Book Five, Chapters 69 and 70

The next Post is on Tuesday instead of Monday.

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When I awoke, I found myself tied to a chair inside the main hallway of the manor.

At first, I was groggy and didn’t understand what was going on, but as I came to my senses, the horror of what had just happened took over me.

The relief that we were still in the storyline—that we were still alive—was little solace. We were still at the very beginning of the Party Phase; this was just the setup for the story.

I looked around at the others. They were tied to chairs the same as me, and the thick ropes used to bind us did not look like the kind you could cut through quickly, and certainly not the kind you could muscle your way out of without a lot of Mettle.

Heck, it was possible that this whole event was scripted so tightly that it couldn't be avoided, but I wasn't sure. I couldn't see the script, and our only ally with access to it had not made her appearance yet.

Kimberly was panicking—or pretending to panic; I couldn't tell which. Antoine and Michael were trying to break the ropes with pure strength, to no avail. Hawk Kipling was awake but kept his cool. Andrew was trying to reach the knot in the ropes behind him, but he had no success.

I wished that I had brought my Escape Artist trope, but I suspected that it wouldn't matter just yet. We were Off-Screen. I doubted any of us were getting out of our bindings unless the audience saw it.

So, I relaxed.

"This looks scripted," I said. "I don’t know what’s going to happen, but keep your wits."

"How do you know this isn’t a game over?" Antoine asked.

I didn’t, but if it was, there was no use in panicking just yet. In my experience, emotions like that had a way of gaining momentum, so it was best to delay them as long as you could.

It wasn’t much longer after I woke up that our host, Egan Kirst, entered the room.

On-Screen.

We screamed at him and yelled to be let go, and all of it was useless, but we had to say something. He ignored us as he went into his monologue.

"I suspect you're wondering why it is that I called you here, although you are probably more worried about why it is that I gassed you and tied you up. So, I’ll make you a promise: from this point forward, I will not lie to you. Of course, I don’t expect you to believe me, but it is true. I need you to know the facts so that I can best utilize your skill sets.”

He walked toward us slowly, with no trace of emotion on his face.

"Three and a half weeks ago, if you had told me that werewolves existed, I would have laughed in your face. Oh, how jealous I am of my past ignorance. I digress… As a man of means, I’ve been able to give those I love everything they have ever asked for. And last month, my son asked to take a trip here to Carousel for a camping experience that he said would be like no other. It had a brochure and everything. I would never deny him his happiness; after all, one day, he’s going to need something to think back to when he’s sitting behind a desk making adult decisions, wouldn’t you say?"

He paused as if we were going to respond in kind.

None of us responded. Perhaps we should have, but the truth was, even though all of this was a show, there definitely was an aura of fear in the room because none of us knew what to expect, and we desperately wanted there to be good news somewhere buried inside his exposition.

"Well, it would seem that on that camping trip, my son and his friends were attacked by creatures that could not exist—werewolves. If I had not seen him transform after acquiring the curse, I would never believe it, but I have seen it. In the ensuing weeks, I have gone from someone who did not believe in werewolves to someone who knows everything there is to know—except for how to catch one. No, it would seem that such knowledge is passed down from hunter to hunter and is written about rarely in the texts I was able to acquire. For much of human history, the idea of purposefully going out and finding werewolves would have been seen as folly. But here you are, hunters of the howling shadows, defying all logic and common sense. I believe that you have the abilities and knowledge required to help me."

"So hire us," Hawk said. "Cut it out with all the theatrics. Give us money, and we will do the thing we do for a living. Why are you overcomplicating it?"

Kirst walked around us in slow circles, occasionally weaving in between us to examine our faces.

"I know the nature of men and the nature of tradesmen more so. And I know that no amount of money could ever buy a man’s entire heart, his entire mind. At most, you get 50%. The rest is saved because, in truth, the employee always resents his employer, and he will either subconsciously or purposefully withhold his true potential."

