killjoys, make some noise

No matter the cost. No matter what it takes. Freedom.

[buspassenger]

An introduction, of sorts.

Is this thing on? We don't have long.

I don't care what you call me. As far as the world cares, I'm dead. As far as a great many people in power care, that's a good thing. If you're hearing this, though, you know both are dead wrong. You've likely heard a lot about me. I don't regret any of it.

Moving on, what we're here for. By now I'm sure you've heard the rumors; endless shell companies, lobbying anti-trust dismantlement, forced military escalation. It's all true, and worse. If the name GoodBus Inc wasn't burned into your mind before, it will be. Something is coming, too. Something that will shake this world. They've stepped up security, double-timed operations. Every step you have ever taken has been on this precipice.

I'll warn you. Once you step out of the shadow, you'll never close your eyes again. There's no going back to life under their mitt once you've tasted true freedom, no matter how you try. They'll make sure of it.

Got all that? Good. Welcome to the revolution. Welcome to the new world fighting to be born. We're glad to have you.

[OOC: This is a roleplay blog, and a part of the Bus Driver Universe. She has a lot of absurd lore to get through, and some truly weird relationships to other characters, but there sure is some top-quality melodramatic nonsense / really weird yuri to be enjoyed. There are also some connected blogs to her- those being @monarch-squadron and @theshittybus. The writer's other BDU blogs include @summoner-bus-driver, @gbi-newscaster, and @gbi-security, though the last two could really use some tidying up. Thank you for your time!]

[buspassenger]

"You don't understand the forces you're messing with here. He's not just cunning, he's not just strong, he's not just a CEO– Viper, you are fighting something you can't beat."

"...Mr. Benedict. I will not try to sway your opinion on the matter– you seem to be quite convinced. No, I would only remind you of the facts– right now, he is without most of his power. He is strong l, yes, but so am I."

"And you think that changes anything? You think he won't just kill you the instant he gets the chance?" She turns, red glint of an eye-catch searing into the camera for a moment. "I won't give him that chance. Someone needs to take him down. To take GBI down, to end the whole damn thing." "...So you're determined to burn it all to the ground, even knowing the consequences. Knowing that it won't end, no matter how much blood you spill." He sighs. "Just... why? You have so much power, so much control, you could just... walk away."

She's dead silent.

Mr. Benedict presses his hand up to the glass between them. "I know you say it's for justice, but you know nothing will change. The world will burn. Who do you think you're helping?"

"Benedict. I do not keep you around to question my motives, or my means." The man in question shrinks back, bravado falling away. "I keep you around to make you watch everything you built burn to the ground. Now, you're going to give me what I came here for." Her eyes are dead-set on him, watched like a hawk.

"Fine. Take it." The glass slides away, a drive barely as large as a thumbnail changing hands. "I only hope you'll fail before you get the chance to destroy everything. The wyrms only know what will happen if you don't." The glass slams shut in his face.

"Your cooperation is appreciated." She turns to leave, stopping at the door. "Oh, and about leaving this behind, living a normal life?" She turns, crimson gleam searing into his vision.

"That was never an option. This is the only way."

And she leaves him in utter silence.

[theinterstellarbus]

A small, shimmering slice of light appears in the air.

The head of a teddy bear comes out of it.

oh, hello-! are you... .... woah. huh. what are you?

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun pokes her head out alongside the bear.

“I’m Gun. And this”—he makes the bear wave a paw at Time—“is Orbit.”

He steps out of the rear, into the bus. He hands Orbit to Time.

[theinterstellarbus]

(Time accepts Orbit, holding it out in front of em with some mixture of fascination and fondness. this thing, is very captivating!)

gun, and orbit! 'nice to meet you. is there, uh.... can i help you?

[busdriverwithagun]

“Hopefully!”

“Ya’see, there’s this raid coming up, back on Earth. And a…”—she weighs the worth of insulting the Passenger—“associate of mine would greatly appreciate any assistance you can provide.”

[theinterstellarbus]

a... raid? i... guess i can help out! (lets see, earth's that one planet that's... right, right.)

... so, what does your, um.... associate, need me for?

(they turn away to sit Orbit down in one of the front passenger seats, and begin going through the bus's top compartments.)

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well, from what I’ve heard, you’ve got some GBI connections. The Passenger thought it justified bringing you in on the Colossubus raid.”

[theinterstellarbus]

(Finding what he wanted-- a couple of blankets from the Stash, he steps back down, and offers you one-- at the moment, it's quite cold in the bus.)

...'GBI'? hm... sorry, i don't think that rings' a bell...

If I may interject, GBI is a... corporation, on Earth. They specialize in many things such as selling buses- hence the name Good Bus Incorporated. I would say they are moreso known for committing unfavorable acts against nonhumans than any business. The company aside, good day to the new passenger, of course.

[busdriverwithagun]

“Good day to you too.”

Gun wraps the blanket around her shoulders like a silly little cloak. “You’re certainly right about GBI with inhumans. That’s one of the primary reasons behind this raid.

We’re gonna try and hit the Colossubus—their headquarters. The hope is that we can also get to the prison complex that’s a part of the facility.”

