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/qst/ - Quests

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"I'm still not used to that way of talking so, pretty please, help me help you. Look. From where I'm standing- from what I gather, from what I see... you've been distributing out of order chinese rocket launchers that you imported from the Bosnia y Herzegovina capital of Sarajevo by mortgaging your house, car, and off-the-books umbrella factory, among local gangs, particulars, and even the police force at extremely low prices."


"Is this interpretations of the events... accurate?"


"So now an important part of the local populace is armed with military devices meant to bring down tanks and helicopters."



He looks at you. Offended. And of course: it makes sense.

Because it's /your/ job to find out.

(Starting soon!)
(You, a five inches tall, suit-wearing walking plank of a kyaa kawai desu FEMALE close the
door behind you. Then light a smoke. Immediately, right now.)

(The cigarette falls from your fingers as you light it.)

(Not even looking down, you pull another from your tiny front pocket and take all the time in
the world to do it properly. You can't fuck this one up. Not this time. You need to keep your
cool, to pull the data cooly, to recheck each and every factor to be considered for the
equation- but then it falls again and you don't and you slam green lighter against the floor.)

(You look up from it. Straight into your coworker's blank eyes, into the man's blank

(This time you do light the cigarette.)

(You blow a gray cloud as you stride across what would be the wood-patched hallway of a
corporate building after a body-building zombie apocalypse, keeping track of the footsteps
behind you.)

Your coworker: Hey, what the fuck was that? Where are we going?

You: Forward.

Coworker: What does that even mean?

(You don't answer. The little light that gets through the wooden boards you have for
windows is sometimes not enough to see where you are going to step.)

6: Where's forward? Five?

(That's you. How they call you.)

5: Wherever, Six.

(And that's how they call him.)

5: It doesn't matter where we are going.

(You stop, this time carefully because you hate it when he steps on your heels. You open the
door and let the light in, finally seeing all of the man walking after you.)

6: Fuck, my eyes.

(A tall, white man, blonde with blue eyes: the very emblem of nazis, patriarchy, and racial

(And yet, that's Six.)

6 is your very first patient. He has been assigned as your personal assistant. Has
paranoia issues. Unable to feel safe under any circumstance. Ended up in the mob looking for
protection. Now the man that asks people to pay their loans face to face.

5: I just need to think.

6: Would it kill you to tell me what's going on?

5: Why, yes. Maybe it would.

(He goes pale instantly.)

(The problem is fairly simple to understand. A mechanic relies on its toolbox, crammed with
wrenches of every size, a painter goes with a brush and canvas or a digital tablet with
parallax issues.)

(You rely on confidence.)

(Anything that hits your image hits your job just as hard. If word came out that you say things
you shouldn't be saying, things people only dare to puke in whispers and only in your office
after a drink, it would hit you. Hard. By now, you keep secrets, many of them. Among those,
there's the one about the guy who wanted to grow a fluffy tail so his coworkers would pet
him in the head.)

(But the rest are not so funny.)

6: I shouldn't know, right? This is something I shouldn't know.

5: Huh, I dunno. Maybe you should.

6: Wait, it is, right?!

5: I'm not sure. I know. I'll say it and you'll help me figure that out.

(Six smashes both palms to his ears, staring sternly at you. It's the first time you smile in a
week. It's a smirk, but hey, seeds grow.)

(It's the rooftop. There are many others around, some taller, some smaller- some even
curved. You walk towards the clean light of the sun, letting the faint wind calm you down.)

(There's a call to be made. You either warn about the crazy arms dealer, or keep quiet and
hope someone else notices him. Better than most, you are aware there's no omission when
there's knowledge. If you didn't find out, this wouldn't be your problem. That's how morality
works. One way or another, you are fucked.)

>Warn about him.
>Keep quiet.
>Keep quiet.

Trusting in us relies on us keeping what we hear in confidence. Trust is the only way we can do our job.
Gonna wait a bit, otherwise lol running
waiting warmly
>Keep quiet.
Oh, this is back. Neat.
>Keep quiet.
Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.

(You blow smoke into the sky, adding a gray cloud of your own to the rest as you bask in a
humble silver lining. It's going to rain. You watch it fade into nothing. It reminds you of
those spiritual exercises about blowing out air and saying 'out with the bad, in with the good,
out with the problems...')

(It's going to rain.)

5: How long do I have until my next appointment?

(You don't turn around to face him. There's no answer, however. You turn around. The man in
suit in still clutching his ears for dear life.)

5: Six.


(You walk up to him and he sees you and he yelps- and off the hands go.)

5: How long until my next appointment?

6: Um, (he checks his wristwatch) like half an... twenty-five minutes.

5: Good enough time for doing nothing. Make me coffee, I'll be in my office.

6: Sure. Hey wait, so-

5: Six, you don't want to know. You aren't ready to know. Knowledge is like a hot pan; it burns
you if you don't know how to grab it.

6: Y-yeah. Yeah.

(You walk past him.)

6: So there's something then, right?

5: Don't make me lie to you.

(It has been three weeks already since you stopped Six from jumping off a very short
building. It has been two weeks since you've been starting working on his coworkers and
their many kinks and flaws. It has been a week since you've been officially employed by no
other than Daddy,)

(Daddy. You've never met the man. No one in the whole Trashcan has- yet he runs the
/thing/. And the Trashcan hosts no less than a hundred good boys and girls, but no one has
ever seen him, no one has data, and apparently, no one cares. The running gag is
that Daddy is actually the black phone stuck to the wall he uses to contact his herd, and that
the black phone has a cellphone it uses to make calls.)

(All you know is: The Trashcan is a massive, comically decrepit building that hosts all sorts
of social outcasts, united by Daddy, rescued by Daddy, and cared for by Daddy.)

(Who do things for Daddy.)

(And Daddy told you to be a therapist.)

(You ponder a bit more about that noir entity as you sip your very sweet coffee and stare at the
left wall.)

(It's your office. Which is actually just a two stories tall, dead-end hallway repurpoused as
an office, with your furniture, books, desk, chairs, and laptop at the end of it. It's pretty
much a thin straight line with a lot of room above, so there's a long walk between the door
right in front of you and where you are.)

(Which is knocked on. You left that door open on purpouse, but it seems you got no choice.)

5: Come on in.

(In it walks. You take another quick sip and finally look up at the man walking towards your
desktop. It's another suit. Midway towards you, his eyes drift towards the left wall and remain
there until he bumps into the chair.)

Man in suit: DOG, WHAT THE FUCK.

(You share the sentiment, and join him in staring at the tall wall in silence. It's not a wall.
There wasn't a wall, since it fell and left a massive hole. So the hole has been covered
with a massive anime poster, so big only the face fits in. So it's now a massive, souless
anime girl smiling too widely, her mouth bigger than you, always at your side.)


(He looks at you.)


5: Take a seat.

>dead end hallway
>two stories tall
>giant anime girl poster wall

We have the best office.
5: Why did you come here?

(The man blinks.)

Man: Like, no who you are? No tea? Really? Man I dunno, like, what's your name, girl,
what's my name?

(You shrug, offering a very humble smile. Then you bring out the electric kettle from under the
desk and plug it in. It already has water.)

5: I'm surprised you asked for tea instead of alcohol.

Man: Was a manner of sayin, you got booze? Man, let me in.

5: Unfortunately, no. I need you sober. Now, good afternoon. I'm Five. The therapist. It's a
pleasure to meet you. What is your name?

Man: Man, are you like mocking me or what, like come on, what?

5: There you go.

(You pour water over a small white cup completely devoid of personality. Then add the
tea bag.)

(He remains fixated on it in silence.)

Man: That's not how you do it. You add the bag first.

5: Oh. My bad. I'm sorry. Allow me to repay you for my mistake.

(You keep his tea, then pour him another by adding the bad into the cup beforehand. Then
you hand it over to him, still smiling faintly.)

(He just looks at it, then at you.)

Man: You creepin me out, dog.

(You giggle in silence, which doesn't help.)

5: I know. Bad habits, I suppose.

Man: Y'kno-

5: Name.

Man: J-oan.

5: Not your real name. Your 'here' name, 'dog'.

Joan: Seventy two. It's seventy two.

5: Good, seventy two. Why the fuck did you come here?

(His mouth gapes.)

72: I, um, feel things lately. Like, big things.

5: I see. Tell me about them.

72: You tell me about, em, you should be the one telling me about them. Right?

5: Of course. However, if you tell me it has four legs and snores I won't tell you it's a dog.

72: Say what?

(You finally study him more intently. Redhead, short messy hair, looks like a man in his
fourties pretending to be on his twenties. Taller than you- like everyone else, really.)

5: That you need to be more specific, 72. About your feelings.

(He gestures then doesn't then opens his mouth and then flails his arms a bit- as if

72: Man, I don't know what the fuck to say!

5: Don't worry. You feel things, and it's big things. Do the things feel bad?

72: Yeah, I guess. Like, someone yelling at me from the inside. Like, like if my dad got stuck in
mah head but I don't know what he saying.

5: I see. That helps.

(That's the sympton. The consequence. The call for help from the subconcious.)

72: So what is it?

5: It's too early to tell. When you go to the hospital they scan you to see your bones or do
studies with your body. Here it's pretty much the same- mentally.

(He grimaces.)

(Data without context is not information. There are a million reasons for which there could be
pain, and each entails different causes and consequences Some poisons are said to be
pleasurable, so the first thing to look for, always, is for [b[deviations from the standard

(The first step is finding context.)

>Ask him a specific question based on current leads (are there any? write-in)
>Get the overall profile. More leads. Relevant data will have to be filtered afterwards.
This format is so fucking autistic it's gone a full loop around the autism spectrum to the start of it.
God I missed quintuple posts that took like an hour. Take this as a test run guys lol I've been out of the game for like a year.
Hey, maybe you have a point bro. Where's the autismo?
>>Get the overall profile. More leads. Relevant data will have to be filtered afterwards.
>Get the overall profile. More leads. Relevant data will have to be filtered afterwards.

Push for context. Does it happen when you do things? Don't do things? More often at times of day? More often when alone, when working, when relaxing?
>Get the overall profile. More leads. Relevant data will have to be filtered afterwards.

5: So, what triggers it? When do these feelings manifest?

72: I dunno. Sometimes.

5: Think about it. Is there something that always happens before you feel these things?
Or does it feel random?

72: Random. Out of nowhere. Like I'm bitchin cause no strawberry yogurt at the shoppin and
bam, feel like shit. That was the last time, so I said, man, I need help.

5: I see. So no pattern. When did this start?

72: (looks around) Where's the scanner?

5: I'm the scanner. I'm scanning you. With questions.

72: That's some bullshit. You don't even have equipment. Shit's a joke here.

5: We all have the equipment already. (you poke your own head). Tell me about yourself.

72: I thought you hated manners.

5: I hate wasting time. Don't do that and I'll make it all clear. What do you like doing? Your
passion, your main interest. First thing that comes to mind, usually.

72: Stealing dogs.

5: Stealing dogs.

(Slowly, 72 nods.)

72: Damn straight,.

5: Huh.

(You automatically reach for a cigarette and lit it, all in a single motion, not even breaking eye

5: So, stealing dogs. How do you do it? You break into houses, get poodles, and then you
sell them as shampoo? Or as pillows?

72: No, no. Not like that. Dude, that kills the ART. You see the guy with the dog, you make
a plan, proper preparations, and BOOM you get the dog and get the FUCK out of there.

5: I see. So you take the dog and run away on foot.

72: Corrreecte, man!

5: Into a car.

72: No, no. That's not how it works.

5: And this is your passion.

72: Yes.

5: Why?

(72 freezes in place mid gesture. You did it again. The forbidden question.)

72: It feels good, man. Fuck, like. Why do people skate? Play sports? Basket? Why is it
funny? Cause it's a sport, man, this is a sport!

5: Do you give it back later?

72: Nah, I just drop the mofo somewhere.

5: Don't you care about what happens to it?

72: Well no. I beat it. I won, and he lost. That's how it goes, man. That's just life, you know?

5: I see. All kind of dogs? Or is there a specific breed you are after?

72: Nah, any dog will do. Man, I even stole a rottwailer that one time. Motherfucker chased
me for like five blocks after a dropped it. Heavy shit.

5: Do you think that behavior could be related to these feelings?

72: Not at all. It's how I cope. It keeps me going.

(Of course, you work for the mop.)

(The problem with digging too deep into a mind is that you may end up with data unrelated to
the current problem. Everyone has their weak spots and they all try to hide them- simply put,
everyone has a specific question they can't answer.)

(Find it.)

>Keep digging for more general information.
>Ask question (write in).
When did you start stealing dogs, how many have you stolen?
>Ask question (write in).
You steal dogs to cope. Cope with what? What causes you to need to cope?
72: O-oh, waaaaaaaaaay too many dogs, dog. Like, was a kid at the start. Told you amma pro.

72: The feels, man. The feely feels.

(He smiles with some yellow teeth.)

72: I drink too!

5: The same feelings you don't understand.

72: Yeah. The ones that feel bad. Man, I told you this.

(There's a guy out there taking pictures with a rocket launcher and posting them on Facebook. The image lingers more than you wanted.)

>Ask more.
>Call session off.
>Ask more.

So you've always had these feelings, not just lately like you said.
>Ask more.
72: Yes, I always had these feelings, always had them. But man, now? Now it's like, it got
fat, like, I can't take the feels no more. You got one of those pills? That'll do.

5: I do. Don't worry.

72: Like, right here?

5: Is it that bad?

72: Yeah, I feel bad, man.

5: A higher dose than required can leave long-lasting mental defects that would make what
you feel now seem like a headache. Just a little heads-up. Just in case.

72: Aight, I get it motherfucker.


5: Tell me about your family. Mother, father, the whole thing.

72: Eh, mom is a fatass that does nothing but bitch. Bitch has a Ph.D on bitchin, yknow what
am sayin? Haha shiiit.

5: What about your relationshiip.

72: Cool, I guess? I mean, momma is momma, man. Only one, that's all you got. Dad sells
cars. He buys them, fixes them, then sells them. I do this shit.

5: Brothers?

72: Only child, dog. If I had a sister I would have fucked her, yknow? That's like, my thing.
That's important for like therapy and stuff, right?

5: I hope so.

(You glance at 72's wristwatch. You are crammed for patients today, so there's not
much more time. Maybe for one more answer...)

>Ask about his job.
>Ask about dogs.
>Ask about his love life.
>Ask about his job.

Job stress piling up? Unsatisfying? Beneath you? Too good for you?
>Ask about his love life.
72: I love it. Last time, you know, this chinese guy was like four months behind his quota for
'protection'. So no one was there to 'protect' him when we tied him to the bottom of a
rollercoaster cart. Kept saying chinese stuff. Like, heavy chinese stuff.

5: Which is your role within the organization?

72: Just more retard muscle man, is that simple. Keep the streets clean, put fucks in
place, do a little justice here and there, you know, the good stuff.

72: This one time, you know, I got this Beagle from this cutie. And I ran. But when I turned we
locked eyes, man, for like a second, and it was, it was INTENSE man! And I know she felt
it too. I mean I got away and all, but then I left the dog and followed it with the car but the fuck
just stood by a car shop, man, I thought it was going to bring to me her.

5: Anything else?

72: Hookers.

5: In the past?

72: Got a few girls here and there. You know. I got it easy getting it in, getting in the groove,
man, in the relationship. But then it always goes to hell.

5: What do they say?

72: That I'm too insensitive. That I treat them like shit, man. And t hat's not true, I just wanna
make them strong, you know? Save them from the world.

(The alarm goes off, drawing both of your stares to the tiny, shaking dancing shark in
blue jeans. Itflails its fin-arms wildly up and down. 72 laughs loudly.)


(Then it dances just like it, sending some papers flying. You just wait until he stops.)

5: That would be all for today. I need time to solve this jigsaw now.

72: Aight, so what now?

5: You go back to punching people, I go back to hear them complain about it.

72: Aight. So. About the pills, man.

(You think about it. Psychiatric pills block messages from the subconcious; they stabilize
the patient, but make it harder for it to access it. Leave someone without it and they might
hurt themselves, too little does nothing, too much leaves them mentally stagnated.)

(There are various types of pills with varying effects.)

>Give him antidepressants. Meant for people unable to find motivation or feel anything because of their mental blockage.
>Give him antipsychotics. For people prone to severe bursts of rage and meltdowns.
>Give him anxiolytics. For people with heavy bursts of anxiety.
>Give him nothing.
Aight guys, enough for today. I realize I need to review the format of choices asap. The initial idea was to make you guys look for the most relevant question, the one that leads to the problem, but I guess you guys may need a little more guidance. Input very well appreciated. Those of you too impatients or with very high expectations should look for quests made by stablished QM's, I'm doing a bit of science here.
>Give him nothing.

Tell him to start keeping a journal of his day. How he feels, what he's thinking about. Even a little notebook will be fine. We'll go over it with him later. Might be something important that comes of it.
Thanks for the fun, boss. See you next time
>Give him anxiolytics. For people with heavy bursts of anxiety.
Mixing it with the diary like >>4092251 works.
File: daddyparty.jpg (22 KB, 385x235)
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AIGHT guys, couldn't post shit today so let's give the new format a humble try.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

1: >>4092251
2: >>4092294
(You'd rest your legs on the desk, but, anime wall aside, the place has to look pristine. A
simple glance to your office should warn incomers that you take your work seriously. In
reality, an orderly place does not mean, at all, at very much all, an orderly mind. But from
those unaware of this you'd gain a little trust.)

(72 had left with a little notepad instead of pills half an hour ago, time you spent thinking about
his situation and nothing else as to not waste it, while having rice for lunch with a spoon. It
may be japanese, and you look japanese, but the real reason is that, along a mini-fridge, a
confiscated, then used as bribe, then stolen rice cooker gifted to you by a patient is the only
appliance you can truly call your own.)

(Which sucks. Furthermore, the rice is great.)

5: Door's open.

(The man walk up to you, sweating hard. Everyone's tall, but you bet he's taller than
most of them. Spiky black hair, brown skin, big lips, long arms; he simply drops himself in the
chair at the other side of the desk.)

Tall Guy: I'm sorry I got so late, Ms. Five, we had one of those and it was such a fucking
mess, I really needed you back there.

5: That bad, 20?

20: Like you wouldn't believe. We bungie-dropped some chinese guy behind his
payment and dropped him from the roof of his house, we tied him all and everything and he
bounced a few times and we laugh but then shit broke, I dunno, he went down head first
into the trash.

5: I see.

20: We were just trying to scare him.

5: I know.

20: Don't be afraid of us, Ms. Five, we don't want to kill anyone.

5: I know, 20.

20: But then the guy got out and ran away, you know, looking a fucking chinese duct-tape
burrito, legs so tied he was hopping his way out to Hong Kong. We got him fast, but 4 had
us ask a pizza and eat it with us, to show the guy we mean no harm, that it was an accident.

5: Biggy was with you.

20: He was. Who told you? This just happened.

5: I can figure out things for myself. After all, this is my job.

20: Right. So....

5: Take your time.

20: Right.

20: I have these urges lately. Like, fucking with people. Pranks, very elaborate. I heven have plans and stuff, I even
have like little maps and shit.

5: Do the victim to your pranks get to keep all their limbs and belongings?

20: What? It's- it's pranks, Ms. Five. I'm no monster.

5: Well, you do work here.

(You hear his leg bouncing up back and forth.)

20: Cause I figured It'd be best I had the job instead of some guy with a trauma.

5: Don't you have any?

20: Yeah, I think I do, but I handle my shit just fine. Well, except this.

(He sighs.)

20: I feel meaningless, Ms. Five. Like, I feel that whatever I do, win or lose, isn't worth the hassle. I stay in bed for too
long, I eat shit. Been for a while. I heard about you, I want it to stop.

5: So you are used to the feeling.

20: I'm not sure if one ever gets used to feeling nothing.

5: When did you last feel alive, 20? What memory do I bring out?

(He smiles. Widely, baring most his white teeth. 20 nods, not even looking at you.)

20: There was one time. Twenty years ago, at school. I was a real shit-head prick, haha, like I'd fuck with these kids and
talk about it with my pals for days. I still feel guilty about my time as a bully, but man I can't say it wasn't fun while I didn't
know all the damage I was doing. Yeah, yeah I still feel guilty when I think about it. Were you bullied at school, Ms.
Five? I don't mean no offense, but you do look the type.

5: Fortunately, everyone was afraid of me.

20: You mean in elementary, right? What about high school?

5: Sadly enough, they figured out I was human like them. I ended up with friends.

20: You make it sound like a tragedy, hahaha. This guy, he had no friends either. He talked to some guys, but like,
always went home alone, so I fucked with him. On the daily. He got mad sometimes, never enough to throw punches so
I thought he had no balls. Eh, may I ask for a smoke, Ms. Five? I sacrificed my pack to the boys back there.