"What are you talking about?" Antoine asked. "Your kid got bit by the curse, and you want us to kill the pack leader. That’s what we do for a living. 50%, 100%—it doesn’t matter. A dead wolf is a dead wolf. In the heat of the hunt, we will do what it takes to survive."

"Yes, a dead wolf is a dead wolf. Unless that wolf is twice as large as any other and is able to shift in daylight."

That comment sucked the air out of the room. I didn’t have the complete account of the lore because my character was, in many ways, an outsider—not a true hunter, but someone who had stumbled into the world of the paranormal.

From the videos I had watched, I knew enough to know that being able to shift in daylight was a sign of a very old, mature wolf and that the size of a werewolf was determined by its age and rank in the pack, not only by the size of its human form.

"Sounds like you got quite the wolf problem," Hawk said. "But all the same, I’ve killed old wolves and young wolves. Ain’t no matter. Just pay me my money and untie me, damn it."

"It isn’t quite that simple," Kirst said. "I already tried that. Finding a hunter was one of the first things that I did. You see, I don’t lack for resources, and it took me almost no time to discover the secret underworld of paranormal investigation. In fact, I had purchased this estate within a week in hopes that it might hold clues to the curse. Money gets people talking; curiosity gets them talking faster. As tight-lipped as you hunters are, you sure like talking when people believe you. I found a gentleman that liked to talk. He had a scar on the right side of his face and said that he could take care of my problem easily. I sent him and four of my men into the woods to hunt down and kill whatever pack of wolves was terrorizing Carousel, and that was the last I saw of them. You see, he took one look at our wolf infestation and hightailed it out of the state. I found out about his departure by post. My men were nowhere to be found."

"A scar on his face?" Antoine said. "You’re not talking about Tin Gun McAdoo, are you?"

"Patrick McAdoo," Kirst asked.

Antoine started to laugh, as did Hawk Kipling.

“Well, there’s your problem,” Hawk said. “Tin Gun McAdoo is a bottom feeder more concerned with his brand than he is with the hunt. I wouldn’t be surprised if he saw more than a few wolves and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Let me guess—you paid him up front?”

Egan Kirst lost all semblance of amusement or warmth from his face. He didn’t like being mocked.

“I suspected as much when he tucked his tail between his legs,” Kirst said. “I suppose I’ve learned a lesson about your industry—that when there are fewer than 100 people with a skill set, it can be difficult to find good help. Well, I’ve learned my lesson and learned it well, which is why I decided that money was not enough. You needed better motivation to give me the 100% that I’m paying for.”

Antoine and Hawk stopped laughing.

“And I will pay you,” Kirst said. “I am a man of my word, so here is my offer: you kill the pack leader who turned my son and his girlfriend into monsters before the setting of the last full moon of the cycle, and I will give each of you a million dollars. Do I have your attention now? Mock me all you want, but money always seems to quiet contempt. And as my insurance—” he said, reaching into his pocket, withdrawing five small capsules, and showing them to us.

A close inspection revealed that they were syringes. They almost appeared designed to go on the end of a dart gun, but they had not been fully assembled. They were filled with a liquid that wasn’t quite clear, almost like bleach.

“No,” Hawk said. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“Is that what I think it is?” Antoine asked.

“Oh yes,” Kirst said. “The werewolf curse spreads by saliva in the bloodstream. The way I see it, this will ensure your full participation. What is it they say? That you don’t truly care unless you have skin in the game? And you do. Or at least, you will soon.”

“No!” Antoine screamed. “I’ll do anything, just not that! Please, I’ll kill that thing—don’t stick me with that needle, please, no!”

At the sound of his screams, five commandos came from the same direction that Kirst had. They each got behind one of us as we were strapped to our chairs and held us down as we tried to squirm free.

These commandos were no joke. Like Kirst, they were NPCs with high plot armor—25 apiece. This was going to be a high-octane story if the side characters were going to be that strong.

