Futuristic try again, sweaty. (Buttercup. & Syntra)

[Buttercup.]

​

“So what’s your name, hun?”

God, why did that have to be everyone’s first question? She hated her name. Her parents had called her after a bizarrely ancient relative for some reason, and of course - OF COURSE - it just had to be an American boomer. She hated being a Karen. She REFUSED to be a Karen. So naturally she’d invented more aliases for herself than she could keep track of, as well as ‘badass’ nicknames, most of which sounded better in her head. Like Bucky, acronym for “butt kicker”. Fucking stupid, which was probably why it had stuck for an embarrassingly long time earlier in her career. Right now she went by Ember, but this dipshit didn’t need to know that.

“I’m Kuju Bloamy. Here for the you-know-what? My… contacts say you’ll gimme a fair price.”
“Yeah I got what ya need,” he tapped the insulated metal case at his feet. “Damn things are hard to come by, I’ll have you know. But since you got friends in the guild… 100k and it’s all yours.”
“A nice offer, sir, but… I’m afraid our definitions of a ‘fair price’ aren’t very compatible,” she said casually, pulling out her wallet and a gun. “Allow me to make a counter-offer then: I’ll buy it for 20k. And as a bonus - limited time offer! -” she exclaimed theatrically whilst loading cartridges into the weapon, “you get to walk away from this transaction. At no added cost!” she batted her eyelashes.
“I swear I’ll get you for this one day,” he grunted in defeat and pushed the container towards her. He really needed to hire some bodyguards to stop this shit from happening… but how was he supposed to afford that when everyone screwed him out of his money all the damn time?
“Oh, do give it your best shot, I’ve always been a sucker for bad comedy! Anyway,” she instantly switched to a serious, matter-of-fact tone, “here’s the cash, now how does one use this?”
“How would I know? I just move the goods. There’s a manual inside, I think.”
Reading manuals? Ugh. Well, just another obstacle on the road to redemption, Ember thought. “Okay then, guess we’re done here. Pleasure doing business, and have a good one!” she hollered and left the bar.


Now Ember was as prepared as she was ever going to be. She had the thingamajig (and had read the whole bloody manual back to back!) and knew the whereabouts of Mr Neely. She’d run a background check to figure out what to expect in his brain… seeing as he was a chartered accountant or something of that sort, she was a little worried whether there’d be anything at all. Well, if that proved to be the case it’d only make it easier to find what she was looking for.

She docked her little ship at the station where Mr Neely’s quarters were and told everyone to just hang back. They knew better than to do anything stupid by now - sure, some undesirable behaviour did emerge amongst her crew every now and then, but it was rarely anything a disciplinary shot to the toe couldn’t correct. She had natural leadership skills!


Once at the living quarters she approached the receptionist. “Greetings and felicitations, miss. Can I talk to Mr Neely?”
“Good evening, ma’am. Let me see… I’m sorry, but Mr Neely’s quarters are in ‘do not disturb’ mode.”
Jesus, what was he doing in there? If he was in the middle of an orgy that might make the whole operation… a little awkward, but this guy was a fucking accountant so that scenario was out of the question. “Don’t suppose you can tell me why he doesn’t want to be disturbed? I have important business with him.”
The receptionist checked the security feed which, among countless other things, kept track of the guests’ vitals in order to provide timely medical attention if necessary. “I believe he’s simply asleep, ma’am.”
Well, that should make things easy enough, Ember thought. “Oh well,” she faked disappointment, “then it’ll have to wait. Wouldn’t want to disturb Mr Neely’s well-deserved rest, after all.”
“Do you want to leave a message for him?”
“Hmm… oh yes, suppose I could. Just three letters: K, Y and S. He’ll know what it means. Okay cheers, bye!”

Well, now to get in there. A younger version of Ember might’ve crawled through the ventilation system, getting all dirty and winded in the process… but why bother with that when you can just hack the electronic lock? The gadgets she used for this were dated, sure, but so were the security measures at most stations. Aaaand… denied?! Okay, maybe not this station. Air duct it was then, she concluded with a sigh.

She could’ve sworn she heard some noises from the room she was crawling towards, but she didn’t care. If Neely woke up she had ways to send him back to sleep mighty fast. Now the finish line was in sight, and upon emerging from the ventilation shaft she concluded he was really sleeping.

Okay then, here goes nothing…

***

After what felt like her passing out for a second, she was at her destination. It… was a lot to take in. The faint smell of glue and ink was the first sensory input her brain managed to process, but the scenery followed soon enough. The landscape was composed almost entirely of papers - some crumpled, some carefully stacked in folders - most of them with some legalese writing all over them. Tacks where one might expect trees. A thick black river sprang from an overturned inkpot perched at the top of a particularly tall stack of files, reflecting the sunlight - if a floating light fixture qualified as the Sun, that is.

“Well, shit,” she gasped.
“Such language is utterly inappropriate, madam,” an indignant voice reprimanded her. It came from… a permanent marker.
“What the fuck?”
“Apologies if I haven’t made myself quite clear, madam,” he retorted sternly, “but four letter words, such as quote: shit, fuck; end of quote, shall under no circumstances be tolerated around here, as per regulation no. 51/95a, issued-”
“Jesus, okay, I get it!” She hated this place already.
“Very good. Furthermore, in accordance with regulation no. 01/15, amendment A-0, no irrelevant thought constructs are allowed residence. Your presence here - as well as hers,” he pointed somewhere to Ember’s left, “is therefore illegal.”
Ember didn’t look to where the marker had pointed. She knew these tricks - ‘oh look, an elephant on the ceiling!’ and when you look that way you catch a punch to the jaw. Nope, gotta do better than that, amigo. “My presence is illegal, huh?” she laughed a little. Never heard that one before! “The fuck you gonna do about it then?”
“There’s that word again, madam,” the marker bellowed angrily and, with a surprisingly swift and probably physically unexplainable motion, drew a horizontal red line across Ember’s entire face.
“Hey, you little shit!” She swung at the preposterous entity, but it dodged perfectly and added another line, perfectly parallel with the first. She looked like some anime warrior princess now.
“If you’re quite done being uncooperative, madam, allow me to answer your previous question.” He whistled into the distance. How does a permanent marker even whistle?!

His call was answered by a large, bulky eraser. “Who are they, chief?”
“Illegal constructs. You know the drill.”
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Ember raised her hands in that ‘hold your horses’ way, “okay look, I know I’ve never been here before, so it must be confusing, yeah? But I’ll have you know I’m a… mind-weeder! Mr Neely has sent me to weed out… umm, troubling thoughts. And I’m getting the vibes that… yes, my sensors tell me you two look like trouble enough!” she pointed at them, baring her teeth. That ought to work, right?