(You simply peel one off your pack and hand it to him from across the desk, then light it up yourself.)

(He coghs.)

20: Man, that hits the spot. Alright, I'm back. (clears his throat) This one time, I... hey, Ms. Five?

5: Yes, 20?

20: Don't you feel like time flies? That it goes too fast, sometimes?

5: That happens when your life lacks meaningful events, happenings worth remembering. When your days are too
similar your mind compresses them into a single one- thus, it feels like a lot less time.

20: I'll have to think about that.

5: As for me, time crawls. It's only my first week here and I'm already busy enough for a year and a half.

20: You look so young, though. I mean, I know it's wrong and all, it's not good manners- but, damn, how-

5: The rails tremble, Mr. Twenty.

20: What does that... oh wait, I'm going off the rails. Ok, then...

20: So this one time, this guy I'm talking about, Brad, is sitting right in front of our good old
Parkinson's desk, the substitute teacher. The jerk that took our porn magazines right in front of
everyone. And kept them. That day, I was sitting behind Brad, this guy, and I told him hey Brad,
look, look man, and when he turned around I flashed him with a laser pointer in the eye. I was
that much of a shit, and I was laughing about it. But Brad didn't even bitch. Not this time.

(20 takes another sip from the cigarette. You follow in his footsteps, taking another one out.
Ever since living in the Trashcan you are growing to become its chimney.)

20: So he goes quiet for a while, Brad, the guy, and then hands me a little letter. I thought it was
a treat. It was a plan. Detailed, with arrows and everything. Just like that, out of nowhere. It kinda
went like this: turns out dear old Mr. Parkinson had one of our sexy magazines on the desk, right
at that moment, under one of his big biology books. And another one of his big books was
being passed among the other students because he wanted everyone to see a picture in it.

(He takes yet another sip. When he blows into the tall ceiling, you do too. Right now, you really
wish there was a window instead of titanic anime girl eyes staring into your soul, judging your

(He coughs as the gray cloud looms over both of you.)

5: So what was the plan?

20: The book they were passing had already been through my row and Brads. So the plan
was like this: I distract Parkinson with the laser, Brad gets the magazine, hands it over to me
inside his own book, and then I hang onto it until I get the chance to put it inside the passing book.

5: Was the plan to let someone else find it there?

20: To be honest I wasn't even sure. I just thought having a plan was exciting. But then I
thought: what if Brad points at me when I get the porn? I'd be fucked then. So I thought: What if,
instead, I tell everyone Brad has it once he gets it? So I don't tell him that. I just smile and agree
to the plan. But then he turns around. He tells me: 'Michael, look. You could rat me out when I
get the porn. And it would be hilarious. But if we get that magazine inside the book, it will be

(20 laughs.)

20: I was shocked. Legendary. That's a strong word alright. Like, 'Five: the legendary therapist'.
It like adding gold to the sentence.

5: Huh. I wonder why I would end up being legendary.

20: You could destroy Daddy's army from the inside by fixing everyone's problems. Most of the
guys think you being here is one hell of a contradiction.

5: I agree. So? Keep going.

20: We did it. We pulled it off. One of the girls found it in the book they were passing from desk
to desk. She screamed. Then one of the boys said it was his. Mr. Parkinson had to deliver all
confiscated goods to a common pool of them, but never did. Once it was proved that the magazine
was the same he took from the boy a week ago, he was fired.

20: And then it was revealed that our good ol' teach was reading that shit during class. He
was reading Biology For Friends aloud with a big fat boner.

5: Huh, I wonder how that was found out.

20: To this day I'm not sure. Back then, I was on fire. Like, in the clouds. I was the shit. I've
been chasing that high ever since for the last 20 years. To be perfectly honest, I thought this
job was going to be something like that, it was exciting for a while, but the guys are too cold
and nobody gives a rat ass about you. I've seen them stab each other in the back when
shit goes wrong.

5: I see.

20: I don't connect with them, Five. So I try to fuck around and pull elaborate pranks to fill the
void, but it doesn't work. Hell, I pranked my ex so muchs that she became, well, my
ex. My friends are assholes and my girlfriends never last, Ms. Five.

5: Why don't they?

20: I'm not sure.

5: What's their part of the story?

20: They say I'm too bitchy. Like, that I'm like too emotional or some shit like that.

5: I see. Let me change the subject for a bit. How big was the biggest prank you remember
doing after that?

20: This one time I saw this couple and pretended to be the real boyfriend of the girl,
here on a date. I did it so well the guy believed me over her and we went for a drink. Just left
her there crying, quit cold turkey, just like that.

5: That's pretty big. How did you feel?

20: To be honest? I had to get drunk.

>What you miss is:
>>The thrill of the hunt.
>>Trusting other people.
>>Doing justice.
>Doing justice.
He seems to have leeway with how to deal with problems, I doubt its the hunt. Didn't really see anything about trust.
lol rip
>Doing justice.

But not law. Its not the prank, its the reason behind it. With the teacher, he took what was in his authority to take, but he kept it rather than doing what he was supposed to do. When he got busted, you're 'prank' was the mechanism, but the reason is he took for himself.

>aside to consider: would directing him to go after people skimming a little off the top be good for Daddy and the organization, or would it break things down and get 20 killed in retribution? See how he responds to the idea of justice outside of law. Would it help, or would we just create a moronic monster
aww c'mon
Aight update in like 2 hours
(You feed the gray cloud above. Delivering a diagnosis, to you, is like shooting an arrow to
the apple resting over your patients head.)

5: It's justice. Justice is meaningful.

20: Justice? Ah, you mean, that I'm looking for justice.

5: That's right. To affect the whole, to bring change accoding to one's vision; that is the
essence of justice, and the main reason it is sought after. Good and evil are another story
altogether; this is a search for meaning.

20: I won't say I get it, but I trust you, Ms. Five.

5: As long as you didn't lie, that's the most likely outcome.

20: Haha Ms. Five, so funny. But I didn't pay ten bucks to lie to your face. I'm not stupid.

5: And that is very good, because that's the entire point of the fare.

20: Isn't it kinda cheap, though?

5: Oh, great point. Should I raise it?

20: Eh...

5: I won't. Don't worry. We all are (you point at the left wall) on a tight budget here. At any
rate, let's bet on justice.

20: So what do I do now?

>What will the patient do?
>>'Start small. You are surrounded by idiots with no grasp of morality, so find the one that bothers you the most and do a little prank.'
>>'Look for the roots. Try to recall any particularly unfair event from your life, then get back at me.'
>>'Consider your own morality. Maybe you are the one being unfair. Go think about right and wrong and see if something about you don't fit with it.'
>'Look for the roots. Try to recall any particularly unfair event from your life, then get back at me.'
>'Look for the roots. Try to recall any particularly unfair event from your life, then get back at me.'

Let's get him understanding what this means before we suggest what to do with it.
20: The roots... wait, do I have to do madi- meditation or something?

5: Pretty much.

20: Wait, do you mean sitting down and thinking about my inner... soul... stuff? Like

5: Just thinking will do. It's what would save the world.

20: About my past, right?

5: About your feelings. Those sticky things. Meaning: 'why does this make me feel this',
'what does this make me feel', 'why don't I want to think about this'... And the less you want to
think about it, the better.

(You look away and cough in silence. You smoke too much.)

5: Visiting old places may help, seeing old faces may help. Go.

(20 stands, offers his hand, which you shake, and leaves.)

(You wonder if you made the right call. As usual. Unlike most jobs, psychotherapy deals
unfalteringly an utmost lack of data. It can't be helped. You either do a few experiments, or
make the patient come for years and feed you data until you feel ready to make a call.)

(This is why you hate standard therapy.)

(After a while of shuffling papers as you think about something else, you walk out of the
room. Today is over, as dusks lets you know from behind the fixed wooden bars that cover
every window across the hallway. You stop gazing into the waning sun and make your way
across it. Lest dark falls completely and leaves you using your lighter as guidelight like last

(The Trashcan was meant to be a five stars hotel; a lof of investment has been made in its
weird architecture and various angles. When Daddy came along, it was half a year from
being finished. As the story goes he thought, 'wow. This is perfect for them'. And now you
live here.)

(Think about a cube, each side as big as the other. Now make it bigger; much, much bigger.
If you add a lot of furniture, and the walls, like the ceiling, are titanic windows held by steel
beams, and there's a bar, and a lot of tables and couches spread without any kind of
pattern, you get the lobby.)

(Here, you can see the dusk clearly, as well as your lively coworkers. Some of which are your
patients. They drink, eat, talk, argue, strike deals, play poker, play Uno, play strip poker,
watch the small TV's, watch the big, main TV- they do everything here. Here is where you
and Six often meet, since it's the only place of the building where light is a granted.)

(It's not him who touches your shoulder, though.)

???: Hey 5, wanna fuck?

(You don't recognize the voice, but you don't even turn around. It's Marcus- because it can't
be anyone else.)

5: Your princess is in another castle.

Marcus: That's Super Mario, right? The guys got this one guy and told him to beat the game,
and every time he died they broke one of his bones.

5: Interesting.

Marcus: Do you wanna end up how he ended up?

5: Under Biggy's fat ass.

Marcus: No. He ended up SHORTER.

(He laughs like a teenager with downs syndrome. You turn around.)

Tall, muscular, slender; and very handsome. This is Marcus, your second patient. A sex
addict, an alcoholic, and a loanshark who likes testing drugs for the hell of it. As of now, he
drowns his urges by climbing walls and buildings bare-handed.

Marcus: I'm serious, Five. Why not? You like me. We know each other. And I'm good a this.

6: Man, she said no. Trot along.

(You lean your head so back that your glasses end up in your forehead. That's Six alright. And
you are being weird.)

Marcus: Nope, can't trust that. Five agrees.

5: Actually, I do.

6: What?!

5: On that one, at least.

(Both men stare at you.)

5: Women putting men on trials is a story older than time. They want to feel pretty and
important, that their charms will get them everything, and what better way than to have
some guy go through dragons for them? It's insecurity, and it's funny to look at.

Marcus: Wiiiiiiiise as usual, Cinco.

6: I'll say it again, your view on womans borders on hatred.

5: Trust me, Marcus. That's not my case.

Marcus: Oh yeah? Whats your case?

5: Not fucking my patients.

(You signal Six and off you go with him, leaving the lobby. When you glance around, Marcus is
watching you turn a corner.)

6: Please tell me you wouldn't fuck that.

(It's the pitch darkness of the hallways, and yes, you are using your lighter. The only
sounds shaking the walls are your footsteps, Six's, and faint echo of laughter coming from
the lobby.)

5: Do you want to fuck me, Six?

(There's a pause.)

6: What the fuck? How can you even say that just like that? Are all therapist that freaking

5: Usually, therapists need another therapist.

6: You need one asap.

5: What for? I have you to disagree with.

6: So you would?

5: Why not?

6: Because he's Spiderman but junkie but a sex offender but an asshole?

5: So you /don't/ want to fuck me.

6: Please stop saying that. I'm a whole decade older than you.

5: I'm over eighteen.

6: Why would I want that when you already fuck with my head on the daily?

(You let another silence take the fall.)

5: Congratulations Six, you managed to make me smirk.

(You cut him short by opening the door to your right. You are greeted by a massive anime
smile and someone sitting on your side of the desk.)

(As Six stares from the door, you walk past the blonde figure in a slim yellow hoodie. You
simply go after your rice cooker and kneel in front of it.)

5: Freaks and psychos on the other side, please.

Ponytail: And why do we need the sun. Because we have -Five-!

(She sings a badly modulated silly lullaby an stretches both arms towards the ceiling.)

Ponytail: Praise the Five!

(You don't answer. That would be a wasted effort, something you never forgive yourself for.
The rice cooker turns on.)

Ponytail: What a way to talk about your patients. Right, Sex?

5: If you mean being realistic, Seven, that is what I get paid for.

7: Getting paid for being a bitch. Living the dream, right there!

7 is your fourth patient, and the reason for the fare and for why your salary is never
enough for anything. She's in treatment for hypochondria, maniacal-depressive
tendencies, and never ever finishing a project. Half your money goes to her- and in exchange,
she provides you with valuable information about your patients.

(Information almost fundamental for your job.)

7: So whatchugot for me?

5: Why are you here?

7: I wanted rice.

6: Hey, I could make some salsa to go with it.

7: And I could take you up on that offer and will!

5: Japanese rice is eaten without condiments.

7: You live your life without confiments, Five.

(You fill your rice pot with rice and sit in front of 7. She's a /very/ slender, tall woman with
brownish skin, who always looks like she just had sex with your mother. Yellow-haired with a
ponytail and two bangs at the sides, she has the face you'd punch a hundred times out of
ten if you ever had to pick one.)

7: You aren't using the sticks.

5: You aren't using your brain.

7: Fortunately, I am. As you can see, I come with VALUABLE INFORMATION for my

6: I-I'll get the salsa.

(He bolts out of the room. You take a big bite and swallow it almost without chewing.)

5: I'm interested. Carry on.

7: It's about-

5: -bazookas.

(Behind the golden side-bangs, 7's eyes flash.)

7: How do you know that?

(Seven gathers information about your patients for you. It's what you pay her for. However, the
circumstances of your fateful meeting involve blackmailing- which is like a sport to her.)

>>Tell her. [ ]
>>Leave her hanging. [ ]
>Tell her.
>Tell her.

(You simply take a cigarette from your from pocket and take all the time in the world to lit it,
waiting until 7's gears tick in place.)

7: Soooooo...!

5: Günther Friah. Weapon dealer. There, that's your target.

7: Six, you fuck, look! Five just broke the Hippocratic Oath! On her own!

(She cackles like hyena on fire.)

7: Aww. Our little bird is growing wings.

5: Thank you for not saying 'shark'. Now fly on those wings anywhere far from here so I can
save us from the bad missiles.

7: Did you tell him? I mean HIM.

5: Daddy is unaware of this.

7: You are telling me instead of Daddy. (One of Seven's eyes flinches. It's her main nervous
tick; it means she's checking facts.) This is interesting. Why? To save the guy? To keep
Daddy's trust?

5: Yes, and yes. Pretty clever, Seven. And since you are so clever you'll leave me alone to
suffer my job.

7: I am clever. But I want my rice.

(You hand her your bowl. 7 grimaces.)

7: Make another.

5: What?

7: Germs...

5: No. We talked about this.

(You push the bowl further into your real site, and the further you push, the further she leans
her chin back.)

7: N-nu uh.

5: People don't even die from kisses.

7: I don't want your germs. Too efficient. Too ruthless.

5: You need to face that hypochondria, Seven. And the only way-

7: -is to do nothing. Stop drilling that into my brains, it's already too deep inside.

5: When paranoia hits and nothing happens, your brain will notice.

7: You don't know how it feels like.

5: You know damn well I know how it feels like.

(Seven scowls at the rice as if it just added a sarcastic comment about her haircut. Yet
sighing, she picks it up and, noticing you staring, actually takes a sponful and drives it

7: Chu arench machinch tich any eachier

5: Suffer discipline or suffer regret, Seven. No puking. No doctors at least for the rest of the
week. And trust me: this is the fastest way out.

7: (She swallows at once)You forgot bullets.

5: Get out.

7: No, I want salsa, the only this salsa this has is your spit!

5: ...salsa. /Fine/. Just be quiet until Six gets here.

7: Can I stay on this side?

5: (sighs) Stay on that side.

7: Can I sing?

5: No.

7: Hum?

5: Hum, Seven, hum...

(You wait until the rice cooker rings again and por the rice into Six's spare bowl, which is too
fancy since it was his welcoming gift. It brings back memories; you hace no choice but to pick
up the japanese sticks now.)

>Leave her hanging

Let her wonder about that. It subtly lets her know that we have other ways of gathering information. We value her info and show that by cash, but there are other sources.

Keeps her honest.
asdsad, sry, life!

(In the end, they both ate rice with you despite your continuous claims for independence. It
has been an hour since then and now the sun, the only light source of the hallways, is taking a
break- unlike you. Finally back to your side of the desk, you write and scratch ideas on paper.
There's one for each of your patients, and one for whatever Seven could be planning with
your data. Besides her own tab.)

(You lean back on your chair. The idea tab is good fuel for the brain, but it's always better to
have someone asking questions. Unless it's Six wondering if your patients are going to kill

5: So...

>72: Steals dogs. Reason: Unknown. Says it makes him feel alive. There are plenty other ways to feel alive. There has to be a reason why he sticks to a behavior so insane.

>20: Feels his life is empty ever since highschool. Has been chasing that feeling ever since by pranking everyone around. You think it's justice, but wasn't he a bully back then?

And finally:

>Günther Friah: The arms dealer. Daddy doesn't get in his way, Daddy thinks every family should be entitled to self-defense. It's the only target he's allowed. And yet, he's arming everyone with bazookas for some reason.

(You sigh. He's russian, and his name is german. Your conversation wasn't exactly fluid.
You make a point to find someone that speaks russian to translate for you before that big
anime smile turns into sharpnel.)

(It always ends like this. Your job is also your hobby. That's the whole secret. That's why you
are good at it.)

(You dancing shark dances but you stop it immediately. It's time to sleep.)


(Loud knocking awakens you before your own alarm gets the chance. You open your eyes,
stretch your arms, and find yourself in your room, the tiny, hidden room behind your office.
It only has a small bed, a mini fridge, and a cellphone charger. Wearing nothing but the big
black shirt you use as pajamas, you make for the front door across the office.)

(You open the door. Two /big guys/, a french and an african american, greet you with the
cold gazes behind their sunglasses.)

(You know what that means.)

File: sleepingdaddy.jpg (137 KB, 378x509)
137 KB
137 KB JPG
(The two men leave you alone with the big black phone; except for a lightbulb, the rest of
the room is plain. The gentlemen were kind enough to let you get dressed, but you couldn't
find your glasses, and they weren't kind enough to wait. Across the blurryness and
haze, you stare at the formidable device.)

(And then-)




(You pick up the phone, maybe grabbing it too hard. It's that time of the week.)

5: Five speaking.

Daddy: Hello, Five. Good morning to you.

(It's the raspy, slow voice of an old man- if it is a good morning, that's another story.)

Daddy: How have you been? Have my boys been nice to you?

5: No issues on this end, so far.

Daddy: So formal. As usual. Five, I've been worried about you. Have you been eating
well, Five? Have you been getting sun as of late? It is very important, you see. Our bodies,
oooh, there's a certain vitamin that's good for the bones. Hoho ho, I cannot recall the name.
But Five... we need it as much as we need air, you see. It is important. Oh, that's right. We
can only get that vitamin from the sun. That was my point, you see.

5: I see.

Daddy: Very important. Like staring at flowers every now and then. That's important too, I

5: Yes. What can I help you with?

Daddy: Oh, Five, you need to enjoy the moment a bit more. There's no point in a grand
future if you can't stop to smell the wet grass. You wouldn't know how to enjoy it! Hoho ho!
Enjoyment is, huh... oh! Now that I remember, you did say something about that last time. It
was very interesting.

5: Enjoyment is a skill like any other. Skills have to be trained.

Daddy: Yes, yes. And I think that is very correct. You are very bright, Five.

5: I appreciate your words.

Daddy: At any rate, I'm sure I'm very close to annoying you with all my chatter. You see, it
was my intent. This is a trap, and you cannot escape from this old rag's mussings. Or it
would be bad manners!

5: I see.

(Daddy cackles, but it's interrupted by coughing. It takes some time for him to pull
himself together.)

5: Do you have a request for me, Daddy? Is there something I could help you with?

Daddy: Oh, I think you are doing just fine for now. Marcus seems very thankful for your
services. He's a very kind man. Please be patient with him.

5: I am.

Daddy: Thank you, Five. Is there something you'd like to tell me?

(Your mouth gapes. Your brain freezes, but the ice is quick to shatter under the cogs inside
your head.)


5: Nothing of note so far.

Daddy: Please don't hold back on your requests. I know the installations are humble-
but accomodations can be made.

5: Thank you.

(Except for the lack of light and water, the fact the bathroom is a whole block away, the dogs
that end up sleeping in your office, and the anime. Yet considering the current situation of
the Trashcan you didn't even dare to ask for another blanket. Whatever you ask should be

Daddy: I do have a request.

(You can hear your heart beating.)

5: Tell me.

Daddy: There's this man, Mr. Ferdinand... Are you familiar with him?

5: I am aware of Mr. Ferdinand.

(The head of the pest extermination team that comes into the Trashcan every now and then.
He's not directly affiliated with it, and therefore not inside your contract.)

Daddy: I'm aware he has come into possesion of a certain device. A... rocket launcher, so I

(Your heart skips a beat.)

Daddy: You may be a bit crammed as of late, since there are so many in there that require of
your help. But would you have a spare place on your shoulder for this man to lean on? He
seems to require it.