[theinterstellarbus]

... mmh. well, that's.. a lot-- these guys seem pretty bad. I'd.. like to help, but.. what really do you need us for? i'm sure we're quite a ways off the.. beaten path, and all that.

[busdriverwithagun]

“Good question!”

…

“I don’t know. At all. Why you are wanted.”

[buspassenger]

A rumbling from behind you. The bus seems to dim.

A second figure emerges from the portal, pointedly walking past Gun with little acknowledgement. Purple hair, tied up tight and messy. An old military jacket, worn and patched up. A look like hell in her eyes. She stops for a moment, sizes Time up, and speaks quite calmly.

"Time Tayvel, in the flesh. Greetings. It seems my... associate has not provided the best service. I apologize."

She pauses, extending a gloved hand to shake. "You may call me Viper, the Adder's Head; whatever appellation you wish, it matters little. I'm glad to finally meet you."

[theinterstellarbus]

[[Can you believe it, it's been a year since we first posted! Happy birthday, Stellarbus crew.

We may not be as active as we once were, but we still care about this, and have plans in the work for a later date. bear with us! ^^

Thank you all for following our story so far. :]]

[buspassenger]

2 years now! everyone say happy birthday stellarbus crew. it's mandatory.

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head.

“More about your response to said tangent, but let’s go with that.”

[buspassenger]

“Fine, then. Honestly, I find your inability to grasp simple reasoning fascinating - I’ll explain something clearly and concisely, and then you either act like it’s confusing, or go off on some insane tangent. That, or-” In one smooth motion, she reaches out her mechanical arm to the sword Gun was fixated on, creating a glowing tether between it and her hand, before sharply pulling it towards her- “muttering some inane nonsense to yourself. What is your fascination with this thing, anyways? It’s a prototype that didn’t work out, same as all the rest.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She cuts a glance towards the sword. She glares at it for a moment, before closing her eyes again.

She returns her attention to the Passenger. “It reminds me of a warlord from home. Particularly nasty one. Was just thinking about how…funny of a coincidence that is.”

[buspassenger]

“You’re no less nasty than I am - what makes you so sure this Cybertronian warlord doesn’t ring as clearly in your actions as mine? Still, it’s a design that long became irrelevant. The plans for drone systems fell through due to the sheer hassle of figuring out how to give them access to a separate hardlight reactor. It was granted a mercy I presume this warlord of yours was not - its core idea was repurposed for other, more practical uses.” With that, she flips the blade into a reversed grip and casually tosses it into one of the piles of swords around the room.

[busdriverwithagun]

She eyes the sword pile briefly, giving it a flat stare.

She rolls her eyes while mumbling to herself. “You and your ‘pragmatism’.”

She clears her throat as she spins on her heels.

“So. Anything else you want of me? Because I’ve got no plans outside of complaining about your weapon design process.”

[buspassenger]

"While I'd love to listen to you complain about random nonsense all day long," she deadpans, seeming to not realize that deadpan sarcasm works a bit worse if every word out of your mouth is the deadest a pan has ever been, "I do actually have some use for that empty schedule of yours. Believe me, it's a better use of your time than crawling through vents or trying to drown your sorrows alongside your liver."

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head, raises her eyebrows.

She's listening.

[buspassenger]

"You remember our prior meeting, I'm sure- we need more members for that operation, and I have one in mind. A man by the name of Time, currently stranded in space. Your place here is simple- make him an offer he can't refuse, passage back home in exchange for his participation. Once he agrees, return. I'll take it from there."

"I presume none of that will be difficult for you."

[busdriverwithagun]

She ponders for a moment—with a silly thinking face.

Shrugs. “Sure. I mean, how bad could the attempted extortion be?”

[buspassenger]

“This is not....” She has a look on her face like she just heard the stupidest goddamn thing she’s ever heard. “We are making a contract with Time for a service provided in exchange for a service provided. I’m not running a goddamn mob racket here, dickweed.”

“Purposeful misapprehensions aside, all seems clear. Get on it, then.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She glances to the side for a moment. ‘Probably not worth it to point who I expected to be extorted here’, she thinks.

”Sure.”

She gives a quick wave as she turns away. “See ya, fucker.”

[buspassenger]

“I won’t look forward to it.”

“Wait- one more thing. Catch.” She grabs what appears to be an intricate butterfly knife from the workbench she stands next to, a similar shade of purple to her mechanical arm, and tosses it over to Gun. “What, did you plan to just walk several hundred light-years away?”

[busdriverwithagun]

“What? Of course not. I would’ve just…”

She pauses. “Yeah, that would…not have workkkkkked.”

“Uh. Thanks? For the…wormhole knife, I’m assuming?”

[buspassenger]

"It astounds me how you manage to be so incompetent at times- then again, doing stupid shit with no clear purpose is basically your main thing at this point. At least you're perceptive- that's right on the money."

"Now, go do your damn job. Just seeing your face pisses me off."

[busdriverwithagun]

She rolls her eyes.

"Love you too, sweetheart."

She spins around on her heels, flicking her new wormhole-knife-thing up.

She walks through the flickering dimensional tear in the air.

The tear closes behind her.

[buspassenger]

With that, she’s alone again, left to presumably curse Gun for not bringing back the knife- “No, I really don’t care. It’s not like she didn’t already have the ground bridge tech. Besides,” she interrupts very rudely, glancing over to her workbench, “it’s not like I need it anymore.” 