Hawk was the first to get injected. He fought as hard as he could, but at the end of the day, there was just nothing we could do.

These commandos must have been all Mettle. They certainly didn’t need Savvy or Moxie, and I half expected that their Grit would be low so that they could act as meat shields or cannon fodder. All 25 of those stat points were put into making them strong enough to hold us down, no matter what we did.

A simple injection in the arm was all it took. First Hawk, then Kimberly, who screamed and cried and put on a good show—though for what might have been the first time, she was shown up by Antoine.

He desperately did not want to get that injection, and it made a lot of sense for his character. His own brother had been turned into a werewolf. He fought as best he could, but at the end of the day, there was nothing to be done.

“Don’t you come near me with that thing!” he screamed. “You think you can just do this to a person and we’re going to forgive you because of money or because we feel sorry for you—your poor son? Money, no money, infection, no infection—you’re on my list.”

Kirst didn’t seem angry at that comment. He must have anticipated it or even respected it.

“If those be the consequences,” he said, “then I’ll take them. If you were a father, you would understand.”

He injected Antoine, and that was that. Antoine continued to scream, but there was nothing to be done. His rage meant nothing.

Michael was stoic as he was infected.

So, I had to decide. Did I get emotional like Antoine or Kimberly, or did I look Kirst dead in the eye like a man?

I chose a bit of both, but it wasn’t because I was afraid of the werewolf curse. I just had a thing with needles after being experimented on during the tutorial. I closed my eyes and let it happen.

After he was done, Kirst took a few steps back and said, “Now, I have your loyalty until the job is done. As I’m sure you’re aware, werewolf saliva is not potent. Most who are bitten will never change. The odds are about one in four, but you’ll never know whether you have succumbed to the curse until the final full moon of the cycle. So until that happens, I expect nothing but 100% of your efforts in tracking down and killing this beast. In the meantime, I will supply you with unlimited resources—hundreds of pounds of silver that can be molded into any sort of weapon you think might be useful, wolfsbane by the bushel, guns, and several dozen highly trained mercenaries at your command.

“We have a week and some change. If we succeed in killing the pack leader, you will get the agreed-upon sum, and you will have every opportunity to murder me if that’s what you wish. But all I ask is that until we have the job done, we work together. You need me as much as I need you. The forest is crowded with wolves.”

He turned to his commandos and said, “Untie them. We have work to do.”

And so, each of the commandos undid the ropes that bound us.

Antoine put on a show of mean-mugging Kirst but didn’t attack him because the man was right—we did need him.

“Now, follow me. I’d like you to meet my son,” Kirst said.

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"I don't know why he brought me," I said as we walked down the stairs into the basement. "The only thing I can shoot those wolves with is a camera."

Maybe a bad time for a joke, but I wanted to establish that my character was not prone to become emotional or to lose his cool. That was an important part of setting up Oblivious Bystander, among other things.

The stairs and the basement were lit with lanterns like everything else, and as we went down, I started to smell them. It smelled like wet dog.

Before long, we followed the corridor to a large clearing that appeared as if it had been hollowed out of pure rock, like a cave system more than a basement. In the center of that clearing were two cages of thick iron bars, about the size of jail cells.

In those cages were two people—a man and a woman wearing hospital scrubs with claw marks in them.

When they looked over at us, they were shocked to see us—or, to be more exact, they were shocked to see Andrew and Michael.

Something I hadn't anticipated had happened.

As I looked at them on the red wallpaper, I noticed that the tall blonde man and the short redheaded woman were Logan and Avery—not NPCs acting as surrogates, but the actual players. Their plot armor was set to 0, and they had no tropes equipped, but it definitely appeared to be them.

Luckily, they were aware enough of their situation that they didn't break character, given that we were On-Screen. But I could see immediately that they knew what was happening. They must have been so confused because they weren't aware that Rescue tropes existed again.

"Logan," Kirst said, "here comes the cavalry. The best paranormal investigators and monster hunters money could buy."

