Inner Sanctum Underground | 9:33 AM | ∞ Day

  Given how exhaustively grandiose the exercise I was signing up for would be considered by normal standards, I expected the process to be troublesome, but in fact it was incredibly straightforward. I messaged their resonator ID, had a five-minute interview where I was given a few basic questions about my familiarity with the genre and the according expectations, and that was it. They barely even interrogated my ability to act. I'd joined book clubs with more gatekeeping.

  I wasn't sure what to think about it. Either Neferuaten had pulled some strings for me without being asked, or they were so desperate for recruits they'd take anyone who expressed an interest. (If it was the latter, it didn't bode well for this not being the most embarrassing experience of my adult life.) After that, they'd sent me a lengthy set of instructions, which a day later had led me here to the Island, the third major landmass of the Crossroads that I'd spotted with Bardiya a week ago. It looked about the same up close as it had at a distance: A flat, sand-covered plain - likely intended to evoke a literal sandbox - dotted with bizarre structures, of which the one before me was no exception.

  ...well, I say that, but I guess it was pretty understated by the standards of the Dilmun. Towering, windowless and cube-shaped, it more or less resembled the Hall of Death physically, save for the fact that it was smaller and made out of wood instead of stone. It was still quite large, mind you, probably about the size of a city block or two, but it seemed obvious whoever had created it had wanted to avoid attracting any more curiosity than necessary. There weren't even any distinguishing marks, so the only reason I was sure this was the right place at all was the lot number, which was displayed at the head of a metal pole on the adjacent brick road.

  There was one door, so small and nondescript I missed it at first pass, situated at one of the corners. A small lamp was built into the frame. I approached.

  The guidelines were very specific. I was to approach the door while invisible (in my case using the Light-Warping Arcana, which I had never learned to cast without a scepter and thus had, to my considerable embarrassment, needed to ask Ptolema for help with) at my allotted time slot, then speak my participant number. It was 11:30.

  I approached, clearing my throat. "Eight," I said.

  A moment passed, then the lamp glowed red alongside a buzzing sound. I turned the handle and stepped forward.

  The door led into a small, plainly-decorated chamber that contained a sink, a full length mirror, a small cabinet, and a plush stool. As soon as I closed the door behind me, there was a thunk noise, and I felt elevator-like movement, except horizontal instead of vertical. A few seconds later, it stopped, and an androgynous voice rang out from a speaker overhead.

  "Please remove your invisibility and all other transmundane effects and have a seat," it said.

  Feeling no small amount of reticence, I did as instructed, though in fact the invisibility was the only thing I had to remove. Apparently it was standard practice in Dilmun to put an impenetrable barrier around one's skin at all times to avoid people screwing with you using the Power in public spaces, yet this was taken as such a given that no one had actually checked I'd done it up to this point.

  As I looked at myself in the mirror, the voice continued. "Please confirm when you're ready to have your form adjusted."

  I twitched. Gods, couldn't they at least use some kind of euphemism? Like 'assume your role' or something? Must they make this as weird as possible?

  I breathed in deeply. I had to remember this wasn't like the rest of Dilmun; it wasn't treating all life as if it were one big roleplay. No; this was literal roleplay. Though it was the province of the extremely wealthy, doing this kind of thing with proxy bodies wasn't even unheard of in the Remaining World nowadays. It was nothing but glorified improv theater with an inflated costume budget.

  And I'd got used to resetting. If the idea ended up being too weird, I could undo it and fly right back to the Valley whenever I wanted.

  So... it was fine. It was fine.

  This is totally not fine. This was a terrible idea.

  I clenched my teeth. "Do it," I said sharply.

  I'd been expecting more of a transformation, but in retrospect it made sense that it wouldn't be like that - they weren't reshaping my body specifically, after all, but just applying a template they'd presumably prepared beforehand. The world went dark for a single foreboding second, my senses disappearing, then returned before I even had a chance to process what was happening. A somewhat unpleasant tingle went through my limbs and up and down my spine.

  I'd been expecting it to be like-- Well, you don't need me to tell you what I'd expected it to be like. But it wasn't. There was no sense of physio-mental realignment, no shifts in perception or bodily control that I had to adjust to. Instead, it felt as though there was suddenly a thin - very thin, but perceptible - membrane between my mind and my body, 'translating' signals that would otherwise be misaligned.

  Actually, that makes it sound almost normal, which it was definitely not, so let me put it differently: It felt like I almost had two bodies at the same time. There was my normal one, which existed in a sort of formless, conceptual space, and also a second alien one that was programmed to mimic the other rather than being under my direct control. I commanded my phantom tongue to move, and a millisecond later its physical counterpart copied that movement, while accounting for its difference in shape and dimensions. I curled a finger, and the according finger curled differently.