(You... really should stop and think about this.)

>Pick one for each choice.

>A: Ask something from Daddy?
>>Yes (write in)

>B: Accept Daddy's request?
>B: Accept Daddy's request?
TRY, not promises
Accept the request.
>B: Accept Daddy's request?

I’ve been trying to post for days but my entire mobile provider is blocked and I bricked my PC. Sorry I can’t contribute more, QM. Is this a prequel or reboot of Yakuza Therapist?
>>A: Ask something from Daddy?
Now is not the time for requests. Save those for after a success or when a problem is on the horizon

>B: Accept Daddy's request?

This is his way of digging into the problem without getting directly involved.
We haven't done anything yet to justify asking for anything.
Yes boss. Whatever you say boss.
Reboot. We going from scratch. Stay tuned, update in like two hours or so.

>>A: Ask nothing from Daddy.
>>B: Accept Daddy's request.

5: Yes. I'll take care of him.

Daddy: Oh, Five. You are too kind. Don't forget to save some of that kindness for yourself.

5: I won't.

Daddy: Go on walks, Five. Treat yourself to something tasty. Like sushi. There's much
more than rice in this big, big world.

(Your eyes roll. Seven.)

5: I will. I do feel like saying, Daddy, that sushi is mostly made of rice.

Daddy: Oh, is that so? Then grab something different. You'll end up speaking japanese at
this rate.

5: I do speak japanese.

Daddy: Oh, is that so... Five, always full of surprises.

(Daddy coughs. I takes him a while to get back. You wonder if he smokes too. You
wonder if he smokes those big cuban cigars.)

Daddy: This old man is setting you free. Go have fun. Take the day if you have to.

5: I'll consider it.

Daddy: I'll have my secretary send the contact's phone, er... the contact's info, is how
you say it, to your phone.

5: Ok.

Daddy: Goodbye, Five.

5: Goodbye.


(You fall back to reality, to the big black phone right in front of you. You hang. Once out of the
eerie phone room, you find the two big suits waiting for you. They leave at once. You follow
suit, heading to your room.)

(On your way there, you spam 7's with phone calls until she calls you a different name.)


(Half an our later, in your office, Seven is sitting on your side of the desk.)

7: That's all I have. Fffffffucker.

(As for you, you are walking back and forth, hand in chin, across the long room. Under the
gaze of anime.)

5: I need the questions. Seven, help me.

7: You need the answers, not the questions. Fuckface.

5: Yes. But I don't need answers to questions that don't matter.

7: So why am I here?

5: To hit me with your silly questions. Work your magic.

7: Hey, I wasn't waken up at 6am to be shat on, now was I?

5: As no knowledge is certainty, it all is a possibility.

7: Your MOMMA.

(She leans back on your chair, rocking herself back and forth. Then she lifts a finger.)

7: Let's start from rock bottom. What's the problem?

5: I'm the only one that knows that our arms dealer is a crazy arms dealer from Sarajevo
that's giving everyone rocket launchers for free. He knows this. I know this.

7: And me.

5: And you. (You nod to yourself.) And maybe the man that just got a brand new rocket
launcher and is going to be my next patient: Mr. Ferdinand.

7: You mean the guy who had to clean that toilet full of blood? No wonder he wants a

(7 cuts you off with a gesture before you talk, still rocking herself back and forth against your
desk. You behold her shoes near your files with dread.)

(Then she lifts a finger.)

7: They wouldn't know each other. No way. Last thing that guy could want is Daddy finding

5: Hmm, I agree.

7: Then why worry?

5: I need to rule that out. We don't know what Günther would do if he sees me talking to one
of his clients.

7: So what? It's your job.

(You stop cold. You give her a tired look.)

5: Seven: the man sells rockets,

7: (giggles) Oh, shit.

5: Just be glad you don't have my job.

7: Killing your patients every hopes and dreams as if they were tumors?

5: Dealing with you.

(You keep walking back and forth, chasing after any connection between the three of you. Seven snaps her fingers.)

7: First things first, talk to the man. Gauge the fuck.

5: Not a bad-

(You realize.)

5: The translator. German. I don't have one.

7: Huh? How did you learn about the rockets in the first place?

5: Charades.

7: Charades. Man. Ask Daddy for one. It's obvious.

5: I can't. I had my chance.

7: So what?

(She stops rocking herself to behold you clawing your forehead.)

7: I repeat: So what? Call him again. Ask for one. Why do you even have to deal with this rocket asshole anyway?

(You realize that, more than air, your body needs smoke and coffee.)

(The latter which, sadly enough, you'll only find in the lobby.)

5: So you know no one that speaks german.

7: Nu-uh.

5: And you don't know anyone either.

6: Not that much into nazis.

(You rest your coffee on the low table, far from Seven who's sharing your sofa. The lobby is so
enourmous that you feel safe talking aloud amidst the other groups and shady figures
sitting arond, getting their fuel. Six is the only of you that got something to eat, toast with
wacamole. Seven takes from it every so often, as the sun meets the window half a block over
your head.)

(Yet all around the place the windows are wet and tarnished.)

5: I need someone that speaks german. I won't ask Daddy (you glare at Seven), you two know
nobody that does- and I do neither.

6: Any of your patients? That guy, Mr Friendzone?

5: None of them.

6: What about the online folk? Hey! Maybe someone could translate from the PC as you
hold the session!

5: A conversation about rockets launchers.

6: You could say it's just a play.

7: Oh Sex, I love you sometimes.

6: Fine! But it's a great idea!

7: Aren't you happy to be with two charming ladies on your own? It's twice the odds.

6: No.

(And with that simple answer he takes a long sip from his own coffee.)

5: That's the point. Someone from the net would be out of range. It has to be someone
we can trust or we can kill.

6: That's a joke, right?

5: Yes, Six, it's a joke and no, I'm not being sarcastic.

(He remains shooting scared glances for a while before picking up his toast.)

7: You think this crazy ass german will be fine with public speeches? With having a

6: And someone sent by Daddy! Come on! At least someone from the net would be safe!

5: He'll have to. And Six, the people from the net are people.

6: So? What does that even mean?!

5: People do things, Six. Many things.

6: 'People do things', like, what? What do you mean?

7: She's just fucking with you, Six. Her online sessions are annonymous. See? Five does
have a sense of humour.

(Six goes from angry to angry but in a silent, controlled way. With a scowl.)

6: So what's the problem?

5: We can't threaten them.

(You take a humble sip.)

5: A bit of morality and this all goes down in hellfire. As you know, Six, being too safe is the
same as being too risky. Lock yourself in a safebox and you'll die starving.

6: So the translator will be threatened?

5: By a deranged german arms dealer with a truck full of bazookas? Quite certainly.

7: Very certainly.

(You take a big sip. Seven watches you gasp.)

7: So... what now?

5: Now; I make a choice.

>>Push back Ferdinand's session until you find a translator. This will take a suitable excuse, as it may take days.
>>Have Ferdinand first before you talk to Günther.
>>Try to have a session with Günther without a translator.
>Push back Ferdinand's session until you find a translator. This will take a suitable excuse, as it may take days
>Have Ferdinand first before you talk to Günther.

Daddy's requests take priority
>>Have Ferdinand first before you talk to Günther.

Why all these roundeyes in the clan?

>>Have Ferdinand first before you talk to Günther.

(You glance over Six's shoulder at the main TV, big as the hangar door to a truck full of missiles.
It's the news. As usual. A sharp looking talking blonde is quickly swapped by the low res
recording of a man chasing another across the street, carrying a rocket launcher over his
shoulder. The span in which they are seen is brief, but the recording pauses right as the one running
away screams to zoom on his face, the understatement of the century considering he's
being chased by a man with a bazooka. The sound fails to reach you cleanly, but that face gets
its job done. You notice both Six and Seven are staring at it as well. You notice everyone is too.)

(You tune out. Clean yourself. Choices should be made taking all the available data into account,
not skipping chunks out of impulse. There's always, as you learned, more data- but there's a
point where all you can do is trust.)

(And you always push it back as far as you can.)

5: Ferdinand. That's the first step.

6: Sure? What if Friah finds out?

5: No reason for that to happen. Even if it does, he won't want me in pieces without a talk. I'm his
ticket out of crazy, after all.

7: Wouldn't you agree that it's not much of a choice if it's the only you can do?

5: Seven, bring Ferdinand to me. I'll mail you his data. Six, bring me coffee.

6: You just had one. You are still having one.

5: And I didn't stutter.

7: Do you also want cake with your patient? Why is it me that has to call him if its you that has the

5: It's a simple formality that I'm sure won't kill you.

7: It's one of those psychological things, right? What's the argument for this one?

5: Watching your reaction.

7: More like being lazy and fucking with me for shits and giggles.

(Yet she takes a sip from your coffee and leaves quietly. You and Six watch her go.)

6: You mean like, right now? Two in a row?

5: Right now, Six. Right now.

(You watch your wristwatch's clock hand slowly push time forward from your seat behind the
desk. The coffee mug is empty, the cookie tray has crumbs.)

(The door opens. In walks a man in a short sleeved blue coverall. His ruffled hair is black,
his beard is short but messy, his eyebags are so violet you wonder if he ever sleeps. The
man stops and look around for guidance, until he finds your hand pointing at the chair. He just
walks in and drops himself on it, making it tremble and you flinch. Yet you fake it, because
it's your job.)

5: Mr. Ferdinand, I take?

Ferdinand: Hi.

(You reach out a hand. He shakes it a bit too much.)

5: I'm Five, the therapist. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Ferdinand: Me too. A pleasure to make your acquaintance too, I mean.

5: Let's cut corners, what do you say? I'm-

Ferdinand: Ok?

5: Ok, then. I'm aware that you came into possesion of a weapon, a rocket launcher,
bazooka, or however you call it. Is this correct?

Ferdinand: (he nods a lot) Yeah.

5: And that you requested my aid out of your own free will, right?

Ferdinand: Eeeeeeeh, kinda. I was giving your boss the update on what me and the boys
were doing to the joint, and then I told him about it, and he told me you could help, to go
to you.

5: You told him about the rocket launcher yourself?

Ferdinand: He kept asking how was I doing and giving advice.

5: I see.

Ferdinand: So I told him.

5: I see, that happened.

Ferdinand: Yeah.

5: Huh. At any rate, why did you but it?

Ferdinand: It was very cheap. I never had one of those before.

5: And what do you plan to do with it?

(Never ask leading questions.)

Ferdinand: Um... I want to shoot it.

5: Keep going.

Ferdinand: I want to shoot the poodle.

(You blink.)

5: Poodle. A french poodle. A dog.

Ferdinand: The dog that barks so much.

(You flip out a cigarette so fast that it lands on the desk. Calmly, you pick it up, and lit it
without worrying about anything else in the galaxy.)

Ferdinand: That's not healthy.

5: Have you tried talking to the owners first?

Ferdinand: (pointing at the cigarette) That's- that's not healthy.

5: Don't you smoke, Ferdinand? Drink? Do drugs?

(The greasy man shakes his head.)

Ferdinand: That's bad.

5: I see. Do you think shooting a poodle with a bazooka is bad?

(Ferdinand grimaces, looking away.)

5: Is that why you are here, Mr. Ferdinand? Because you aren't sure about your choice?

(He goes red.)

Ferdinand: It's a bad dog! Bad! It barks all night! I can't sleep, it never sleeps!

5: Is it good to shoot at bad things?

Ferdinand: Yes. No. (he frowns) Yes... no!

5: You aren't sure. That's why you are here.

(He just glances at you and nods.)

5: Have you tried talking to the owners? Making friends with it? Scaring it off? Getting

Ferdinand: I'm not good at people.

5: What do you mean?

Ferdinand: People are hard. Sometimes they talk too long. Like you.

5: I see. Earplugs?

Ferdinand: Those hurt.

5: Do you know what it could be barking at?

(He shakes his head.)

5: Maybe you could help it. Maybe you could deal with the monster that's making it bark.

Ferdinand: But what if I'm the monster?

5: What makes you think that?

Ferdinand: It barks at me. It barks when I walk by.

5: Does it bark to anyone else?

Ferdinand: (frowning his eyes) Yes, it does...

5: Then maybe it just thinks people are hard. Like you.

Ferdinand: Then I shouldn't shoot?

5: Maybe.

Ferdinand: But what do I do?

(A gun, poison, steal it and leave it somewhere else, give it to a little lady downtown as a gift,
send the owners a letter, many ideas flash by. You ignore them.)

(Ferdinand looks away.)

Ferdinand: It makes a lot of noise and barks barks barks barks. I don't want to be bad but if
it's bad then it wouldn't be bad.

5: I see.

Ferdinand: I'm not smart. (He grabs his head) But I want to be good.

5: (You nod) And that's good, Mr. Ferdinand, that's good.

(Ferdinand doesn't answer. His shoulders are tight, he's resting his body on the table; he
seems very conflicted about this.)

Ferdinand: The owners told me I'm bad because I live with my mom. I don't think that's
bad because I love my mom and I want to take care of her.

5: What did the owners tell you?

Ferdinand: The owners said that they have nowhere else to leave it but the street and that
it would starve and die there. They asked me if I wanted it on the street and I told them no,
then they told me I was retarded and to stay away or they'll call the cops.

5: Wouldn't you rather leave it on the street than shoot at the little poodle?

Ferdinand: It would die anyway.

5: Why didn't you tell them to set it free, then?

Ferdinand: I didn't want it to die.

5: But you want to kill it now.

Ferdinand: Because it doesn't stop!

(Then why don't you ask them now?)

5: Hmm. Do your neighbours complain about the poodle too?

Ferdinand: I don't think they do. When I come back from work to momma everyone is
sleeping. I'm not sleeping yet but I can't sleep because of the dog.

5: I see, you work late hours. How old are you?

Ferdinand: Four and two.

5: How did you get that weapon in the first place?

Ferdinand: He told me it was a secret.

5: It's ok, you can keep the secret. Do you know this person? Have you seen it before?

Ferdinand: But it's a secret.

5: That's not part of the secret. The secret is how you got it.

Ferdinand: Oh, okay. I know him. He's here too.

(You whistle. That's one major detail.)

5: In this place. In the Trashcan.

Ferdinand: Yes, he is in this place too. Not right here though.

5: I see. Do you think that man is good?

Ferdinand: Yes because he gave me the shooter.

5: And the dog is bad because it barks.

Ferdinand: Yes. Because it's bad. It's bad because it doesn't let me sleep.

5: Wouldn't it be bad to shoot at it?

Ferdinand: I DON'T KNOW!

(The scream takes you by surprise, leaving your cigarette dry. Not daring to break eye
contact, you lit it again, and fill your lungs with that poison you need so much.)

(It's not that you mind him shooting a poodle with a rocket launcher. In fact, from a certain
point of view, that would be hilarious. It's not your job to stop him, or to stop your good boys
from making their debtors play Super Mario Sunshine on fire, or to stop Seven from making
Six believe in aliens.)

Your job is to calibrate others take on reality.

5: Did your mother teach you about good or bad?

Ferdinand: Yes. My mom is very good.

5: What makes something good and what makes something bad?

Ferdinand: Bad things hurt. Good things smell well.

5: I see. Is that why ended up on that line of work?

Ferdinand: I don't understand those words.

5: Is that why you work cleaning things?

Ferdinand: Yes.

5: So if it does good things it's good, and if it does bad things it's bad.

Ferdinand: Yes. That's how it is when it is.

5: Hmm...

(Words aren't power, but they are direction- the direction of power. And you may want to
consider this direction right now.)

>>It isn't actions that make us good or evil- but intentions.
>>Good and evil do not exist.
>>Being evil with evil doesn't make you good.
>Being evil with evil doesn't make you good.

Ferdinand seems like he's not that smart, poor guy. Fancy words and cleverness is going to work against us. Go simple.
Don't worry, Five is great at drilling takes into thick skulls. It's her actual job description.
Still think going simple will work better. Ferdinand seems like he wants to be "good" but can't figure out how with this dog making him crazy from lack of sleep
>Being evil with evil doesn't make you good.

>Being evil with evil doesn't make you good.

5: It's bad if it hurts, right?

Ferdinand: Yes.

5: Then shooting someone with a bazooka is bad

Ferdinand: Does that hurt?

5: Very much.

Ferdinand: How do you know?

5: I was shot with one once

Ferdinand: Oooh.

5: Then, if you are good but shoot the poodle with the rocket launcher, you'll be bad because
the rockets hurt.

Ferdinand: But the poodle is being bad.

5: Because it hurts you with its barking.

(Ferdinand grabs his head. He seems... pretty out of it.)

Ferdinand: But what do I do, Missy Therapist? I can't be good because it didn't work. I can't
be bad because... mom says it's bad.

(He seems to be... weeping.)

Ferdinand: I will never sleep again.

(A point of view, in the end, is a tool like any other. It's where judgement is born, and from
judgement is born action. Simply put, no matter how accurate,)

a take on reality is useless if it doesn't solve the problem.

>>It isn't actions that make us good or evil- but intentions.
>>Good and evil do not exist.
And yes, that was a trap choice lol. Don't forget you can ask me to clarify shit in case I'm being too vague.
>It isn't actions that make us good or evil- but intentions.

Well, simple didn't work.

[ps. its late, going to bed. will catch up in the morning. G'night Peaceful, thanks for running]
>Good and evil do not exist.
Aight boys, tiebreaker in one hour or I'm dicin it
Rolled 2 (1d2)

Fuck it



>>Good and evil do not exist.

(You grab his hand from across the table. Physical contact is certainly not your thing, but
it doesn't make it any less of a tool of the craft. Ferdinand looks up with his wet eyes.)

5: You will sleep. Don't worry.

(You let him sob for a bit, letting his attention fall back to you.)

5: Do you remember being vaccinated, Mr. Ferdinand?

(He goes from moping to frowning.)

Ferdinand: Yes. It bad.

5: It bad, indeed. Because if hurts.

Ferdinand: Yes. A lot.

5: Do you know what happens when you don't get your vaccine on time?

Ferdinand: Uuuuuh, you get sick.

5: And getting sick hurts, doesn't it? Like when you get a sore throat.

Ferdinand: Yes. That hurts a whole big, big lot.

5: So the vaccine hurts but saves you from getting sick, which hurts much more.

(His eyes stray to the side. He seems to be giving this quite a lot of thought.)

Ferdinand: Mu-hu.

5: I'll take that as 'yes'. We all try, Mr. Ferdinand, to minimize hurting within our
possibilities, and for that, sometimes, we make others hurt.

Ferdinand: I don't get it.

5: The vaccine, Mr. Ferdinand. Think about it.

(You let him think. We all have our chew at or own rate.)

Ferdinand: I still don't get it, Missy Therapist.

5: Sometimes we need things that hurt. Like vaccines. They hurt, but save you from things
that hurt more.

Ferdinand: Uh.

5: And sometimes cats bite when we play with them.

(His mouth goes wide.)

Ferdinand: Yes. That's true. Cats bite sometimes. I know it's true.

5: Does that make cats bad?

Ferdinand: Yes.

5: But they also let you pet them. Which is good. They do both things at the same times.

Ferdinand: Yes.

(You stop feeding him ideas. You let him swallow. When he finally does, you notice.)

Ferdinand: Then is it good or bad?

5: Do you believe in Santa Claus, Mr. Ferdinand?

Ferdinand: Not anymore I do. Last year I did.

5: Good and evil are like Santa. They don't exist either.

(He goes limp.)


(Then Ferdinand bolts to a stand, his eyes almost out of their sockets.)


(It was so loud that, a few seconds from the scream you hear the faint, then not-so-faint
footsteps getting stronger by the second, filling the silence.)

(Until someone tackles your door down. And it's Six.)

5: Wow.

(Ferdinand gets scared and screaming unintelligibly, kicking everything around him as
Six points his gun at him and does much the same. Squinting your eyes, you stand from the

(You sigh. This is never easy. They both go from apes to plants as you shoot from the
window a few times. Six and Mr. Ferdinand stare at the gun in your hand, finally in silence.)

5: Six, nothing bad is happening. Ferdinand, I think I told you not to scream in my office.

(Ferdinand's mouth moves like ice being shattered.)

Ferdinand: You didn't.

5: My bad, then. (You place the gun under the desk again) Six, please let everyone know
nothing bad is going on. Don't let this ruin my evening.

6: What the fuck do I tell them, you just shot your damn gun, Five.

(Much like Ferdinand did, you simply let yourself fall on your chair, only that the impact
your impact on it is barely noticeable.)

5: Sit down, Ferdinand.

Ferdinand: (crying) Please don't shoot me.

5: I won't. Why do you think I shot towards the window?

Ferdinand: I- I don't know, a-are birds bad?

5: They aren't. I did that to stop Six from shooting at you because you scared us to
death with your screaming.