"You've got them in a cage down here?" Hawk said. "I suppose this is where you got the werewolf saliva. I half expected they were out there roaming in the wild."

"No, not for long," Kirst said. "The first thing Logan did after realizing his affliction was call me."

"That's a rare amount of trust," Hawk said. "Most newly turned wolves abandon their lives completely and get killed hunting cows if they don’t find their pack soon enough. They're too ashamed or too uninterested in returning."

"Of course he wants to return," I said. "He's a rich kid; he doesn't want to be a vagabond by day, dog by night."

"He returned because he knows his father loves him," Kirst said, "and that I would do anything for him."

"How much longer do I have before it's permanent?" Logan asked. "It's hard to remember."

"That's okay, son," Kirst said. "The werewolf infection has a way of confusing a new host. We'll get you fixed. We have plenty of time. Everything will be okay."

He got genuinely emotional. Must have had high Moxie or something.

"I can feel it coming," Avery said. "The moon's about to come up, isn't it?"

"Yes, dear girl," Kirst said. "Don't you fret. We will rid you of this curse."

As she mentioned the moon was about to rise, I became hyper-aware that there was a possibility I was infected. Kirst said there was a one-in-four chance of being turned, and the Infected light on my status bar seemed to reflect that, blinking slowly about every four seconds.

But that got me thinking—if it was almost nighttime and he had just infected us, shouldn't we be locked in cages too? And wouldn't it be awfully inconvenient to try to hunt werewolves when you turned into one at night?

I didn't want to ask those questions On-Screen because that would make my character look like an idiot who was not experienced.

Luckily, Hawk did an explainer a few minutes later On-Screen that covered all of that. Kirst had stepped out.

"Odds are only one of us is going to transform, and even then, I doubt any of us start showing signs until the latter part of the week. Fast transformations only happen when you're injured, and the greater the injury, the faster they happen. It's like the werewolf in you has to slowly replace the rest of you. With us, we weren't injured, so the replacement will be slow. Heck, it may be a whole other cycle before we fully transform. I expect Logan and Avery here weren't just pricked with a little needle of werewolf saliva."

Logan shook his head. "They ate my heart," he said.

"That'll do it. That's why werewolves go for the internal organs. They don't just like the taste; if their victim ends up catching the curse, they might even transform that night. Just a little prick of saliva? I'm not sure how long it'll take us."

"What do you think the odds are that there was no saliva and no syringes?" I asked. "We'd never know—not if we get the job done."

"I don't think you understand the kind of man we're dealing with," Hawk said. "A man like that isn’t going to cut corners. Now, let's stop talking. We don’t want to antagonize these two. If my estimate is right, we're about to see the enemy."

And his estimate was right.

As we stood there, backed against the wall as far away from those cages as we could get, Logan and Avery started screaming in pain.

It was strange—they didn’t sprout ears or a tail immediately. No, the wind started to blow through the cavern of the basement, and the lanterns around us began to flicker until only the biggest one was still lit.

There was no mistaking it: these werewolves were magical. Why else would the wind come to greet them as they transformed?

The large lantern flickered, and as it did, the room would grow dark, and we would watch them transform one little burst of light at a time.

First, the arms lengthened. I could hear the bones stretching. Then the body started to grow larger. It was hard for me to tell exactly what was happening as they began to sprout fur in patches sporadically with each flicker of the light.

One flicker of the light, and suddenly they had a snout—not quite a full wolf snout.

Another flicker, and finally their heads were completely replaced with those of wolves, and their cries turned to howls.

Another flicker, and the long-armed wolves stood before us, almost identical, with only the slightest difference in the shade of gray to tell them apart. Logan's fur had a slight lightness, possibly thanks to his blonde hair, whereas Avery's had just a hint of auburn.