 

[Syntra]

It was supposed to be a normal job. A normal fucking job! Then again, Nym's jobs tended to go to hell with a frequency that was downright staggering, and so she guessed it checked out. Sort of.

The client, or 'the victim,' as the individuals of greater-than-average uptightness would call him, was an accountant. In hindsight, that alone should have read as a bad omen. Who the fuck even wanted to rob accountants? The grocery store mafia? Nym may not have known much, but she knew where the money was, and, hint, hint! It wasn't in the pockets of non-threatening, middle-aged men with receding hairlines. She'd checked. In the end, though? A contract was a contract-- the closest thing to something sacred, if you wanted to get melodramatic about it. (Which, yeah, she did want that. So what? If your life didn't contain soap opera level drama, then you were doing something very important very wrong! Nym refused to rot in the swamp of mediocrity, along with, like, tax returns and B-grade rock stars. Just, ugh. In her mind, at least, she could be the romantic heroine.)

Infiltrating the hotel was laughably easy. All the posh establishments tended to have thermovision in their cameras these days, but this hellhole was about as luxurious as a piece of shit could be considered tasty. To be totally honest? Nym sort of regretted that she hadn't brought, like, a flamethrower, 'cause if she encountered one (1) cockroach, she would need to set this place on fire somehow.

Slow and steady, slow and steady, slow and steady wins the race, she hummed in her mind, crawling through the totally not creepy corridor. (No, the poor lightning didn't unnerve her! She was a thief, and thus a creature of gloom. Where the god's watchful eye couldn't reach, Nym and her ilk thrived. Darkness nourished her, gave her strength, and... shit, shit, shit! What the fuck was that? Something moved there, right on the edge of her field of vision. A ghost, her mind supplied. Not that Nym had ever met a ghost, but that only increased the likelihood of it happening now! It was like... like constantly picking at a scab, y'know? At some point, you were bound to scratch your way to blood. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, it totally is a ghost. Even worse? Ghosts tended to be vengeful fucks, and Nym had a million reasons to believe they were targeting her specifically. After all, if they were to pick a mortal to feel envy towards, why would it be anyone but her? Given her charm, beauty, and intellect sharp enough to cut glass!)

Figuring she had to be quick, Nym punched in the code she had learned from the security cameras (thanks, suckers) and opened the door. Ta-dah, Neely's room! Not even the ghost could destroy her flawless performance. The guy himself was soundly asleep, judging by both the sounds of snoring and the rigid routine he adhered to. Good. Now, if I were money, where would I hide? A mystery for the fucking ages, and one that Nym solved semi-regularly. See, most people weren't as original as they thought they were-- they followed the same boring patterns others did, thinking that they were re-inventing the fucking wheel. If her hunch was right, then Neely had probably put it in... Crack! And, yeah, all the color did drain from her face at hearing that sound, but you trying being braver while being pursued by a goddamn ghost. Shit, to think the creature would be this intentional about it! Nym was already saying goodbye to her miserable life, as well as to anyone who had ever loved her, when she noticed a conveniently sized closet. Not the best anti-ghost measure, but worth a try, right?

...it wasn't.

It very much wasn't.

See, when she peered out of the closet, armed only with her desperation, there was... uh, a shitload of paper. A librarian's manic dream. Nym could only stare at the scenery, white upon white upon white, and wonder how much paint she had huffed while hiding in that dirty den of Neely's. Like, what the fuck? What the fucking fuck?! She pinched herself, but the pain refused to wake her up, and that was... concerning. Super concerning.

Not quite as concerning as the sentient office supplies and the random chick who apparently went on a personal crusade against them, though. Illegal constructs? Know the drill? Shit, that sounded as if they knew what they were doing! That was much more than what Nym could say about herself at pretty much any point. And, if she had to be honest? Given that even she recognized the obvious attempts at bullshitting for what they were, they also seemed way more competent than the aforementioned chick. Eh, time to pick sides! Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees.

"Don't listen to her! I, for one, welcome my new office supplies overlords. I, um, come in peace?" (Of course, she wasn't necessarily relying on the entities' kindness. Nym only had to talk for long enough to let her invisibility shield recharge-- afterwards, it was sayonara, suckers! What didn't know where she was couldn't hurt her, as the ancient wisdom said.)

"Weeding out thoughts," the eraser repeated. "In peace. Overlords. Alright, Interloper #2," why the fuck was she #2? "prove your loyalties now!" And, with that, a large-ass ruler materialized in Nymh's hand, glimmering ominously in the sunlight. Uh oh.

"Bring me Interloper #1's head, and you may yet be spared. Who knows? Perhaps you'll even be promoted to stapler!"

"...eh?" Nym looked at the ruler and at the weird, blue-haired anime princess again, weighing her options. Why couldn't she be, like, struck by lightning instead? Seemed about 100% more pleasant than what was about to follow. "Will you, pretty please, give me your head?" she finally asked, batting her eyelashes. (Her hands were only shaking a little bit, thank you very much. So, no, she wasn't nervous at all! The official guidelines for measuring nervousness confirmed that.) "As you can see, I'm in quite a pickle here. And, um, I'm also sure I could use it more effectively than you do. I mean, have you ever participated in the Physics Olympics? Thought so. Dummy." C'mon, recharge, recharge, recharge! Before she snaps my spine in half!

 

[Buttercup.]

Ember jumped when someone actually spoke next to her. Oh, so that smug marker fuckface wasn't bluffing? She shot a quick glance to her left, detecting a... somewhat pitiful human. Looked like something one might scrape from the sole of their shoe after solving some backwater station's pest problem for a little extra cash. A human-sized lump of filth. The equivalent of what's left on the rag after a bass player cleans their fretboard for the first time in 3 years. Fucking disgusting, and not worth anyone's time. The fuck was she doing here anyway? Well, she was already cowering so she seemed like someone Ember could make see reason easily enough. Except... this fucker was siding with them? What the fuck, man? Who'd choose a bunch of fucking office supplies over a kickass - and strikingly pretty - space pirate? This was preposterous! So the anthropomorphous piece of shit had piss poor taste on top of everything else. No redeeming qualities whatsoever! Figures.