(Ferdinand is choking tears.)

Ferdinand: Sorry.

5: Six here isn't bad, either. He just wanted to save me because he thought you'd hurt me.

Ferdinand: Sorry, Missy Therapist.

5: The poodle is doing much of the same. It doesn't know if you are good or bad, so it barks
just in case. It wants to protect its owners.

Ferdinand: But the owners are bad.

5: The owners aren't bad. They are just stupid. That doesn't make them bad. There aren't bad
people, or good people, all we have is stupid people that does stupid things when trying to do
things right. No one ever wanted to hurt anyone just for the sake of it.

(Ferdinand just shakes his head.)

Ferdinand: I don't get it. I don't get it.

6: Five, do you need me here? Shouldn't I be calming down people?

5: Very much. And get me coffee.

6: What? Another?

(You don't even glare at him. Not completely. By the time he's out of the room, you walk up to
Ferdinand and place both hands on his shoulders. It feels a bit gross.)

5: There, there. It's all right. No one is going to hurt you.

(He just sobs.)

5: No good, no bad. Only stupid. Ok? Do you get that?

(Ferdinand nods and nods.)

Ferdinand: The dog is stupid. Not bad.

5: Good. Don't ask yourself if something's good or bad. Ask yourself if it's stupid or not.

Ferdinand: Ok.

5: We are done for today, but you are leaving with homework.

Ferdinand: Ok.

5: I want you to consider: is it stupid to shoot a poodle with a bazooka? Now off you go.
(You see Mr. Ferdinand off, close the door, then stop to take one DEEP breath of pure air
as you rest your back against the wall. As the pimps say: it ain't easy, and you fully agree
with them.)

(Yet, not for long. You take out the cellphone. You call Six. After the third beep, he picks up.)

6: [Yeah?]

5: [Tell them it was you that shot through the window.]

6: [Um. I already told the guys at the lobby it was an accident.]

5: [You didn't say the accident was mine, did you?]

6: [Eh... no, don't worry.]

5: [Six, unless you pay everyone here to keep quiet then a lie will only get you ten minutes.]

6: [You didn't even tell me what to say!]

5: [I thought you understood that making me look stupid is worse than shooting me in the

6: [It's not my fault!]

(You roll your eyes and grumble.)

5: [Just tell me what you said.]

6: [And why do I have to take the fall? You did it, not me! It's not fair!]

5: [It's practical. It even makes you look brave.]

6: [It's a lie!]

5: [What did you tell them?]

(The dreaded pause. Oh no.)

6: [T-that you were juggling the gun.]

(You just push the phone harder against your ear. You sigh silently for a long time.)

5: [Don't worry, Six. I have a solution for this.]

6: [Um, ok. What do I do to help, boss?]

5: [Nothing much. Don't worry. See you later.]

(You've let the poison show a bit too much with that last sentence, but oh well, you hang.)

(Ferdinand, despite his smarts, knows the german arms dealer, which is important. As
long as he's kept out of the game, there shouldn't be much problem. This last patient of
yours has a knack for being good and is armed with a bazooka; you just hope is newfound
sense of morality doesn't point it anywhere near you.)

(However, you are at ease. That doesn't seem likely. After all, you didn't point him in any

(Six is finally at your office's door, tight as a steel wire rope. You beckon him further in with
a hand while kneeling in front of the rice cooker. When you notice him standing behind
you, still uptight, you let out a little sigh.)

5: It's not the end of the world.

6: I know it isn't.

(His tone went up and down as he said it, yet 6 looks away instead of meeting your eyes with
his. You push a bowl towards him.)

5: Rice?

6: No thanks.

5: It isn't poisoned.

6: (laughs too hard) I know.

5: Have you had lunch already?

6: Yes.

5: (You lift an eyebrow) When? You've been doing errands all day.

6: I had a very good breakfast.

5. Six, sit.

6: Ok.

(More than sitting, he deflates into the chair. You push the bowl in front of him as you take
your seat in front of yours.)

5: Eat the rice.

6: Why? Why do you want me to eat it? This rice?

5: It's the only way you'll realize it's not poisoned.

(He opens his mouth to object, but you make sure to stare very steadily at him. Maybe a bit
too much. 6 simply takes the spoon and takes the risk.)

5: Are you mad at me, Six? Or are you afraid of me?

(You silence him with a finger as he tries to talk with a mouth full of rice. You wait for him to
swallow as you grab your own chopsticks.)

6: No, that's a lie. Why?

5: I won't eat you if you are. The way I see it, you feel constantly pressured and are very
afraid of seeing yourself as a coward. So maybe you saw fit to mock the twenty and two
years old girl that's bossing you around all the time.

6: No, that's not it at all, Five. I'm serious.

5: I'm sure you'd still agree that it's a good theory. Safety takes bravery, after all. And, as
we both know, safety is your very main directive.

(6 doesn't answer.)

5: If you aren't brave, then you aren't safe, so you need to show yourself that you are brave.

6: I know you are a therapist and all, Five, but you can't read my mind.

5: I don't need to. In fact, I can afford to be wrong. (You rest your elbows on the table and
your chin on your hands) What you did just now was quite brave, blitzing in like that after
hearing gunfire.

(He goes reddish. And stutters.)

6: Thank you? It's my job, you know, I'm just doing it.

5: You may even fear being a coward more than dying.

6: i don't get it. But I'm not a coward.

(You smile. It's fake, and he knows, but it's the intent that counts. The problem is that maybe,
just maybe, 6 doesn't get that either.)

5: I have a solution for our new problem to be applied at once. As you know, my image is
important. Not for narcissism, but because it's a tool and has to be kept clean.

6: Y-yeah, I get that.

(You don't even ask why he thought you wouldn't find out.)

>So what will Six do?
>>Tell Six to keep talking bad about you.
>>Tell Six to announce he has lied.
By the way, even if this may seem wrong I had intended for 1 to be the first post and for 2 to be the second post. I just quoted them wrong lol.
>Tell Six to keep talking bad about you.
>Tell Six to announce he has lied.

We must be seen at all times not to behave foolishly. Our being serious gives us the credibility to tell these fine boys to do things they make think is silly, but is actually important for them
Fffffuck, don't make me dice it. One more hour and I'll do it. This is too dead fffuuuckk
Sorry. my timing seems to be way off on responding to this quest.
Rolled 1 (1d2)

aight FINE



And this time the order is ok.
>Tell Six to keep talking bad about you.

(From under your chin, you gently spread your hand to the sides.)

5: You'll have to keep talking shit about me.

6: What. Wait, what?

5: That's right. That's the plan.

(Six glances at his sides, looking for help. But he's alone, and there are sharks in the water.)

5: No need to worry. You seem quite good at it.

6: You are mad at me, right? I fucked up big this time, right?

5: Not all. But, intere-

6: Fuck fuck OH FUCK

5: Six, calm down. Here.

(He ignores your cigarette, instead focusing on biting his knuckle.)

(As gently as you can, you slap him.)

6: Ow. Fffuck.

5: Out of your bubble, Six. Nothing too bad will happen to you.

6: Then why would I do that?!

5: Instead of throwing a fit, listen to me. It makes sense.

6: How?

5: Don't go into a meltdown until I'm finished talking. If I tell you to call off the shots, if you
go out and tell everyone you were lying, they'll think I made you do it, they'll /know/ I made
you do it- which would show insecurity.

6: Why?

5: Because I'd show them I care about what they think.

6: But that's true.

5: Yes. But they don't have to know it.

6: I don't get it.

5: Keep listening. If, however, you keep mocking me at every turn, they'll just think you
are mad at me because I'm a bitch. Which I am. And there goes your fair and just
punishment. In time, they'll think you are biased.

6: I knew it, I fucking knew it.

5: Nothing more than what you brought for yourself.

6: They will believe me, though. They did believe me.

5: For now. Keep up the act, get some public. That way, I'll get the chance to clean my name.

6: How?

5: Proving that you are an idiot in public.

(You take the cigarette for yourself as Six loses all hope.)

(After a phone call with Seven, reminding Six to get you that coffee, posting ads for german
translators on the internet, and careful consideration, you decide to take Daddy on his
offer. You decide, for the first time since you are here, to take a walk outside, to step out
into the world around the Trashcan.)

(And what do you know. It's raining.)

(You aren't an outdoor's person. In fact, even right now, this feels like wasting time you could
be spending studying, the tiny stretch of time you needed to archive that grand epiphany that
would take you out of this shithole. And you are barely just across the Trashcan's entrance,
a big automatic glass door. Which closes behind you.)

(So here you are, you and your umbrella.)

(You gaze at the scenery right up your nose, breathing cold, fresh air. Though it's still early
in the morning, the shy sun is hiding behind those cement clouds. So it's not day nor night.
Under them, an immensely wide street, with many checkpoints made of small elevations,
separates the Trashcan from the rest of the world as if it was an island. Right across this
sea of concrete, right in front of you, is Sugar's bar. Where your feet are taking you.)

(Maybe you just need another coffee. The third.)

(Something golden stops you, a dazzling light. You saw it from the corner of your eye, now
staring at it directly reveals it's hair. Blonde hair, swirling around in the middle of the gray

(You walk up to it. Once the frame is clear, you stop to stare. A woman in what seems a small
lab coat and black tights is dancing alone, completely alone, humming a song you maybe
remember. It takes a while, but she notices you.)

(Flowing, she reaches a hand towards you.)

Blonde: What are you doing all alone? Dance with me!

5: I'm not that good at dancing under the rain.

(She keeps dancing to herself, spinning around, taking little leaps here and there. In
fact, it's oddly hypnotizing.)

???: It's not going to rain.

5: Yes it is.

???: Tuturu turu~ Not for a good while~

(And then a drop falls. And then another. And the mysterious blonde girl stops to scowl at the
sky, hands on her waist and everything, as if that would make the clouds feel bad about
themselves. In fact, the opposite happens. In retaliation, the heavens cry even louder.)

(That's when you spread your umbrella all over her. It's like she knew this was going to
happen. As you both walk across the street, she gets a bright idea.)

???: Hey! Why don't we dance under the rain?

(And you shoot her down.)

(You both arrive wet anyway. Once under the bar's long roof, you shrink your umbrella and
wrap that tiny cloth around it. You feel wet, cold, and completely different from a cup of
coffee. As for your companion, or maybe passenger, she seems ecstatic.)

???: This is fate for sure. Let's have a drink.

(Her english is clearly mangled and her accent is untraceable.)

5: If by drink you mean 'coffee', and by 'let's' you mean 'on separate corners', sure, I'll take
your fate.

???: Hahaha! That's so funny!

(She slaps your back so hard all that cold, fresh hair is free at last. You simply turn and
flash her a little smile.)

5: Please don't do that again.

???: Aww, was I too rough? Sorry!

(You finally study her face intently- and she /does/ seem apologetic, puppy eyes and
everything behind glasses. Which throws you off. You simply ignore her and walk into
Sugar's, not that surprised that she's following you inside, but not that calm either.)

(She's... attractive.)

(It's crowded. You even have to push your way to the front. All the sweat and warmth and
people laughing is already making your skin boil. So you turn around to leave- and bump
into her. Right.)

(There's so many people that the blonde has to yell.)

Blonde: What's wrong?

5: I'm leaving.

Blonde: But it's cold outside. Stay; I'll protect you!

5: I can't even hear myself think!

(And you had to shout too. Glasses blonde, with the strange uniform nods and nods. Then
grabs your shoulder and leans her face in as if to whisper.)

Blonde: See that spot? By the window? Go there. It won't be so bad there. Trust me.

(Before giving you the chance, she walks past you, pushing her way into the wall of people. It
must have gotten crowded because of the rain. After struggling your way out of the crowd, you
look out; still raining. Still raining hard.)

(Fate doesn't exist. It's simple as that. Destiny, fate, the path; it can't be predicted, ever, by
anyone, so the concept is futile. Some may land a few predictions here and there- but
consistency, and therefore fate, which imply a greater motivation, is impossible.)

(Maybe you could teach someone a lesson.)


We are outside as Daddy suggested. We will stay outside, then go back inside where we belong and never speak of it again


(However, it is cold. You could hit the bar next block or anywhere else, but the thought of cold
wind against your wet clothes is painful enough for you to accept your fate. You'll sit on the
table by the window at least until the pants dry up.)

(There are so many faces. The sweaty beast made of many bodies finally spits your mistery
date. And two thick beer mug. One crashes in front of you.)

Bloonde: Cheers mate!

(She doesn't even sit before going home with the beer, which goes down at an alarming date.
Once done with her victim, the blonde slides her sleeve across her lips before slamming the
mug against the table.)

Blonde: YEs! That was the problem.

5: Thirst, I take?

Blonde: Fun! Being boring is death in life.

(You aren't sure about her spelling. You don't mention it. Instead, you poke the big mug up
your nose.)

5: Never thought going stupid could be fun.

Blonde: Don't you drink?

5: No.

Blonde: Then let's go dance.

5: With this many people, I'll end up dancing with the bartender.

(She laughs. It's a strong, confident laugh.)

Blonde: What's your name?

(You find her golden eyes so close and so focused on you that you reel back
automatically. At least you can hear her now.)

(You let yourself consider a witty comeback to get back at her.)

Blonde: What's wrong? Did you forget your name?

(Too late.)

5: It's a secret.


Blonde: (covers mouth with hands) A secret. A secret agent. That's why you wear the suit.

5: Kinda. So call me whatever you want.

Blonde: How about 'sunshine' while I hold your hand?

5: Or maybe 'Agent K' while I wipe your memory away.

Blonde: How about 'perky tits' while you try to choke me?

(Your mouth opens, but whatever quirky comeback came out was muffled by deafining
laughter. You are flat out being hit on by a drunk lesbian you met dancing on the street.)

(Of course, her cheeks are red. You let her laugh.)

5: Bit of a warning; I'm the furthest thing from a silver lining.

Blonde: Are you a golden lining?

5: That's not the opposite.

(She giggles- then laughs loudly. But then- she bolts up from the chair. The sheer energy of
that motion alone is enough to evoke rollercoasters.)

Blonde: Let's dance like there's no tomorrow.

5: I- haven't finished my drink yet.

Blonde: I'll finish it later.

5: I-

('pass', but you swallow the word as you are ripped from your chair with unexpected force.
Firmly, this mysterious character wraps an arm around your waist- and valets her way into the

(Each spin gets you ever closer into the meat zone.)

5: Let me go. I hate dancing. I hate crowds and noise.

Blonde: Tell me your name.

5: Would a made-up name make you happy?

Blonde: Any you want. I won't believe you anyway,

(You weren't lying; flashing lights and loud noises stress you out like nothing else. It's
simply too much stimulation for someone who spent half her life nose deep in books. But it
can't be done. You don't need glasses to notice this train is missing brakes.)

Blonde: Haaahahahahaha!

(And she's swirling you around like a whip, pushing you back and then close. Yet you never
stumble; the crazy blonde is moving both her body and yours. You just close your eyes and
hang on for dear life- and when you do, it gets slower.)

(When you open up, you find her sweaty forehead resting on yours, her lips smiling a
weird smile. This slow motion is valet, the most basic set. Slowly and steady, you find yourself
being driven out of the crowd, across the hallways, towards the entrance, against the
door. Which she kicks open without a second thought.)

(The cold air hits you, but she keeps her chest locked to yours and it's warm and you find
shelter in it. And once back on the street you find that the rain is drizzle, that the drizzle twists
the colors of the lone traffic light, that it's spreading them all above you.)

(Five minutes later, it's you leading her.)

Blonde: What's your name?

5: What's yours?

(You both step sideways at the same time.)

Blonde: I can't tell you. It's a secret.

5: Does it matter?

Blonde: The secret?

(It's hard to dance and talk.)

5: Do names matter?

(And your hair's a wet mess. And your glasses are so tarnished you can barely see her face.)

Blonde: You know- I think they don't.

(You see your shadow grow fast and turn your head to a blinding white, halting as you cover
your eyes. It stops. The blonde puffs her cheek and breaks from you, walking up to the car.)


Driver: What the fuck, move, bitch!


(The rest is in another language, most likely the lost tongue of an ancient nigerian tribe. The
driver, a friendly looking bald man, pokes his head from out of the window, frowning his

Driver: Whaaat?!

Blonde: AAAAAAA!

(And with one big motion, the blonde steps aside. The car simply drives by, and you watch
the bald man peek at you as he drives away. Well, you must be quite the sight. You glance at
your dancing partner, who's still glaring rocket launchers at the humble old Ford.)
(Yet, you both still stand under the rain.)

Blonde: The nerve! (she stomps)

5: Concrete streets are meant for vehicle circulation, after all.

(It's only when you cough that you notice how could your chest feels now. You cough a bit
more as she walks up to you.)

Blonde: Don't worry pal, nothing some good old lemon tea can't fix, eh?

(You just hope it also cleans your clothes. She's also completely drenched.)

5: Is this how you make friends?

Blonde: Fuck that. This is special.

5: (chuckles) Fate, huh?

Blonde: (frowning) Fate!

5: Huh, so you take it seriously.

(You make sure she feels judged when you give her /the look/ that you give your angry patients.
Since the blonde turned fully towards you, it's working its magic fully as intended.)

Blonde: What? What?

5: When is it fate and when isn't it?

Blonde: (grabs your hand) Let's get you tea first, come-

5: Wait.

(Her feet is left hanging in the air as you stay in place like a statue.)

5: I'm not letting you think a way out. So answer the question?

Blonde: (her eyes roll up) When it's fate and when it's not, right?

5: Yes.

Blonde: /This/ is fate!

5: Why?

(Now it's you getting scowled at.)

Blonde: Cause I say so!

5: I could say it's not.

Blonde: It doesn't matter cuz we danced under the rain.

5: So?

(You enjoy a silly smirk as you watch rain bounce against her blonde head, drop by drop,
fueling her burning eyes)

Blonde: So?! Doesn't this mean anything to you?

5: Does that matter if it's fate?

(Mouth wide open, she looks sideways.)

5: Looking for the answer? Or you forgot your name?

Blonde: Shut up!

(Her feet go up and down agains the street, like an engine fueling her brain.)

Blonde: No. It doesn't matter. It's fate.

5: So what if I walk away?

Blonde: It won't matter cause it's fate!

(And she's pointing at you. Whatever 'fate' means to her, she's really taking it seriously.
Her unstable behavior, lack of tact, and impulsiveness may be clues to something
bigger. Or when was the last time someone dragged you out of a bar to dance under the

(Thinking is important.)


Do not stick your tongue in crazy. Do not let crazy stick its tongue in you.


(And thinking about it, you already live with a nice bunch of big bad boys that would eat their
own mothers. Except Six. Especially Seven.)

5: You seem so sure about that. Interesting.

Blonde: I don't /seem/ sure, I AM sure, I-

5: Then I'll test fate.

(The blonde on the street stops getting closer, then folds her arms over the chest. It's not like
she's angry, no. It strikes you more as if she has so much energy that not moving physically
hurts her.)

Blonde: You think you are walking out on me? ON ME?

(You don't answer just in case. After all, booze can talk.)

Blonde: Ain't happenin, pal! Nobody walks out on me! I'm walking out on YOU. See you later!

(And with a twirl, she goes. You watch her fade into the night under the drizzle, as the traffic
lights paint her back red and yellow. Like fire. You are freezing. Mentally too.)

(You wonder if you just earned a second stalker. Everyone is out of touch with reality to
some degree, yet problems only come when you can't measure that. And that's what makes
making adult friends so crazy hard.)

(The main entrance to the Trashcan closes behind you, trapping you in the 60's. The
reception room is wide and full of details, stuff that would be fancy sixty years ago. You catch
the single clerk, a tall bald man, yawning as you walk up to him.)

5: Is Seven in the building?

Clerk: Who?

5: Tall blonde with twintails and a ponytail. Skinny. Brownish.

Clerk: Is she pretty? Cute? Sexy? Is the ass alright?

5: No.

Clerk: Hahaha, I'll tell her you said that.

(The man scours his book intently, his eyes darting from side to side.)

Clerk: Nope. She's out.

5: Thanks.

(You head into the elevator. Better to risk falling to your death than climbing all those damn
stairs. It's still here, after all. Though it sometimes stops between two floors, so you
have to knock on the panel a few times. With your elbow.)

(Once back to your office, you dial Six.)

6: [Yeah?]

5: Find Seven for me.

6: [...But where the fuck do I even start?]

5: Call her.

6: [Then why don't you do that?!]

(He sounds desperate.)

5: Not my job, not my problem.

(You hang. Too naggy. You yawn too. Damn clerk. Coffee is not working, so you pick up the
phone again.)

Marcus: [Say it.]

5: Do any of your girlfriends speak german?

Marcus: [Only with my dick inside.]

5: Then how about having sex during one of my sessions?