  It was a deeply strange experience that was somehow both more and less disorienting than I'd been expecting, almost like I was controlling a puppet or playing an echo game. How this was all being facilitated was, of course, a complete mystery. I could only assume there was some kind of hyper-sophisticated neural interface at work that came with a body, so good at understanding human cognition that it could function entirely in one direction, doing all the heavy lifting while leaving my own mind completely untouched.

  As peculiar as it felt, it did provide another layer of remove from the situation, which was sort of comforting. This lasted approximately half a second, at which point my eyes stopped lulling towards the back of my head for long enough to look at my reflection.

  Ahh!

  The woman staring back at me - currently grimacing in shock - shared my rough build and apparent age, but there the similarities ended. She was Rhunbardic, with wide lips, blue eyes, and a thin, pointed nose. Her face - somewhere between oval and heart-shaped - was encircled by strawberry blonde hair in a slightly longer-than-average bob cut. She was dressed in a very antiquated looking dark blue stola, conservatively cut and wrought entirely of seamless, untied lengths of fabric. She was shorter than me; probably about 5'4.

  Seeing this face produced, again, a very different uncanny feeling to the one I used to get when experiencing pseudo-prosognostic stress. I felt an instinctive urge to wipe my face as it were over-caked in layers of makeup. I raised my hand (or rather, ordered to raise) in order to accomplish this; when I touched the skin, pulling it down away from the eye, I shivered instinctually.

  "The game will be starting in a few minutes," the voice informed me. "Your personal belongings are in the cupboard. A copy of the guidelines is also available if you'd like to review them as you get into character, though please remember to leave them behind as you enter the play area."

  And then it fell silent, leaving me to reflect on my new identity.

  Honestly, I'm playing this up a bit. Like, it wasn't that bad-- I'd known what was coming and, even though one could of course get all philosophical about the line between social performance and reality (as I had many times in the past), the fact that this was explicitly unreal helped a lot. In fact, it was probably part of why I'd gone along with this idea so readily. When the world around you is beset with ambiguous falsehood, explicit falsehood can become almost as much of a refuge as honesty. That's probably a not insignificant part of why fiction is appealing at a root level.

  It also just felt good to have a concrete goal that was in my wheelhouse. Impress a bunch of mystery fans! No matter what the circumstances were, how hard could it be? I'd read wheelbarrows worth of this slop.

  Still adjusting, I slowly pivoted away the/my body from the direction of the mirror towards the cabinet. Inside was a leather trunk, a purse that matched the color of my hair, and a sheet of parchment. Lifting it up, the text did indeed match what I'd been sent over the resonator. It read:

  GAME TITLE: THE MIMIC OF ZYTHIA

  [Duration: Short, Casual]

  Outline

  It is the year 713 COVENANT, in the Kingdom of Rhunbard. Rastag Mithraiossun, a retired railway entrepreneur, philanthropist, and prolific art collector has suddenly died at the relatively young age of 228. Having almost no direct relatives, he has stipulated that almost his entire remaining fortune is to be donated to the Lifeblood Foundation, an educational nonprofit set up by himself and his private business club, the Fellows of Hinshelwood Hall. However, an exception has been made for his art collection, which is to instead be partly passed down to a select group of close personal associates. You are on the list.

  For unclear reasons, the will stipulates that the collection's distribution may only take place on his private train, the Xerxes, as it travels the Viridian Abyss Line, the final railway route he commissioned at the end of his life. However, ill-rumor surrounds the circumstances of his death, and it is rumored the line itself may be cursed.

  The event is to take place over 28 hours, as the train travels from the Kingdom frontier town of Dakasu to Tonghuang at the Saoic border. Further information can be found in the expanded background section (pg7)

  Your Role

  You are Kasua Inarsduttar, a 37 year old economics graduate and heiress to a small glasswork company. You have been invited to the event because your mother, Mariya Sahrusduttar, was a member of the Fellows and a close friend of Rastag from when they were both in university. However, she herself died under mysterious circumstances ten years ago, found drowned at the bottom of a disused grain silo in the outskirts of Xattusa. While the authorities ruled the event a freak accident, you have long suspected foul play, as you know she suddenly distanced herself from the organization in the year prior and, one night, spoke of some kind of quarrel with Rastag specifically.