"Give you my head?" Ember scoffed. "Look, missy, I'm in a pickle too, in case you haven't noticed, and I'd very much prefer my noggin staying where it is!" Jesus, the nerve. And she called her a dummy? Okay, it was war now, motherfucker. Being called a bitch? Fine. A fucker? Fair enough. The word that rhymes with runt but begins with a C? She could take that! But dummy?!
"Okay, look, honey," she turned to the other girl, making sure to keep the bureaucratic police in her peripheral vision, "I don't think I appreciate your attitude." Despite her apparent self-confidence, she was really freaking out inside, but she'd learnt not to let such things show too much. At least it seemed she'd retained everything she'd been carrying when she was moved to this unholy realm of bullshit, so she had some tricks up her sleeve if things went south. And well, considering the markedly southbound direction of things, it was about time to draw the first ace.

She decided temporal distortion might be of some help right now - the other artifacts she had at her disposal seemed best saved for later - so she primed the gadget in her pocket, an action made rather easy by the fact her hands were basically always in there to begin with. All right, now to break the ruler and get back in her original position real quick. Running away might've been the smarter choice, all things considered, but she had the feeling the permanent marker police would follow wherever she went so it made sense to try and negotiate with them right away. Getting the other girl out of the way should help, too.
"Whoa, look at that, officer! She already broke the ruler! That seems awfully irresponsible and incompetent if you ask me. I get the feeling this lady is not as co-operative as she wants you to believe!" she shouted in the tone of an elderly lady whose calendulas had been trampled by an inconsiderate youngster. "The very idea of a - ugh," she gasped theatrically, "- broken ruler could be really troublesome to Mr Neely! This is exactly the type of thing Mr Neely has asked me to remove from his mind, so I'm sure subduing this person is in everyone's best interest!"

The marker stood still for a second, taking in everything that had just happened. Another marker and a ballpoint pen had joined him while the women were bickering, the latter recording everything that had been said. The three of them discussed the situation while the menacing eraser kept eyeing the intruders viciously, ready to reduce them to tatters with the sheer force of friction.
"Damaging office supplies is strictly illegal, Bill! It basically amounts to treason, as postulated in regulation no. 13-..."
"I know the regulations, Brad! In any case these constructs are both illegal. I maintain that we should erase them both."
"But the blue one claims she is a 'mind-weeder'. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"
"Well, you have a point, Brad. I have not heard of such a thing, but we are both just footsoldiers - we do not know everything. Check the appointments log. Erasing someone who has a properly scheduled appointment would be unacceptable," the marker said sternly.
His colleague nodded and left.

Ember knew full well she wouldn't be in their accursed appointments log, so she had to think fast. The temporal distortion artifact still had some charge left. She figured she'd wait until it was clear which paper was the appointments log and then add an entry to it real quick. It was foolproof.
"All right, let's see," the marker started digging through a pile of documents.

NOW.

She activated the artifact and rushed to the stack of papers. Fuck! No ink. The ink river was way too far away for her to get any from there in time... so the best idea she could come up with was licking the top of the marker and using that. Was it fucking digusting and more than a little disturbing? Abso-fucking-lutely. But she didn't have any other options. Blergh, fuck! This better be worth it, she thought.
Karen Randall, mind-weeder, 13 September 10:40 PM
Karen was a safe enough alias, no-one would ever suspect that was her real real name.
Damn, that was close.

...speaking of being close, the artifact was just about to run out of charge. FUCK! She ran back to where the other girl and the interrogation squad were, but the effect wore off a second before she got there. Oh well, no-one would notice, right?

"Whoa, Bill, I feel... oddly wet," the marker called Brad complained. "Please check the humidity logs for me when you get the chance?"
"I will, Brad. But back to the business at hand! Have you found anything?"
"Well um," Brad replied, sounding a little confused and shellshocked, "it checks out, apparently."
"This 'un just did somethin' weird though, chief," the eraser butted in. "Like she... skipped a couple lines or somethin'. Ain't that against regs?"

 

[Syntra]

Nym may have been a lot of things, but what she wasn't was a damn quitter. No point in doing that when you could, like, win instead, you know? So, when the other started defending her right to keep her head, the thief just pursed her lips. "Well, that isn't very democratic of you. I mean, you should care more about what others want to do with your head. Ever thought of holding a referendum?" And then, thanks to the boost of confidence doubtlessly derived from the fact she was going to disappear the fuck out of here soon, Nym... stuck her tongue out. Yeah. Take that, weird anime lady! Her entire world must have been collapsing under the weight of that gesture. "I, um, bet that you only have it so that rain doesn't fall straight into your throat, anyway. Why not give it up for greater good? Dummy." Because, hahaha, there was no way in hell that antagonizing randos for no reason could ever bite her in the ass! No, no. Making new enemies happened to be Nym's hobby, so unless you also judged people for, like, knitting sweaters, you should fuck right off.

Why isn't the stupid thing charged yet?! Useless piece of junk! If this went on, Nym might unironically have to learn how to practice some ruler-fu, and she hadn't trained all her life how to dodge making literally any effort to fall into that trap now. Just, nope, man! You know how much effort it had taken to... whoopsie. Back to square one, she guessed.

Feeling betrayed by the flimsy piece of technology, Nym raised the ruler like a samurai might raise her katana, only to... watch it shatter? Crap. Crapx2, actually. What had it been made of, her own broken dreams? 'Cause that for sure would check out. And, just like those broken dreams, the """weapon""" now appeared to be useless. "I haven't even done anything!" the thief defended her honor. "It's all her fault," she pointed at her opponent. "Somehow. She, umm... keeps generating this really hostile vibes? They're not good for young, innocent office supplies, 'cause they are still dependent on the approval of their peers? Yeah! You gotta handle them with care, and the dummy over there blew it. She murdered her," Nym sobbed, clutching the pieces of the ruler close to her chest. (The tears streaming down her face? Those were actually 100% authentic-- all it took was for her to imagine all the ways the blue-haired weirdo would kick her ass, and boom! Waterworks, waterworks everywhere.) "My poor Annabeth," she cried. "The fate was too cruel to snatch her away from me so fast, before I could even get to know her."

"Annabeth?" Brad asked. "There is no mention of any Annabeth in my records."

"That's because I haven't even been able to baptize her officially!" Go big or go home, right? And since Nym literally couldn't go home now, she had to stick with... big-ness. (Or big, big lies, as she preferred to call them. 'Colorful adjustments to boring fucking reality' would have been even better, but some people were way too consumed by the whole 'words have meanings' shtick. So what? Sometimes, those meanings sucked!)