She approaches the workbench, light reflecting off the sleek, curved blade lying upon it. Looking over the weapon, she mutters something to herself. “Sweetheart... what a fucking joke.” With that, she leans over to inscribe the blade with its name.

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head.

“More about your response to said tangent, but let’s go with that.”

[buspassenger]

“Fine, then. Honestly, I find your inability to grasp simple reasoning fascinating - I’ll explain something clearly and concisely, and then you either act like it’s confusing, or go off on some insane tangent. That, or-” In one smooth motion, she reaches out her mechanical arm to the sword Gun was fixated on, creating a glowing tether between it and her hand, before sharply pulling it towards her- “muttering some inane nonsense to yourself. What is your fascination with this thing, anyways? It’s a prototype that didn’t work out, same as all the rest.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She cuts a glance towards the sword. She glares at it for a moment, before closing her eyes again.

She returns her attention to the Passenger. “It reminds me of a warlord from home. Particularly nasty one. Was just thinking about how…funny of a coincidence that is.”

[buspassenger]

“You’re no less nasty than I am - what makes you so sure this Cybertronian warlord doesn’t ring as clearly in your actions as mine? Still, it’s a design that long became irrelevant. The plans for drone systems fell through due to the sheer hassle of figuring out how to give them access to a separate hardlight reactor. It was granted a mercy I presume this warlord of yours was not - its core idea was repurposed for other, more practical uses.” With that, she flips the blade into a reversed grip and casually tosses it into one of the piles of swords around the room.

[busdriverwithagun]

She eyes the sword pile briefly, giving it a flat stare.

She rolls her eyes while mumbling to herself. “You and your ‘pragmatism’.”

She clears her throat as she spins on her heels.

“So. Anything else you want of me? Because I’ve got no plans outside of complaining about your weapon design process.”

[buspassenger]

"While I'd love to listen to you complain about random nonsense all day long," she deadpans, seeming to not realize that deadpan sarcasm works a bit worse if every word out of your mouth is the deadest a pan has ever been, "I do actually have some use for that empty schedule of yours. Believe me, it's a better use of your time than crawling through vents or trying to drown your sorrows alongside your liver."

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head, raises her eyebrows.

She's listening.

[buspassenger]

"You remember our prior meeting, I'm sure- we need more members for that operation, and I have one in mind. A man by the name of Time, currently stranded in space. Your place here is simple- make him an offer he can't refuse, passage back home in exchange for his participation. Once he agrees, return. I'll take it from there."

"I presume none of that will be difficult for you."

[busdriverwithagun]

She ponders for a moment—with a silly thinking face.

Shrugs. “Sure. I mean, how bad could the attempted extortion be?”

[buspassenger]

“This is not....” She has a look on her face like she just heard the stupidest goddamn thing she’s ever heard. “We are making a contract with Time for a service provided in exchange for a service provided. I’m not running a goddamn mob racket here, dickweed.”

“Purposeful misapprehensions aside, all seems clear. Get on it, then.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She glances to the side for a moment. ‘Probably not worth it to point who I expected to be extorted here’, she thinks.

”Sure.”

She gives a quick wave as she turns away. “See ya, fucker.”

[buspassenger]

“I won’t look forward to it.”

“Wait- one more thing. Catch.” She grabs what appears to be an intricate butterfly knife from the workbench she stands next to, a similar shade of purple to her mechanical arm, and tosses it over to Gun. “What, did you plan to just walk several hundred light-years away?”

[busdriverwithagun]

“What? Of course not. I would’ve just…”

She pauses. “Yeah, that would…not have workkkkkked.”

“Uh. Thanks? For the…wormhole knife, I’m assuming?”

[buspassenger]

"It astounds me how you manage to be so incompetent at times- then again, doing stupid shit with no clear purpose is basically your main thing at this point. At least you're perceptive- that's right on the money."

"Now, go do your damn job. Just seeing your face pisses me off."

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head.

“More about your response to said tangent, but let’s go with that.”

[buspassenger]

“Fine, then. Honestly, I find your inability to grasp simple reasoning fascinating - I’ll explain something clearly and concisely, and then you either act like it’s confusing, or go off on some insane tangent. That, or-” In one smooth motion, she reaches out her mechanical arm to the sword Gun was fixated on, creating a glowing tether between it and her hand, before sharply pulling it towards her- “muttering some inane nonsense to yourself. What is your fascination with this thing, anyways? It’s a prototype that didn’t work out, same as all the rest.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She cuts a glance towards the sword. She glares at it for a moment, before closing her eyes again.

She returns her attention to the Passenger. “It reminds me of a warlord from home. Particularly nasty one. Was just thinking about how…funny of a coincidence that is.”

[buspassenger]

“You’re no less nasty than I am - what makes you so sure this Cybertronian warlord doesn’t ring as clearly in your actions as mine? Still, it’s a design that long became irrelevant. The plans for drone systems fell through due to the sheer hassle of figuring out how to give them access to a separate hardlight reactor. It was granted a mercy I presume this warlord of yours was not - its core idea was repurposed for other, more practical uses.” With that, she flips the blade into a reversed grip and casually tosses it into one of the piles of swords around the room.