Marcus: [Only if it's with you.]

5: Damn.

Marcus: [Try google translate. It works sometimes.]

5: It's crap.

Marcus: [Or you are too picky. Gotta go, the guys are oiling all my body.]

(You don't even ask why before hanging. On the way here, you heard some of your boys
talking about some gang guys walking around with rocket launchers, doing street signs and
break-dancing. You break out a cig. Jesus fucking Christ.)

(You pick up the cellphone again... but your only other contact has been reported missing a
week and a half ago. He was Good Boy too.)

(So, here you are. Linked to a crazy arms dealer, with nothing better to do than smoke
and go over your patients for the tenth time since you woke up. You need Germany. You
need someone that speaks German- someone to tell you, on behalf of Günther Friah, that you
are off the hook.)

(Oh well. At least you have yourself to pass the time. Which is quite nice, actually.)

>>Ask Daddy for a translator. Fuck.
>>Find one yourself. Talk to people.
>Ask Daddy for a translator. Fuck.
>Ask Daddy for a translator. Fuck.

We tried.

Just glad that crazy woman is gone. She's all kinds of run away and lock the door
>Ask Daddy for a translator.


(And who would you even talk to? The fat guy that suffocates people under his ass? That
other that jumps out of windows for sport? Or the one that pushes them into a hole to do
Shakesphere plays perfectly as they get thrown concrete on at every mistake? Or Marcus? Or
Ferdinand? Or Wolf?)

(Daddy; that's who. It's not a choice if there are no choices. The sole thought makes you
grumble, but it doesn't matter; you either look like an idiot or turn into one. So you dial.)




???: [Who's this?]

(The voice is rough and coarse. Certainly manly.)

5: Five. I want to talk to Daddy.

???: [For what?]

5: Just tell him I need to talk.

???: [Why?]

(You go silent.)

5: Do I have to tell you?

???: [Yes, dipshit.]

5: Huh. And why is that?

???: [Are you stupid? I'm hanging up.]

5: I can kill you.

(Now it's the other end that goes silent.)

???: [What the fuck?]

(You make an extra-effort to sound non-chalantly.)

5: I can kill you. I can find out who you are and kill you. I've got the means. Is that what you

???: [Bullshit.]

5: Hang up and find out.

(He doesn't.)

???: [How about you just tell me what the fuck you want?]

5: Talk to Daddy.

???: [Why?]

5: I don't have to tell you why. There's no possible, logical reason for which I'd have to tell
you, or anyone else, what I talk with Daddy. Your attempts at intimidating me in order to get
information have failed. Give Daddy the phone or I'll fucking kill you.

(The line goes silent again. The next you hear is a familiar, ragged voice.)

Daddy: [Is that you, Five?]

5: Yes. I have a request.

Daddy: [Did you go out as I told you? I'm told it's a lovely day.]

5: Whoever told you that loves rain, Daddy.

Daddy: [Oh. I see. Well, maybe he does. I like rain too. It turns the world into one big drum.
How about you, Five?]

5: I'd rather be dry.

Daddy: (laughs, then coughs) [Oh, Five; you can't be dry forever. Get wet. Get dirty. There's
much to miss outside that office. What about the beach?]

5: I'll take that into consideration.

Daddy: [Good, good. Then how can this old rag be of service?]

5: I need a translator. A german speaker.

Daddy: [I see. I think I got just the one. No; I got it. Yes. This is going to be so good!]

(You don't answer. It's hard to keep in mind that this man would make Scarface look like a slice
of life anime. But you try.)

Daddy: [Is it Mr. Gunther? Or Mr. Mirai? Or has Four become obsesed with another language

5: It's Mr. Gunther.

Daddy: [I see, Mr Gunther. He's an excentric old fellow, Five, but kind. Mr. Gunther gives the
average man with a family the opportunity to defend himself and his offspring. Five, what do
you think about gun ownership?]

5: I'd rather not give political opinions.

Daddy: [Every opinion is political, Five. One way or the other.]

(You don't answer. You don't know what to say.)

Daddy: [Oh, but not to worry. I trust your judgement. And don't worry either if you make a
few mistakes here and there; it is to be expected! As my boys are quite noisy.]

(You consider asking Daddy why the hell you are here, but... no. Not yet. You get paid. End of

Daddy: [I'll make sure chivarly arrives just in time. Like in those old movies. Aren't those
coincidences just silly, Five? Oh, but I'm talking too much. Goodbye.]

(The call ends. Immediately, you light a cigarette. Killing anyone is the very last
resource being a long line of alternatives, yet you can't afford to be seen weak. Not here. Not
even if you end up shaking.)

(Well. At least that's over. You pick up the phone, yet again.)

6: [Yeah?]

5: So?

6: [Eh, nothing yet.]

5: She didn't pick up the phone.

6: [Wait. how did you know that?]

5: Homework: figure that out. Leave her alone for now. And bring me coffee.

6: [Seriously? Another? Do you know how bad that is? I mean, fuck's sake, you've got sleeping
issues already! I-I gotta refuse on principle. You are twenty-two. No. I won't do it. I won't.]

5: I'll fire you.

6: [T-then do it, motherfucker, do it Fucking fire me right the /fuck/ now! You got the balls? You
got what it takes? Y-you think I-]

5: Water, Six. Bring me water.

(You let him coold own for a bit.)

6: [You mean like a bottle? A bottle, right?]

5: Yes. A bottle.

6: [Right. Right.] (You hear him mutter to himself. [S-sorry.]

(Another call ending. Oh well. At least that was amusing. There's not much more to do right
now: 20 and 72's appointments are later on this week, Ferdinand is aiming at the poodle with
the rocket launcher, Gunther speaks german, and you've already been out- for too damn
long. You lay back on the chair and stare at the gray clouds on the ceiling as the rain plays
drums against the anime girl poster.)

(There's a standard about what 'normal' means. But normal people go crazy.)

(You don't. You can't.)

(You remember dancing under the rain with that crazy blonde. You remember the colour of the
traffic lights, the dark, the cold, the warmth. And, for the first time in months, or at least ever
since you had to hear college classes about subject you've learned a decade ago,

you feel bored.)

(You stand from the chair. You feel restless.)

>It's raining.
>Pick two:
>>Wander around the Trashcan. Let it surprise you.
>>Hit the lobby. Have a drink. Watch the glass ceiling become a waterfall.
>>Meet up with someone you already know (Who?).
>>Go outside. Hit a bar. Maybe Sugar's is quiet now.
>>Go over your patient's file again. Boredom is no excuse for indiscipline.
>>Write In.
>Hit the lobby. Have a drink. Watch the glass ceiling become a waterfall.
>Reminisce on your first day at the Trashcan.
These >>4109742
These sound good. Lets remember how we ended up here over a nice drink.

(Networking isn't your thing. You are good at it, else you wouldn't be here, but talking to people
about anything else that their broken brains, without any clear objective, is nothing short of

(Meeting up is out of the question- not to mention meeting someone in a bar. Wandering
around the Trashcan? You wouldn't be in jeopardy, sure, but what for? This place is
awful. You could stumble upon /anything/. Thankfully, people are reluctant to let their
weird hearts act out under stares, and that's why you hit the lobby.)

(You lay on the couch and rest your head on the back. The gentle drizzle that saw you home
has now come with a vengeance, but it meets the tall glass ceiling somewhere high in heaven.
Who'd knew such a soothing sight would be found in a place where debtors are forced to
binge watch all of Seinfeld non-stop. The men in suits come and go, harmless as shadows
you can hear dunking croissants in coffee.
You still remember it, word by word.)

(It all started with Six. No; it all started with college. No. Every choice is the result of a
million happenings, but you clearly took a curve the day you met Six at the top of that building. It
wasn't even that tall; but there he was, on the verge. You were out to get fresh air after
arguing with the whole class and pointing out, with evidence, that none of them had the gall to
question the stablished codes of morality- which is what psychology is all about.)

(Hypocrites. Bitches.)

6 In The Near Past: I'm fucked. (he sobs) Fucked.

(You remember him taking the longest breath you've ever seen.)


(Yet the heavens didn't answer to his deafening plea. They never do. You can't ask the sky to
rain and you can't ask people to change. But, there you were.)

5: That fall won't kill you.

(Fuck. You still regret that comment. But at least it got Six from staring into the abyss to
staring into you. And twisting all his face.)

6: ...What?

5: That it won't kill you. Jumping from there.

(Waving his arms around, glaring at you, he looked almost like a seagull having a seizure.)

6: Is that what you say to someone about to jump off a roof? In need? Is that what this
generation has come to? Well, DAMN. You can keep THAT future.

5: I'm almost sure you aren't trying to end up a paralytic.

6: Of course I don't want to be a god-damn cripple, you jerk, but why would you even say

5: I'm trying to help?

6: And you think that helps?! What the fuck is wrong with you?

5: So you want help.

6: No! I don't want help! I just want it all to stop!

(He sat by the ledge, grabbing his head, legs hovering over the void.)

6: You think I won't; that's what's happening here. You think I don't have the balls.

(In tears, you recall.)

5: It takes more balls to live.

(And then he laughed.)

6: H-how- how in the fuck would you even know? HAHAHA! You are not even 15, for fucks
sake! You have. No idea. NO IDEA. Of what's coming!

5: 22. That's my age.

6: Is that how you get into the clubs, you little shit? Where are your parents?

(You threw your wallet at his feet. It was an obvious stunt, but it did get him off the
ledge. Sadly, he went back instantly, afraid of being seen a coward. With your wallet.)

6: Amura Tokido. Which one's the name?

5: It's Tokido.

6: (shrugging sadly) So what? My life is still shit.

5: I'm a therapist. I can help.

(He chuckled so hard then.)

6: Oh no, oh no, oh no... You couldn't possibly even be done with college. Oh god, this, I have
to this see... before I go.

(He smiled.)

6: Ok. Fine. Get me off this ledge. Save me.

5: Then pay me.

(You remember his face. It was a funny face. He still does it, sometimes. Yet after a while, he

6: How much?

5: 200 dollars.

6: That's too much.

5: You were about to kill yourself.

6: You said this wouldn't kill me.

5: You didn't know.

6: So what, huh? Getting scammed is not the last thing I'll ever do in this bloody planet.

5: 150.

6: Haggling, huh? 100. Take it or leave it. Because damn, I'm still getting scammed

(But he did pay you. You had to walk up to him, but he did. And when he did...)

5: Do you know what happens after death?

6: No, and you don't know either.

6: What if it's much worse than life?

(And that's how you got him off the ledge. Right afterwards, you two went to eat a burger. You
caught Six stealing ketchup packets so he wouldn't have to buy a bottle for himself. Of
course, that was just the start of your relationship. Of his treatment.)

(Your remembrance is cut short by the tray hitting your table. It's small, but it has your
drink, a moccachino (because Six may have a point) and a complimentary twin toast that
comes with the combo. In the end, bar inside the lobby is just a business like any other.)

(At any rate, Six became the gateway to other people.)

(At the core, therapy is about finding out what the problem is and how to fix it. If anything, this
simplistic view has gotten you alienated all your life- but that never made it any less true. The
mind is a machine- and nobody will ever deny that.)

(At any rate, you got Six to take a few leaps of fate- and live. And despite the large amount of
cursing and threatening and tears and of never ever wanting to talk to you again, he
recommended you to Marcus. And after convincing Marcus that his future was bleak
and horrible, you got him climbing mountains. Then came Wolf, then came Seven, and then
came Daddy on behalf of Six. Those were two weeks long as years.)

(Then came your very first day at the Trashcan as acting therapist for the crew.)

(Once you realized joining Daddy would mean quitting college, you had a meltdown mid-class
after realizing how much time you lost attending class, sharing the room with people more
keen in knowing each other than in the actual subject- and you made sure they knew.
Stubbornness is a strong barrier- and you made sure it fell on them too. It wasn't an act of hate,
you didn't want them to suffer. You wanted them to learn, and the suffering was acceptable
collateral damage.)

(You left home without a word. It's not like you don't appreciate your foster dad, the man that
left drugs, crime, and whoring in order to take care of you. Simply put, telling him would have
been worse. So you left a letter.)

(And that's it. On the first day at the Trashcan, you did nothing but learn the place. On the
second day, though

that was an interesting day.)

(The rain is only getting stronger- you'd think the glass ceiling is melting if you didn't know
any better. But you wouldn't mind. Not at all. The lobby is bending under the sound of jazz.
Lights are diming, cups are wandering around, people stopped shouting. Your tray is lifted by
the waiter, but replaced with a cup of wine in its stead.)

Waiter: On the house, Miss Five.

5: I'm... digging the change.

(He winks and leaves. Without asking permission, without warning, someone decided
to make this classy. And nobody has had objections to make. At times like this, it would
be criminal not to light a smoke. No. Criminal wouldn't make it justice.)

(Somewhere, Marcus is yelling something. Somewhere else, someone is yelling at him to
shut up. You hope he does. Coming to the lobby was the best idea you ever had.)

(The first day you stepped inside the Trashcan you had five men inside watching your back,
some blackmailed by Seven, others paid off by Six, and you had a GPS glued to your left feet.)

(You were surprised to find that everyone was dressed in suits, like traditional yakuzas, the
japanese version of the mop- but of course, the first man in suits you stumbled upon was
smashing the second against a table with a back throw. Seven and Six were with you until
the elevator, where two big burly men took their place. Because it broke, you ended up stranded
for five minutes in an elevator with two men each twice your size.)

(The receptionist just did his thing. He didn't gave a fuck. Nobody gave a fuck. The Trashcan
was a compilation of dark alleys deported to the same place and nobody gave a fuck. All
measures had been taken but you were scared shitless, because people that don't care cannot
be predicted.)

(And when you got to the room with the phone...)


(That day, once the first scare wore off, was mostly uneventful. You spoke to Daddy, Mr.
Wolf showed you around, and you took care of your office. There was a celebration at the
lobby due to your arrival, but you asked to keep it humble as to not raise the stakes. However,
there's this particular moment stuck in your head.)

5: What is this... mural?

Mr. Wolf: That, Five, is an anime poster. But you are a charming girl of your age. You'd

5: Why is it here?

Mr. Wolf: Because fuck you, that's why.

(Mr. Wolf is an extremely polite man, and he latter clarified his observation. He didn't mean
to offend- but to eliminate any remaining expectation of justice. To this day, you still
wonder if you understand this place enough.)

(At least for now, you just hope the jazz music washes it all away.)

>>Stay on your own. Act the lone wolf.
>>Go look for people. Don't be an alien.
>>Hit the bar. Get something else to drink.
8th post because fuck you, that's why. Once I'm done with this thread I'll try running something else, so let's kill this quest here.
>Go look for people. Don't be an alien.
>>Go look for people. Don't be an alien

>Go look for people. Don't be an alien.

(It's never understated enough; keeping your image clean is part of your job. Which dooms
you to take certain risks- like running your mouth. Stillness is a risk in itself- you don't want
people saying stuff about you with no proof to contradict it.)

(You wander around the now fancy, classy lobby lit only by the dimming lamps at the sides
the waiters keep on bringing. The low glass tables are even harder to spot now, and with
your height it's hard to see beyond your sitting colleagues heads. Travelling slowly, with no
rush or fright, like dead people, you follow the light. Which comes from the bar itself.)

(This is the first time you see the row of chairs fully occupied. Sitting there would make you an
easy target of conversation, and you aren't that keen on starting one yourself. But every chair is
taken, everyone is talking, and you don't feel like standing at the side looking shady, so you
walk away.)


(The light makes it hard to see anyone's face, but that doesn't matter now. After all, you are
here to meet new people, which, to you, is what for anyone else is going to the gym.)

(You spot an empty sofa chair around a wide low glass table with a candle at the center and
beer bottles at the sides- hands come and go taking glasses or picking peanuts, as if
shadows were having a feast.)

5: Is this taken?

(Some hands stop moving, but nobody answers. You sit. You forgot your glass of wine
at the table, so you gesture towards the beer.)

5: May I?

???: Sure friend. Go ahead.

(It's an unfamiliar manly voice. You pour beer into a glass and take it.)

5: What's the occasion?

Another ???: You mean here with us? No, ah, you mean this whole thing.

5: Yup. The whole thing.

(As your eyes get used to the darkness, you begin to tell some lines in their faces. Clearly,
they are all men.)

???: I dunno. Do you know, Thirty-Three? Cuz I dunno.

33: Sure as hell I don't.

???: No, we don't.

Another ???: Four's coming back, if we are gonna make a run for it we are making it NOW.

33: Oh god, guys, I'm still not sure about this.

5: Four?

(You can finally tell with pristine clarity that they all are staring at you. Or rather- behind you.)

5: Huh, I think I've heard about it.

???: And what did you hear?

(Of course, the voice came from behind you. You turn around, calmly, like a professional; the
man is wearing a knight's helmet over his suit. The lights are dim, the reflection is vague- but
of this, bloody hell, you are sure.)

>>Stay. Be polite.
>>Politely fuck off.
>>Fuck politeness and fuck off.
Stay. Be polite.
>Stay. Be polite.

We came here for a bit of socializing, we should socialize

(Ok, so the people here are batshit crazy. That you knew. The degree, apparently, is an ongoing

5: Huh. So you like knights.

4: That's such a hollow, superficial observation.

(The 'knight' snaps his fingers- and what you assume are his men panic, staring at each other,
standing, sitting again, until 4 just waves a hand and they leave in throttle. Whoever he is, 4 sits in
front of you across the dark.)

4: Unbefitting of you, 'therapist'.

(You light a smoke. You need it. Like right now, holy shit.)

5: The surface, Four, is also worth taking into account. It reflects your views in life. And I think
the helmet makes that quite apparent.

4: Yes, quite so. Apparent. But that's easy to see, that's the tip of the iceberg. Is that enough for

5: That almosts sounds as if you are asking if I'm interested in you.

(It's a surreal sight. The candle, hovering over the glass table, showing you a knight in tuxedo
under a melting ceiling. A thunder lits his features for a split second. Clearly, this is the kind of stuff
that only happens in bad movies.)

4: You are a therapist. It's your vocation: to deal with unique individuals, to explore the depths of
their frail minds like a scavenger delving deep into an ancient cave full of traps. Looking for

(The voice seems excited.)

5: And you think you are treasure. What makes you think you are so unique?

4: (gasps) How dare you!

(You blow smoke without remorse.)

4: I'm a deep soul. A fragile man! But, of course, you didn't know that. You laid your judgement,
and, OH- you were wrong. You misjudged me.

(By the end of that, he's standing. He's even folding arms over the chest.)

5: First of all, I didn't judge you. I asked a question.

4: You can't deny the tone of your voice, therapist!

5: Call me Five. And second, you said so yourself. My job is to scuba-dive into brains. Sit
down, Four.

(He hesitates; but sits.)

5: I'll spare you the rhetoric. You can't you tell how deep a river is by staring at the surface.

4: So what? And what makes you think I can't? You can't gauge my habilities with just a glance
either. Such a contradicting person; you just said the surface mattered. Now you say it doesn't. OH!

5: You are proving my point.

4: No? Not at all.

(So much for socializing. It's like the barbell just fell on your chin.)

5: You can't know how complex the other is with just the looks, Four. You can't tell how 'unique'
you are without looking inside others.

4: We all are unique.

5: Which makes us all similar.

4: I'm more unique.

(You blow smoke again, this time without any rush. The sofa is so soft it's sucking you in.)

5: Now let's start again. I'm Five. A pleasure to meet you.

4: Such a shallow soul! What makes you think there's no other reason?

5: For?

(Four flails his hands around, but no answer comes.)

5: Take your time.

4: Shut up.

(So far, this... 'conversation' feels like a compilation of scripts that didn't make it into the
movie- mixed in a bag. There's one thing you can rescue, though.)

5: You want me to examine you. Is that correct?

4: I want you to ADMIRE ME.


5: It can be done. (you shrug). Shall we set an appointment for me to admire you, then? In my

4: No!

5: Why?

4: I won't be treated like some pawn.

(You sigh.)

5: What do you want from me?

4: You don't get it? And you call yourself a therapist?

5: I admit defeat, Four. Enlighten me.

(He looks away. You aren't sure what this gesture means. Yet when you stand to leave, a
hand tugs you in the elbow.)

4: W-wait. Don't leave me.

(Yet the unnintentional glare you deliver him makes Four retrieve his arm in case you bite it
off. Jesus fuck, that was a reflex.)

5: You will have to forgive me, Four. I hate being touched.

(Instead of waiting for an answer, you sit down again. The Trashcan is filled with weirdos and
lunatics that hunt people down for money and extort them for protection. In suits. What did you
expect to find?)

(And this man... you know for a fact he's the one that makes people do naked ballet on the
rooftop. On oil. While reading Shakesphere.)

5: Do you want me to tell you what I think about you? That may make this disaster of a
conversation worthwhile.