"You named her?" the permanent marker breathed out, about as scandalized as if he'd learned that she'd used her to draw crooked lines. "Without knowing our naming regulations? I hope that you're aware this is illegal, as per Naming Convention Act 2.31. Annabeth's name sbould have started with a C. A C! Do you see what you've done now? Are we to call her Cannabeth now? To think that this would be engraved into her tombstone..."

Frankly? Nym was torn between rolling her eyes and dying of fear, which was a particularly spicy combo that she had not thought to be possible. Good for her body for being able to multitask like that, huh? Had to be some kind of fucking world record. You're so screwed, she managed to think to herself when the anime lady conjured up another transparent excuse... only for it to not be an excuse after all. What?!

Oh no, no way was she getting away with the obvious fraud! Nym didn't know who she was, or even what she wanted, but already, she'd built most of her identity around depriving the dreadful woman of her success. Gotta drag her down with her, right? As she still needed for someone else to be the primary target before the shield charged. So, yeah, Nym did what she did the best-- namely, she shoved her hands in the girl's pockets and, thanks to an instinct honed through years of hard work, fished out about five different ID cards at once.

"You sure that you have an appointment? Considering that you can't even decide what your name is," she smirked.

"What!" Brad cried out. "Now we have no way of verifying whether this really is Karen Randall."

"True. Identity theft is a serious crime, too. We cannot allow these constructs to taint Mr Neely's mind, that much is certain."

"This is clearly above our pay grade," Brad decided. "Mr Neely himself will have to judge whether they deserve to exist in his headspace. In the meantime..." The earth beneath their feet grumbled, like a stomach that hadn't been filled properly for weeks, "...enjoy the Prison of Doom. Remember to wipe your shoes before you enter. Oh, and do try not to die? Considering that that would make Mr Neely's life difficult. After all, interrogating corpses isn't the most fruitful task to pursue."

Not at all shockingly, the paper they stood on tore in half, which, aaaah! Before Nym could even conceptualize what was happening, the two of them were falling into an abyss, as deep and dark as... uh, someone's ass? Look, metaphors were for nerds. Anyway, they landed into what seemed to be an ink river. An ink river, full of ink alligators? Shit, shit, shit! Deciding to do the only logical thing, Nym tackled her unlikely companion. "This is all your fault!" she cried out. "Now we're going to be eaten because you didn't have the decency to die when asked. Sheesh, where are your manners?" She, in hysterics? Nooo, just filthy propaganda!

 

[Buttercup.]

"Hey, you little -" Ember stopped herself from saying that word again when Nym invaded her pocket. She had enough red lines on her face as it was, thank you very much. "Where do I report this... fuzzy squiggle for invasion of privacy?!"

"Why, that is a nasty offence," Bill frowned at Nym. "You'll have to fill out form MT-13.6-0 in accordance with the standards outlined in regulation 15/07d and deliver it to -" he started explaining but was interrupted by an equally worrying accusation.

Fuck. She knew she shouldn't have kept those IDs all in one place. That little dipshit had no right to... ugh, nevermind. Here they were and she had to think of something else real fast. If this random girl could stop getting in the way for FIVE. FUCKING. SECONDS, that'd make Ember's life so much easier! She made a mental note to break her jaw once she got the chance. It'd be therapeutic as fuck and might stop Nym from telling on her like a little bitch.

Ember wanted to object when the markers discussed what to do with them - Prison of Doom? Seriously. - but coming up with anything that wouldn't result in her looking like she fell asleep on a grill was... pretty hard right now. Any feeble attempts she may've made were promptly cut short anyway.

"WHOA, FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"
The markers listened carefully and concluded the 'ck' at the end couldn't be heard. Maybe this interloper wasn't beyond hope of becoming an upstanding stapler after all.


Well, now she was in an underground (underpaper? whatever) river of that same black goopy substance she'd been forced to lick, and the very thought was traumatising. Was all of this... the markers' vomit? No, Ember, don't think like that or you'll add your own to the mix. Once again her attempts at making heads or tails of the situation were rudely interrupted - oh great, the other girl was here too. Just when she thought things couldn't get any better!

"Hey, get off me, fuckface!" she resisted Nym's tackle.

"I heard that!" Brad could be heard from high above.

"The fuck you gonna do about it then, huh? Shit. Fuck! Dick! TWAT!!! Come on down and fight me, god damn it, I swear I'll snap you like a twig and feed the pieces to... whatever your natural predators are! I hope you have a lot of those, by the way!" she yelled as the river washed them further away until Brad couldn't hear her anymore. He simply logged the exact number of transgressions and went about other business.

"And you..." she grabbed Nym by the neck and bared her ink-stained teeth at her, "My fucking fault? You're the one who ruined my alibi! ...bitch! Yeah, you heard me! Where the fuck did you even come fr-aaaAAAH!"

A sudden large wave of ink knocked the wind out of her - oh god, her conspiracy theory about it being a river of vomit offered only one interpretation. She'd been through all sorts of bizarre shit in her career, but being washed away by sentient marker vomit was definitely a new one for her.

The rest of the wild inkslide ride didn't offer much room for conversation. The words Ember had shouted at Brad kept repeating in her mind, now aimed at nothing in particular. Well, if anyone asked her later she'd claim they were aimed at the stupid woman who came from god knows where with the express intention of ruining her master plan and, by extension, her whole life, but really, she was just freaking out.


What lieth at the end of ye river of ink, one might ask? Why, the Prison of Doom, of course! An ominous brutalist structure built out of hard paper held together with glue, its barred windows and doors made from discarded paperclips. A place so sordid and gloomy that none should ever have to witness its horrors, and um... well, it was a prison, plain and simple. And just before the entrance, where the river swirled around the drain before going deeper yet, lay a pile of shredded paper. Was it there as a safety measure to cushion new arrivals? Or merely to feather what had already been tarred? Did it matter? Well, children, the answer to at least one of those questions was 'no'.

"Fuck my life," Ember whimpered once they landed. Her head was spinning and she was pretty sure she'd swallowed or inhaled some of that vile crap. Well, time to throw up! She tried to aim at her hated companion, but missed. God damn it, couldn't life afford her at least some sense of satisfaction?

"That adds the tarnishing of public property to your file," a marker who'd emerged from the building said rather indifferently. He looked at the file more closely and frowned. Were those timestamps correct? Could one (1) interloper have caused that much trouble of that many different types in that short a time? It was obvious this suspect belonged in the highest security part of the prison then, and so did the other interloper! Surely they were secretly working together to sabotage Mr Neely's mind!