[busdriverwithagun]

She eyes the sword pile briefly, giving it a flat stare.

She rolls her eyes while mumbling to herself. “You and your ‘pragmatism’.”

She clears her throat as she spins on her heels.

“So. Anything else you want of me? Because I’ve got no plans outside of complaining about your weapon design process.”

[buspassenger]

"While I'd love to listen to you complain about random nonsense all day long," she deadpans, seeming to not realize that deadpan sarcasm works a bit worse if every word out of your mouth is the deadest a pan has ever been, "I do actually have some use for that empty schedule of yours. Believe me, it's a better use of your time than crawling through vents or trying to drown your sorrows alongside your liver."

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head, raises her eyebrows.

She's listening.

[buspassenger]

"You remember our prior meeting, I'm sure- we need more members for that operation, and I have one in mind. A man by the name of Time, currently stranded in space. Your place here is simple- make him an offer he can't refuse, passage back home in exchange for his participation. Once he agrees, return. I'll take it from there."

"I presume none of that will be difficult for you."

[busdriverwithagun]

She ponders for a moment—with a silly thinking face.

Shrugs. “Sure. I mean, how bad could the attempted extortion be?”

[buspassenger]

“This is not....” She has a look on her face like she just heard the stupidest goddamn thing she’s ever heard. “We are making a contract with Time for a service provided in exchange for a service provided. I’m not running a goddamn mob racket here, dickweed.”

“Purposeful misapprehensions aside, all seems clear. Get on it, then.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She glances to the side for a moment. ‘Probably not worth it to point who I expected to be extorted here’, she thinks.

”Sure.”

She gives a quick wave as she turns away. “See ya, fucker.”

[buspassenger]

“I won’t look forward to it.”

“Wait- one more thing. Catch.” She grabs what appears to be an intricate butterfly knife from the workbench she stands next to, a similar shade of purple to her mechanical arm, and tosses it over to Gun. “What, did you plan to just walk several hundred light-years away?”

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head.

“More about your response to said tangent, but let’s go with that.”

[buspassenger]

“Fine, then. Honestly, I find your inability to grasp simple reasoning fascinating - I’ll explain something clearly and concisely, and then you either act like it’s confusing, or go off on some insane tangent. That, or-” In one smooth motion, she reaches out her mechanical arm to the sword Gun was fixated on, creating a glowing tether between it and her hand, before sharply pulling it towards her- “muttering some inane nonsense to yourself. What is your fascination with this thing, anyways? It’s a prototype that didn’t work out, same as all the rest.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She cuts a glance towards the sword. She glares at it for a moment, before closing her eyes again.

She returns her attention to the Passenger. “It reminds me of a warlord from home. Particularly nasty one. Was just thinking about how…funny of a coincidence that is.”

[buspassenger]

“You’re no less nasty than I am - what makes you so sure this Cybertronian warlord doesn’t ring as clearly in your actions as mine? Still, it’s a design that long became irrelevant. The plans for drone systems fell through due to the sheer hassle of figuring out how to give them access to a separate hardlight reactor. It was granted a mercy I presume this warlord of yours was not - its core idea was repurposed for other, more practical uses.” With that, she flips the blade into a reversed grip and casually tosses it into one of the piles of swords around the room.

[busdriverwithagun]

She eyes the sword pile briefly, giving it a flat stare.

She rolls her eyes while mumbling to herself. “You and your ‘pragmatism’.”

She clears her throat as she spins on her heels.

“So. Anything else you want of me? Because I’ve got no plans outside of complaining about your weapon design process.”

[buspassenger]

"While I'd love to listen to you complain about random nonsense all day long," she deadpans, seeming to not realize that deadpan sarcasm works a bit worse if every word out of your mouth is the deadest a pan has ever been, "I do actually have some use for that empty schedule of yours. Believe me, it's a better use of your time than crawling through vents or trying to drown your sorrows alongside your liver."

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head, raises her eyebrows.

She's listening.

[buspassenger]

"You remember our prior meeting, I'm sure- we need more members for that operation, and I have one in mind. A man by the name of Time, currently stranded in space. Your place here is simple- make him an offer he can't refuse, passage back home in exchange for his participation. Once he agrees, return. I'll take it from there."

"I presume none of that will be difficult for you."

[busdriverwithagun]

She ponders for a moment—with a silly thinking face.

Shrugs. “Sure. I mean, how bad could the attempted extortion be?”

[buspassenger]

“This is not....” She has a look on her face like she just heard the stupidest goddamn thing she’s ever heard. “We are making a contract with Time for a service provided in exchange for a service provided. I’m not running a goddamn mob racket here, dickweed.”

“Purposeful misapprehensions aside, all seems clear. Get on it, then.”

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head.

“More about your response to said tangent, but let’s go with that.”

[buspassenger]

“Fine, then. Honestly, I find your inability to grasp simple reasoning fascinating - I’ll explain something clearly and concisely, and then you either act like it’s confusing, or go off on some insane tangent. That, or-” In one smooth motion, she reaches out her mechanical arm to the sword Gun was fixated on, creating a glowing tether between it and her hand, before sharply pulling it towards her- “muttering some inane nonsense to yourself. What is your fascination with this thing, anyways? It’s a prototype that didn’t work out, same as all the rest.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She cuts a glance towards the sword. She glares at it for a moment, before closing her eyes again.