(He nods. 4 seems scared. You close your eyes and think; you do the best you do.)

>Why does anyone want to be unique?
>>In order to transcend, to reach a higher state of life.
>>So the rules that apply to everyone else don't apply to them.
>>To be what they really are. To find their meaning in life.
>>To avoid judgement.
>To avoid judgement.
I don't remember what his problem was last time.
Fuck that, I don't either lol
Oh wait it was dicks
>So the rules that apply to everyone else don't apply to them.

Or at least the consequences of breaking rules is trivial because they're too special/valuable to punish harshly
Tired as fuckballs, will update tomorrow plus add an unrelated scene about whatever the fuck you guys want to compensate. Just tell me what you want.
No compensation required. A day off to rest is expected of QMs to prevent burnout.
>>To be what they really are. To find their meaning in life.

You only die when you're forgoten, so what if no one remembers you to begin with...
Rolled 3 (1d3)

Gee Bill FUCK

1: >>4115265
2: >>4115616
3: >>4118459

>>To be what they really are. To find their meaning in life.

(Then slowly you open your eyes.)

5: You are on your way to find your meaning in life. Your target. Your objective.

(He almost slides off the chair.)

4: So you understand!

5: That is why you stray from what's polite and socially acceptable- and from the stablished
conventions of good and evil. You won't let them get in the way of truth.

4: Yes. That's me.

(He seems overjoyed. His screeching tone and wild gestures make you cringe.)

4: But... how? We barely know each other.

5: Let's just say I know enough about your actions, Four.

(Too much, sadly.)

4: Quick to get familiar, aren't we? So professional. Oh, to find a kindred soul in such a
dirty place... OH, DESTINY!

5: Not- exactly the case. Let's just say I settle for my humble goal: making yakuzas less crazy.

4: Such simplicity. If only you knew the works of the world. Of cause and consequence. Oh,

5: You aren't here to save the world, Four. You are here to be happy. You only want to save the
world because that would make you happy.

4: I don't want to save the world either. Such a busted cliche... the world needs no saving.

(The rain and jazz phases you out for a few seconds, but then you come back, and his
words hit you all at once as if they were spaguetti hanging from your lips.)

4: And I'm so close, oh! To know what to do, my therapist, to fix the problems of our soul. Yet
they ask me to work. Such tragedy.

5: Is that why you forced that man to dress up like the candle from 'Beauty and the Beast'
while his head was on fire?

4: (shakes his head) You are a logical, mechanical being. You wouldn't understand it. Oh, the things of the soul...!

5: So you don't mind suffering.

4: It is but a small price for the saving of their soul- for my truth will save us, Five. Not yours.
Once I find out... it will all be worth it.

(He seems serious. Dead serious. You sigh.)

5: My advice?

>What should 4 do?
>>Keep looking for his true meaning in life.
>>Try to understand how others feel.
Taking whatever I get in 2 hours and rolling with it.
>Try to understand how others feel.

Not the pain of someone who's head is on fire, but how his actions cause actions in others. Some helpful, some contrary, some are just what happens when he's working for Daddy.

I'm thinking we need to get him to mellow just a little before he does something that will affect everyone in the Trashcan [specifically us when bad things come here]

>>Try to understand how others feel.

5: Whatever your super holy mission in life, it won't do anyone any good if you don't
understand how others react or feel- how a person's feelings, as a concept, work in general.
Yours included, of course.

4: What makes you think I don't? That I don't understand their feelings, while mine speak to
me with such blasting intensity?

5: For one, you completely lack empathy.

(Silence and dark is your answer, and your answer to the answer is trying that beer. It
tastes like piss would. You let it be.)

5: Are you thinking, or is this an attempt at intimidation? It's hard to tell, with that thing you

4: Oh, I was musing. This 'thing', as you call it in your simplicity, is a gesture of irony towards the
universe- for no one would understand my feelings without anyway, so deep they go.No
need to worry; no one would lay a finger on Daddy's little princess.

(You wait for him to go on rambling- he doesn't. Oh, so he's doubling up.)

5: (raises an eyebrow) Now that's a new one. I wasn't aware of my 'privileges'.

4: Five, Five. It is no secret that you talk a lot to Daddy. And speaking of secrets, that you know
so many of them. (He spreads a medieval-gothic gauntlet hand towards you) Pick up the
pieces yourself.

5: They lined up perfectly on the floor. You think I talk about my patients with Daddy.

4: And quick to answer, too!

5: Are you offended, Four?

(His derisive laughter echoes from within the helm.)

4: Are you avoding my question, Five?

5: No need when there's no proof.

(This time it's Four that picks up the beer. Which makes you wonder: is he going to drink? How is
he going to drink? If he's not, why did he pick it up in the first place? Where will this gesture
lead him? It truly gets your brain working.)

4: But you will have to agree, therapist, that this particular case does not require such a thing as
solid proof. For it is a possibility- much like staring from over a bridge and considering the

(You grin a bit and shrug.)

5: I wanted to rule out the possibility of proof. So- what's the theory?

4: That you spill secrets.

5: What supports it? The possibility?

4: And what rules it out?

(He's still holding it, doing nothing about it. It truly does make you wonder.)

4: Looking for a way out? There's no escaping the truth.

(But your eyes are wide as plates. So steady is your stare that Four turns around and meets
that crazy blonde face to face.)

(Who's almost as tall as he is sitting- which makes Four pretty tall. Her face and his helm
are so close that the difference is easy to tell.)

(Which doesn't seem to even phase her.)

Crazy blonde: So what did I miss? I wanna hear it!

(She remains standing there, so 4 has to back down from her apparent cheerfulness.)

4: Have your parents never told you not to jump into conversations?

Blonde: Nope. Both are dead. I'm taking this. Bye bye!

('This' being you, who's being gently dragged out of the sofa that got glued to your butt. It
happens so firmly and fast that neither you nor 4 get to fully swallow the situation until she's
already stealing you.)

4: Wait! We are talking about my soul!

(As she drags you by the hand, she ventures:)

Blonde: That sounds so interesting! Right? Right?

5: Who /are/ you?

(Yet it hits you all at once. Of course- who the hell would be crazy enough to dance in front of
the Trashcan... other than one of its denizens? You gently get your own hand back, which
doesn't seem to bother her, and set your tie right. She didn't answer, and, as she leads you
out of the lobby, she still doesn't.)

5: This still doesn't make it fate.

(She glances back at you.)

5: You belong here, we meat nearby. This is likely.

(She ignores you and marches on. But once at the entrance to the lobby, still with some light
from it illuminating the hallway, the blonde finally faces you.)

2: Then how about this? I... am your german translator!

(...That's a new one. She beckons closer, placing her index finger under your neck.)

2: How likely is that, huh?!

5: Not so likely, but still very likely.

(She frowns, and pouts. This wasn't what she expected.)

2: What the hell do you have against fate anyway?

5: Let's just say that kind of beliefs are luxury a therapist cannot afford- and leave it at that.

2: And what's 'leaving it at that' for you, missy genius little rapist thing?

5: Rapist?

(...wait. 'The' 'rapist'.)

2: 'The' 'rapist'! Hahaha!

5: 'Leaving it at that' would be saying fate, like astrology, like the zodiac, is a tool to keep
people stupid.

(She blinks and blinks, as soft green light and a more lively jazz passes between you.)

2: What's wrong with being a Gemini? (she /grins/) What are you? A Taurus? Ha!

5: Where are you taking me?

2: Out.

(She stands by her joke, smiling like a real idiot. It makes you smile too for half a second.)

5: My point is that torture should not be held in public.

2: What torture? You are weird.

5: Talking about the zodiac. That kind of torture.

2: Oh, so that's how it is, huh? Too sciency for that stuff? (she pumps up) BUT, fate just proved
you wrong. Cuz here we are. Ha. HA!ve, the less magical being in the world.

"ve, the less magical being in the world."
Too old to delete, too busy to notice. OH WELL ! 1
(You have to admit; it is quite a coincidence. You simply shrug it off, to her dismay.)

5: Being lucky doesn't mean being right.

2: AaaaAAa, why can't you believe a little?!

(She's desperate. It's a genuine, harmless kind of desperation.)

5: Nice to meet you, Two. I'm Five: the less magical being in the world.

(You grab her hand and shake it. She gives you a quirky glare, but then frowns.)

2: Huh? How did you know my number?

5: That, is a secret.

(She lets go of your hand and puffs her chest, shooting air from her nose like a bull about to charge.)

2: So you DO spill secrets like Four said!

5: So you were listening.

2: Yup.

5: Fine; you win. Six told me- before we formally begun his treatment.

2: And what did he say?

5: That you drive him nuts.

(Her cheerfulness melts into something less happy.)

2: Bullshit, he's too picky! The man gets mad if you touch his beer mug and leave a fingerprint. And even if you don't.

5: Let me repeat myself: Where are you taking me?

2: Out.

5: And where would that be?

2: Here?

(Two tilts her head quizzically. Apparently, that joke wasn't actually a joke. Yet she perks up.)

2: It's quiet, just like you like it. There's no music or people or Four.

5: So you are attracted to me.

2: Yup. I wanna jump your bones.

(That's... a bit more than attraction. You are so surprised your tongue trips on itself.)

(But you manage.)

5: Huh. Pretty straight-forward.

2: Pretty AND straight-forward. You can't ask for more, huh!

(Two takes out a little something (?) from her pocket and quickly scribbles something on it.
She gives it to you. You study the piece of paper intently.)

5: It's a thrift store that sells anime figures.

2: No, turn it around.

(You turn it around. Her chibi face is drawn next to near illegible cursive characters. There's even flowers.)

5: So you are a doctor. Finally, the duster has been explained.

2: It's a one-time pass to kiss me. In the lips.

(The blow lands where she wanted it, but it still gets you thinking.)

5: So what if I give it to Six


5: or Four

2: NO

5: that could be very interesting. Don't you think?

(You giggle silently for full effect. It works. The blonde just pouts at you full force, but in such
and exaggerated fashion that you can confidently tell she's joking.)

2: Are you blackmailing me with my kiss coupon? Is that it? For real?

5: Huh, yes, I guess so. Good idea.

2: You bitch!

(She slashes to get it back, but you dodge in time. Two folds her arms as her feet bounces
against the floor in haste.)

2: Ha! I could tell Daddy I'm not translating for you. What now, huh?

5: Smart move. Have you won?

2: Yup, I won!

5: Fine then. You want your ticket back.

2: Yes. No.

5: Then I keep it.

2: It's for you, keep it!

5: Until I find another translator, or my patient runs away, or I lose it, or Seven steals it from me.

(Her shaky spirit is gone as Two thinks it through.)

2: Redeem it.

>>Push Two against the wall and kiss her for ten minutes straight.
>>Do nothing.
>Do nothing.

Do. Not. Stick. Your. Tongue. In. Crazy.
Also, its unprofessional to become intimate with patients, or probable patients
>Do nothing.

>>Do nothing.

('Do not stick it in crazy' is much more than a funny catchphrase. It's deep philosophy; it's
priorizing the future over the presents of the present. Which the dead lack, and you'd rather
keep yours for as long as you can.)

2: Redeem it!

5: Nope.

(2 goes flat, almost literally too.)

2: Whyyyyyy?

5: I'm saving it for later.

(And you prove it by hiding the coupon in your pocket.)

2: You really need to live a little.

5: I'd rather live a lot, so, let's go.

(You light your lighter and walk away, not waiting to see if she gets the joke. 2 catches

2: Where are we going? Ooooh... you want some privacy, right? You do look like such a

5: I consider myself a hermit, and yes, some privacy is in order.

(2 giggles loudly.)

5: Try not to be dissapointed.

(2 is dissapointed. After all, it's you, her, and Seven resting her bare feet on your desk.)

7: So the guy Günther or whatever really has no plan at all. There's no benefit, no strategy, no
pieces set in place. (Seven shrugs highly) He just wants people to have nukes. The man is

2: Why am I even here? Isn't this all confidential?

5: It's confidential information you'll find out anyway. Seven, I'll bite your toes off, one by one.

7: Hell yeah. Do it.

5: Last chance.

(Seven drops her feet from the table, still keeping her stupid toothy smile.)

2: But why am I here now? I'm missing the party.

5: There is a man giving people rocket launchers.

2: That's no reason not to party.

7: Yeah Five, there's always some fuck giving away bazookas somewhere on the planet.

5: The fuck is here.

7: And you suddenly grew a morality. Not buying it!

5: Or basic survival instincts. Two, you are free to go back once the briefing ends.

2: What, so you are my boss now? And I can't party? The nerve!

5: I can't know if we'll have this chance later. Go, if you feel like; but I /need/ you to
understand that this information must never leave this room, ever.

2: But, Seven knows.

5: Seven sinks with me.

2: But what if Daddy finds out we lied?

5: It's not a lie; I'm doing exactly what I've been instructed to. I don't want argument as to what
my role should be. Go have a drink.

2: But now I don't want to.

(You sigh, and light yourself another. This is heavy, heavy, heavy...)

5: That is why I brought you here. To explain. I knew you'd want explainations.

(Two balls up both fists.)

2: I don't see why we shouldn't let everyone know there's someone doing something so
dangerous! We are putting everyone at stake!

5: No, /we/ aren't doing anything. Günther Friah is. Repeat after me: Not my job, not my

2: But... that's so cold!

5: It is what it is. If word goes out, I'll lose my job. Simple.

7: If it doesn't, you'll lose your head. And arms. And legs. And tie. And glasses- in an explosion.
And while you are at it, everyone else too.

5: Which is why I'm trying to fix this here and now. I want to keep both my life and job.

2: /THIS/ job? Why?

5: Because it's my very last chance.

(The two of them blink and frown at you. But it's true. You have no diploma, no contacts to help
you climb, no porfolio despite it all. Deep down in your heart, you know; people want therapy to
make them happy, and that's not what you do. You fix them. It hurts a lot. They end up hating you.)

(But it works.)

5: I have nowhere else to go.

(It's sad because it's true. You find both Two and Seven staring pensibly at you, almost in the
same way.)

7: Get another job?

5: The kind of jobs within my reach are dead-end, wage-slaving office jobs eight hours a day
that have nothing, at all, to do with therapy.

7: That's kinda pessimistic. Finish college?

5: That door is closed. And I'd need a job.

7: Get a job while doing college? People do that.

5: Why don't you do it?

7: It sucks.

2: Get a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?

5: Nice try, Two.

(Two clutches her head. It's too hard.)

7: So much for the lovely therapist. Everyone is about to be blown to shit with bazookas but you
wanna keep using the pigs as guinea pigs. You are our very own Josefa Mengela.

5: I can stop this.

7: Risking everyone else.

5: There's no risk if you do it right.

7: So you are absolutely, completely, possitively sure you won't fail to stop this motherfucker in time?

5: Think motocross. Does it look risky? Yes. Is it risky for you? It is. But is it risky for them? (you
shake your head) They've got tools, knowledge, experience, practice. It isn't as risky for them,
and it isn't as risky for me.

7: It isn't your life you are putting at stake.

5: I can't believe you, of all people, are playing the champion.

(Seven smiles wickedly.)

7: I'm just curious. Also not that much of a bitch, so lalalala fuck you.

5: Our lives are permanently intertwined with those of others. Our choices affect everyone
else; if you get that job, that dad won't feed his kids. This case just made that very apparent.

(2 rolls her eyes.)

2: Then do it.

5: What?

2: Tell Daddy, quit, get a normal job, and finish college.

7: Or tell Daddy and suck it up. Why isn't that the first option?

5: Because I'm the only way Daddy would know of Günther. Everyone knows he's my patient.
That would be my end.

2: Tell Daddy, quit, get a normal job, and finish college?

5: It's five years of my life.

2: It's... cheaper than a lifetime of regret, Five.

(Before you say a word she grabs your hand.)

2: I'd know.

(She's looking at you directly. They both are- and for very good reason. There's no margin of
error this time. You hands shake- yet, deep inside, you are sure, so sure of yourself...)

(Cases take time. Taking Günther's would mean that everyone is at stake as long as you are
treating him. Fail, and it's on you for not warning Daddy beforehand.)

(Daddy already promised safety in case you retreated or failed; it was considered. Yet you'll
still know everyone's secret, and there's no telling what that implies.)

>It is worth considering...
>>Press on with the case.
>>Take Two's advice and quit.
>Press on with the case.

This is who we are, this is what we do. Daddy has probably already figured out what we're doing, and knows that if he says anything, he has to do something that will come back on him.

If we do something, this problem might go away. If it doesn't he can move freely on Gunther for messing with his Therapist
>Press on with the case.

>>Press on with the case.

(Video games are charming for a very specific reason: infinite lives. You, who aren't living in
one as far as you know, have one. One. A one that turns into decimals with every breath you take.)

(You wonder how much of it would be left after five years working non-stop, studying therapy
instead of doing it.)

(You wonder if you'll ever have this chance again.)

(You know you won't.)

5: Two, schedule an appointment with Mr. Bazooka. Seven, brief me.

(Seven laughs like a hyena as Two stares at you in baffled amusement. Then blinks.)

2: Wait, I work for you now?

5: My avaibility is complete but yours and Günther's isn't. So scheduling is up to you.

7: Suck it up, Two. She always does that.

5: I'm efficient. Two, you may not want to stay to hear this.

2: You tell me what to do and now kick me out?

7: Where have you been by the way? Marcus said the princess was back but he didn't say from where.

(2 strikes a silly pose.)

2: All over! Nine countries, this time! First was-

5: Impressive. Now, if you'll excuse us-

7: Five is telling you to fuck off in cursive.

5: -until nobody is shooting nukes anymore. Don't get mad, Two. I'll make it up to you. I promise.

(This completely warps her face. Into a smirk.)

2: Ok!

(And she walks away. The door closes behind her long golden hair.)

7: Alright, what just happened?

5: Two is a lesbian. She's interested in me.

7: (shaking head) Two, you poor little fuck...

(7 leans from over the table.)

7: Soooooooo, what about you?

5: Seven, briefing.

7: Aww don't be cruel, you know I can't beat my curiosity.

5: I'm not interested in sex or affection.

7: Bullshit. Even sharks fuck.

5: Brief me.

(Seven puffs out her cheeks to protest. You, however, do nothing.)

7: Fine, jeez. You are like a robot waiting to get hacked.

(7 sits upright, clears her throat.)

7: Ok so it goes like this: as I told you, the guy is expecting no benefit. This isn't an investment:
there's no strategy.

5: You seem sure.

7: Cuz I am sure, orca-fucker. There's no clear pattern leading anywhere, no shit on her emails
or cellphone, no contact with nearby external factions.

(You whistle.)

5: The quality of your service surprises me. Or at least the quality of the lies.

7: Hey asshole, If I wanted you down you'd be already.

5: So Seven can't take a joke of the thousands she delivers. Interesting.

7: That was a joke?

5: Yes?

(She furrows her brow in confusion.)

7: Ok, let's forget that completely. Point is, Günther isn't doing this for money. Bet on it.

5: I will, then.

7: The porn he watches is kinda weird, but I noticed a pattern. The guy always ends up
handcuffed or tied or anything and it's the girl that fucks his brains out.

5: You delved into his porn looking for a pattern.

7: That didn't sound like a question.

5: It isn't. However, it is good information. Carry on.

7: Not many facebook contacts on this one. He runs an account with a different name, 'Sancho
Panza', a character from Don Quixote of La Mancha. Never read it, but I'm sure you did.

5: I didn't either.

7: I'm deeply dissapointed in you. His contacts are either clients looking for guns or guys he
knows from a game called 'Azur Lane" about girls that are battleships at the same.
Anthropomorphic ship girls, what a long ass word.

5: What is that game about?

7: You get the girls and level them up and send them to fight. They are like all cute and have big
tits. It's like Pokemon but with woman that shoot cannons out of their ass. You DO know Pokemon, right?

5: I do, Seven, don't worry. What else?

7: I found no family of his within the contacts of both his cellphone, facebook account, or email.
The man seems to be alone in this world at 52 years old.

5: Interesting.

7: What about you? Where's Five's family? I wanna meet those grouchy grumpy fucks.

5: Thankfully, out of reach. Back on topic.

7: Jesus, let loose. Gunther has an obsession with cats. He has seven... seven fucking cats,
all riddled with bugs and shit. That would be all of the good stuff. The details like his address
and stuff are in this here paper.

(7 produces a big envelope semiingly out of nowhere and slides it across the desk. You pick
it up and carefully tear it open.)

5: Any information regarding past lovers?

7: None. Like, zero. I'm sure as hell the guy isn't a virgin, but like, couples and stuff? Nothing.
Nothing at all.

(Your cellphone rings. It's Two.)

(You pick up with surprising hesitation.)

2: [It's done! He'll be there in an hour.]