"Wait, wasn't my file upstairs?"

"Of course. It's been sent down via PTT," he gestured towards the network of pipes. Ember took note of those - could be useful later on, hopefully. "Anyway, allow me to escort you to your cells," he beckoned them.
The high security section was on the far side of the facility so Brandon decided to give them a tour to pass the time.
"This is the minor offences section. Adhering to slightly outdated regulations, stylistic inconsistencies and similar transgressions," he gestured towards the bars with profound disgust. Most of the cells had humans in them, interestingly enough, although the odd paperclip or ballpoint pen could be seen occasionally.
"Here we have more severe crimes. Crooked lines, typos, minor numerical errors, exceeding the deadline by up to 3 hours... ugh," a droplet of ink squirted from his head and landed on Ember's face. "Apologies for that. I mean... not. Apologising to felons is not required, as stated in regulation no. 52/11u," he remembered.

Ember was completely spacing out, trying really hard to come up with a way out of this mess. The security was tight - a lot of erasers all over the place - and it'd be a while before the temporal distortion artifact was ready again. Besides, she was still feeling sick from the vomit river ride and - Jesus fucking Christ, did he just... No, no, no, don't think about it, Ember, you'll just hurt yourself.

"Aaand here's the high security area. Home to sociopathic villanous filth like yourselves!"

Two of the erasers opened two cells and gestured for Ember and Nym to get in there. They couldn't afford to put them in the same one - who knew what these filthy antisocial humans could do if they teamed up? The very thought dislodged another drop of ink from Brandon's head, but this time Ember managed to dodge in time. She was a fast learner.

"Well? In you go, hoodlums!"

 

[Syntra]

There were many things she could have said, Nym felt, but not a single one of them could have accurately described the depths of her... hmm, how to call it? Utter fucking horror? Yeah, that checked out. (Quickly, this day was becoming a promising candidate for The Worst Day of Her Life. That one time when they'd canceled her favorite TV show? Tragic, but not as bad as being arrested by fucking erasers. Her favorite Pokémon card being discontinued? Again, a catastrophe of international proportions, but at least it had been an eraser-free experience. Erasers, depressing architecture, blue-haired punks calling her names-- all of that added into a cocktail she would have loved to spit out, but fate forced it down her throat. 'Bad fate! Bad!' Nym shouted in her head, except that the forces of nature didn't give a single flying fuck. Figured. Well, at least there probably wouldn't be any ghosts? Ghosts were violating the basic visitation condition of, you know, being alive, and that wouldn't fly with the office supplies.)

"If only," Nym rolled her eyes when her reluctant colleague expressed the wish for her life to be fucked. "That I'm here at all is your fault, dummy. I was just robbing that guy's place, minding my own business, and boom! Suddenly, I'm here, stuck in this clerical wonderland. Why did you drag me down with you? Did you want to laugh at my misery? I will have you know that that's the lowest form of comedy. Shakespeare would have been ashamed of you!" ...what? Yeah, yeah, there might have been a tinge of hysteria in her voice, but Nym felt that only added the much-needed spice to the colorless experience. (The hills she was willing to die on were numerous, and on each of those, she would lead a bloody battle. As long as they didn't involve actual weapons, of course! In that case, the 'sayonara, fuckers' mode was activated.)

"Aren't you exaggerating a bit?" Nym raised her eyebrow, flabbergasted by the waterfall of insults. "I literally just happen to exist here."

"The greatest of crimes," the eraser frowned. "You exist without the relevant permission. Do you have any idea how much distress that sort of thing is causing to Mr Neely? His brain needs to work overtime to conceptualize your existence, and that means he won't have enough energy to dedicate to his usual routine. There's an 80% chance that he will have to pee in his pants. An 80% chance, just because of you! Do you know what that means?" ...that Neely was a fucking idiot, but Nym had an inkling that that interpretation would win her no favors. Sigh.

"Any chance of us ever seeing daylight again?" she asked, seemingly resigned to her fate.

"Hmm," their jailer rubbed his non-existent chin. "I suppose, if you repent convincingly enough. You will be given some writing utensils, and topics of essays that will determine whether your opinions are shifting in the RightTM direction. The first topic," his eyes glinted devilishly as he pierced Ember with his stare, "is this: Why Unnatural Hair Colors Promote Immoral Behavior, and Prove the Mental Instability of Their Owners." Ha! 0:1 for Ember, Nym guessed. Still, the bastard saying one (1) thing that was kind of valid changed nothing about the fact that she didn't feel particularly overjoyed about the prospect of spending the rest of her days in some prison.

"Don't you have some alternative punishments here?" Nym whined. "I happen to be allergic to prisons. They, um, make me break out in rashes. "

"According to the rule 75/b5, the acceptable substitution for jail time is..." the eraser flipped through his handbook, "...meeting Mrs. Guillotine." Eek!

"Rashes sound great, come to think of it."

And so the bars closed behind them with a dramatic click-- a pathetic piece of soundtrack to accompany her demise, but Nym figured that she didn't deserve anything more majestic, anyway. Wait, my demise? Since when have I gotten this defeatist? Spoiler fucking alert: since she'd been born! But still, dying in some cell simply wasn't Nym's style. Could she even respect herself as a thief if law enforcement ended up being her Achilles' left heel? Man, they for sure would revoke all of her certificates!

How to prevent that, though? The shield had charged, but using it now was about as useful as fighting fire with a bottle of ketchup. Unless... Ugh! The very thought made her skin crawl, but it wasn't like she hadn't torn her dignity to shreds in the past for causes much lesser than this one. (The last piece of pizza, anyone? ...yeah, let's not talk about that incident.)

"Psst," she tried to attract Ember's attention. "Hey, you. Yes, you, dummy! You look like someone who doesn't want to be in her cell. Well, I don't fucking want to be here, either. Let's work together for a sec? I can make myself invisible, so, like... if you tell them I ran away somehow, they will probably want to inspect my cell. See where I'm going with this? I'll get away for real and free you as well. A sweet deal, eh? And if you think I'm fucking you over, you can always tell them to use thermovision on me. They'd find me in no time." Nym, actually cooperating? Look, desperate times called for desperate fucking measures. Even blue-haired gutter rats cosplaying anime princesses would do, she guessed!

 

[Buttercup.]