She returns her attention to the Passenger. “It reminds me of a warlord from home. Particularly nasty one. Was just thinking about how…funny of a coincidence that is.”

[buspassenger]

“You’re no less nasty than I am - what makes you so sure this Cybertronian warlord doesn’t ring as clearly in your actions as mine? Still, it’s a design that long became irrelevant. The plans for drone systems fell through due to the sheer hassle of figuring out how to give them access to a separate hardlight reactor. It was granted a mercy I presume this warlord of yours was not - its core idea was repurposed for other, more practical uses.” With that, she flips the blade into a reversed grip and casually tosses it into one of the piles of swords around the room.

[busdriverwithagun]

She eyes the sword pile briefly, giving it a flat stare.

She rolls her eyes while mumbling to herself. “You and your ‘pragmatism’.”

She clears her throat as she spins on her heels.

“So. Anything else you want of me? Because I’ve got no plans outside of complaining about your weapon design process.”

[buspassenger]

"While I'd love to listen to you complain about random nonsense all day long," she deadpans, seeming to not realize that deadpan sarcasm works a bit worse if every word out of your mouth is the deadest a pan has ever been, "I do actually have some use for that empty schedule of yours. Believe me, it's a better use of your time than crawling through vents or trying to drown your sorrows alongside your liver."

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head, raises her eyebrows.

She's listening.

[buspassenger]

"You remember our prior meeting, I'm sure- we need more members for that operation, and I have one in mind. A man by the name of Time, currently stranded in space. Your place here is simple- make him an offer he can't refuse, passage back home in exchange for his participation. Once he agrees, return. I'll take it from there."

"I presume none of that will be difficult for you."

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head.

“More about your response to said tangent, but let’s go with that.”

[buspassenger]

“Fine, then. Honestly, I find your inability to grasp simple reasoning fascinating - I’ll explain something clearly and concisely, and then you either act like it’s confusing, or go off on some insane tangent. That, or-” In one smooth motion, she reaches out her mechanical arm to the sword Gun was fixated on, creating a glowing tether between it and her hand, before sharply pulling it towards her- “muttering some inane nonsense to yourself. What is your fascination with this thing, anyways? It’s a prototype that didn’t work out, same as all the rest.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She cuts a glance towards the sword. She glares at it for a moment, before closing her eyes again.

She returns her attention to the Passenger. “It reminds me of a warlord from home. Particularly nasty one. Was just thinking about how…funny of a coincidence that is.”

[buspassenger]

“You’re no less nasty than I am - what makes you so sure this Cybertronian warlord doesn’t ring as clearly in your actions as mine? Still, it’s a design that long became irrelevant. The plans for drone systems fell through due to the sheer hassle of figuring out how to give them access to a separate hardlight reactor. It was granted a mercy I presume this warlord of yours was not - its core idea was repurposed for other, more practical uses.” With that, she flips the blade into a reversed grip and casually tosses it into one of the piles of swords around the room.

[busdriverwithagun]

She eyes the sword pile briefly, giving it a flat stare.

She rolls her eyes while mumbling to herself. “You and your ‘pragmatism’.”

She clears her throat as she spins on her heels.

“So. Anything else you want of me? Because I’ve got no plans outside of complaining about your weapon design process.”

[buspassenger]

"While I'd love to listen to you complain about random nonsense all day long," she deadpans, seeming to not realize that deadpan sarcasm works a bit worse if every word out of your mouth is the deadest a pan has ever been, "I do actually have some use for that empty schedule of yours. Believe me, it's a better use of your time than crawling through vents or trying to drown your sorrows alongside your liver."

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head.

“More about your response to said tangent, but let’s go with that.”

[buspassenger]

“Fine, then. Honestly, I find your inability to grasp simple reasoning fascinating - I’ll explain something clearly and concisely, and then you either act like it’s confusing, or go off on some insane tangent. That, or-” In one smooth motion, she reaches out her mechanical arm to the sword Gun was fixated on, creating a glowing tether between it and her hand, before sharply pulling it towards her- “muttering some inane nonsense to yourself. What is your fascination with this thing, anyways? It’s a prototype that didn’t work out, same as all the rest.”

[busdriverwithagun]

She cuts a glance towards the sword. She glares at it for a moment, before closing her eyes again.

She returns her attention to the Passenger. “It reminds me of a warlord from home. Particularly nasty one. Was just thinking about how…funny of a coincidence that is.”

[buspassenger]

“You’re no less nasty than I am - what makes you so sure this Cybertronian warlord doesn’t ring as clearly in your actions as mine? Still, it’s a design that long became irrelevant. The plans for drone systems fell through due to the sheer hassle of figuring out how to give them access to a separate hardlight reactor. It was granted a mercy I presume this warlord of yours was not - its core idea was repurposed for other, more practical uses.” With that, she flips the blade into a reversed grip and casually tosses it into one of the piles of swords around the room.

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She tilts her head.

“More about your response to said tangent, but let’s go with that.”

