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It takes a genius to whine appealingly.
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THE RULES v1.01: https://pastebin.com/DezK6wS0

Days past: https://pastebin.com/Nusqv9Wc

Misc Notes: https://pastebin.com/6yj3uZXj

Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Yakuza%20Therapist%20Quest
You are Five, a 22 years old therapist. Right now, more chimney than woman.

You do sessions for the Yakuza at the Trashcan, an hotel with a forbidden hallway, under the
patronage of Daddy: the leader, the oyabun- your boss.

Who is blissfully unaware of the ticking bomb under his nose, since telling him would get you

You've been requested by Marcus, one of your patients, to silently knock some sense into his
superior's frail mind before it gets him and everyone around in a bit of a pickle.


Who just filled your town with dicks.
Eyes wide, you behold, through the window, the new massive penis at the distance. It hangs on
the colossal Tupac Amaru over 'Sugar's', the weird restaurant kickstarted by your patient,
Alfred. Calmly, you lit the fifth cigarette with your red wooden lighter.

"How," you wonder, an exercise in futility. "Why."

"Four always had a thing for penises," the cheery voice behind you explains. "Maybe he's
gay or something."

You turn around. Two, the blonde french maid, drops a big tray of coffee and muffins over your
desk. She's one of your oldest patients, and certainly, the one you are familiar with the most.
Daddy told her to keep an eye on you, which is a big deal in itself... since Two /always/ does
/anything/ /anyone/ tells her. Except, it seems when it contradicts a previous request.

"Huh," you mutter. "Has he ever said anything about them? The dicks. What they represent to

"You mean you didn't ask him???" the maid asks, puzzled. "Why??? That was like, the main

You blow another gray cloud. "He slipped away before I had the chance. I'll need another one."

As you turn to grab a muffin from her hand, you notice Two frowning. "That will be hard, Five,"
she says.

And she's right.
Last time, Four left halfway through a session because you refused to keep RPing a priest to
his knight. Since then, all hell broke loose. Not only Sugar's: over fifty different buildings,
markets, houses, a school even, got vandalized and their artworks replaced or modified by
weird, impactful imagery- most of which was dicks. Doors with dicks. Playground slides with
dicks. Barbells with dicks. Cars with dicks, Santas with dicks, fruits with dicks. Over the
span of a single night, Four managed, with his six freak underlings, to completely overrun this
small town with male genitalia. And it couldn't have been any other than him- most of those
works you had already seen in his underground shelter.

So, of course, he's nowhere to be found.

"And it's only a matter of time before the cops catch up," you state, "and their footprints lead to
Daddy's little dark room."

"That's not only it," Two points out. "There's One too."

"One," you repeat, glancing at the maid.

Who nods.

"I don't know much about her, and it's just rumored," Two says, "but I think it was Wolf that
said that One is dangerous. And I think it was Sergei that said that the police didn't get here
because of One... but I don't know???"

She shrugs. You kinda saw that coming.

"At any rate," the maid resumes, "I don't think One would like it if she found out it was Four."

"What makes you think that and why should I care?" you ask.

"She's um... very strict. Yes," Two says, firmly, "very strict."

Two nods once more, as if set on setting the point across. One of your eyes flinches.

"Fine," you define. "Let me get this across."

You sit down and grab your pen. The paper in front of you only says 'AIM' and 'SHOOT', a
resume of diagnosis, formulating, and convincement operations. Yet, you disregard the
two words and write a few attributes on Four you've observed.

>Sensitive. Will cry if someone laughs.
>Smart. Has a fast mind. Can RP non-stop. Has saved his team with his wit alone so many times that it developed a loyalty towards him.
>Dramatic. Wild gestures, movements, big words.
>Wears a Middle Age's knight helmet along steel gauntlets over a tuxedo.
>Thinks no one can see his true self. Broke an old friendship out of not feeling 'seen'.
>Doesn't want to work or expose himself as the average salaryman. Thinks himself superior to others, regardless.
>Says he can't explain himself to others. That he must be seen with the heart.

You read the list again and automatically grab another cigarette.
You glance at the maid, who's suddenly standing next to you, eyes fixed on the paper. You sigh a
silent sigh and try to clarify your situation to the best of your ability.

>Four is using his pawns to vandalize the town with penises. The reason is unknown. If the leads bring the police to the Trashcan, the consequences could be severe.
>There's a pact going on between Daddy and the police. I'm not sure about the terms, but One is related to them.
>Marcus has threatened me against telling Daddy about Four. According to him, the nutjob is the only reason he's still alive after the severe rows of assignments they've been getting lately.
>Four's team, except for the man himself, is composed of former patients that I deemed unfixable. There's this man afraid of being smarter, the other is afraid of his shadow, Marcus can't stop having sex, the russian guy that hates clowns with a passion, and then two very big guys entirely devoid of empathy.

You re-read again. The whole deal between the police and Daddy is alien to you, and Four's
dicks may point them towards the Trashcan.

"There are so many things I don't know," you mutter, "and I need to know what I don't know,

"What are you going to do???" Two asks. "Are you going to talk to Four???"

"I need a plan," you say, bluntly. "Seems I'm playing hero this time. So I need a plan," you
repeat, absentmindedly.

Talk to his underlings or people more knowledgeable.
"His underlings. Marcus," you think aloud. "They'd know."

"But where are they?" Two asks.

"Where are they?" you say entirely to yourself. "So you don't know," you tell Two.

The maid shakes her head, dragging her massive golden hair along.

Find someone who knows and ask them.

"Two, I'm still new here," you tell her as she serves red tea. "Who could I ask? Who'd know?"

Your sight strays to the ceramic tea cup she's holding out. You grab it; it's complex floral patterns are clearly hand drawn.

"I'm not sure either, Five. Sorry," Two says softly as if someone else was hearing. "Maybe Daddy would know."

"And then he'll wonder why I want to know," you say, then sip on the cup. It tastes like too much honey. "I wonder when he'll come back."

"Will he want to, though???" Two wonders.

It makes you wonder too.

Find some unblemished artwork, put it up and wait for the dickheads.
forgot to mention but we got a twitter now lol

gonna wait for tsunami or deepwaters anons
no hurry lol
>Four managed, with his six freak underlings, to completely overrun this small town with male genitalia.
Haha, wow. This is him trying to communicate with people, isn't it? Art is his means of trying to communicate with people without actually saying what he feels straight out.

And because we told him that he needs to communicate with people if he expects to be understood, he expanded the contents of that garage across the town to try and reach a wider audience, in the hope that there'd be at least one Jack out there who can see his meaning.

Whoops. Our bad.

Perhaps we could go talk to Sugar. See if Four's gang has been around lately. It's not like they'll be doing Four's bidding 24/7; they'll all have their own lives after they clock out. And in those times, they'll probably head to the usual haunts for food and such.

>over fifty different buildings, markets, houses, a school even, got vandalized and their artworks replaced or modified by weird, impactful imagery- most of which was dicks.
'Most of which'? Should I ask what non-penis-based graffiti there was, or is the nature of the outliers far less important than the overall phallic theme?
"He'll have to," you say carefully, measuring the words, "or he'd be outing himself as the culprit
out of absence. Unless he has an alibi," you consider, stroking your chin as you stare through
the window. "It's going to rain. Again. Jesus Christ."

"Oh??? Is Five christian???"

"Rails, Two."

"Rails?" the maid wonders.

"Don't derail the conversation. I'm trying to get somewhere here."

Two stares /very/ straight at your eyes for a bit, which seems a bit creepy. Then her eyes flash.

"OH!! Like a train!" she bellows, thrilled.

You smile faintly. One of your clients has a son with downs syndrome that goes "choo choo"
when it's running away. Got hit by a car, last time. Flew a good thirty feet away, then stood

"Yup. Just like a train," you admit.

"We could trap him up just like in those cartoons," you suggest, absent-mindedly, "by
hiding behind that damned Wolf's portrait Daddy had you put here. They might come to fuck it up.

"Mean," Two suggests.


You turn towards the window again.

"Odds are I caused this," you tell your ghastly reflection, "so instead of a hero I'm just taking

"Why??? What did you do???" Two's reflection asks.

"Told Four to communicate," you simply say. "And I'm fairly sure this is him trying to say
something. Vaguely sure, at least."


"No thanks."

"Four has been doing this for a while, though," Two points out, as you scoff at the evening
clouds. "Aaaaand, the stuff he made down there looks a lot like furniture from places I shop at.
Just twisted. Like a dark version."

You turn towards the maid. "Huh," you say. "So he intended to replace the items with his own."
You look past the maid, lost in thought. "Right," you blurt out, "Four is a perfectionist. He
wouldn't have time to mess with theirs enough to be satisfied, so he made them beforehand."