So Ember had brought this person with her... somehow? Jesus, the manual never mentioned this might happen! Well technically it did say something about 'ensuring no third parties are present within a 10 foot radius', but... Well, it didn't matter now. Ember still resented the accusation that it was her fault - if Nym hadn't wanted to be transported into a bureaucrat's surreal mindscape she wouldn't have been hiding in his closet! Pretty logical, really. She had no-one to blame but her own dumbass self.

Unnatural hair colours?! Ember would have that stupid tube of ink know that her hair was perfectly natural, no dye needed, thank you - sheesh, had that asshole never heard of... umm, caerulocapillitis? Evidently not, or he'd never spout such bigoted bullshit! Besides, Ember wasn't mentally unstable. She was very consistent about being a mean self-centred bastard, so that little roast of his was pathetic through and through.

Guillotine?! What the fuck, man, what office has a guillotine stashed in the closet amongst all the papers, pens and spare printer parts? The fucking Bureau de la Révolution Française? This just kept getting more ridiculous. What was next? A domesticated Cthulhu? Oh no, Ember, don't even go there... if Mr Neely had read Lovecraft in his earlier days and some of it remained in his subconscious, they could be in for a lot more trouble than a couple of self-important erasers.


Well, now that she was locked up she'd have ample time to worry about random creatures from books Neely might have read making an appearance. But hey, maybe an olgoi-fucking-khorkhoi might drill through the floor and make an escape route for her? Eating the other girl alive in the process? That'd make her day! But knowing her luck a pack of hungry velociraptors seemed far more likely.

"Huh?" she moaned in response, sounding more annoyed than anything. God damn it, she needed time to think, and she couldn't think properly with some lesser lifeform demanding her attention... And there, she just called Ember 'dummy' again! Getting real cheeky now that there were two sets of bars keeping her safe!

Another "Huh?" followed when Nym proposed a co-operative approach. This "Huh?" could be described as surprised, suspicious and a little intrigued. She can make herself invisible? Like, with a magical artifact? (Of course, stuck-up academics would insist it was not magic, instead using big-ass words like 'anomalous spacetime continuum alterations' and feeling really clever for pretending to understand how it worked, but to literally everyone else it was just 'magic'. It was shorter and sounded way more cool.) Well, if this girl had magic of her own... that made her potentially far more dangerous, but also far more useful.

Yes, a short-lived alliance forged out of necessity would probably benefit both of them - naturally, Ember didn't give a shit if Nym benefited too, but her own benefit was reason enough to consider it. She could probably screw her over mighty fast after her cell was unlocked, too - the temporal distortion artifact (which she called 'the time-stoppy thingamabob' or just 'TST' most days) was almost fully charged and, as far as Ember knew, the other woman wasn't yet aware of her having it.

She thought about all this real hard and came to a somewhat distressing but rational conclusion: she probably shouldn't stab Nym in the back just yet. The whole fucking world here was against them, and that filled her enemies quota just fine. Still, she definitely wasn't going to sound excited about this. Her pride couldn't take it.

"Okay, I'll bite." She had nothing to lose anyway - if Nym ran away on her own and left her there to rot... at least Ember could spend the rest of her detention without having to look at her and listen to her insults. And if she wasn't being called 'dummy' 60 times a minute she was confident she could actually come up with a grand plan of her own! "Right then," she got to thinking, "I can stop time for a bit, but only for myself. Don't think I could fucking drag you away before it runs out... but I guess I could do something to confuse the cops and buy us time. Just leg it." Surely her new ally wouldn't have thought of that one on her own.

What was that? Ember had implied an option other than pausing time to punch Nym in the nose and run away on her own? Call it a rare triumph of foresight over selfishness - an ally who can turn invisible would surely come in handy again before this damn thing was over, and if she still wanted to knock some of her teeth out when they were done here, they could duke it out back in the real world. 1v1 me irl and all that.


"Hey, what are you conspiring about over there?" a patrolling eraser hollered at them.

Shit. "Okay, do it!" Ember hissed quietly and turned to the approaching hunk of rubber. "I was just trying to talk some sense into that sociopathic meanie you brought in with me, sir... but... she's gone!" she exclaimed theatrically.

"Hogwash!"

"I know, right? She was there one second, then BAM! Just take a look!"

The eraser put on a 'yeah right' frown and walked up to the cell, motioning for one of his colleagues to have his back. Prisoners always came up with ridiculous con schemes to get out of their cells and this was hardly a new one. She'd just be hiding in a corner, or perhaps, if she was the adventurous type, hanging from the ceiling. He'd seen it all. Except... there really didn't seem to be anyone in that cell.

"See! I didn't lie! Surely that's a sign I'm a good person!"

"It's progress, yeah. I'll notify the markers later... but now!" he opened the door to Nym's cell and took a careful look around. Yep, there was most definitely no-one there. Not a soul. The walls and bars were all intact, too, so it was really quite the mystery. Could that blasted interloper have teleported? That could be a real problem, some outdated staplers had been avoiding stocktaking that way, the devious bastards. He had another theory though, and he was going to test it right away - invisibility wasn't entirely unheard of, right? He pressed against the wall and shuffled along, confident that any invisible interloper would be too scared to dodge out of the way. It was a genius plan worthy of an eraser on minimum wage.

Ember watched the show, a little confused by the warden's sudden fit of wallophilia but trying her best to stay focused. Fortunately it looked like Nym actually knew what she was doing - before Ember knew it the lock on her door clicked open. Now it was her turn.

She activated the TST maybe a little too early, a fact she learned when she bumped into Nym in the door. God damn it! She awkwardly squeezed past her and analysed the situation. Eraser #1 still seemed to be having a good time with that wall, she shouldn't need to worry about him too much. Eraser #2, however, was standing in their way, not blocking it completely but definitely ready to tackle anyone charging past him. Pushing him into Nym's cell and locking them both in there would've been the optimal solution, but she doubted she could move that big-ass eraser all on her own. No, she needed a more... creative plan.

They'd have to run down a hall with other wardens in it, so they needed a good distraction. If Ember had learnt anything in her time spent in Neely's mind, it was that ink was an acquired taste and that it was a conveniently common commodity (a CCC) with which a mess could be created. And it just so happened that an incarcerated marker was close enough to the bars of his cell. Ember gave him a good lick, keeping as much of it in her mouth as possible. Then she approached Eraser #2 from behind and tapped on what one might imagine to be a shoulder. That should give Nym a window of opportunity to run past him.