5: Two, that's too soon. We don't have time for preparations now.

2: [Huh? But you said nothing about that.]

(She sounds concerned.)

5: It's done, so don't worry about it.

2: [Can I go back to the party?]

5: Two, I need you here in an hour.

2: [So?]

5: So-ber.

(You flinch at Two's sudden laughter from across the line.)

2: [Fine, fine, don't worry!]

(And she hangs. Briefly, you consider if forcing her to come back would have been the wiser call.)

5: One hour. Anything else to add?

7: You could fuck her while she's drunk.

(You don't honor that with an answer it doesn't deserve.)

5: You are free, Seven. Try to keep your concience clean.

7: Nah, I'll hang out for a while. That's not my kind of party.

5: What if I don't want to?

7: Too bad.

(And she stays.)

(cont tomorrow!)
No choices now cuz honestly I'd be bullshiting. Tomorrow or the day after is Gunther's, and I wanna do something that makes sense for once. Having fun so far?
Absolutely. Thanks for running this.
I just read through it all and it's a fun read
Np dog.

Hell, that makes it worth it. Anyway, thread tomorrow.
(The wristwatch marks time in painful ticks as pace back and forth, mindlessly. Seven watches
you come and go from the patient's chair, chewing on the tip of a pencil. They are late.
Both of them.)

7: Whuch got your puchy itching?

5: Shut up.

(You look at the wristwatch again, for the third time this minute. It's unnerving, like the slow
ride up on a rollercoaster. Seven spits the pen, then yawns.)

7: Gonna call again?

5: No signal.

7: Ah.

(You reach the end of the hallway, the door to your office. Then stop. It's faint; but footsteps
echo from behind that door. You rush to your desk as Seven takes picks up the cue and hides
in your room as instructed. She'll be hearing the session. You sit and rest your wrists on the
table, staring forward intently.)

(The door opens. And in walk both a laughing Two and a smiling Gunther, both wobbling.)

(You face twists like a brick in a blender, but it's blank as a saint by the time they reach your

5: Mr. Günther. You are drunk.

(The man looks at you and smiles, as the strong stench of alcohol strikes you. His suit is missing;
only the stained white shirt remains.)

5: Two; you are drunk too.

2: HeLl YeAH biTCH!!

(She puffs a fist in the air, which makes Günther clap until Two hiccups.)


5: Mr Günther, please take the front seat. Two, take the one to my side.

2: ....whaaaaat? let's do that later, right, come on let's do that later let's go back to the party i
came here for you lets da

(This isn't the first, nor the second, or third time this happens. Of course, you are ready. You
draw cotton from under the table and a small pink sprayer, as both of them stare in peace.)

Two: hahahaHAHA, look! It's pink!

(She points at it and tell Günther something in german. The man laughs too, as you press the
tiny level and spray the cotton until it's soaked.)

Günther: es ist rosa es ist eine rosa kleine Scheiße

5: Smell this. Inhale quickly as if it was cocaine.

(Two grabs the wet white puff, pushes it right against her nose, and, full force, takes it all in.
You watch with vengeful glee as her eyes shot open /at once/ and she grabs her head as if it
would fall off. Günther just laughs at her.)

2: WHAT... what the fuck.. aaaah... aaaaaaaaahh!

5: Guten Morgen, Zwei. Time to get to work.

(You let Zwei curse in german for a while as she battles the cluster headache.)

5: So; I take you've never had cocaine?

(Five minutes in, the crazy arms dealer is yelling at the cellphone as Two, elbows on the table,
clutches her head very quietly, looking as if her dog was just shot by a war tank.)

2: ...please shut u p... please shut up...

5: So Mr Günther! I'm ready when you are. Two, translate.

(2 whispers in german, still clawing her blonde hair for dear life. Günther picks up, fortunately,
and answers in stride. He seems used to the drink.)

2: "I'm in a hurry. Let's us be quick, Little Miss Five?" aWww-

5: Sure. I take you are already aware, but measures have been taken so any information
remains in this room.

2: I feel like shit.

5: Two.

(She glances at Günther and talks, who nods once and firmly before giving some strong
german of his own, looking at you.)

2: "I had that as a given." There's more, but it boils down to that. Like, some honorifics and
stuff... shit...

5: Be right back.

(You head into the back room, take the gray bottle from the minifridge, two glasses, and pour
both Two and Günther glasses of cold water. While the german gentlemen drinks it in stride,
Two looks at it with utter mistrust.)

5: It's just cold water.

2: Better be.

(She drinks it too fast. You think her throat is going to hurt later.)

5: Last time, we had agreed that you could find no reason, within yourself, for getting in debt in
order to sell rocket launchers at very low prices. But that you couldn't stop yourself. Is this correct?

(Two translates. Günther grunts.)

5: Good. I've been considering a question. Do you consider humans to be intrinsically evil?

2: What's 'intrinsically'?

5: Just say 'naturally'. I'll tell you later.

(Two translates. And when she does, Günther gets serious. Bingo.)

(It all boils down to that. No family, no contacts, no close ones, an obsession with cats,
bazookas. Günther rises an eyebrow as he speaks his german.)

2: He says: 'why the question?'

5: I have a theory. Please answer the question.

2: 'I don't get it.'

(Hmp. Fine.)

5: Then, I'll start asking questions. More than one, for the sake of efficiency.

(Two translates and Günther nods. You drink some water yourself. Under the desk, your feet
is shaking too much.)

5: Are you married, Mr Günther? Do you have kids? Have they met your parents?

(You already know the answers, but he doesn't know you know. Which is a firm head shake
from Günther. Two shrugs.)

5: Let me confirm this. You aren't married or have any contact with parents. What about
other family members?

2: "I have no one."

5: I see. Pets? Of any sort?

2: "Cats. I have eight cats."

(Seven said seven. Maybe Günther also feeds the cat by the roof.)

5: I see, so eight cats. (You make a show out of writing on your notepad) What happened to
your parents? Did you ever met them?

(Two translates, and you are awfully suspicious that she may be adding some dialogue of her own- since Gunther is talking to her. She finally looks at you.)

2: "I have no one. I don't need them. Families are a lie to preserve power."

(There we go.)

5: Would you say the same of any other families?

2: "Yes. That's how it works."

5: I'll have to ask you to explain this reasoning, and where it comes from.

2: That's a bit hard... give me a sec.

(Two nibbles on her finger for, her eyes very fixed on the anime wall in front of her.)

2: What the fuck... oh, there we go.

(She speaks to Günther in haste as his eyes dart between you and the souless blonde. He
answers in stride, eyes fixed on you, not breaking tempo at any moment. It's a long
answer; Two's eyes dim as she tries to remember. Once he's done, Günther smiles at
you, seemingly satisfied.)

5: Did you get all of that?

2: I think I did. Um, damn... maybe I didn't.

(She turns to Günther and germans. The man talks, taps her on the shoulder and both look at
you. Two waits until he stops talking; this time he's done sooner.)

2: "A family is an hierarchical structure like any other, a system in which power is held in order
to produce a good or benefit, in this case, a subdued member of society, a pawn." Did I say
it right? Hierarchical?

5: Yes, thanks. Mr Günther, please talk me about your specific case and how you got to that conclusion.

2: "I come from a family of lawyers. I grew up hearing about the cases and the convicts. The
accused lied and the defendants too. My father did, and laughed about it. Money is what's important."

5: How was your relationship with your father and mother?

2: "Mother was a lawyer. She was busy. We went on family vacations from time to time. She
was busy even then. So was he."

5: Were you physically abused?

2: "Yes."

(Two grimaces.)

5: Were you sexually abused, Mr Günther?"

2: "Yes. By father."

(If only people were aware of how common these scenarious really are. Still looking
haunted, Two pats Günther's shoulder, who flashes her a little smirk. That's definitively
where it all started.)

5: In advance, I apologize if I seem cold, but I have to press on for your sake.

(2 translates. Günther nods.)

5: Why do you assume that family, as a structure, is inherently flawed despite your case?

2: "I've seen it happen over and over again. It's how it works. We assert dominance in order to
get what we want. This is how", um, "the man, works."

5: What about persuasion? Talking?

2: "Deceit is a way of exerting power over other person for our ends." Um, it's not that technical,
and there are some curses here and there... shit, my fucking heaaad...

5: What about a mother raising her child? Is the child persuading her? Is the mother deceiving it?

2: "The mother is investing in order to obtain benefits. Like market stock."

5: What about love?

2: "Love is just the prospect of obtaining benefit and nothing else than that."

(You are actually baffled; Two is angry. It's like she got so much into her role that she's
translating his feelings.)

5: I see. We are making progress, Mr Günther. Allow me to repeat my first question: do you
think a human is evil by nature?

(Two and Günther talk for a while. It seems she's struggling to get the message across.
Maybe that's what happened the first time.)

2: "What is Five's definition of 'evil'?"

5: I don't have one. I'm talking about yours.

(She conveys this to Günther, who seems sober by now.)

2: "Then yes. Humans are evil."

(It's done. It's crystal clear now."

5: Do you have friends, Mr Günther?

2: "Yes."

5: I'm talking about my own definition of 'friend'. Meaning, people willing to invest in you for no
return other than your happiness.

(Günther shakes his head. Two just stares in aweful silence.)

5: Is that why you chose to spend your life alone, Mr. Günther? Because you think humans are evil?

2: "Because humans are evil and I am honest with myself."

(The situation is clear. His rocket importing rampage can only be because Günther fears
that his idea of humanity is wrong. If people are nuking each other here and there, then he's
right. After all, he invested a lifetime in the belief that humans are shit incapable of warmth and

(That's what causes Günther Friah's drive. It's the cry from his subconcious, the muffled
demands for tribe and social validation he repressed all his life.)

(But what to do... What happens when a man is proven wrong after fifty years? What would
happen if he thinks he's not?)

(And what would happen if you set him free now?)

>>Tell him the truth.
>>Tell Gunther he's right.
>>Let him go for today.
>Tell him the truth.
>Tell him the truth.
But what is the truth? Merely that he's questioning whether people are evil? Or that people aren't actually evil? That won't help and will probably only lead to denial. Instead, let's offer an alternate viewpoint on the self-interested nature of man
>Tell him that just because people only do things that benefit them (as he sees it, and why he calls people "evil"), it doesn't make them evil. Discuss mutual benefit. Point out that people being primarily self-serving doesn't make them chaotic monsters bent on harming others.
Tired as fuck. Postan tomorrow
>Tell him the truth.
what has happened to him is common, but not universal. He learned to see patterns in behavior that were acceptable to his view. In some ways he is right, but not to the extreme he has taken it.
File: zen!.jpg (68 KB, 724x483)
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>>Tell him the truth.

(But here's the facts: nothing can be fixed without truth. You can't lock boxes with toilet
paper, you can't glue bones with duct tape, you can't stitch a plane together with a needle- you
can't fix a mind without telling him it truth. Where Günther goes from here on out is on
you, and the only path that heals leads to reality.)

5: What you are saying is that people are selfish. That is your definition of evil.

(You find yourself staring at Two instead of Günther, and focus on the man himself.Who
ponders this over before spitting some german.)

2: 'I agree.'

5: Selfish people only care about their own goals and advantages. That's the usual
definition. Would you agree, Two?

(Two translates this to Gunther, who then points at her with the finger as he talks.)

2: Wait wait- you mean me now. Right?

5: That's why I said 'Two'.

2: Hmmmmm well yeah, someone is selfish when he only cares about himself. Like
someone who steals money.

5: Keep translating. What about someone who steals to feed its family?

(As you finish the sentence, Two stops translating to look at the ceiling. She then resumes.)

2: Then he and he isn't, because he's stealing for his kids but fucking over some poor guy at
the same time. He's in between.

5: That makes no sense.

2: Didn't you know there's a state between existing and not existing?

5: There isn't-

2: It's zen! If you reach zen state, you can do both at the same time. I can teach you.

5: Do not translate that.

(By making your little shark dance, you interrupt Two's zen lesson right as Günther is spreading
his arms too. They both are now entraced with the little damn thing.)

2: So cute!

(Günther laughs in german. You turn it off; Günther stops laughing.)

5: There is a common misconception regarding the definition of selfishness, which I think will
lead us to the heart of your problem.

2: Um, slower? A lot of weird words there.

5: The definition of the word 'selfish' is wrong. Tell him that.

(She does. Günther curls his lips as he stares at you.)

5: Two, translate as I go. It's impossible not to act for own benefit. Our main directive is
happiness, and we only seek that of others when it makes our own. That's how it works for
even Maria Teresa of Calcutta. If we go by the dictionary, then everyone is selfish.

(As Two finishes speaking german, Günther grunts in approval. But as he begins to talk you
stop the german arms dealer by raising a hand.)

5: What everyone considers selfishness without realizing is, more accurately, unawareness of
what makes life enjoyable. By not sharing chocolate with its friends, a 'selfish' person is
going against its own joy as well. This is because it is unaware of the effect its actions
have on others; it lacks empathy, which is a form of intelligence as valid as math.

(You wait for Two to catch up; it takes longer than expected. German seems like a complex
language; you only know english, spanish, japanese, and french. By the end of it,
Günther's face remains much the same.)

2: 'Your point being, Miss Five?'

5: You don't consider humans to be evil because they are selfish. We all are. What you
assumed for all your life is that everyone is stupid.

(Now is when the man's face starts to change. Perfect. You'd smirk if it wasn't dangerous.)

5: Any questions?

2: 'Keep going.'

(She sounds nervous. Maybe it's because Günther, the man a mere table away from you,
is sitting straight as an oak. You take one out and spice some light at the tip; that's ok. That's,
perhaps, the single good point of working at the Trashcan; nobody would dream of laying a
finger on you. No one smart enough, at least.)

5: My theory is as follows: you decided self-interest is wrong, and fell into a trap of your own
making. In doing so, you missed out on all the kindness and consideration with which others
craft their choices to enjoy their life. By drawing any sort of personal benefit, they became evil in
your book. And you invested so much and for so long in this belief that your mind seeks to
cause strife and havoc in order to prove it right so you wouldn't had been wrong all your life.

(What ensues, once Two is done germaning, is a powerful silence. You've said all you had to
say, but Günther would still fix his eyes on you as if trying to pierce your forehead with his
sight. It's lasting and unnerving.)

(Then he finally talks.)

2: 'Good theory.'

(Günther remains ummoving.)

(But you press on. You have to. It's your job, and it's not done yet. While you present it as a
theory, you consider it almost impossible to be anything else than your case.)

5: That is why you cannot stop, Mr. Gunther. You've grown insecure with old age- and in
order to fill the gap your mind requires stronger evidence to keep your cynism alive. Just selling
weapons is not enough now; at this point, you seek armed conflict.

2: 'It's a nice theory.' Five... He said it again. He said it again in that way.

(You look at him. Being looked down on is irritating, especially when there's no
explaination for you to challenge.)

5: Anything to add, Mr. Günther?

(Who shrugs and says something cheerfully.)

2: 'No proof, Ms Five. Nice theory. But no proof.'

5: This theory doesn't need proof.

2: 'And why would that be?'

5: You can't prove me wrong either.

(And so Günther goes quiet... too quiet. This doesn't happen often; your usual dish are
protests and curses, biased objections born from rage to the views you present. This... is

(What happens when a man is proven wrong after fifty years?)

5: Truth defends itself, Mr. Günther. A fifty years old belief should be able to do that.

(Günther stands as you instinctively claw the arm of your chair. He's looking at you from
above, as Two's eyes dart from one to the other. Then he smiles and says something german.
Only once he's done Two starts translating.)

2: He's saying that, um.. he finds it funny how you think you can read his mind half an hour
after meeting him. That there's a reason real therapy takes years and that he finds it really
funny that a brat like you is taking care of 'the good boys'.

(But, eyes fixed on you, Günther keeps on talking. Only his mouth waves and with a certain pressure.)

2: He's saying that you aren't a real therapist, that you are a joke. That Daddy lets you play
the game so you suck his old dead dick once in a while.

5: I see. Is that all?

(It must be, because your patient is walking away. The gate is banged closed with enough
force to make your glass of water shake.)

5: Huh, I guess that was all.

2: I... don't think that came out very well, Five.

(Two seems tense; her voice wavers. You offer her your glass of water, and she downs it in one go.)

5: You seem nervous.

7: She's about to get nuked like in Duke Nukem. Why wouldn't she be?

(At some point, Seven spawned from the shadows. You don't even turn to face her.)

7: I think that guy is like, pretty fucking upset.

2: Yeah, I think that too.

(You shrug, almost angry yourself. 'Real' therapists take years to risk a diagnosis
because a) the legal consequences for failing are brutal and b) they milk the patient dry
without any real repercussions. You can afford to make fast calls because this is the Trashcan,
where neither law nor money ever reach you.)

5: I planted the seed, I did my job. All we can do now is wait and see what comes out of it.

7: Lava.

5: So be it.

(You deflate against the chair. The day is over, at least for you. Two and Seven are busy
chatting among themselves as you fall deep inside your own head. It takes a while for you to
notice the blonde shaking your arm. She looks a bit less like being rolled over by a whole

5: I hate being touched.

2: PFF. Bullshit.

(You ignore the shit-eating grin. It's still true.)

2: Looking pretty shitty there, Miss Fünf. Why don't you take a break? What's done it's done, eh?)

5: It's not over yet.

2: It is for you. And ain't that right and tight, Sieben?

7: Yuuuuuuup. You look like shit.

5: I don't understand why you two say that.

2: Me?

7: She means both of us. And maybe, just maybe, because you do.

(...That may be the case. It has been quite a busy day, after all.)

2: You need 'out', Five. Out of there (she pokes your forehead and then ignores your fiery
glare). Let's have a drink.

7: I could just leave the two of you alone, y'know.

5: Interesting coming from you after 'sex is disgusting'.

7: Yeah, but you definitively need it.

2: Definitively!

7: I'm loving how insanely straight-forward this girl is. It's crazy.

5: I don't want to talk about this.

(You witness Two and Seven share a glance.)

2: Fineee, but you still need OUT.

(She tugs you by the arm, which annoys the crap out of you... but maybe Two has a point.
You may be /this/ close to end up paranoid.)

>The party at the lobby must be ending by now. Yet you need to unwind.
>>What to do? (Write In)
File: kiryu.jpg (79 KB, 510x1200)
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This is just free extra content before the story resumes on its own, so do whatever lol
Find someplace comfy, with quiet music and good tea. Sit and enjoy the lack of crazy
Imbibe copious amounts of alcohol
Could be interesting. Support.

>>Get comfy comfy.
>>Get fucking smashed.
>>Hit the rooftop with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

(Your office is like the jungle; at any one moment you'll be jumped by a Two or a Seven,
or even a Six with a panic attack. And since you've had your fill of human contact for the
day, it's time to sink into a cave and forget about them.)

(Which is where the Trashcan shines, of course. This massive, deformed building, patched
together with unrelated structures, is but a compilation of the dark alleys where angry
teenagers come to get their drugs. It's easy to be alone, but it's also easy to meet with stuff the
didn't want you to see. Which already happened, and you aren't risking again.)

(The lone lamplight greet you as you reach the rooftop. The floor is still wet, the sky is still gray,
the only souls in sight are across the street, far below your feet. The air feels sharp as you lean
over the railing; it would be a long fall, but you don't hesitate.)

(If you told anyone about drinking whisky on the rooftop, you are dead sure they'd think 'that's
fucking retarded' as a reflect. Seven would say it. Even if you came with someone else to have
a sort of weird picnic, it still would seem pretty damn stupid. Not to mention you'd be yet to say
you never had whisky before, that you never got drunk before, that you never went to a real party
before. But then you'd remind them that you are the acting therapist of a pseudo-yakuza clan-
and if that didn't hammer the point home, you'd just walk away.)


(Drizzle meets the umbrella as you pour yourself whisky on a cup of tea. You had to
clean the top of an air conditioner unit with a handkerchief before you could sit. It rests now
at your side, dirty, as you take a sip. The taste is strong and makes you cough, but you came
here with a mission. While for many people it is natural to be relaxed, to you is nothing short of an accomplishment.)

(Then the door opens and you fail.)

7: Wussup bitcheees!

(She's talking to the drizzle, arms spread as if to hug it. You know she knows you are there. You
drink a decent share.)

5: Seven. Fuck off.

7: Oh hi Cinco! Wutchudoin?

5: Talking with others and sharing fun moments is not how I relax. That's for extroverts. I'm an introvert.

7: That's ok. Just ignore me.

5: That's the full time job I'm trying to relax from. Off.

7: And miss Five getting wasted? Who'd do that?

(Seven seems... genuinely excited. It's almost scary.)

5: You.

7: Then who will stop you from taking a leap of faith? See? I'm here to help.

(You drink more. It still burns, but it does distract you.)

5: As if that wouldn't set you free.