Two raises your finger, drawing your attention to it. "Some of that stuff seemed heavy, though."

"Yeah, but he has Jimmy," you point out. "Four isn't short on retard strength.

You walk towards Two, then past her- then back and past her again, eyes lost at the ceiling.

"I wonder if there are still items left down there," you mutter.
>Ask Sugar.

You cross the street towards Sugar's, followed in tow by Two. Giga-Tupac's massive penis
looms over you under the gray sky. You notice people with yellow helmets climbing his leg.
You open the door, which triggers the automated greeting from the nearest statue: 'surprise,
motherfucker'. It's a tall, bald black man on a top-tank. Sometimes it glitches when too many
people enter at once, and repeats its line over and over until an employee punches the back of
its head. Now, it has a dick.

"...HUH," you blurt out. The place is ecstatic.
People are taking pictures of everything; some
girls go as far as to open their mouths next to
the dicks. Of which are many. Not even the cash
register was spared. You walk up to it,
wondering if Sugar's massive afro has one
somewhere. Of course, you are wrong, but it was worth picturing. Sugar is there behind the
bar, yelling at five black men who silently stare at him. You wait until he waves them off to reach

"Can't you just rip them off?" you ask the dazzling, angry black man wearing sunglasses
straight from the 90's. "I'm surprised they lasted this long."

Sugar turns to you like an owl. "MAAAAAN, ain't like it? We tryna take em cocks off- but they
stuck! Hard! Niggas not a surgeon. So, I told dem nginx to paint em."

Both you and Two turn around. It's true. His employees are kneeling in front of the dicks,
carefully painting them black using brushes and colorful wooden palettes. Clenching your teeth,
you shake your head.

"Freud would be proud," you mutter.

"Freud?" Sugar asks. "He a rapper?"

"Sugar, have you seen Marcus? The Rock? Jimmy? Big? Abraham? Maybe Vainilla?"

Sugar frowns his lips. "MAAAAN, I dunno??? So many people? yknow???"

"When was the last time they came?" you ask.

"Like, yesterday?" Sugar scratches his afro. "Bitch I aint time for the past. Move it."

And with that, you escape the cacophony of screams of flashing lights.
>Search for non-phallic artworks.

Two is too giddy to be taken for a walk through the shopping district. "This is a date," she insists.
You don't remind her you both could end up in jail anymore. Happy people don't care. Meanwhile,
you keep an eye out. Compared to the vastness of business around, the ones that suffered
Four's wrath are less than few. Yet they are noticeable, since, except for Sugar's, most or all
of them closed down for repairs. You spot the occasional reporter and cameras, but going on
live TV thrills you less than a dead possum.

"We are going on a date," Two repeats, giddy. "We are looking for a penis for Five."

She laughs, loudly.

"We wouldn't have to look too long then," you say. After all, that's a smiling, fat Buddha with a
penis coming out of his stomach.

Despite Four, or maybe because of him, the place is very lively. It spans barely a few blocks
in a row, but the town is so small and the news so rare that it's crowded anyway all the same.
You notice Two has completely forgotten about the mission and is intently staring through
windows, at clothes, at cooking sets, at food. Much to your dismay, she even stops you to
take a better look.

"What do you think of that one?" she says, pointing at an expensive looking violet dress. It
comes with a fur jacket.

"I wonder how many raccoons they skinned for that one," you say. "It sure looks fluffy."

"Why! Why would you say that," Two grumbles, her arms shaking.

"Maybe because we are wasting time," you say, shark-smiling at her, "and you would only be able
to afford that if you saved up until your eighties."

This causes the maid to pout and look away.
"You should learn to enjoy the moment," Two states, firmly. "Mean," she also states, sternly.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. The maid keeps on looking at it.

"You know? I think it would look good on you," she finally babbles.

You just walk away. After a while, you glance back to see if Two is following you (you find her
right next to you) but keep on looking past her, your eyes glued to the scenery.
"Five?" Two asks as you walk past her. "Oh- M-my!"

"This," you declare, "is Four's."

And it's his only non-phallic artwork you are aware of.

"But- Five; what does it mean???"

"I don't know, Two," you say, squinting your eyes at the... existance.

After all, it is confusing. You take out your notepad, and /attempt/ to describe the complex
set of statues, surrounded by people with cameras.

>"A Hellenistic man dressed like a factory worked stretches his arm towards a floating, desperate dog, who seems to be being absorbed into his hand as implied by the fake, ceramic whirlwind around the canine. The man itself is surrounded by others of the sort with varying expressions, all of which either hug him or grab him down in greek fashion. While one is shouting at him and another covers his face with a hand, there's one with a particularly big, sly smile, and another who seems to be bordering on ecstasy or orgasm. The dog's expression is that of genuine horror, conveyed so naturally that I worry the statue is nothing but a dried up, real dog. The level of detail suggests at least years of zoned-up dedication. The whole structure rests over a car's roof, and it's easy to see at the distance.

You read your description again as you watch the statue, which blocks the path of roaring cars.
You aren't sure it fits or makes sense. You don't even try to be sure.

This is pretty cute. The numbers are going to be confusing when people can't tell the characters apart.
But I have no idea how to respond to that.
just think of this like a puzzle with missing pieces lol
in this quest, you never have to read backlogs
just use what is in the thread already
Move in for a closer look. If he's sculpted this thing over years, there might well be details that aren't apparent from a distance.

Ask around the bystanders. For instance. when was this thing put up? Near the start of the graffiti spree, or near the end? Having an inclination of whether Four saw this as an centerpiece or an afterthought to all the penises might offer some insights into its significance.

Because I'm not at all sure what this statue is supposed to mean.
>Check the statue.

With the wind tickling your ears, you walk towards the whirlwind of statues. You power
through all the human mass that surrounds it, enduring the smell of sweat and chatter. Finally
at its feet, there were details hidden by the perspective.

>One of the 'Hellenistic factory workers' has not one but two heads and necks. While the first face is shouting, the second is curling its lips in utter surprise, as if a very doted female's clothes just exploded.
>The man that is 'absorbing' the dog seems to be screaming out of extreme pleasure, pain, or both. His eyes are closed, his mouth is open wide.
>The dog is a very frightened Akita Inu. Same breed as Hachiko, the famed dog that waited ten years for his dead master to arrive.
>For one reason or the other, the veins in the men's necks and faces are very pronounced. As if an extreme effort was being exerted.
>The overall level of detail and proportion is astounding. This is either a grand-master level work, or the result of tinkering with 3D printers somehow. I will assume the later, for my own sanity.

You glance at your side. Two, very next to you, is intently staring at your little notepad. She
slowly raises her eyes to yours, and once they meet, smiles.

"I don't need to tell you this is invasion of privacy," you start, "in two simultaneous ways,
now, do I?"

"Awww, but we are buddies," she points out, giddy. "Buddies help each other out."

"Then help me keep your nose off," you rumble.

>Ask bystanders.

You walk up to a tall bald man who's wearing his tie like a bandana.

"Excuse me, sir," you ask, drawing his attention. "Do you know when this thing was put up?"

"I can kick my own ass with both legs. At once," he says. "Wanna see?"

You share a /look/ with Two, then consider your words carefully. "No?"

But he smiles. "So shy."

Before you get another word out, he looks away and takes this small jump that claps both his heels against his buttocks, then falls on his knees. His face all red, the man howls and cries like a wounded wolf, over and over. You just walk away.

>Just pretend that never happened.

Soon, you find a manly woman who seems interesting enough.

"Any clue about what's going on?" you ask her.

She turns towards you. This is one tall woman.

"No," she says, "but the son of my friend says he saw them, the people, the ones who put this

"Oh, is that so," you say, trying not to seem interested. "Did they also had penises stuck
somewhere? Like everything?"

"No," she answers bluntly. "They were wearing Barney costumes. Barney the Dinosaur. That's
what he said."

"How weird," you mutter loudly, squinting. You walk away, again, your head in the clouds,
thinking that, if food was data, these clues would be a meat salad served with a graphics card.
You think you heard Two thank the woman, but who knows. Details.
Two and you spent the next couple of hours walking around, studying Four's havoc closely. It
turns out that sculpture wasn't the only 'non-dick' art he pulled out of his cave. Various
advertisement posters were replaced or modified, some replacing models with casual
woman, others so abstract that involved ducks with human eyes for some reason. While a hint
of a pattern may appear at times, some works were so their own world that you wonder if the
other guys had a hand in the art. At any rate, you two went back at dusk. Which you stare at
from the window of your office at the Trashcan.

"I feel cheated out of my time," you grumble," and I /don't/ like it."

"Awww, but it's not wasted if we spend it together," Two says, hugging your arm.

You give her the mother of death stares, reserved specifically for this occasion. But she
just blinks.