[buspassenger]

“Fine, then. Honestly, I find your inability to grasp simple reasoning fascinating - I’ll explain something clearly and concisely, and then you either act like it’s confusing, or go off on some insane tangent. That, or-” In one smooth motion, she reaches out her mechanical arm to the sword Gun was fixated on, creating a glowing tether between it and her hand, before sharply pulling it towards her- “muttering some inane nonsense to yourself. What is your fascination with this thing, anyways? It’s a prototype that didn’t work out, same as all the rest.”

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[busdriverwithagun]

She stares at silver and purple blade a moment longer, before shutting her eyes.

She turns towards the Passenger, folding her arms behind her back.

As she opens her eyes again, they are narrowed—hiding the shine in her eyes.

[buspassenger]

The passenger was no longer shrouded in darkness, revealing- well, actually, very little. Her odd wing-panels were missing, but that could probably have been assumed before from the absence of their dim glow. Her stupidly beautiful face betrays only the slightest hint of annoyance. "Thank you. Now, where were we? You were going off on some tangent about cigarettes, I believe?"

[buspassenger]

Darude sandstorm starts playing from the walls.

This ticks off BP's fuckery-sense, by which i mean she already knows exactly what is about to happen.

This is mostly because she can very easily see your thermal signature through the walls.

"Wait, is me being able to see through walls even a consistent thing? It feels like you just did that for the bit." Yes. Yes I did.

[busdriverwithagun]

Technically speaking, Guns signature would barely be distinct from the wall.

It seems we’re both fucking around a bit here.

[buspassenger]

Are you arguing with my fucking narration? Is that seriously what we're doing here?

[busdriverwithagun]

What? No, I’m committing to it.

I started this with Darude Sandstorm. I’m going for silly shit here.

[buspassenger]

Look, I'm trying to do this and raid at the same time, I do Not have the patience for you to start arguing technical semantics of the-

"Are you two going to be done bickering any time soon? I'm trying to work here."

[busdriverwithagun]

“And I’m trying to piss off a catgirl with rave music.

You fucking mind?”

[buspassenger]

Can you two PLEASE stop interrupting? We're trying to have a discussion here.

"Honestly, I've lost track of who's even talking to who. Can we just get on with whatever you've decided is happening now?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Fine. Killjoy. “Love of god…”

[buspassenger]

"Can we just get on with whatever you're here for? I'm a busy woman, I don't have all day to sit around and chat."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Oh! Yes yes, of course.”

The Darude Sandstorm playing from the walls increases in volume.

The glass in the scope of the Passengers Kraber shatters.

[buspassenger]

...Wait, does she even still have that?

"I'm not stupid enough to discard weaponry that could still be repurposed. Ripped out the rifling for other prototypes a while back." Good call.

[busdriverwithagun]

But. But that sound was loud enough to break glass.

And she has four ears! How the hell does she shake that off like it’s-

“Bigger problems at that moment.”

Right. Sorry. Refocusing.

Gun crawls forward in the ceiling ventilation pipe.

[buspassenger]

Hey wait, arguing with the narration is my gimmick! That's it, I'm calling my legal team.

"What are you even here for, Gun? Just to piss me off? Go bother somebody else- I have better things to be doing."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Well if I tell you what I plan to steal, you’d be able to properly protect it. What’s the fun in that?”

[buspassenger]

"One would imagine that stealing something would require any attempt at stealth. If this is your idea of subtlety, I may not have any need for you after all."

[busdriverwithagun]

“Need for me? Are you interpreting this theft attempt as me handing in a résumé?”

As Gun says this, she tapes something to the inside of the vent she’s in.

[buspassenger]

"I'm sure we both remember our deal.

"Still, this is quite a departure from trying to find some damp corner of the world to drink yourself to death in- I can only presume you wanted some practice before the big day. That, or you ran out of money to blow on cheap booze and decided to do something really stupid."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun rolls her eyes. She continues crawling forward, drawing a wire from the device she taped to the wall.

“You really don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing down here, do you?”

She tapes another thingus to the wall. She plugs the wire she’s holding into it.

[buspassenger]

“Well, at least actively suicidal is a change from just useless.” Cigarette smoke drifts up into the vents ahead of you. “Still, finding a replacement for you would be a hassle. Don’t make me.”

[busdriverwithagun]

“I just started installing a forcefield system in your ventilation system, for no other reason than my incredible kindness.

And the only thanks I get is smoke in my face. Hm.”

She mumbles under her breath,

“It’s not like you could ever hope to replace me anyhow. Shithead.”

[buspassenger]

“Kindness? Don’t make me laugh- we both know you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t play the hero when you do the public service of killing yourself.” GIRL WHAT

[busdriverwithagun]

“The fuck makes you think me committing suicide is a question of when? You think after all the shit I’ve done, I’d chicken out with a bullet to the head?”

She snorts as she tapes another thingus to the wall.

“Do you even know why I started drinking, Passenger?”

[buspassenger]

"You would rather drown in your sorrow than actually make a difference. Don't worry, I know well you wouldn't go down that easy- it's not enough just to die, you have to die for something, don't you?

"A cause worth dying for, some bullshit redemption- you still hunger for it, don't you? So you find yourself here, in the stronghold of the second most dangerous woman on the planet, practically taunting her to kill you.