Well, time to unpause the world! The eraser turned around to face Ember, who swiftly punched him in the face - it hardly did anything considering the physical properties of rubber, but it felt right. "Sorry, man, but you rub me the wrong way, ah ha ha ha ha," she chuckled maniacally whilst running away. That might've been the stupidest joke she'd ever made, and it wasn't for lack of competition. But since she was stuck in this bureaucratic hell she figured she ought to look on the bright side and come up with one-liners that'd make no sense in real life. Making embarrassingly bad jokes sure beats falling apart!

Now on to the next stage of the glorious plan. She yelled at Nym to follow, unsure where exactly she was at the time, and ran down the hallway, spitting and coughing ink in all directions. Chaos and pandemonium ensued. All the erasers stood in shock, their nonexistent brains trying to decide whether they should prioritise stopping the escapees or getting rid of all the unsightly mess - oh god, if an inspection were to come right now they'd be in a world of trouble for this!

Ember remembered the PTT system and figured it might be their ticket out of here. She wasn't sure Nym was still following her (and well, if she wasn't that was entirely her own problem) when she slowed down at the mail room and quickly turned around to check how big the mob of erasers trying to catch her might be...

"OW! Fuck!" Getting hit in the nose by seemingly nothing could only mean one thing. Was it intentional or did Nym simply fail to slow down as rapidly as Ember had? Well, it didn't matter. If, purely hypothetically, Ember possessed the ability called 'self-reflection' she'd have to admit it wouldn't have been entirely uncalled for. "Right, get in here, come on," she pushed the human-sized solid gust of air into the room, followed it in and blocked the door. Now to figure out how to use the pneumo system...

 

[Syntra]

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Why haven't I taken the Prison Break 101 course in college? The easiest explanation would be that Nym hadn't actually gone to college, but hey! That was also the explanation tied most closely to reality, and she had no interest in such bleak, dreary things. Nuh uh. For the sake of her Coping MechanismsTM, the thief had to come up with a better story than that. You know, maybe it would also help her drown out the fact that she was putting her safety in the hands of a bitch who thought it was a good idea to dye her hair cerulean? Yeah, how comforting. The low IQ specimen probably didn't even know what 'cerulean' was! (It was kind of a crapshoot, honestly. Not wanting to rot in prison was a good basis for cooperation, but who was she to say the chick didn't value good ol' spite more? Some people were really annoying about sticking to their principles, and as far as Nym could tell, being annoying seemed to be her companion's main fucking trait.)

Thank you, Darwin, my lord and savior, she thought when the instinct of self-preservation prevailed. Nothing would have made her happier in that moment than throwing a rotten tomato at Ember and running away, buuuut yeah, kind of hard to pull off when she could technically throw her to the wolves. Oh well! Note to self: throw a rotten tomato at the dummy when the opportunity presents itself. Choose a nice squishy one. Indeed, the sheer extent of her violent vengeance would be enough to give the woman nightmares for years to come, and that made Nym feel a little better about having to free her. (Trauma generation was a valid reason to play a hero, right? Right? 'Cause she'd fucking hate to go down in history as some uncool goody two shoes, wearing a horse and riding a shiny armo... wait. Something about this didn't track! It was no time to be delving into the depths of literary analysis, though-- in part because only nerds did so, and in part because she had dummies to free. Sigh.)

So, the good news? The good news was that the plan worked out! Once again, Nym got to confirm for herself that her genius was unparalleled, and that the world only didn't recognize it because it wasn't ready for such greatness. Eek! the thief thought, but thankfully not said, when an Eraser got a little too close for comfort.

"Hmm, hmm. Is it just me, or do I smell the stench of a good-for-nothing college dropout?"

"Yeah, you're probably just huffing glue again, man," his colleague rolled his eyes. "Do I have to remind you that using fellow supplies for one's pleasure is deviant behavior? According to Mr. Neely's handbook Accounting With Love, such transgressions should cost you at least three stars. Surely, you know what happens to those who have no stars left?"

"They become... starless? Bwhahaha!"

"That isn't even a pun, you bleep-ing idiot!"

Happy to leave the deranged Erasers behind, Nym ran like the wind, until-- ow! "Hey, watch it," she frowned, the effect of which was diminished considerably due to the fact Ember couldn't fucking see her. Oh, right! Better to save the battery, in case she once again encountered a situation that could only be solved via the exactly right dosage of what Nym liked to call 'fucking off.' (In the thief's book, most situations fit the bill. Got any responsibilities? Haha, just fuck off. What were they going to do, drag you back by the collar? Yeeaaah, she didn't think so! Especially when they didn't know where that collar was, or even what it was, seeing as 'responsibilities' weren't a sentient entity. Thank the gods.)

With a quiet pop, Nym returned to the visible spectrum. "Missed looking at me?" she grinned, for some reason unable to help herself. (You know how, when you saw a wasp nest, you got the irresistible urge to stick your hand in it? No? May have been just her, then.) "Thought so. Figured you might want to copy the style of someone who doesn't look like a complete clown." And, yeah, under normal circumstances, Nym wouldn't have dreamed of saying that to literally anyone, much less to a chick who could probably snap her spine in half. Given that she kind of needed her for her own survival, though? Bye bye, caution! See you in a darker, crueler reality, where dreams died and nightmares thrived. Surely, Nym wouldn't come to regret that! (Narrator's voice: She did, in fact, come to regret it.)

"My professional opinion is that we should fuck off. People really underestimate fucking off, and--"

Of course, that was the moment a largr calculator entered through a previously hidden door, counting something on its display as it did so. "My, my, I cannot believe that we have run out of material. Unacceptable, unacceptable! Mr Neely is going to... oh. Unless you are our new material?" The calculator blinked, hearts appearing in its... well, we could call it eyes, if we wanted to be nice about it. Anyway, before either Nym or Ember could react, they were stuffed into one of the capsules unceremoniously, and then, aaaaa!

Indeed, only 'aaaaa' could ever describe the sensation of falling deep, deep, deep into the bowels of... a factory? It did look like a factory, according to Nym's limited understanding. The dystopian vibes checked out, as well as the ever-present conveyor belts and sentient rulers whipping the fuck out of the poor, poor papers unloading some boxes.

"Work harder, not smarter! No, we don't care about your #life hack, Jeremy. You think we don't know your work can be done in two hours? Wasting sixteen of them is the entire point!"

"Boss," a smaller Ruler exclaimed, "there it is! The new material to be recycled into fresh, fresh Paper workers. I bet they will be great for filing taxes, or maybe writing down more rules."