I expected it would be harder to tell them apart when mixed with other wolves. The only real difference, other than the slight variation in fur shade, was the slight sexual dimorphism: Avery kept whatever curves she had, and Logan’s torso was triangular in shape, like he’d been hitting the gym his whole life.

And then, as they shifted from player to enemy, I could finally see their enemy tropes on the red wallpaper. Thanks to their nonexistent plot armor, I could see all of their tropes, which was quite useful.

WEREWOLF

PLOT ARMOR: 0

TROPES

QUICK CHANGE ARTIST: This villain can change into and out of their disguise without being seen or getting caught.

HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT: This villain cannot be attacked On-Screen until it attacks the player or is otherwise identified as hostile. Attacking it will not be effective, nor will it change the story. It will cause the player to go Off-Screen for a time.

STOP MOTION TRANSFORMATION: This creature transforms in phases, with each phase becoming more monstrous. Each phase occurs out of frame and out of sight.

SILVER BULLET: This monster has a weakness specific to them that renders them dead or vulnerable.

JOIN US: This enemy has some means of increasing its numbers through conversion.

EVERYONE IS A SUSPECT: No characters or players will have an alibi for the murders occurring before the finale.

REPRESS AND DENY: This villain will not remember their evil deeds and will adamantly deny any accusations until confronted with undeniable proof On-Screen.

FATAL ATTRACTION: This creature is prone to romantic obsession, displaying an intense and often destructive allure.

OTHERWISE IMPERVIOUS: This creature regenerates from all damage, recovering quickly from any wound that isn't inflicted by its unique mortal weakness.

PARANORMAL HIERARCHY: This creature’s effective Plot Armor is determined by its rank on the chain of command regardless of base Plot Armor.

ANIMALS ARE PSYCHIC: The villain demonstrates knowledge that it has no logical means to acquire, an instinct to kill or survive.

TIDY MONSTER: This villain inexplicably becomes clean and almost free of evidence of their violent acts by the time they are next On-Screen, making them harder to identify.

PATIENT HUNTER: This villain avoids attacking the entire group at once until Second Blood, choosing instead to pick off members one by one.

OCCASIONAL CONTAGION: This villain's infection is not guaranteed to take hold; victims remain in suspense until the reveal, which depends on the needs of the story.

CLIMACTIC IMPERATIVE: This villain can only be defeated at the zenith of a conflict or interaction, requiring a dramatic, pivotal confrontation or clever trap rather than being easily dispatched or overwhelmed with conventional means despite all logic.

CAROUSEL’S UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE: This villain's lore and weaknesses only become true once they are discovered, but if they are contradicted On-Screen before being revealed, the lore shifts and is no longer valid.

SHIFTING PROTAGONIST: The role of the protagonist shifts between different characters throughout the story, maintaining suspense and unpredictability until a single main hero is solidified during the finale.

At first glance, it became clear that their tropes weren't just monster tropes; they had several that were usually used for masked killers and slashers. As the Atlas had forewarned, there was going to be a murder mystery element to these wolves as we tried to guess who killed whom.

As soon as we went Off-Screen, Antoine turned to us and said, “Four days, 11 hours, and 37 minutes.”

His Rescue trope gave him a timer, telling us how long we had to kill the pack leader, save Logan and Avery, and save ourselves.

I read their tropes off to my teammates, and we discussed them as we stared at the wolves, which banged against the bars of their cages, hoping for freedom.

We could see elements of the plot ahead of us inside of these tropes, but we could also see how terrifyingly difficult this fight was going to be. While they did have an absolute weakness to silver, their Climactic Imperative trope would nullify that advantage quite a bit.

It also appeared that researching the lore was of huge importance, as whatever additional weaknesses or mystical properties they may have would only be available to us if we found them—probably somewhere in the library that this abandoned old house most certainly had to have.

Finally, we got to the last trope of the lot: Shifting Protagonist. That one was interesting because it almost counteracted Kimberley’s Celebrity trope to give each of us a turn at being the main character.

I had to wonder what effect that might have.