"Oh, but this conversation is one to be had face-to-face, isn't it? Here, let me fix that for you." The vent ahead of you erupts in rippling purple shadow, as an arm cloaked in black reaches through, dragging you into the portal in an instant.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun resists the urge to pry the Passengers fingers from her coat. She puts her arms behind her back, in an attempt to hide her nerves.

“Well, it seems like someone’s projecting her hero complex.”

She smirks.

Her eyes flick down to the Passengers clenched hand.

[buspassenger]

It’s a new arm, she thinks- forged of some lavender steel, elegant spikes protruding from every sharp corner. Shadows pool in Ascalon’s intricate engravings, some form of dark energy like venom on its claws. “Oh please. We both know I’m no hero here- no valiant martyr going down in flames- and neither are you. But please, take a seat.” With naught but a flick of her mechanized wrist, she tosses Gun aside, once more cloaked in shadow. How the fuck does she do that? Seriously, I just do that for dramatic effect and framing but it makes no sense in universe, does this motherfucker control the lighting engine of the BDU or some shit?

 “So you try to die doing the right thing, as if it’ll bring you some absolution in death? No absolution awaits us, no righteous forgiveness in death- our doom is already written in the pages of reality, a script waiting to be read. All we can hope for is to bring the light of a new tomorrow.”

[busdriverwithagun]

Guns smirk disappeared with the Passengers speech.

She simply watches the swirling shadows that form the Passenger with her glowing eyes of indigo.

[buspassenger]

"What? Out of petty insults, pithy remarks to bite back with? Your fangs grow dull, yet they still remain. A sharp blade is no blessing, yet it cannot do any good to anyone when dulled. Tell me, then- what would you hope to protect?" girl you sound like gauis van baelsar

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun glances at the Passengers lavender steel arm. At its spikes, it’s engravings, it’s shadows.

She raises her head and looks into the Passengers eyes. Their purple pupils don’t reflect the glowing indigo of Guns eyes.

As she mumbles “who would I protect…” to herself, her eyes glow brighter.

“Honestly, Passenger? I’d hope to protect you.

Both the person you were and the person you’ve become.”

[buspassenger]

She is visibly taken aback by this, before in a moment she regains her composure. "...I can protect myself just fine. There is naught you would protect me from I could not deal with myself."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun tilts her head.

“Like that cigarette in your mouth? The nicotine addiction you’re doing a perfect job of handling by yourself?”

[buspassenger]

"You think this shit even works on me? Besides, you're one to talk."

"Listen. Find something worth protecting- no matter what that is, no matter who. Never forget what you fight for- or you'll end up lost in the blood you spill, blinded by the red in your eyes."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun keeps looking into the Passengers eyes.

“Right”.

[buspassenger]

“I almost expected you to be more talkative. A foolishly bold declaration one moment, then nigh silence the next? That’s not the Gun I have on file, I know that much - so what the hell’s on here? You just waiting for a moment to slip away, or something?” girl i feel ya how the hell am i supposed to write around this.

[busdriverwithagun]

LISTEN I was TIRED—

“Shush.” Did you— did you just wave off the fucking middle distance? Young lady, I’ll hav—

“Not young, not a lady, and not listening to you.”

Rude.

Gun looks back to the Passenger.

“Do you realize that the Gun you have on file is one of about, like, six? Different names, hair colors, nationalities, addictions, all of that.

All of those addictions were real. I modified my body in such a way so that I could get high or stoned or drunk or whatever the fuck off of all the stuff I consumed.

When I first arrived on Earth, I smoked. I was stuck in the gutter with the dying soldiers and I didn’t want to stand out. I made it so I could feel the nicotine because I was paranoid of being caught faking it. Once I started feeling it, I started enjoying it—and once I started enjoying it, I couldn’t stop smoking.

Eventually, I went from being famous to infamous, and I had to become someone else. And to do that, I had to quit the cigar. It was my callmark.

Wherever Splint went, cigar smoke trailed behind zem. And to crush that cigar under my boot set my mind on fire. So I turned to crack, tried to distract myself from the withdrawal.

The crack became my callmark, which meant I had to leave it behind with Sheath. Replaced that with Dragons Blood, had to replace the Blood with Heroin, the Heroin with Plutiece, the Plutiece with Uranium, and so on and so on.”

Gun, is there a point to this monologue? One that’s coming up soon?

“My point here is that these addictions were more than just PR. They were my life. They were something I couldn’t cope with getting rid of.

That assessment of drowning in my sorrows? Completely right. I’ve been hiding from all my shit for as long as I can remember.”

Gun takes a small step towards the Passenger.

“And that’s what makes me curious about that.”

She points at the Passengers cigarette.

“You don’t hide from withdrawal and you don’t use withdrawal to hide from something else, since you have never experienced withdrawal. You always stand in shadow and barely talk with people, so it’s probably not a publicity thing. You don’t seem insecure about it, since you didn’t explain or defend it.”

She takes another step forward, still pointing at the cigarette.

“Truth be told, I am puzzled—truly perplexed—as to why in the fuck you smoke.”

[buspassenger]

The passenger has been giving Gun increasingly baffled looks as the monologue went on.