  While you are not outstandingly wealthy, you live comfortably and have no urgent need for money or interest in art. As a result, your primary reason for attending the event, even if you have perhaps not admitted it to yourself, is to fish for clues regarding her death. You do not intend to overtly confront anyone or cause a scene in a way that might endanger yourself or your reputation, but otherwise will prioritize this over all other goals.

  As a relative outsider, you do not have any close direct relationships with the other passengers, though you have some acquaintance and indirect familiarity outlined in the relationships section (pg3). You are by nature skeptical regarding the motivations of others, but will be especially suspicious of any former members of the Fellows of Hinshelwood Hall. You believe in the world's order, and are predisposed to trust authority figures more than others.

  You are quiet and reserved, but assertive when the situation calls for it. You have a strong command over your emotions under most circumstances, yet do fear death and will act above all else to avoid it if the situation becomes serious. You dislike lying and misrepresenting yourself, and prefer not to speak at all when to do otherwise would be impolite or inopportune. You have a serious demeanor and find most jokes immature. You do not believe in the supernatural.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  You are currently engaged to a man named Ingumaz Hantisun, an architect who you met in university. You wear an engagement ring. You were very close to your mother, and if you discovered the identity of her killer, may be driven to take revenge.

  Further details about specific past events can be found in the biography section (pg6). Beyond this, you may interpret your character as you wish.

  Winning the game

  To be considered a winner, you must accumulate at least 2 victory points by the end of the game. If you accumulate 3, this will be considered a perfect victory.

  For all players, 1 victory point will be awarded for remaining in-character and actively pursuing your personal goal in good faith.

  1 additional victory point will be awarded if you accomplish your personal goal.

  The criteria for earning the final victory point is based on your role: DETECTIVE, CULPRIT or INDEPENDENT.

  If your role is DETECTIVE, you must correctly identify all individuals with the CULPRIT role and make sure they are restrained or deceased at the end of the game.

  If your role is CULPRIT, you must either be alive and free to leave at the end of the game, or there must be no survivors outside of the role.

  If your role is INDEPENDENT, you cannot earn the final point.

  Your starting role is INDEPENDENT. Your personal goal is to discover the truth of your mother's death.

  Some characters you encounter may be present to facilitate the game rather than having personal goals or a role. These actors do not have a victory condition.

  Changing roles

  Roles may be changed over the course of the game based on behavior.

  If you begin working with characters with the DETECTIVE role, or otherwise begin investigating to try and ascertain those with the CULPRIT role, your role will also change to DETECTIVE.

  If you commit murder, serious theft, kidnapping, or begin knowingly working as an accomplice to any of these, your role will change to CULPRIT.

  The CULPRIT role will always supersede the DETECTIVE role.

  You may check your current role at any time by inspecting the inside of your pocket watch. No one else will be able to see this.

  Rules

  Do not bring any foreign objects into the play area.

  Do not break the fourth wall, even as a joke. Respect the game setting to the best of your ability at all times.

  Do not use your knowledge about the game's genre or construction to act in bad faith (eg: metagaming, making decisions based on tropes rather than in-character reasoning, repeatedly suggesting leaving the play area despite knowing this is not possible, etc).

  Remain conscious of the genre, and do not behave in a way that violates the theme and tone (eg: openly committing a massacre).

  Transmundane abilities of all kinds are forbidden.

  Treat everything you see as intentional, no matter how strange. If a mistake has occurred, you will be notified by the game master.

  The golden rule

  Above all else, have fun!

  That was only the first two pages of the document - it went on in total for a full twelve, delving comprehensively into just about every aspect of the scenario one could imagine. It even included two dozen fake photographs of people and places from over the course of my character's life to help with immersing myself into the scenario, which struck me - even as someone who was no stranger to the appeal of overly-comprehensive escapism - as a little overbearing and creepy. The whole thing had made the 'Duration: Short, Casual' label feel increasingly funny as it had gone on, however true it might be to a society of immortals.

  At its core, though, the premise was extremely formulaic. The train setting and the plot centered around an inheritance were both mystery staples, and putting it in a time period in which long-range communication was uncommon was another popular tactic to make the premise of a closed circle work. Compared to the conclave, it was refreshingly straightforward.

  In fact, there was a part of me that was actually kind of excited by this whole idea.

  Don't get comfortable, I reminded myself. You're here with a strict goal, remember?

  I set the paper down and took a look at the purse, finding the described pocket watch inside. Flipping it open, there was indeed a small sliver plate on which the word 'INDEPENDENT' was reflected. Stashing it back in, I turned back to the mirror and, having nothing else to do, waited.

  I tried making a noise with my mouth. It was weird and nasally, and I immediately coughed.

  A few minutes passed before the voice returned.

