto considered dropping down into the yard and following them. He concluded that would leave him more exposed than he was hoping for, and made a slow crawl back to the window. He slide through and, after taking stock of his surroundings, took the pathway down. He kept close to the wall, and held one hand in a summoning gesture, prepared to conjure his wand at the first sign of trouble.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Such signs presented themselves just after the wizard climbed back inside.

 

He was too far away to hear the sound of an axe biting into flesh and bone, but Presto did hear a man's painful scream, followed by a woman's--this shout sounded more alarmed than hurt--and the voice of Private Reid.

 

"What the hell?!"

 

"Get back!" Warne shouted from down below.  A faint tremor ran through the whole house, as well as the sound of a heavy impact.  "Get back, I said!"  The young psychic's voice had tones of shock and a little fear, and maybe a slight slur. 

 

By the time Sam rushed to the stairs and began his descent, shouts and stranger noises rang through the building.  A quick "Whoop!" came from near the front door; "Whoop whoop!" and "Wop wop wop!" answered it elsewhere in the home.  Suddenly, pounding footsteps were everywhere.

 

"Amanda, what's--oh my God!" Private Reid screamed.

 

Sam came to a landing on the staircase, turned to the right, and was faced with a perpendicular hallway on the ground floor.  Before he reached it, someone ran past him.  He didn't have much time to study them, but whoever this was, they were slightly hunched and didn't move their dangling arms, much like the glimpse he had earlier when he first came to this memory.  This time, he also saw something else of note: he thought this person had what seemed to be thin, green vines growing from their ear.

[Sophistemon]

"Vines?" But there was no time to dwell on that. Wand at the ready, the magician made his way towards the sound of voices. He was feeling more confident, now. This was a memory, and the memories had ignored him thus far. The danger was in the guardians and the monster that lurked beneath, not in Warne's recollections. This living nightmare, complete with the sounds of murder and madness, drew Samuel forward. He would see it through to the end, and learn more about the man whose mind he was running through.

[Blarghy]

GM

 

Sam only had to follow the creature ahead of him as it scurried through the house.  He passed a few closed doors and came to the end of the hall, where the dining room and living area were split by a partial wall.  The scene was utter insanity.

 

Mutated suburbanites swarmed from the kitchen door, jumping over and around the dinner table in a mad dash for the two soldiers.  Presto could see them clearly now; they suffered various degrees of vegetation deformity, sometimes just a few leafs and vines creeping from orifices, and in other cases, more plant than human.  Among them was Private Reid's mother, just as Becker showed Sam earlier; the thorn-handed woman, her face breaking apart to expose the greenery beneath, howled wordlessly as she--it--ran into the fray.

 

"Whoop!"

 

Reid, his expression contorted in horror, was trying to push away a young, pretty woman who looked perfectly normal aside from her glazed eyes and the bizarre way she moved as she swung her arms at him, battering clumsily with open hands.  More of the creatures were closing in on him.  Two once-men, dressed like gardeners with thorns breaking through the flesh of their fingers, tackled him backwards onto the couch, which tipped over and sent them all to the ground in a pile.

 

Warne was already on his back just a few steps from the open front door.  Presto might remember this too; he outright lived it when the fabric of this place warped under distress and briefly forced him into Warne's perspective.  The psychic was struggling to fend off a preppy teenager wielding a firefighter's axe stained with blood--probably the same that now dripped onto the floor from the back of Warne's head. 

 

The house shivered again, and with a shout from the young Armyman, his opponent was launched upward by unseen force.  He slammed against the ceiling, started to fall back down, and instead flew forward, spinning right through the nearby window in an explosion of glass.  He soared over the narrow front lawn, hit the street beyond, and rolled across asphalt until he came to a stop.  Without even a whimper of pain, he slowly stood up and limped--one leg appeared to be broken--back toward the house.

 

Perhaps more importantly to Presto was the infected man's new friend.  He landed near the oil-black monster of mutable clay, full of mouths and grasping appendages.  It "stood" in place for a moment, perhaps thinking, and began casually stretch-rolling toward the house.  Warne's Id lacked its earlier aggression, so it probably didn't yet know his position, but all this agitation had drawn its interest.