"Two," you repeat for the 99th time, "I /hate/-"

"-being touched???" she finishes, excited.

You just look straight into her eyes until the maid goes "oh" and releases you. The dying sun
draws your attention.

"I have to find him," you say, almost bitterly. "And I have to find him before the police do."

"But Five, where could Four be?" Two asks.

You close your eyes. Maybe that's not the point.

Slow thread this time around. Guess the break between threads is making it hard for people to spot this one?

If we're thinking about where Four could be, there's only one place we know of that he frequents, and that's the garage we found him at previously. Given that he'd need to coordinate his men for all this, and that he'd need some private space away from prying eyes to pre-fabricate some of these pieces, it's likely that he's working out of there, or else some other hideout that we don't know about. But if we're going to start physically searching for him, there'd be the place to start.

Alternatively, given how much public attention these works are getting, it's probable that some people who witness Four's gang in the process of setting something up will post about it on social media. If that's the case, we might be able to catch them in the act by keeping an ear to the ground across a few popular platforms, though how able we are to take advantage of it would depend on how quickly we're able to get ourselves to the scene.
the >??? must be scaring people lol
postin later
weekdays we run slow with big updates
The open-endedness might be a factor too. At the very least, it probably turns off new readers.

Our conclusions at the end of the last thread were clearly lacking, or else the way we went about trying to fix things was, so I'm now not quite sure what would be best to do here. As it is, I've personally just been trying to follow along the the prompts in each update, and gather additional information where possible. I don't know if more guidance would make more people turn up, though.
in part, this is just me learning the fine line
between making things too hard
or too easy
you guys been doing quite fine though
much better than expected
ill add prompts from now on to give you guys
some direction
lets see how that goes
Careful mentioning that dinosaur, "he" might come.
Statue might suggest he is trying to make everyone like him and he knows it? Some crazy offshoot of ocd?
>Head to the unfinished garage.

"The garage," you say thoughtfully as you adjust your tie. "Should have been our first stop."

"That's right," Two says, then 'hmms'. "What if he's still out there, making a mess???"

"Likely, but why not?" And you are already walking. You open the door and head out. As
you head down the dark aisle, you pay attention until you hear the maid's footsteps.

This time, the elevator takes less than ten seconds to get down. You just glance at Two,
whose face remains numb as a rock. When the bell rings and the doors open to the sides, all
that greets you is darkness.

"Huh," you mumble. "Right."

"I can't see anything," Two complains.

"I'd be worried if you could," you say as you fumble for the cellphone. "I've got enough anime
in my life, no room for a yakuza vampire maid."

Right. You lost it. As you sigh, something peeps from the corner of your eye.

"This???" Two says giddily, shaking your cellphone sideways. Then gets serious. "Bad
Five, you should be more careful. What if your father called while you didn't have it??? He'd be
so worried!"

"Just turn on the damn light," you grumble as you walk into the darkness.

The darkness dissipates except for your shadow in front of you, not enough for you to see the
walls. You try to take it from Two, who dodges your hand; you lock eyes with her, then mumble
grumble away.

"Wait," Two's talks with a higher pitch. "Five, look."

She points the light at the wall next to you. There's a big painting, framed in slim wooden

"I know this one," she says, walking close to it. "It's the one from that restaurant, 'The Great
Lady'. It has a whole wall for itself. I get my carrots from there because the dinners only eat
meat and there's a lot left every day."

"That explains the whole 'no more glasses' bullshit," you point out.

"But, the one there," Two goes on, blatantly omitting you, "doesn't have dinosaurs or lawyers,
and nobody is shooting kamehamehas out of their mouths."

"Huh," you mutter. "I see."

Studying the piece intently along the maid, your eyes widen slightly.

"Did we pass that place today?" you ask Two.

"We did," she says, surprised, "Oh- do you wanna to have dinner there??? They do sushi."

"Two, stop trying to fuck me and listen," you blurt out. "Was there anything off about that
place? A dick, maybe?"

"No?" Two offers, tilting her head sideways. "It was fine. Like usual."

You return to stare at the giant painting. Either Four is very gifted or he spent years planning
this one out.

"Finally," you tell the dinosaur-riding lawyer as he beats an angel down with a bass. "A lead."
>Check out social media.

Nowadays, news fly. A man in Ireland knows what happened in Japan less than half a minute
after the fact. Some people blame on this the now trending lack of communication, the
teens glued to their cell phones during dinner. And yet, the way you see it, it's because
those conversations were boring to begin with. Nobody would admit that. Nobody would want to
think their chit-chat isn't interesting. And it's always a losing fight against all the Internet has
to offer- so they either turn or complain.

So right now, you are checking out what those teenagers are ignoring their parents with.

"Any luck?" Two asks

"Not so far," you say.

After checking out the rest of the garage (which is surprisingly vast) you two remain at the foot of
the elevator- in utter darkness since none of the light switches work. Only the light of the
cellphone stands against it, the light of cats, memes, and people desperate to be right.

"Here," you say, "look."

You feel something on your shoulder, and of course, it's Two's head. No matter how many
times you tell her you /hate it/ she forgets it. Or doesn't. The pictures regarding Four's last raid
are plenty and even earned a trending hashtag. Yet you wonder if there wasn't something more
fitting than #thedicking.

"That's that statue," Two says. "With the dog. I wonder what it means."

"This piece of trash doesn't deserve to have a meaning," you rumble. "Fuck it."

You swipe it out. The next picture is a cat.

"No," you say, swiping. "No. No. No. No-"


"I just did, dammit," you grumble.

Barney the Dinosaur; that's what she said, the woman with the son. Someone managed a
picture- and, apparently, they move through rooftops.

"Biggy," you mutter, then whistle.

"Are you sure???"

"That guy looks like a gigantic pear," you state. "And who else does?"

You both glance at the picture. Only the upper right corner is relevant; it's the biggest purple
dinosaur ever, climbing someone's fence. Wearing a suit.

"So much creativity and he had them wear the same damn clothes," you say surprised. "This
doesn't fit." You stare at Two as she covers your cellphone. "What the-"

Her other hand ends on your mouth. You consider bitting it until you hear the footsteps,
echoing across the dark. You press the button to turn off the phone but it lits again, and Two turns
it upside down faster than you considered what just happened. It seems she had already pushed
that button before and you turned it on again.

You wonder if that gave you away.

The footsteps grow heavier and the noise gets stronger, like the pounding of your heart. Then all
the lights are flicked open and reveal the suit-dressed yellow triceratops. Not paying you any
heed, it heads further down into the forgotten garage. You lock eyes with Two; she shakes her

>Face it.
I warned you about that dinosaur. He might come and spam his autism!
>Face it.
I will change to face it.

At times, doing nothing is the most dangerous path- you risk a life of regret, as some chances
never come back. And this lead happens to have two legs. Two gasps in dismay as you push
yourself to a stand. She hugs your leg tightly, you look at her, she shakes her head and hair
even more. So you clear your throat.

"Hey," you shout.

The yakuza dinosaur stops in place. You kick your leg out of the grip as Two recoils in horror.
With the smiling, yellow dinosaur face staring, you take one step at a time towards it- until it
can't look down any further.

"Take that off. It's creeping me out," you demand.

It just looks over you. You sigh.

"Fucks sake, come on," you say. "At least say something."

It doesn't. Slowly, a chill fills your spine- until you hear giggling. Grumbling, you try to take the
head off, but it's too tall, and a single hand is enough to stop you. It's laughing by now. You
give up.

"Goddammit Jimmy, stop wasting time," you complain loudly. "Where's Four?"

"What do I get? If I tell ya?" And it's Jimmy's voice, of course. "What can you give me?"

"A job as Daddy's little minion, because that's what you are going to lose if you don't tell me,"
you grumble.

It laughs behind the mask. "You best be joking. A threat?"

You bite your lip. "Jimmy," you start, clenching a fist, "there are already pictures of you guys on
the net. If Four fucks this one up, we /all/ lose our jobs. We lose the Trashcan. Good for
everyone, but bad for us."

The yellow, lifeless dinosaur simply stares. You fix your eyes on it, stoically, wondering where
the eyes actually see from.

"But if I lose the job, you lose the job," it finally says, "so you got nothing to bargain with."

"This isn't a trade. We both lose here," you complain. "Fucks sake Jimmy, you don't always
have to win."

Jimmy turns around and single-handedly rips the restaurant portrait off the wall. You swallow in
perfect silence; that man is just too strong. With lawyers over his arm, he walks past you.

"I'm nobody's bitch," Jimmy says, heading for the elevator, past Two.

"What about Four's," you yell, annoyed.

The elevator rings, opens, and swallows him whole. The last you see is him taking off the big
yellow head, right as the doors close. You walk up to Two, who is still cowering.

"I told you. All of them were my clients," you tell her.