  "The game is now starting. Are you prepared?"

  "Y-es," I said, still getting used to it.

  "Very good," the voice said. "Then please collect your items and proceed into the play area. You will be exiting from the women's bathroom on the station platform."

  "Okay. Thanks."

  It added nothing further, I reached back towards the cabinet and propped up the trunk, stood up - becoming briefly disoriented by the fact I was now about three inches shorter - then, since there was only one door, left through the same way I'd come in.

  I'd been expecting a detailed environment, but I really couldn't help but marvel for a moment at how it felt like I'd stepped into the past, or at least the past as it was understood in popular culture. The station, from the architecture to the litter and graffiti to the patches of grass peeking through the stonework, looked every bit like it had been plucked right from Rhunbard's early expansionary period. Sand-colored, vaguely gothic stonework provided the foundation for mostly simple wooden structures made primarily of unvarnished aspen. Writs on papyrus covered the walls. The air was cool and dry. Off to the left, beyond the little inlet I'd stepped out into containing the toilets, I could see a rampant sphinx banner flying from a low rampart at the edge of the station, missing both the second head that characterized the imperial period and the stars present in the simplified, modern design.

  The platform lacked a roof save for a small overhang at the back, so I looked upwards. Even the sky was indistinguishable from the Mimikos. The Great Lamp hung directly overhead, looking the same as ever.

  ...actually, not quite the same. Squinting against the radiant light, I could just about make out a subtle distortion in the surface, running from the southern to eastern edge.

  Right, right. I thought. This would be before they fixed the cosmetic damage in the Planar Colonization Period, wouldn't it?

  That's good attention to detail.

  The setting of this game, the year 713, placed it right at the closing days of the Hollow Years, the roughly two century long dark age that took place after the famine brought about by the Interluminary Strife. This was a time of political and social upheaval, where many of the early powers of the Remaining World - the Ikkaryonic Empire, the Kingdom of Yue, the Altaian Hegemony, among others - collapsed into much smaller states, while others like Mekhi and Nad-Ilad grew isolationist.

  It was in this vacuum that Rhunbard, previously an inward-looking power itself, began its rapid expansion in population and military power that would, by the end of century, lead to its invasion of the diminished Ikkaryon and the advent of the Empire. But for now, its new territories were acquired solely from nature.

  Despite seeming generic at first blush, part of the reason I was intrigued was that the background for this game was actually quite historical. While I was sure that 'Rastag Mithraiossun' had never been a real person, the independent expansion of the railway system had been a major factor in the Rhunbardic settlement of southern steppes. As the population increased and agricultural demand grew accordingly, the region - previously seen as inhospitable and undesirable - was slowly settled by farmers from the heartland, the land given away by a government-run lottery.

  However, there was a problem. The Ironworkers had deliberately made the central regions of the Mimikos - the areas around the Mmenomic Sea and the northern ocean - unnaturally hospitable to humanity, creating a system of carefully-placed rivers (or would that be canals? If an entire planet is engineered from scratch, are all the rivers canals...?) to facilitate sustainable travel between the homelands of the Parties and the otherwise most fertile lands. This meant that industrial transportation had never been re-developed during the First Resurrection, with the ruling classes relying on the Power.

  The outer regions, though, weren't supposed to be settled at all, instead having been created as something closer to nature preserves for the other forms of life brought from Earth. So while the relatively-close Gaen Steppe could be settled uncomplicatedly, the more distant regions of Lahia and Zythia in the far south and east were extremely difficult to administer. Towns could be wiped off the map and the royal court wouldn't hear about it for months. Barely any produce made it back.

  Thus came the redevelopment of the railroad, spearheaded primarily by a small group of businessmen from the city of Karat. (The fact that Rastag was supposedly from the capital of Xattusa could be considered an anachronism, though I understood it from a legibility perspective.) They revived the technology and connected the new settlements, in the process developing the first post-collapse internal combustion engine, an event that would ultimately lead to Rhunbard's early industrialization, which in turn led to the imperial project.

  It's lovely how everything in history leads to war crimes, isn't it?

  "You know," a man's voice called out from the direction of the rail line, "it's bad for your eyes to stare directly at it like that."

  I jerked my head. A somewhat visibly aged man, thin and wiry with greying hair, was sitting at a bench facing the train. He was dressed in a white tunic and leather trousers.

  I cleared my throat. "Sorry. I was just... thinking about something."

  I expected myself to stammer just a little as I spoke the first word, as I usually did when taken by surprise, but this seemed to disappear in the translation process.