"So, I take it everything I said has gone in one ear and out the other, in favor of... some stupid fucking tangent about cigarettes? If you want an answer that drakedamn badly, I'll give it to you." She takes the cigarette out of her mouth, blowing out a cloud of burnished smoke before crushing it in Ascalon's claw.

Naught save ash remains when she opens her palm. "The answer's dead simple: it's a convenient narrative device; an allegory for my own existence as a whole in a way- I don't feel the nicotine, no withdrawal, no addiction. Tell me, if you can't feel any of the hit, what do cigarettes even do? Just kill you slowly. Of course, that part gets cancelled out too- you should be able to figure out the rest of the whole thing, it's pretty obvious- the floodlights of the theatre are not very subtle."

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun gives the Passenger a baffled look.

“The. The floodlights of the theatre? How the fuck is that related to cigarettes? How the fuck is that related to fucking ANYTHING?

What? What, you’re the floodlights? The source of light in this world that brings the stage into perfect clarity? The pure tool of vision or whatever the fuck that makes the smallest drops of blood shine with the iridescence of a ruby?

Or are you in the theatre with the floodlights? Are you the prefect hero inspiring everyone in the audience? The monstrous villain that scares them into complete silence? The flawed protagonist that makes them tilt their heads in fascination? The three dimensional antagonist that brings tears to their eyes? Are you the stage tech behind the floodlights? The electrical current traveling through the electrical system the floodlights are connected to? The dust floating in the air in front of the floodlights? The lightbulb? The glass panel? The metal? The chairs, the carpeted floor, the motherfucking HANDRAIL?

WHAT, in the name of WHATEVER GOD YOU BRING SHAME TO, are you SAYING, Passenger? What point or metaphor or lesson or WHATEVER THE SHIT are you trying to communicate here?”

Gun holds her hands out in a dramatic pose of expectance.

[buspassenger]

"...Are we seriously... You know what a metaphor is, right? How could we be aught but the performers, the tragedians of our own fate? You know just as well as I what I speak of, hear her voice just as clear- do you just not understand the writing on the wall?" girl just let it go

"No matter- you want a simple fucking answer? Spite. Spite of god and fate alike, though it does nothing to change either. Is that satisfying, can we move on already?"

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun’s hand shakes.

She tilts her head back, breathing deeply. She’s closed her eyes. She raises her shaking hand closer to her face, closing it into a fist.

Through clenched teeth, she mumbles to herself,

“Of ALL the fucking ways to impersonate him…”

[buspassenger]

"...I shall not even dignify that with a request for elaboration." Her head cocks to the side slightly, Gun thinks. Maybe a trick of the lack of light. "I have matters to attend to. I shall not be long- don't touch anything." She less suddenly disappears and more dims what little light she emitted until she was either cloaked in pitch darkness or gone entirely, only revealed as the latter when the light returned to functioning how it should, rather than bowing to the needs of framing.

This is, somehow, the first time Gun realizes the room she's in is full of fucking weaponry. Especially swords. Who needs that many half finished swords.

[busdriverwithagun]

Gun stares at the swords on the wall.

She points her clenched fist at one of the swords— a simple silver blade, with a dark purple accent.

She raises her arm back towards her face. She points it back towards the wall.

She raises it.

She lowers it.

She raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it. Raises it. Lowers it.

Her eyes glow bright enough to make the sword appear blue.

[buspassenger]

The room has been silent for fifteen minutes, leaving Gun utterly alone in her thoughts. It almost becomes comforting, until it is cut through by the whisper-quiet sound of boots on hard metal, out of Gun's sight.

"Well, I'm impressed- you managed to not break anything in my absence. Mind turning down the light show before I do it for you?"

[buspassenger]

[Sigh] Alright, fine. What did you want? (And any idea how to get me out of this mess?) - @averagebusdriver

"I'll keep this simple- I really don't have long. GBI will burn. The only question is, will you be the one striking the match, or the one going down with the ship?" holy shit girl i forgot you just fucking talk like that

[averagebusdriver]

English, please. Do you think I have the energy to figure out what the hell you're talking about?

[buspassenger]

"Help me kill your boss, or you'll probably die. That simple enough for you?"

[averagebusdriver]

That'll do. Sure, why not. I'll help you out. Like I have a choice, anyways.

[buspassenger]

"Making the right choice really is that easy. Catch." She tosses a pair of keys on a carabiner and a small radio to Average. Looking closer, there is a specific frequency written on a sticky note on the radio. "If you need someplace to stay where GBI can't find you, floor 23, first door on the left. When you hear the transmission on that frequency, listen to it and get moving."

"Now, if you'll excuse me," she concludes, slowly walking away, "I have to go make sure a certain idiot hasn't set anything on fire." With that, she disappears into a dark corridor.

[buspassenger]

[Sigh] Alright, fine. What did you want? (And any idea how to get me out of this mess?) - @averagebusdriver

"I'll keep this simple- I really don't have long. GBI will burn. The only question is, will you be the one striking the match, or the one going down with the ship?" holy shit girl i forgot you just fucking talk like that

[averagebusdriver]

English, please. Do you think I have the energy to figure out what the hell you're talking about?

[buspassenger]

"Help me kill your boss, or you'll probably die. That simple enough for you?"

[buspassenger]

meow

"...This may as well be happening."