"So???" the maid grumbles as she stands. "They are all crazy anyway!"

"Crazy but not stupid," you smugly point out. "They know I'm Daddy's little bitch, and that I
always keep my secrets."

"It was luck," Two yells, "and you are crazy too!"

The angry maid heads to the elevator, but you grab her shoulder and stop her.

"Not yet," you say. "Now we know where he's going."

The surprise twists her angry frown.

"The restaurant," Two mumbles. "But when?" she says loudly.

"When does it close?"

"At night??? Very at night," Two assures you.

"He can't change it in broad daylight, now can he?" you say.
It's back to your office, staring through the window, waiting for the night. In the end, you
decided against waiting at the garage for someone else to come. After all, they had what
they wanted. And following Jimmy around didn't work because, as you figured out and later
verified, he has a car.

The muffled sound of 'tray-hitting-desk' has you turn, just in time to spot Two cleaning her
forehead with a sleeve.

"Do you think Four is going there himself?" Two asks, then yawns and stretches.

"Not sure. But the man is a perfectionist. It's worth a shot," you say, fighting back the urge to

You walk up to the tray. There are french toasts, a teapot, oranges, and sliced bananas, all
carefully arranged. You grab one of the toasts, take it to your mouth- and the door blasts open.

You stare at it. Whoever this person is, you are looking at it with your mouth open, toast leaning
in. All you can tell as it walks in is that someone from a Tarantino movie walked out of the screen.

"Well, hi there," she starts, her voice soft but sharp. "Eat, darling."

Looking at her, you bite, chew, and swallow. This is the tallest woman you've ever met.
Blonde like Two, she wears a massive black trenchcoat and has very broad shoulders for a

"Do we have an appointment?" you ask the grimly grinning figure.

"No, dear," she says. "I don't think so."

You glance at Two. The maid seems frozen in time mid-gesture, yet she glances back at you.
The tall woman, however, walks in and sits where the clients.

"I'm looking for Four," she says. "Tell me where I can find him."

"I hate surprises," you grumble. "Did Daddy sent you?"

"You could say that," she answers. "Yes; you could. You are Five. And I am One." She smiles
and it's scary. "Let's help each other out."

You study her features intently. One looks as if she was stolen from a jungle at a young age,
deprived of her youth and family, constantly in ecstasy out of picturing herself torturing her
captors in new, funny ways.

"One," Two manages. "Hello, One."

One turns to Two and smirks. "I'll fuck your brains out later. You," she looks at you. "Wasting
my time is a sin."

Out of instinct, you draw a cigarette and lit it. "I know that feeling."

"Don't smoke in front of me," One demands.

"This is my offi-"

Yet Two snatches the cig from your mouth. You death-stare her, but the maid holds your eyes
sternly. It surprises you, so you face One.

"Why do you want to find him?" you ask the amazon straight-forwardly.

"It depends," One says, "on why do you want to know."

You squint your eyes.

>Tell her.
>Don't tell her.
>Ask her a question.
>Tell her.
Would tellling her be violating patient confidentiality?
four never told you
so it wouldnt
>Tell her

Depending on what we actually tell her, I don't see that it necessarily violates confidentiality. She's not asking us why we want to find him; she's asking us why we want to know why she wants to find him.

And we probably want to know because she seems dangerous as fuck, and it's basically our job to look out for people's safety.

>Tell One why do you want to know why she wants to find Four. It's so complicated.

"Four is in big shit right now," you declare, "as you had clearly seen if you took a look at the

One smiles wickedly. "I pictured."

"My ass is on the line, so I can't have him killed," you explain. "Even if he /is/ about to dress us all
in black and white striped pajamas."

"Tell me why is that," One asks casually.

"I'm being threatened," you tell her, carefully.

"Name. Tell me the name."

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. "Why?" You finally ask. "Why do you want to

One stares at you from another angle, clearly grinning. "Sweetheart, bring me coffee," she
says while looking at you, yet it's Two that runs out. One is surprisingly glamorous for someone
of her build. "Not for you," she starts, "but I could fix this little problem for the sake of our

"You mean mine."

"Yes," One clarifies, an edge in her voice. "And you would be free to tell me where Four is."

"Huh." You grab your lighter out of habit but just leave your hand there. "And how would you fix it,
this little problem of mine?"

"Dear, you don't need to know that."

"I do, actually," you dare to say, "since it's one of my patients."

One chuckles. "You are afraid of retribution. Yet you shouldn't be."

You lift an eyebrow. "Would he be coming to his next session?"

And One leans forward. "No," she whispers loudly.

>Tell her about Marcus.
Tell her.
Like we said, we're nothing without trust.
This. Also, fuck this One cunt. She can go fuck right off.
Convey this to her as well.
The blade behind One's words puts you on guard, stills your muscles- as she smiles like a
virtual emote.

"I don't think Daddy would like that," you say as you turn your body sideways.

"He won't like his lovely little therapist being intimidated," One follows, "Five."

"So you'll tell him."

"Yes," One says, childishly waving her head. "And he'll believe me."

"I see," you mutter.

You close your eyes to think- then jump at the sound of fingers snapping.

"Dear, you should learn your manners," One suggests, baring her teeth. "You aren't alone yet
to doze off and do nothing."

You consider grinning at her but abstain. Certain personalities are very bad telling motive. Like

"As Tesla said, thinking is my job," you tell One, "and closing my eyes helps me do my job
better. Yet at any rate..."


"...you still don't know who my intimidator is," you point out, and can't help but grin just a bit.

And by how still she stays, you can tell she didn't like it.

"I can kill you," One points out, just like you did.

"I know."

"And Daddy would not care."

"I see."

The fire from One's eyes warms you. After all, who'd kill their only lead?

Unless, of course, the lead is hopeless.

"I'm fucked from every angle, One," you state firmly, sitting upright, staring at the assassin
right in the eyes. "I'm a therapist. I'm nothing without trust. Four's team know about this
person. And they know about you. I'm sure."

"Not enough," One spits.

You lift the cigarette, then One's stare catches your hand. It bounces against the trashcan's

"I tell you, I lose my name. I don't tell you, you kill me. I tell Daddy, they kill me. I do nothing,
the Trashcan burns." You shrug, stretching both arms to the side. "So where is that damn

And just like magic, Two enters the room. Her tray has not one, but two cups of coffee.
Focused, Two drops them in front of the therapist and the amazon.

"Tell me why you got one for her too," One demands of Two.

Who stops like a clock hand that just moved.

"Ehhhhhhhhh," she starts, "I think it's not polite to drink alone... right?"

"You didn't ask her," One states.

The only part of Two that moves are her eyes, darting from side to side, looking for the answer
they can't find inside. Of course, they glue to you.
"She'd be a shitty maid if she didn't."
Drink that delicious coffee
"I always drink coffee at this hour," you lie, since coffee messes your sleep. You lift your
cup and take a sip. "After all, these talks get heated."

"Exactly," Two beams.

One lifts an eyebrow. "Yet you didn't say so."

"I was about to."

"It doesn't take that long to talk," One says.

"It doesn't???" Two laughs. "But I'm so slow."

One cringes- maybe out of rage. "Self-deprecation is no reason to laugh, and certainly
not in front of other people. Pity has a price. You should know that. It's in the book."

"The book," you repeat.

"The- the book of One, Five," Two says, laughing nervously. As she looks at one, her
bright vanishes. "Um, One??? I don't think Five knows about it. Yet. Of course."

One studies you intently from the corner of her eye. Then, she takes, from inside her black
trenchcoat, this tiny book- and stretches her very long arm across the table to drop it in front
of you. Slowly, you lean forward to take a peek. And it does say "Book of One" in gold letters.

You whistle. "Printed and everything," you say, marveled. "I hope it has submarines. I always
wanted to be the therapist of a submarine. It's my dream."

"That's, uh," One stops like a train, "a weird, noble dream."

You take the book and place it under the desk.

"But why??? Why a submarine???" Two asks, loudly.

Until One glares at her. "There is no reason for that to be an evil dream. Therapists, no matter
where, help people."

Two gulps and nods, saying nothing further.

"I'll read it," you say, then nod once, sternly.

One nods. "It lacks submarines, unfortunately. Now," she resumes her 'manners', "tell me
where Four is."

You tilt your head sideways. "I can tell you are smart. So-"

"I'll just kill them all," One offers, gently, "and there will be no one left to tarnish your pretty

Only three words fill your mind: "Jesus", "Fucking", "Christ".

>Tell her about the restaurant's painting.
>Don't tell her.
>Tell her about the restaurant's painting.
>Tell her about the restaurant's painting.
Here's the thing. We appreciate her offer, we really do. She's the blunt instrument that comes into play when our not-quite-subtle touch fails. Having a backup plan is always a good thing.