  The man smiled. "If you're heading back to civilization, I'm afraid you're probably on the wrong side of the station," he said, and gestured to the train in front of him. "This one's been taken over for a private engagement."

  I glanced around, looking for the platform number. Were there characters who weren't part of the main roster here, before we got into the actual closed circle? I found it hanging from the ceiling; '3'. This was definitely the right place.

  ...then I looked at the man again, and realized I recognized him. The haircut and distance had thrown me off, but he was one of the other characters I'd been given some information on. Specifically, Bahram Hasallsun, the executor of Ragnast's estate who, in the background errata, I remembered as the one who had sent 'me' the letter conveying that I'd been invited to this event in the first place.

  I was also supposed to have met him once or twice when I was much younger, in my teenage years.

  I blinked. Oh god. I've been in here for literally ten seconds, and he probably already thinks I'm incompetent.

  Pull it together, Su. Pull it together.

  I tried to summon some of Iwa's shitty acting advice from our youth. 'The best way act is to forget you're acting at all!' 'Try to put yourself in your character's mood!' Absolutely worthless. How can you 'put yourself in their mood'? What kind of freak can change their mood at will? This was a terrible idea.

  I made an attempt, frowning. "...mister Hasallsun? Is that you?"

  The man hesitated for a moment, squinting at me, then brightened his eyes. "Kassie? It is you, isn't it?" He chortled. "My goodness. You're all grown up!"

  I stared ahead stoically. I wanted to laugh nervously, but based on the description, that would go against my character. Averting my eyes would also go against my character. So I stared ahead stoically.

  Bahram seemed unbothered. "Come over! Let me get a better look at you."

  Hesitantly, I stepped forward, approaching the front of the platform. The train - which it only just now occurred to me I should probably pay a little attention to - looked more or less like what I would expect a period-appropriate train to, save for the the fact the roof was a bit taller and the paint job a little fancier, using the classically nouveau-riche combination of silver, gold, and black. There were three visible carriages and at least one more beyond that, but the front of the train was concealed by the angle and the fact that it presently lay within a metallic structure; some sort of maintenance shed, it looked like, at the terminus of the station.

  ...actually, there were a couple things that seemed odd about it. Firstly, there was only one visible door - in the second carriage from the back, directly in front of us.

  Secondly, rather than being at the front or rear, the engine carriage was around what must have been the center of the train, the last one fully visible outside of the aforementioned shed.

  I didn't know a lot about trains, but at the very least, that didn't match my mental image of what they were supposed to look like. Maybe a wholly-automated modern one on the vacuum line, but...

  "I'm afraid they're not letting us on just yet," Bahram stated, reading into my gaze as I approached. "The driver-- He's a strict man, follows Rastag's orders to the letter even now, and that includes the time of our boarding and departure." He shook his head. "Even though I'm supposed to be in charge, they won't listen to a word I say contrary."

  I nodded as I continued to squint at the machine, trying to pretend this wasn't all impossibly fucking weird. "He planned this out in advance to that degree?"

  "Oh yes! Oh yes." He chuckled again. "He was always the type who had to be in control of anything. It's entirely predictable that death wouldn't be enough to stop him." He urged me forward. "Come on, sit down! That trunk looks terribly heavy."

  I did so, lowering myself next to him on the bench. The trunk was heavy. What was in it? I ought to have looked in advance.

  He sighed. "Now, how many years has it been?"

  "...Twenty," I said. "The last time we met was just before I went to boarding school."

  He nodded. "Right, of course. When your mother was hosting one of our little parties. I can't believe it's been so long-- Time really does fly."

  "Yeah."

  Bahram was supposed to be one of the members of the Fellows, though the one with the least interest in business. A scholar of social systems and psychology, the idea was that he was completely without ambition and disinterested in money, and thus had become Rastag's most trusted confidant if not per-se his closest friend. He'd declined to be a beneficiary of the will, and as a result had been named the executor. Only he knew how exactly the process was going to go down on the train.

  Although it was maybe too soon to judge, he struck me as a bit of a cliche. No one would actually decline an inheritance in real life. Even I still took most of my grandfather's shit, despite everything.

  We made small talk for a bit. He asked me how I'd been. I recited some more details from my backstory; about managing my mother's company, life at the capital, my engagement. He in turn talked about his work at the University of Tuon and questioned me about my 'fiancee', forcing me to contrive details about him on the spot, which was quite annoying.

  Then, before I had a chance to ask him anything substantial, more people started to show up.

  https://topwebfiction.com/listings/the-flower-that-bloomed-nowhere/ Sorry the chapters have been a little short recently - the next one is good length.