"Eek," Nym squeaked, hugging Ember in the process. (She just needed to hold onto something, okay?! And the other woman was conveniently close.) "Anything but taxes, please!"

 

[Buttercup.]

God fucking damn it, who could've foreseen there being another door? What's the point of having more than one entrance to a room, for fuck's sake? It was but a tiny oversight in Ember's master plan, of course, but it did end up screwing them quite royally, she had to admit. Stupid calculators! Who needs them? Boring people, without exception!

"Look, you digital piece of -" Ember got started on another lengthy tirade, but the calculator didn't waste time.
Okay, this was her life now. Stuffed in a capsule with that damn stowaway, about to be launched God knows where. Sure, she'd been through worse. It was experiences such as this that had moulded her into the die hard badass criminal she was today. This was ultimately a good thing! Oh, denial, what problem can't you solve?


Once the ride was over she looked around, trying not to throw up - she'd had quite enough of that for one day, thank you very much. Well, it was... a change of scenery to be sure. God, it figured this would be what the deepest recesses of some fucking accountant's mind would look like. Sick. Disgusting. Hopeless. But there was no time to be appalled, she needed a plan and she needed it half an hour ago. Alas, a quick look around didn't offer any obvious solutions to their predicament. (Yes, the predicament was theirs, not just hers, unlike the marvellous escape plan she'd come up with in just a second... yeah, any second now!)


Recycling? That sounded bad. She looked good the way she was, being reduced to fucking paper would be wasting her potential. And the idea of having... ugh, rules written all over what was left of her body was absolutely revolting. In short, this shit wouldn't fly. She couldn't let it. She had to clip its fucking wings and throw it in a fire. And the way she was going to-

Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the fuck? What was this bizarre sensation? Why was that other girl showing her affection? Sure, Ember could understand that she was simply irresistible and people regardless of gender might find it difficult to contain their visceral reactions to her splendour, but this really wasn't the time!

"Hey, get off me!" she pushed Nym away awkwardly. The awkward part was that it was done relatively gently - not with a punch to the jaw, anyway - and that might give that fool the wrong idea. Ah well, Ember was just going to punch her extra hard later to correct that mistake. "Just... don't do that again, fuckface. I need to think."

And think she did. Both Ember's TST and Nym's invisibility were hopelessly out of charge right now so it was quite the predicament. Also known as 'being royally fucked', but she liked the word predicament - it proved she was by no accounts a low IQ specimen. But as things stood... yeah, 'royally fucked' sounded a bit more appropriate. God damn it, why hadn't she brought a... umm... royal unfucking artifact? Oh, right, because she didn't have one. Because needing one was basically the whole reason she was here to begin with. Needless to say this wasn't the most fruitful of her thinking sessions.


"Cindy, Cecil! Seize them!" one of the rulers shouted at his colleagues. "It's the shredder for these discarded... whatever they are," he scoffed.

Shredder? Okay, this was going downhill at an alarming rate. But before Ember and Nym could offer any resistance they were wrapped in duct tape and thrown on a conveyor belt, moving towards the ominous, unwarrantedly large shredder. This wasn't even 'going downhill' anymore, this was fucking free falling (FFF)! And try as she might to will the ground at the bottom away, Ember was still no closer to averting her fate of becoming a page in a goddamn rulebook.

Okay, okay. They could probably roll off the conveyor with a bit of elbow grease. That'd be a start. And they could conceivably cut the duct tape on one of the rulers - they certainly looked sharp enough, at least in the physical sense of the word. Yeah, that'd work, right? One of them would just stand still while they rubbed the tape against it for a good minute or two and the others wouldn't react in any way. Well it would work if Ember hadn't wasted her TST on helping Nym earlier... Ugh!

Alright, if force can't solve a problem, a good lie should be able to.
"Look, this is all a mistake!" A little too vague and generic.
"We weren't even supposed to be here!" Technically true, thus not a good lie.
"My hair dye contains materials that might short out the shredder! Do you wanna risk that?!" Of course she didn't dye her hair, but they didn't need to know that.

The paper operating the conveyor belts paused for a second. Could that be true?

"What's wrong, Jessica? They're obviously lying."

"With all due respect, are you 100% certain, Carl? Who knows where this outrageous person came from, it is possible that her primitive culture uses conductive materials for hair dyes!"

Carl walked up to Jessica with a stern expression on what would be his face (more accurately, the two lines that formed his eyes went parallel and his mouth changed into a sideways '1'). He was not 100% certain and he knew it. But this was doubting his authority at best and insubordination at worst. He hadn't become a ruler to be talked back to by some stupid paper, god damn it!
"Jessica, I order you to resume."

"I'm truly sorry, Carl, but regulation no. 12/13h says safety regulations as postulated in the rest of regulation no. 12 cannot be overridden by superordinates without amending the relevant regulations. And rulers don't have the authority to do that," Jessica flaunted her knowledge of the regs.

Carl was fuming inside. He knew Jessica was in the right, and his ego couldn't take it. Oh god, he was losing himself. If one's ego was stronger than their respect for the regs... it was the shredder for them. Everyone knew that. Including Carl's colleagues, and truth be told, some of them never really liked Carl much.

"Carl, we cannot proceed until we confirm it's safe," Cecil took Jessica's side. Any rebellion against the regs was bound to fail and he wanted to be on the right side of the barricade. Then one day he might become a marker!

"You too, Cecil?" Carl asked darkly. "And this is why we never get anything done! Why we never get to pass an amendment that actually makes sense! Everyone's too flipping scared, boo hoo, god forbid we actually do things efficiently for once!"

Okay, that was it. He was beyond salvation. Such blasphemy wouldn't stand in Mr Neely's mind!

"Carl, as per regulation no. 20/11s I hereby perform a citizen's arrest. You have the right to remain silent until the erasers arrive."


This was the end of the line for Carl, wasn't it? He'd suffer the same fate he'd intended for those two interlopers soon enough. Well, conductive hair dye or not, they were still most definitely on the wrong side of the law, and considering his current situation... Yes, he had nothing to lose and strength in numbers never hurt anyone. He threw himself on the conveyor belt, cutting the duct tape in one swift motion, and knocked Ember and Nym off. "This way, GO!" he pointed towards a fire exit. Well, Ember still had no better plan so she didn't see a reason not to do as Carl said. And if he was setting up a trap... he honestly kinda deserved the satisfaction of her falling for it if he was willing to put that much effort into it.

"What are you waiting for?! Get after them!" Cecil yelled at everyone in the room while the unlikely trio rushed towards the exit. Carl was so dead.