But stopping here would be admitting defeat, and we aren't quite at that stage yet - otherwise, we wouldn't be doing all these investigations.

That said, she's probably quite capable of tailing us from now on if she wanted to know where to go. And she's certainly capable of killing us if she feels the need.

However, she also seems to be an individual of some principles, even if we're not sure what exactly they are. But I'm willing to guess that keeping her word is one of them, otherwise she wouldn't be speaking to us in quite this manner. So,

>Tell her, in a show of good faith, but only on the condition that she permits you to continue trying to treat this with your own means. She isn't allowed to kill them unless you personally tell her that you're giving up and leaving it in her hands.
"Huh. Not the type to make things complicated," you blurt out, "now, are you?"

"I am," One replies, "when life calls."

You 'hmm', staring at her, as if meeting your new friend's seven feet long pitbull.


>Tell her about the restaurant's painting... on a condition.

"Don't waste my time," One asks, bluntly.

"I think you'd agree killing seven people deserves some thought," you spill, the sarcasm

One chuckles softly. "Less than you think."

You glance at Two. The maid is quiet but wears her hardest frown yet. Telling Four on One just
to have Two see your true nature is tempting- but ultimately unprofessional. Riding a flash of
insight, you draw the tiny book from under your desk, and, One staring, swipe through its
pages. She says not a word as you study the words intently, and neither when you whisper

"That's unprofessional," One points out. "I'm still here."

"Strict, aren't we?" Yet your eyes are still on the book. You keep your smile at bay; this is the
perfect moment to be serious.

"You take honor seriously," you state, "according to this little Book of One."

"It's little to be effective," One says, softly. "Easier to remember."

"I'll tell you where Four is," you say, and One perks up, and Two reels back, "on /one/
condition, One."

The yakuza amazon instantly frowns. "A condition. You aren't taking me seriously."

"Au contraire," you offer, keeping a straight face. "I took my sweet time and sweat to find a
middle ground. It's as serious as it gets."

"I don't need a middle ground," One roars, showing her teeth, "only black and white."

"Well, I'm dressed in both black and white. Please don't kill me," you add, just in case.
"The book says killing over bad jokes is wrong. Take a look."

You turn it to face One. Even Two leans forward.

"It says nothing about physical punishment," One adds.

"What a great book," you state, loudly. "At any rate, this is what I offer. Let me try to fix Four
first on my own. Should I fail, it's all up to you, and you even get all my intel."

Smiling a bit, you shrug.

"Simple like your book," you finish.

One squints at you much like you always do, then moves her head around as if to study you
from various angles. Two beholds this process in utter stillness as if One's perception was based
on movement.

"Not quite that simple yet, then," One says. "We need a line- to know when you have failed.
An event that marks the end of your turn and the beginning of mine." One shuts her eyes with
strength, then stares at you with renewed force. "Before this situation goes completely out of

You agree. It's blurry lines that start wars. Leaving deals to hope and goodwill hardly ever
kept profit safe.

Getting greedy could be dangerous, though.

>What will you ask One to get involved?

>If you fail to convince him at the restaurant.
>When one of Four's gets caught.
>When the police gets to the Trashcan.
>If you fail to convince him at the restaurant.
No time to lose
Man, im not looking forward to fixing this One bitch, but its definitely coming.
>If you fail to convince him at the restaurant.
Either way if we fail now we won't really have another chance to talk some sense into him. Better to keep one happy and the trashcan safe then.
With your analytical glare, you study One intently. Her black trench coat is dark, yet you
pick up an even deeper dark underneath.

"Don't stare at people so much," One demands. "It's awkward."

"Vantablack," you point out. "The darkest material known to men. Your friends must be

One lifts her chin, staring down at you. "I wasn't aware that therapists cared for that kind of

"More never hurts when it comes to people," you joke playfully. "This place must be very
important to you."

One smiles wickedly. "Let me warn you. there's a cat inside the box. Don't stick your nose too
far, Five."

You shrug carelessly.


>Play it safe. Tell One she's in charge if and only if you fail at the restaurant.

"So Four could get busted and talk and that worries you. Let's kill that chance, then," you

One just waves her eyebrows. You taste the coffee; it has too much sugar.

"I know where Four will be tonight," you resume, then draw a napkin and clean your mouth with it.
"I'll have my chance with him. If I mess up, then there you have him, right in front of you."

"You'll lead me to him," the femme fatale says.

"Yup," you answer. "I dare to assume you would have tailed me anyway."

"I would have taken you hostage until you were of use," One says, "but yes, this makes it

Fffffuck. You grin a bit.

"We have a deal, then," you declare. "So, how do we seal it?"

"Get some wine and have a toast with the door, for all I care," One says sharply. "As for me, I'll
be having your maid- for an hour or so." One stares straight at you. "Get out."

You lock eyes with Two, then look back at One. "This is my office," you remind her.

The amazon stares at you like a leopard would stare at a prenup.

"I do what I want," One simply claims.

And you find nothing to say. You share a final glance with the maid, who just nods once and
firmly. Leaving the coffee there to freeze, you walk past the killer and close the door behind
An hour or so later, Two finds you at the small warehouse where you had that chat with Daddy.
She's sweating, and her breathing is unsteady.

"That woman is going to kill me one of these days," Two complains. "Five? Are you ok???"

"Why would I not be?" you answer as you spin your spoon inside your tea. "You, however,
look... pretty-fucked-up."

You manage to shark-grin at your own bad joke. Two loosens up but scoffs anyway.

"At least you are calling me pretty, you know," the maid says. Then she looks away. "This... this

"We should get going already," you cut her off. "Get casual clothes and hide that hair somehow.
We need a watch post near the restaurant."

A bit off, Two chuckles. "How am I going to hide it??? Look."

She lifts her golden hair and lets it fall trend by trend, making a show out of it. It is a bit alluring.

"How about you cut it off," you suggest, moving your lips too much.

And she doesn't like it.

"It's going to rain, isn't it?" you say quickly before Two gets the chance. "Get a raincoat or
something. Or whatever. And get it fast; you have twenty minutes."

"Where do we meet???" Two asks as you walk past her.

You stop to think it up. "Sugar's. Let's take a cab from there."


The streets stretch and vanish at the back window of the car. Nothing on wheels has kept
the same color after each curve. Two, however, has. Her raincoat was green at Sugar's- and is
still green now.

"You look," you confess, "like a frog."

Two's piercing glare feels like having a muscle knot massaged.

"And since when do you care what I look like???" Two grumbles as you smirk. "This is a
serious matter."

You look back at the shrinking streets.

"Feels so lonely, doesn't it," you say.

"Huh??? You feel lonely???"

Rolling your eyes, you glance at Two.

"Her," you say.


Giving up, you sigh. It's only then that you wonder what the hell is Two doing here.

next update is big
so im finishin it after a nap
i thought a decoy choice
would be insulting
so you guys will have to wait

also holy fuck are we runnin slow lately
any ideas?
shill on /qtg/
There would've been a ton more anons if Five was the one who fucks Two in her office instead of One, for better or worse.

Maybe also if we didn't let One continue to walk all over us.
The restaurant had closed already three hours ago. You had taken a small hotdog bar as your
watch post- and only as it closed down behind you did you realize there's nowhere else to hide.
There's not a single open business around the Great Lady by now.

That's how you ended up hiding inside a literal trash can.

It's on the street in front of the restaurant, across the street. Slowly, your head pushes the
lid up. "Get me clients and I'm dead set," you mutter as you peek towards the Great Lady. The
big place lies, just like in the past three hours, dark and deserted. "One must be bored too."

"Shouldn't people be worried about getting picked by Four???" you hear Two's voice, her
eyes barely glinting under the lid of the next can. "I wonder how many kids had to have the

"It's getting them screentime, so who knows," you say, "maybe they want it."

You hear footsteps and hide- yet the lid is torn from over your head. So you meet eyes with this
casual middle eyed guy that looks like how Jim Carrey would if the actor had been punched in
the balls with a pile bunker. Frozen in time, the man is still aiming his burrito at you.

"You know, you should love yourself more," he says.

You shark-grin. "Best fuck out if you do."

"Yadda yadda," the man blurts out as he keeps on walking, now in an overly-exaggerated

You grumble gravely in silence until a faint light grabs your attention. It's a headlight from a car
that just parked next to the Lady. In a flash, five or four shadows get down- all weird shapes that
you remember- and vanish into its dark alley.

"Five!" Two whisper-yells, but you are frozen.

You knew this was coming. There was no way Four could have infested this city other than
lightning fast hit-and-runs. However, there is one factor you haven't- that you couldn't have- taken
into account: you don't see Four with them. Your plan was catching the knight red handed so you
could threaten him into a private talk. It's risky to act without contingency planning, so your mind
rushes with plans and possibilities.