7: I'd be blamed. We are the only ones here.

5: Nobody knows.

7: Stop tempting me. Come on, share you dork.

(Seven simply snags the bottle from you and goes home straight from it. It's going down so
fast you forget about the cup you are holding. She then hands it over to you.)

7: Yup. That's how you do it.

5: Seven, this is a rooftop.

7: Yeah but that didn't stop you either.

(And she drinks more. GoddammitFU-)

5: Seven, watching over your isn't going to make me relax, it's going to make me tie you to the antenna.

7: Holy shit, you can be angry! That's some godlike programming over there on your head.

5: I'm not angry.

7: Then drink more.

5: If I do, nobody will stop you from taking a leap of faith.

7: Haha fuck you.

(You snap the bottle from her, which genuinely surprises her. But Seven smiles.)

7: Finally, some action.

5: Let's go downstairs. I'll drink until I can't care about you once we are safe.

(She shrugs under the rain.)

7: Suit yourself.


(It's your office. Again. The place where you ask murderpsychos to tell you about their past;
naturally, not a place to relax. However, a breakthrough has been made: you have a bottle
of cheap whisky, and that may help.)

(A bottle that is currently upside-down over Seven. You wait until she's done, then grumble
as you clean the tip with your handkerchief. Which makes her laugh.)

7: Come on!

5: Seven, /you/ don't want your germs. Neither do I.

(In contrast, you serve yourself in your humble tea cup. You always make a point of buying
another, but life never lets you.)

(You aren't mad at her. Of course Seven is doing this to fuck with you, but that's to be
expected. She did try to send you overseas in a crate, and you did force her to work as a nurse
for a month straight. In a way, it's you that you blame for not seeing this crap coming.)

7: Come on. Drink. Drink!

5: Living the dream, Seven?

7: Whutchumean?

5: Of /you/ giving /me/ orders.

7: Fuck you.

(Yet you drink. Your sense of taste is bad to begin with, so it's like drinking lava that smells
like old wooden crates.)

5: Permanent brain damage, here I come.

7: Hey, you are living a little. Don't reach your death with a clean brain and lungs, don't let the
worms have a feast.

5: My lungs would burn their throats by now.

(Which gives you an idea that you ignore.)

7: They are just one long throat anyway.

5: So?

7: I dunno, but fuck, they are.

5: That is interesting.

(It's when you pour yourself some more that you notice your hand shaking. And you do because
you spill some of the juice out of the cup. Which Seven points at severely.)

7: That's a sin. Lick it, you ass.

(You slowly clean the cup.)

5: I'm not going to say it.

7: Hmmm, lick my ass? Haha, no because you are such a fancy bitch.

5: You are Kill Bill after five years in rehab.

(Seven bursts out laughing, spitting whisky all over your desk... but you are so somewhere
else that you don't even care. With her yellow shirt and pants, she does resemble the character.)

7: Piece of shit. Fuck you. Asshole. Oh god I never realized.

5: Just get a katana and kill everyone in the Trashcan. That would net me... something like
ten minutes to take a nap. And god, I need them.

(Because, simply put, you can't relax in the Trashcan.)

(You keep drinking.)


(That's all you remember. Which means you succeeded in getting drunk, and now have an
insight on how this makes your patients feel. But, as you open your eyes, you are very
seriously considering if this headache is worth it.)

5: ...fffffffuuuuck...

(You look around. This isn't your office. This isn't your room. This is-

???: Rise and shine; princess of the fuckers.

(You pick up the voice instantly and instantly turn around. It's Marcus; he's holding a tray. The
tray has food. You are in a bed. You are... completely dressed, shoes included. Yet the
headache pushes you back into the pillow. As you suffer, Marcus meekly places the tray on
the small dresser next to your bed.)

5: So what was it? A blowjob?

Marcus: Nah.

5: Can you prove it?

(He speaks slowly but firmly.)

Marcus: I don't think so, Five.

(You look at the ceiling. It's either really tall or you really had much too drink. Either way, you
aren't ever doing this again.)

5: Schrodinger's blowjob, then. We should never talk about this.

Marcus: Fine by me.

(He pushes the tray towards you, then grabs one egg sandwich himself.)

Marcus: Eat the banana too. At least half.

5: Do I look so thin, Marcus?

Marcus: It's for the hangover, Five.

5: I see.

(You finally sit on the bed, the sheets still over your bottom half. Head hurts. Body is sweaty.
Glasses are tarnished. Your hand is bleeding. And you aren't even a bit fucking relaxed at all.)

Marcus: So why did you get drunk, babe?

5: Because I can't calm down. I can't cool my brain. I can't simmer down.

Marcus: That sounds pretty rough.

(He takes a big bite.)

Marcus: I'm not gonna say you need sex because I know you don't do that, Five. I know
you don't like it. But you need a sport.

5: You crazy jerks are my sport.

Marcus: Nah. I'm talking sweating. Not thinking, just flowing. You think too much.

5: You think too little.

Marcus: I know. You always tell me.

(You take a bit. It's when you swallow that you notice that your throat is sore.)

5: I puked, didn't I?

Marcus: Yeah, babe. It was bad.

5: Fuck, this tastes awful.

Marcus: Drink some water now. It'll help.

(You do. It still tastes awful.)


(From Marcus room, you head straight for the office after figuring out what time is it. Which is,
not too early. He leads you across the hallway; you both end up at the lobby. Right off the bat,
you are getting funny looks.)


(As they spot you, many of the suits start singing 'Imagine' by Jhon Lennon with little to
no sync, some snapping their fingers. You walk by faster while hiding your face until you bounce
against the wall that is Two. Who seems concerned... but then her laughs stuns you.)

2: Five, you look so bad! Hey you, did you do anything to her?

Marcus: Nah.

5: I'm fine. Get me out of here.

(Near you, a man stands to yell 'it's easy if you try' as you walk past him. You find yourself both
blushing and baring your teeth; there's no telling what whisky did to you now.)

Marcus: You know the way to her office?

2: Yes.

Marcus: Ok.

(Marcus stays behind, only to start singing as well. Their voices still echo for a while after you
leave. Once you open the door to your office, you become the first thing Seven sees today.
Arms stretched all over, she's laying on your desk; drooling.)

7: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....

(You walk up to her.)

5: Seven, what did I do?

7: eh?

5: What did I do last night?

7: what? the? fuck?

(You curse in silence, in an ancient alien language long lost and forgotten. You feel
something against your ankles, and it's the patient's chair that Two is pushing. You sit.)

2: Five, you, are, crazy! with a drink. No wonder you never drink.

5: I never did. That was my first time.

2: No shit?

(She sounds surprised.)

5: I look after my brain. And as it turns out, high, constant levels of stress... (you grab your head
because it hurts) age the brain much faster.

2: Aaah, gotcha, gotcha. So why the drink?

5: To calm down. Didn't work.

2: Like hell it didn't! Last night you saw some of the younger fucks playing poker, right? And you
pushed me into the room. And you gambled me.

5: That sounds surreal. So what happened?

2: You lost. (she shrugs) Then you said you'd fuck my brains out until Christmas if I wasn't so
strictly fucking stupid, word by word.

(Your eyes widen on reflex. It... does sound like something you'd say, somehow.)

5: ...Unbelievable. I mean, I do believe you, Two. Are you mad at me now?

2: Nah. I'm awesome.

(She strikes a silly pose. That's some high tier confidence right there.)

5: I don't really want to know, but what else did I do?

2: You pushed our Seven there into that big box over there, right? Then you wrote: FOR
ADOPTION, on the top. Look. I ain't shittin!

(She's smiling too hard. The afforemented box, however, is too damn real. It's laying on the
side, but you can read the label from where you are. You shake your head in silent horror.)

5: ...


(You are still in the denial phase.)

2: I tried to stop you a couple times, sometimes I did, you know? But, dude, you are like fucking
NUTS! For real! Then you were writing on the walls, on the doors, oh, on the doors you kept
writing 'THIS DOOR DOESN'T EXIST' on big big letters all the time. Then when people were
like laughing choking because of how fucked up you were you, like, told them all their problems
to the face like y'always do. (She pauses. More exactly, she goes solid like a statue for some seconds) Some cried.

5: Jesus.

2: Then some guys were about to punch the shit out of each other but you walked in the middle
and started singing like this:

(Two takes a deep breath. You know what's coming. You cover your ears, fueled by rage.)


(Someone outside answers: 'living life in peace!!')


7: shut up please shut the fuck up oh pleeaaaseee aaaaaaaaa

5: What else? What happened?

2: They didn't fight. They started singing with you. That was really cool actually, Five is like
our Jhon Lennon now!

(The exact opposite of what you consider yourself, by any and all means.)

5: This shit can't be real.

2: Um, maybe you don't wanna hear the rest.

5: No, say it, fucking say it. I'll have to deal with it anyway.

2: Aight, aight. Then you, I dunno what the heck you told the guy, but like you locked yourself
with Six on a room for like an hour and now the guy goes around shouting and screaming and
saying he's the chosen one or some shit. What did you tell him?

(You grab 2 by the arm and rush out of the room. After a while, you find Six on the second
rooftop, naked from the waist up, wearing his tie like a bandana and two staplers as if they were
guns, standing near the ledge as he faces the sun.)

5: Six, what the FUCK are you do


(He's crying. You facepalm so hard your glasses bounce into the ground.)

>>(Stand by! Story resumes tomorrow!)

(Later on, you find one of the good boys by a door, one of the ones you wrote on. He's frozen
in place, staring at it with abject dejection. Another pats him on the shoulder.)

Guy: Don't think about it, Mike. Don't think about it.

(This is unbelievable. You'd laugh at the simplicity if it wasn't /your/ job to keep them sane.)
Aight guys, resuming. Gonna have to speed things up cuz thread is entering the Marianas. Not sure how much time left lol
Page 10.
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(Society has identified a certain set of attributes as desirable. While some of these are practical,
like health, others are meant to generate needs in order to fuel the market- like aesthetics. This
is done by subtly adding insecurities through media and propagandas, by associating
happiness to their products. Which gives you two paths; you either buy what they have to sell,
or you go against the whole wide world.)

(The Trashcan is a place to rest from society.)

(It's the anarchy pimple on the face of the city. If it happens there, it stays there; the Trashcan
has a wanting set of rules. Yet it took not long to the police forces to realize they'd rather have
them there than on their own going apeshit crazy.)

(Of course, even anarchists need to eat. And since the system itself rejected them, it's the
only up to the system to feed them.)

(Which means, everyone else.)

(cont fo real!)
(You find yourself in your office, still trying to convince Six that he wasn't chosen by the sun,
repeating yourself over and over.)

5: Drunk, Six. I was /drunk/.

6: Ok. Ok.

5: Out of my mind. Writing on doors. Gambling Two on poker.

6: Yes. Ok. I get it. Yes.

5: There's no one out to get you. The fate of the world doesn't depend on you.

(And Six goes pale again.)

6: B-b-but you told me no. You told me not to talk about them. Ever.

5: There's no 'them', Six, for the last damn time. I. Was. Drunk.

6: But you showed me the stars. The patterns. You-you told me about how I used to be afraid
of space, but I never told anyone!

5: For fucks sake, I just figured that ou

(The door BURSTS open. It's Two. You greet her with bared teeth and the stare deers give under headlights.)

2: Hey so you know, I just saw the prettiest girl in the world on my way here.

6: Oh really? I think I saw someone too. How long ago?

2: Five seconds ago.

(And she even winks at you. To your dismay, it does calm the fire.)

5: Two. As you can see, I'm in the middle of a session. So

7: We are in lockdown.

(Six, Two, and you all turn to the agitated, sweating Seven leaning from the door Two almost obliterated. Gasping. You stand.)

7: Shit got real, Five. Very, very real.

(You are about to ask- but it can only be one thing. Frozen in place, your mind races with the
possibilities. And your heartbeat doubles when you realize the only answer.)

5: We have to find him.

7: Are you NUTS, girl? Seriously? It's raining fire out there! Fuck that, it's raining METEORS
with your face on them!

6: Hold your horses, what's going on?

7: Oh no you fuck, you can't save us from this.

2 and 6: From what?

7: Haven't you figured it out yet? Two!

(Two gently bounces her fist against her forehead until she goes 'oh!')

2: It's the german pal, ah? The rocket guy!

(She said so cheerfully, glad to have figured it out. You let the implications fall on their own;
you notice how they do as her face goes blank.)

2: Oh. Oh, fuck.

commence panic!
(Seven is still cursing under her breath as you rush to the roof. Not that you are doing much
better, but you have more at stake than her; that helps with the stairs.)

(You haven't even reach the railing when you hear the sounds. Then, leaning over it, you
catch the police cars going into the blocks in rows. Smoke goes up like in the cold days of
middle ages, but the heart of the battle isn't there to be seen. The massive street in front of
the Trashcan is still deserted.)

(What happens when a man is proven wrong after fifty years?)

7: Going out is suicide by Quake Arena. Don't be a retard.

(You glance over your shoulder; the whole party is here. It feels like a rocket could hit the place
at any moment. You shake your head with honest derision, feeling every muscle of your
body tense.)

5: I have to stop him.

7: Why, how, and no, what the fuck.

5: He's my patient.

(You glance at Six, who's looking over the railing. His mouth is stuck wide open as his
eyes forget to blink.)

7: No, no, no, fuck that. Daddy knew this risks. It's on him and you damn well know it.

(But you are heading for the stairs when Two holds your arm. You are about to bite her face
off when you notice her calm demeanor.)

2: What are you gonna do?

5: Get him to stop this.

2: K, I'm going.

7: Are you fucking NUTS? Oh wait, I forgot you were. What a detail. Jesus fuck, DON'T GO
OUT YOU FUCKS! And where would you even find this guy? Two, do you wanna fuck this
noodle that badly? Come on, just tie her to something!

5: Seven, you can calm down. I wasn't going out without a plan.

6: LOOK!

(You all rush to the railing. Down there, very down there, seven gangsters are aiming at the
very same guy with seven heavy rocket launchers. The man in question is on his knees,
most likely shitting his soul. But then a different gang comes into a scene and a brutal yelling
match ensues. Two covers your eyes from behind like in that game, but you quickly shake
her off. Many feet below you, an unarmed man comes walks between the gangs and everyone
lowers their 'guns'.)


(Six cleans the sweat off her forehead with a sleeve, four times.)

7: They didn't shoot? What?

5: They don't want to.

(This time you do make it to the stairs.)

(Despite the smoke, it hasn't started. No one wants it to start. Günther must have fed them
shit somehow, so now the factions are afraid of each other. You bolt out as soon as the elevator
hits the ground, followed only by Two. That's when you remember the lockdown, when you
reach the barricade at the entrance. You turn to the receptionist, who's still there for some reason.)

5: I need to get out.

(He sizes you up.)

Receptionist: Ma'am, there are other ways to die.

5: I like fireworks. Point me to the exit.

Receptionist: There's no exit. That's why they call it a 'lockdown'.

2: Fiiiive, I need some lady time!

(Despite the situation, the words 'lady time' make you cringe.)

5: Then go, why am I hearing this right now?

2: I need light!

(She points towards a dark, branching hallway. You sigh in rage. You lead Two to it, but, once
inside, Two takes out her cellphone and puts on lantern mode.)

2: It's here. In this bathroom.

5: What is?

(Two hops on a public toilet and pushes the window above it aside.)


(You don't ask. Two's motorcycle rushes across the street. You grab onto the blonde as if her
waist was the ledge over Nietzsche's abyss. After all, it's raining fire. Right as you turn an
alley, for a split second, a shouting man points at you with a bazooka as his daughter clutches
his leg and the wife hugs his arm. As you reach the next block, a police car passes you by, it's
back crammed to the top with rocket launchers. When you glance into a store, an old lady is
aiming at you as her husband helps her lift the steel from behind. There are more missiles than
cellphones in this town, and the echo of a blast thunders every time.)

2: So where is this motherfucker? What's the plan?

(You are wearing Two's helmet, so she isn't. You lean close to shout at her ear.)

5: Follow the blasts. Günther is afraid of people being good, so he must dread being good
himself. He has to be stirring the flames somewhere.

2: Isn't getting everyone shooting rockets enough? Wow, what an asshole.

(You just told her to follow the blasts and she didn't even ask.)

5: We are the scum of the earth. Even the cops fit the list. That wouldn't make him evil.

2: What about the poor lads that get the crossfire?

5: Those wouldn't be his fault. And he needs them to be.

(She's speeding up. If you somehow make it out of this retarded shitfest alive, you'll never, ever,
hop on a rollercoaster.)

2: But Five, how do we get there without exploding?

5: We get there before the fireworks start.

(The booms are yet unusual, but you feel the tension nonetheless. With Two on the streets, it
feels like speeding over a minefield. It's all for half a second; the single cop helping people
evacuate while carrying a bazooka himself, the firefighter truck with an armed man on top, the
local weed dealer with an afro hiding in an alley with a big cannon. Günther, without a shadow of
a doubt, has invested all his influence in this single move at once. Insecurity is, some times,
so strong that it makes us forget tomorrow.)

5: Two! Are you hearing it?

2: Yeah!

(She's following the localized train of blasts, which get stronger as her bike draws near. And
at the heart of the explosions, standing over a car on fire blocking the street, you find him.
Günther Friah, the german arms dealer, wielding a bazooka on each shoulder. Who
manages to spot you before Two hides behind the block. Who laughs like he's on fire himself.)


(Günther cackles in german, so loud that you still hear him with the helmet on. Which you
take off and throw somewhere as you jump.)

2: Don't go! He'll shoot you!

(Another deafening blast leaves you with tinnitus; this crazy german is trying to start the
war, that much you know. And he's the only one that can stop it.)

2: DON'T!

5: Then why do you think I came here, Two? To kill him? What would that fix?

2: Is that the plan?! Talking to the crazy fuck?!

5: It's the only thing I'm good at! If I'm not good at this then I'm good at nothing and good as dead!

(Your own words make you shiver, but you are about to die, so damn it all. You take a deep
breath, calm yourself, and walk out. From over the car, Günther turns to stare at you.)

(The man is clearly shocked.)

(And when you stand to face him, Two is standing with you.)

(What happens when a man is proven wrong after fifty years? Simply enough, he sinks with
the boat. Human beings, above it all, seek to avoid, patch, block uncertainty from their lives.
That is what beliefs are for.)

(All of his life, every day for fifty years, the man before you had been feeding his misanthropy
and his cats in order to stay sane; he sold rockets because he felt uncertain.)

(Now you can see it, now that's too late; if you had told him he's right, like anyone tells their
conservative grandma, he would had been at peace. Beliefs are like trees. Old trees have
deep roots. Taking out roots so deep takes strenght old people don't have.)
>This is it.
>>Tell Günther he's right.
>>Tell Günther he's wrong.
>>Tell Günther you were wrong.

>No write-ins allowed<
>Tell Günther you were wrong.
>Tell Günther he's right.
If we tell him he's wrong again, then he fights back. If we tell him he's right... I don't know what happens. I don't know what happens if we tell him we're wrong, either.
>Tell Günther he's wrong.

The shooting is all him. No one else. People are surrendering the bazookas to the cops. There were 2 groups of guys with bazookas not shooting each other just a moment ago.

If you force this, with your own fire they you are the evil. Not them. Just you. The serpent in the garden
We ain't gonna make it guys

Then we go down fighting!
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Rolled 2 (1d2)

Aight my 4 guys, so we ain't gonna make it. I'm about to head out, so I'll roll the dice in case no one else votes before the thread goes into the happy dark. Lesse
1: >>4136387
2: >>4136433

Now, I rushed this thread with no prep whatsoever cuz I always get stuck in prep phase and that had to stop. Of course, that wasn't good lol, and won't happen again. I'm sure you'll spot a plothole or two, the cases aren't solid, the choices sometimes don't cover all the ground they could, etc. But I did this shit with love, and did had my fun writing it.

Thing is, psychology is one hell of a topic to write about. There's no room to fuck up. There are so many views on the same subject that it's pretty natural you end up falling back to the very basics. So I was considering writing something more retarded in nature, something fun about fucking around instead of solving puzzles. I know I fucked up a lot in many ways in this quest, but I really hope you guys had fun cuz I think that's the only way of winning that counts.

So what do you think? Should I keep running this quest or go with HoboCop, which is about solving cases without the boundaries of being a cop?

And this is where the last post will be.
Well, I for one enjoy this quest and appreciate the work you put into it
Glad to read it, man. Mind breaking this tie? I hate leaving things to rng lol.
Oh my id changed I'm
This quest was/is fun. I'll miss it if it goes away, but i understand that its a lot of work setting it up. The psychology was fine. You didn't get caught in the trap of using actual real terms, you focused on what matters.

Run what you wanna run. Hobo cop sounds interesting. Just make sure to tweet out when you run next.

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