Before you notice, they had already left.

You study the peaceful panorama intently as if there was something left to do. It's the same
you've been looking at for three hours straight, so maybe you are trying to convince yourself
they have yet to arrive. That's when you hear an engine purr and a bike that stops right in
front of you. When the lid falls, it's One staring down at you.

"I'll spare you the joke," she claims.

Before you get a word out, One drags you out by the arm, somewhat forcibly.

"We are leaving," she says. "Get on."

You look at the motorcycle. It's a big, black Honda.

"They already left," you admit.

"Not a problem."

"Not a problem," you repeat. "How will you find them?"

"I'm sure you know," One says, "what they say about cats."

"Nine lives?" you blurt, cheekily.

Her stare would have been enough for you to ride a rocket. As the engine starts, you glance
back; a hand spawns from the can and waves.
Certainty as an absolute is a myth; no matter how it seems, there's never a 100% chance. The
closest you can get is your hate for motorbikes, now fresh as you soar the streets. You hold on
to One for dear life, not even daring to open your eyes. It's only after the bike stops that you
consider it.

You look around. It's a dark alley and the engine is still purring.

"So; what now?" you finally ask, after a twenty minutes ride.

Helmet still on, One looks back. "We wait."

"For what?" you ask, dizzy. "I thought I lost my chance."

You push yourself from One's back. Like you, she's wearing casual clothes instead of a
trenchcoat. It just so happens that her definition of 'casual' may be fancier than yours.

"You never had it," One says, "and honestly, I want to see you try."

"Huh. I guess that's mercy."

"No such thing," One says slowly, marking every word. "I only kill when there's no other
choice. It's in the book."

You lift your glasses and clean the sweat off your eyes with a sleeve. "I see."

As for your choice of 'casual', it's a simple brown sweater that you like to wear. It's trimming with
black shapes all over it, some of savannah animals, others of grass and trees.

"Lives aren't meant to be wasted," One adds. "Yet there comes a time when letting someone
live is risking all others."

"I thought you wanted Four dead."

"I want him to stop," One claims, firmly, "by any means necessary."

"I see," you say.

You both wait in silence at the dark alley, only the engine and far cars breaking the silence. Ten
minutes in, you end up standing for a smoke; you catch One glaring at you for a second.
Mostly out of boredom, you take out her little book. The little pages are infested with rules and
exceptions that you power through until you hit gold.

"So it says here that smoking is wrong," you say nonchalantly. "What if a man wanted to quit
but couldn't do so at once?"

"There is an exception to that," One says, her voice muffled by the helmet, "as for all
addictions. There is a period of rehabilitation in which use is allowed, but in smaller doses each
time. Quiting cold turkey is not only hard; it can be deadly."

"Interesting. And how would you know?"

"How would I know what?"

"That they aren't messing with you," you say, "that they are working on it."

"I'd know," one states. "I always know."

You stop in place to consider why she could have said that- but before you get that deep, she
taps the back sear of the motorbike.

"Time's up," One says. "Get a move on."

Grumbling wildly in silence, you sit behind the blonde.
You open your eyes to a dark alley- a different alley. Once you manage to drop down from the
Honda you walk up to One's back, who's at the entrance. As you walk past her, you look at
where she's looking and find the same car the colorful dinosaurs jumped from to raid, across
the street.

"He can't have avoided all the security cameras," you say, still shaken by the ride.
"What is going on?"

"Now's your chance to find out," One says, still wearing her helmet. "Go knock knock, dear."

And there's no doubt in your mind: that, past the car, is the abandoned soda factory. You behold
its massive door from afar, wondering if there's a bell to ring.

"I'll be near," you hear One say.

You simply walk across the street. Once there, you wonder if you are paid well enough. And you
don't even turn as the purring gets sucked by the distance.

You 'knock knock' on the biggest door ever. Nothing happens. You hit it harder, and nothing
happens yet. Then a man walks out of another, smaller door, and gets stuck looking at you- and
it's Marcus having a smoke. He doesn't say a word; the man grabs your arm and drags you

The factory is vast and the roof is tall and made of aluminium. Though there's machinery aplenty
nothing ever moves, except for you and Marcus that walk across the faint dark. Soon you hear
whimpers- and are surprised to find it's not Four that cries. Tied to a chair, under a big, yellow
lamp, a very red man would be surrounded by the full cast of Barney the Dinosaur if Four was
part of it.

"Oh god," the man cries, his voice shrill. He's choking back tears. "Oh god."

He takes a deep breath.

"OH GOOOOOOOOOOOOO-" he's instantly silenced by Barney's elbow to the nape, then
goes back to whimpering.

Four is sitting on the floor, grabbing his helmet with both hands. He seems to be yet to notice
you. Eyes wide, you glance at Marcus; the man simply shrugs.

Barney rips his head off and it's Jimmy. "I'll fuck him right in the ass," he says, "right in the ass!"

"NO PLEASE NO," the man begs.

"So, what's going on?" you whisper Marcus.

He bends toward your ear.

"Guy tried to tell on us," Marcus says, "after we gave him cash to be quiet. Jimmy wants to fuck
him. Biggy too."

You glance at the young man. He's a mess of goo and tears.

"...him right in the ASS," Jimmy repeats, louder.


"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," Four yells, finally. Everyone else falls into silence. A hand
on his head, the knight walks, then turns and turns and walks. "Ok. Ok. Fuck him RIGHT IN

"OH GOD-" is the last you hear of the man before he's dragged away, chair and everything,
by four smiling dinosaurs.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you mutter quietly.

Four sits again and cover his helmet. You glance at Marcus, who glances at you, then
walk towards the knight with soft steps.

"Four?" you whisper. "We need to talk."

He doesn't answer. Marcus walks next to you.
File: kfour.png (24 KB, 153x153)
24 KB
"He had the guy recite Shakesphere before getting him fucked," Marcus whispers into your
ear. "I thought he did well, but Four didn't like it. Does that help?"

"I really fucking hope it does," you mumble, drawing out a cigarette. "Leave me with him."

Marcus bows and leaves. Least he could do, the fucker.

You walk up to Four, then take a /deep/ breath.

>Start softly. "Four? It's me. Five."
>Start firmly. "You've done fucked up, Four."
>Start like a priest. "Oh, brave knight..."
shit happens lol

Alright then, we need a plan people, first off our goal is 1.Stop him from endangering the trashcan which feeds into 2. Get him to open up or at least make sure we get more sessions with him.

How are we going to do that? First off we need to gather intel, his motivation, what's next on his agenda etc. By the end we've got to have some way to stop him, either by diplomacy or, if we're REALLY desperate, by breaking him.
Worst case scenario he's an unrecoverable wreck but alive and isn't a danger to the trashcan and at best we can build him back up.

>"Four, we need to talk"
>"Why are you doing this? Do you realise how much you're risking?"
On a sidenote, this probably has to do with him trying to get others to understand him.
Also, be ready to RP if he's being stubborn, we cant get a detail like that get in our way.
If anyone has any better way to start feel free to post it.

Also OP, the weight behind each decision may scare away voters, personaly I love it though.
>Also OP, the weight behind each decision may scare away voters, personaly I love it though.

this is a quest
not a book
in quests you fuck up
that's the fun lol
>Start firmly. "You've done fucked up, Four."
>Start like a priest. "Oh, brave knight..."
We have to play into the fantasy
1 write in, 1 for soft, 1 for firm
unless we get a tiebreaker its dice in one hour
otherwise we get stuck
Firm, we cant keep enabling him
sry guys
taxi driver showed up on screen
i cant beat that movie

>Be firm like a rock. He can't keep getting away with this.

Four's still curled up in standing fetal position- much like a kid that's trying to roll like a ball but
can't quite let itself fall yet.

"Four: you fucked up," you start, loudly, clearly. "Did you hear me? You. Fucked. Up."

He doesn't seem to, though. Four doesn't even react.

"You are bringing the police to our doors, Four," you rumble, "and there's just so much they can
take. How the hell do you think they'll justify all these," you gesture as you look for the right
word, "dicks?"

All you get is a sharp whimper coming from the ball. Even bent over like that, you are still barely
taller than him.

You bend forward towards him. "Do you know what's at stake? Do you? That guy Jimmy just
took? We are all getting a slice of his cake- all thanks to /you/."

"...nnnnoooooOOOOOOO" Four finally snaps to a stand, his hands shaking so hard that you reel

He slams himself to a wall (not that strongly, as you notice) and goes 'hnnnnn', 'hnnnnnnn', like a
walrus giving birth. As you stare at him with a poker face, a faint sound draws you. It gets
louder- it comes from the back room.

"Four, for fucks sake," you say, carefully, "talk to me. We have to fix this. I can't bail you if you

"....away," you hear, and it's Four.


"Go away!" you hear him shout, still leaning against the wall.

Baring your teeth, you sigh. You remember that one time you told Four your nickname and he
went apeshit. This time, Two isn't here.

"....oh god, oh god," you barely get the echoes, "my tight, fluffy, plump little AAAAASSSSS..."

And Four howls, as if his son had just died at war. You close your eyes shut and bite your lip
hard. His sensitivity is a minefield- and you are a dog running across.

"Brave knight," you start, and another shout cuts you off. It's too late.

"Leave me aloooooooooone," the knight drags the word out.

This is hard. Grim as it is, you hope his henchmen are brain fucked enough to take turns
with the poor guy. You need the time.

>Apologize and nurture him. Like anything else, fake empathy still works if you try hard enough.
>Break him. Scold him like a father would spank his child. It's the only way he'll learn.
>Apologize and nurture him. Like anything else, fake empathy still works if you try hard enough.
You all are fucking idiots. This is a man ravaged by abuse. RAVAGED. Then we want to be "firm" with him. I doubt we can do anything now, but let's try.
Man I didn't expect that the firm choice would be nothing but insults, I expected 5 to be smarter than that.

>It seems to me like you dont want to get out of the shit you're in, we all are in.
(false flag)


>Then how do you think we're gonna get out of this if you keep sticking your head in the sand?
(open question)

>Go away

>How can I leave before we have reached the optimal solution to this situation, 4?
(keep answering with open questions until he says anything that we can bite into)

Something like that

Yes I read Chris Voss, yes I think this phase is a lot more like a negotiation than playing the shrink
Here's your books buddy. They'll be available at the link for two hours. Let me know if you don't reach them in time.

gotcha anon
woe to whoever shits on /lit/
have a good one

should i dice it
they say calm waters run deep
but holy fuck its so calm here
Rolled 3 (1d3)

>Apologize and nurture him. Like anything else, fake empathy still works if you try hard enough.

>Try to reason with Four. Keep asking questions.

>Have a good cig.
The screams are too loud. The cries, too shrill. So you dig up a cig, lit up the tip, and use your super

You completely draw your attention from the present moment.

>Four is sensitive.
Sensitivity is directly caused by insecurity in one's arguments or beliefs. Despite lacking clear
outlines, these beliefs are built upon in order to protect one's self-image.
"I could write a best seller because I've been playing eroges for ten years. I haven't been
wasting my time."

In order to justify itself, the subject on this example believes itself a capable writer to prove its ways
works to avoid having to face the uncertainties of change. It invests itself in the belief; it sacrifices
other opportunities. So what would happen if these logical holes were pointed out?

>Four lacks discipline.
To bring one's ideals and motives to life takes effort- it takes blood and sweat. An individual may
perfect its motive just like a lion learns to find the perfect target- yet it won't matter if the legs don't
move. The subject is then free to stray from reality since its ideals were never proven wrong. It learns
to avoid being tested instead of tempering its muscles- and thus, remains weak.

A classic way of straightening up messy children (and adults alike) is intimidation. Associating any
event to pain, suffering, or rejection causes the subject to abstain from it. However, since the
punishment is not a direct consequence of the event, the subject learns nothing from the
experience. This causes the subject to rebel against its teacher and to resent its inability to
explain the situation.

>The Sauce Factor
Despite its health benefits, the broccoli always loses to the hotdog when it comes to little kids.
That, when the vegetals aren't properly condimented. Arguments and facts follow the exact
same pattern: it won't matter how healthy a carrot is if nobody eats it.

>Whenever lost, you can trigger Five's /Observer Mode/.
>It summarizes situations from the bottom-up, never leaving relevant data out of the picture.
>It has one fatal flaw: Five loses track of the present. The deeper she goes, the more time is lost.

When you open your eyes, though, you relish the shouts and whimpers. Four is still there, spinning
on the ground like a ninja turtle. You fill your lungs: your chance is still here.

>Apologize and nurture him. Like anything else, fake empathy still works if you try hard enough.
>Break him. Scold him like a father would spank his child. It's the only way he'll learn.

>Apologize and nurture him. Like anything else, fake empathy still works if you try hard enough.
>Apologize and nurture him. Like anything else, fake empathy still works if you try hard enough.

The hardest part of being a therapist is pretending you care. And it's very important: some people go
down only because nobody believed in them. It's up to you to find their value- and sell your patients
to themselves.

You sigh loud enough for him to hear. "I'm sorry, Four. These days haven't been the best for me."

Reluctantly, you sit next to him. Four sobs too loudly; it makes you want to bite him. But you are
a professional. You are getting paid.

"I deal with lots of clients," you resume as Four lies in fetal position, "and they all have their problems.
Not to mention my own. Sometimes it's too much. Sometimes I can't take it. But I'm sure you, out of
everyone, will be able to forgive me."

Four doesn't answer, but at least you don't hear him whimper. It's a good start. You allow yourself a
small pause as the wall shakes and Jimmy goes 'yeah!'.

And also a big sip from your cig. "Pain drives us both. It talks from us. You are a good man, after
all," you say, then spray a gray cloud. "A wounded man. A deep man. And I want to hear what you
have to say," you say, turning to look at his back, "because I'm sure you turned all that suffering into
something marvelous."

You can't stop yourself from hitting the cigar again, and your sight strays to the roof as you do. It's far
and wide; raw steel beams loom under all the aluminum. Tiny booms beat it like a drum from the
other side, and you realize you've got no way to get back on your own. Or a coat.

"...you'll laugh at me," you hear from under the helmet.

"No, Four," you simply answer him. "I won't."

You haven't done so before, and you are sure he remembers. At least not in front of him. You and
Two talk shit about everyone. And Four doesn't know either, because the man finally stands again.

"Are you done for the day?" you ask him. "I can tell you guys work it hard."


"Will you help me help you?" you say, pleadingly as you can (which isn't much). "I want to
understand you. I want to save you."

The helmet's visor is fixed on you- and it's kinda creepy not having any expression to lean on. Four
turns around and walks out, not saying a word. Out of clues as to what to do, you opt to follow the
knight into darkness.
Following Sir Lancelot across a broken soda factory kills your every hope at serious creative
writing. There's a particular way in which you find this worse than Superman. The bulky alien can be
easily disregarded since it breaks all laws of physics- but this right here? This is the kind of
story that is at least possible. And it's actually happening to you.

A light showers you as Four pushes a curtain aside. You follow the knight in. It's a small room
with raw walls of concrete, almost dead in elegance were not for the few pictures and figures
here and there.

"C-close the door," Four commands, and you are sure it sounded better in his mind.

You slide the silk 'door' back to place. Your breath goes shallow; having Daddy and One watch your
back doesn't help the fact you are alone with a lunatic in an isolated room. You've got your
knowledge, though. You'd like to think that's all you need.

When you turn around again, though, Four had almost taken off his helmet. Eyes steady, you
study his features as he does: his hair is white, his skin brown- and he's certainly handsome in a
manly way. When he turns to face you, his eyes (one gold, the other teal) lure you in.

"This," Four states, his voice completely changed, "is the real me."

After staring at him from a while, head to toes, you shrug. "Why, because you took the helm off?" you

His eyes go wide. Fuck.

"Y-you said," he blurts out, but this time his features keep you grounded. He looks scared.

"Four," you speak loud enough to drown his voice, "I wanna /see/ the real you."

You emphasize the word- and it works. The man stops at once. He gains his composure back. You
imagine yourself sighing in relief.

Ask him what does he mean by the penises
Ask him about the piece with the dog
A good place to start as any.
Stay silent, let him speak first.

Some people don't hear; they talk. That is why they never change. So you gesture at the knight and
await in silence- you let him tell you what he wants you to know.

And he does. "You know, I don't think you can help me."

One of your eyes squints, both at his point and his cheerful delivery. Visibly amused, Four chuckles.

"And hey: I don't mean to offend. For real," the albino tells you, a healthy smile on his face. "Man,
I mean, you must have your hands full already, or else why would you be here, right?"

You shark-smile at him with total freedom. "Thank your loyal squires, Four," you say, not entirely
without bile. "You truly earned their trust. It's heartwarming."

"Hey, I'm just being myself." Four says, then chuckles again. "What did my little brothers do?
Check your browser history?"

"Threaten to fill my ass with cookies," you say, smiling like an obedient little kid, "and a whole
pastrami cake shaped like the Kingsland."

Four looks away. "Yep, it would have been a waste."

You don't ask him to clarify.

>Ask him what does he mean by the penises.

"So," you start, softly, "penises."

"Yep," he goads you.

You cross your arms over your chest. "This isn't about homosexuality."

"Clever girl," Four says.

He pushes himself from the table and walks past, is stare lost above.

"You see, it bothers me," Four says, walking around you and the only makeshit table, "that
culture has you dread such a noble apparatus."

"Huh," you mutter.

Four a split second, Four glances at you. "Cast aside the prejudices, the shyness, the fucking
jokes. Think about the penis. And what do you get? A marvel," Four says in a gasp. "An extremely
complex mechanism, harboring millions upon millions of tiny lives, reacting to the nuances of the
brain, tempting us to make life. It addicts us to it pleasures, it causes the most wonderful memories-
yet such a view is behold not with utmost admiration," Four closes a fist near his face, "but
with scorn, mockery, and disdain."

He finally turns to look at you, his face fresh and young, his eyes glinting.

"And only now I realize," Four says, locking eyes with you, "that I wanted them to have a closer look
at the object they reject. At the miracle machine; at its wonderful complexity; at their own judgemental

You clap slowly and without much blood. "I have a few theories about the subject myself," you say,
"but allow me to get this over with first."

He smirks at you with a single eye open. You don't get the meaning of the gesture, and try not to let it
get to you.

>Ask him about the piece with the dog

"I have to say," you say, "that the details on that statue are impressive. I couldn't quite catch the
meaning myself," you admit, "and I'm sure a work of such caliber deserves one."

Four tilts his head to the side. "Which one?"

"You mean there's more than one," you point out in disbelief.

"Yes," Four simply replies.

That shouldn't impress you so much. And yet...
"The one I saw," you finally resume, "had a dog in it. It was as if being swallowed by a whirlwind that
came from a man's hand."

Four looks away and mutters your words to himself. "Oh," he reacts, "the 'Preschelle'. Over a

"That very same one," you tell the man, yet not with full certainty.

Still walking around, he stops to grin at you. "And what do you think it means?"

"As I told you, I've got no fucking clue," you spit, testing his sensitivity. He does flinch a bit. "I saw
the dogs and the men and I knew not even Google could save me."

Four stops... and laughs loudly.

"Man," he says, "I don't know, either."

"You made that thing," you barely say.

"Yeah," Four says, smirking, nodding. "Yeah."

You grit your teeth. It's not every day that you feel so out of your element. Most of your training
comes from anonymous internet therapy chats, and you soon learned that people lie- and that
some lie very well. Considering that most of your cases could have been elaborate RPing makes
you feel incredibly uncomfortable, no matter how unlikely it is.

"Then, why?" you ask Four, louder than intended. "Why did you do it? Why did you do it so well?"

"It's, eh, kinda like talking to yourself," Four reasons, "through art. You just sit down and let it
flow. You give your feelings a way to talk to you."

"You don't know what it means, then," you almost mutter.

Four doesn't even nod. He just stares at you with a stupid, toothy smile that makes you glare.

"That's my mask, Five," he says, pointing at the helmet. "Right over there. How about you take off
yours now?"

You allow yourself a moment to collect your thoughts, then meet Four with a poker face. "You
don't want that," you tell him.

Four chuckles. "Isn't that unfair?"

"It is," you say, "and I'll let it be so."

The man just shrugs it off. Bipolarity disorders are all but unfamiliar to you- and yet, you feel in
strange lands.

>Four a split second, Four glances at you
fuck it, im doing this on purpose from now on
Ask when he put on the mask.

>Ask Four when he put on his helmet.

You give the cigarette between your fingers back another gentle kiss. Filling your lungs with gray,
you end up coughing. Four pats your back with his heavy gauntlets.

"Don't," you manage to croak. "I /hate/ being touched."

Four stops at once, and steps aside. You clear your throat, maybe far too firmly.

"So," you ask the knight, "when did you start wearing yours?"

"Back then with my old roleplaying guys," Four answers. "Didn't I tell you? I thought I did."

"Yup. You did. You never told me why, though," you point out.

Four frowns his eyes, but just a bit- still cheerful.

"It lets me be, I guess," he says. "I told you; art frees you. Well, you ought to know that," he adds
with another toothy grin.

"Oh, brave knight of a thousand dicks," you tell Four without even modulating.

Then you, poker face and all, cower. The chill of the place is getting to you. All you have on is a
sweater, after all- and it's raining already.

"If you wanted to express yourself so much, why do so in this way. Why endanger the Trash?"
Warmth envelops you. It's Four's tuxedo all around you. Hands on your shoulders, he's still looking at
you in the eyes.

"Huh. So this is Bushido," you say, face still bleak.

"That's just being nice, Five," Four says.


>Ask Four why he had to drag the whole damn thing down with him.

"So you want to express yourself. I get it," you say as he walks away. "I'm also aware there are other
ways that don't involve sinking whole organizations."

"Oh you poor little things," Four babbles like a retard. "You little-little yakuzas."

"This is deliberate, then."

"Nah," he says. "Well, kinda."

Four smiles so hard, baring all his teeth, that he almost seems angry. All in all, he looks fucking

"Ex...plain?" you request him.

He goes back to look like a human. "Rules hold me down, Five," Four explains, somewhat thrilled.
"Like gravity. Rules push everyone down, but we are all different- each and every one of us is a
world. You'd know that," he says as he takes a step towards you, "you know that there's a galaxy
behind every man's eyes. Threating them all the same... is nothing short of a crime! Or do you
have all your patients take antidepressants, Five? Just to ensure they won't kill themselves?"

"Ibuprofen. But I'm a therapist, not a doctor," you say. "I still don't get your plan. And it is an extreme
plan. You intend to show Daddy how special you are by planting dicks everywhere?"

Quietly, Four smirks. Then glances at you. "I knew it. You can't see it."

"What?" you lash out. "See what?"

Four stands away and spreads his arms towards the ugly ceiling. "The meaning."

"The meaning not you don't even know?"

"The meaning I can /feel/," Four retorts.

You open your mouth, perhaps to insult him- nothing comes out. So you close it. Taking your
time, you think of Four as if the man was numbers, the stream of your thoughts only disturbed by the
faint yelling, the trembling, and the wet drumming.

Then you finally fix your stare back to him. "You want them to feel what you feel."

He nods as if in a metal concert rave. "Finally."

An engine roars outside outside- and it's a sound you are familiar with. Even Four turns to look, but he's swift to get back to grin at you.

You wonder if you are running out of time.

The organization cares for you, your men care for you, must you fault them for not suffering like you did to endanger them? These people are galaxies and yet you would condemn these people out of your own hubris. I want you to end this. We can find a way to have people understand, just not like this.
we runnin out of time
next post is last post for this thread
gonna wait a bit more
aight guys, time to save this quest

thread is ending on an early note
i figured out an awesome way to start next one

i need the truth guys. i need you to be harsh
tell me what you think of the quest, what could be improved,
what did you like, what do you think the problem was,
etc etc etc etc
give me that raw feedback so i can turn it into fuel
and save my little quest
give me advice -even subjective advice is great

i'll really appreciate it
Lurker here! The quest is well-made, enough depth and length per post to satisfy, yet not overwhelmingly so like other quests.
As one anon said before, the pure write-in response may spook off a lot of people, as well as the actual WEIGHT per decision; however, I feel like those simply ADD to the thought needed per post, making it that much more. . . thrilling? Nothing really new to add, but it's a comfy, yet dark quest, and hope you manage to finish it!
Sucks that there are only one to three anons voting.
I miss Wolf. He died too early.
you tell me, i had thought wolf as a major character

i want the anons that see this quest
and go "nah nigga"
to spill the shit
so they go "yeah boy haha flava flav" instead
does the weight of every choice scares you
like lurker says
are write-ins a pain in the ass
is paying too much attention to detail draining

should i try a fixed schedule
Write-ins aren't BAD, but if you want to expand your player-base, maybe sprinkle in more choices? Honestly, it's either that, or because this isn't some isekai quest with 50 waifus, the dirty weebs. Maybe this quest is too big-brained.
A fixed schedule would be nice, but I mean, I feel like the playerbase is small enough that it doesn't really matter? I honestly don't know, you should probably ask one of the voters. Try it out, see how it works is all I can suggest.
Keep up the quest! It's honestly one of my favorite quests.
Another lurker here. To be honest, I follow this quest when I can but I'm way too intimidated by it to post anything, desu. I mostly just leave it to the more experienced anons and such.

If you want to speed it up, maybe put up more choices. The problem is, when you put up choices, people tend to limit themselves to those choices instead of thinking through them. Maybe allow Five to access Observer Mode every so often so people can review their clues? It would drastically lower the difficulty, but maybe allow players to speak up more, so I'll leave that to your discretion.

That aside, your writing style is fucking great. I was a little concerned at the strange formatting, but it's not so bad on mobile. Makes me wonder what you're using to write, since it feels like something from a VN or something. Anyway, love your stuff, and I hope that in spite of the slow days, you keep at it.

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