The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

Inner Sanctum Underground | 9:33 AM | ∞ Day

In the moment I had the stupid idea to dive to the side and open the door to the room we were keeping Bahram and Wiliya in, crying out for help, but obviously this accomplished fuck all - Summiri had tied them up, what were they going to do, flop on it? So I jumped straight from there to the exit door. The monster was right behind me; I ducked under its weapon as I threw it open, only saved by the fact that it seemed awkward in its manipulation of its limbs.

And then I was taken by surprise as I came face to face with a gaping hole where the train used to be. Duh, we just detached it. Of course the next door leads to nowhere. Beyond, the fire consuming the rest carriage raged rampantly, the light hitting my eyes like a dagger.

The smart thing to do here would have been to make a 180 and head for the dining car-- The kitchen, of course, would have the best selection of improvised weapons, and failing that there would at least be several doors to slam in its face before I reached empty fields. But if I was already not thinking rationally, then being a half-second of indecision away from having my neck cleaved open only served to act as a multiplier. I jumped straight down on the tracks, throwing myself forward as fast as Kasua's body would carry me.

There was a hint of reasoning to it, though whether it entered into my mind before or after I'd made the decision I couldn't say. Like Summiri had insisted, if this thing was supposed to be the Uqartul, then it was meant to be afraid of fire. Maybe I thought whoever was behind the mask would be somehow compelled to follow that rule. Or maybe I forgot the truth for a moment and let myself believe in fantasy, my mind drawn towards the connection like a fish mistakes a little wooden lure for food.

I looked over my shoulder. My enemy's legs clearly weren't inhibited in the way its arms were, as it leapt from the carriage with even more enthusiasm than I did, not even breaking its stride. Fuck! Wasn't this kind of scene more fitting for the horror genre? What happened to the rule about preserving the theme?!

Running on the tracks was actually super awkward, so I quickly moved over to the grass, which was still damp from the storm. The fire was close, now, warm enough to feel against my face, and it was clear it didn't give a damn. My mind scrambled for some kind of plan. Even though the rest car was starting to fall apart, there weren't any conveniently fallen wooden boards like there would be in a drama, and the steppe offered nothing but mud. Would I have to turn around and brawl the thing one-on-one? Cross my fingers that Kasua's body had been programmed with a secret talent for martial arts?

An idea struck me. The observation car! We'd set the fire near the opposite doorway; the flames couldn't have possibly consumed it completely yet. And the rear was made of glass, which in this era of history wouldn't be difficult to break at all. And it had that little mini-kitchen behind the bar! There would be knives, or bottles I could break if none of them looked sharp enough. Chairs, at least. None of them would compare to the monster's blade or whatever it was in terms of reach, but if its outfit left it off-balance I could have a chance. I didn't want to die!

No, more than that, I still wanted to win!

We ran alongside the inferno of the rest car, our shadows stretching long out along the plain, my face so hot now it hurt on one side. I noticed the cat perched gracefully some distance to the left, observing the chase as it licked one of its paws. It meowed with irritation as we passed. And ahead: I was right. Though the flames had started to nip it at the front, the observation car was mostly intact, especially the lounge at the far end. I went all the way around the back, where the glass was closest to the ground to give the best view of the train's rear. Disregarding how dangerous I knew it was compared to dramas, I hopped up and - holding up my arms -charged straight through it, shards flying and cutting everywhere, though fortunately nowhere immediately vital.

Meanwhile, my foe was using their weapon to try and cut me off, breaking open one of the tall side-windows instead, already on its feet by the time I was through. I grabbed the board of the never-resolved overcomplicated game we'd been playing before dinner and hurled it in its face, scattering idiosyncratic wooden pieces and fake coins all over the floor. Then I dived for the bar, hoping to slide cleanly over and into cover but instead landing awkwardly on my stomach halfway across. The monster swung its claw at my heel, gouging it superficially, but I squirmed like something between a worm and an angry baby, kicking and screaming until my body was aligned with the bar instead of sprawled over it, trying to slip out of its grip. (It's grip! It could only be a human hand!) I snatched a plate and smashed it against its arm, then a beer bottle, which even as I beat savagely against what had to be its elbow region refused to break and become a more dangerous weapon. (Why was physics like this? Why couldn't it work like in a drama?)

Finally, I used its stubbornness against it, rolling my upper body as far as the angle permitted and going limp, letting gravity pull me over the counter. I expected them to let go, but for whatever reason - surprise, physical difficulties, over-commitment to their grapple - they didn't, pulled down on to the counter themselves, their ghostly face (pointed? Horned? What were those little protrusions?) staring down at me threateningly, locked in a cold and apathetic expression.

I saw my chance. I changed tactics, not trying to slip away but binding us together, wrapping my arms around its chest. We both fell, twisting to our sides as we smashed into the liquor cabinet, a waterfall of unfiltered substances probably banned by the Public Health Administration washing over us, some even stinging my eyes. Sprawled over me in an almost-erotic pose, the culprit kneed me in the gut; I punched them in the chest, hoping to find flesh but eventually meeting it, though softened by layers of some thick mane. It took a moment for it to remember it still held its weapon, pushing its arm fully out of its cloak - their cloak - that was why they couldn't move their arms, the disguise was cumbersome, obviously - and bringing it up sharply towards my throat, even as I tried to push it away with my elbow.

The illusion was falling away. I saw now that its 'claw' was nothing more than a sharpened metal stake, probably improvised from a pipe or a chair leg or something, and that its body had a visible texture; fabric. They were just a person, no doubt about it! A flesh and blood killer, just like the Order's embodiment of death had been nothing more than tricks of the light and bird-faced costumes. (Probably.) Here, in this liminal moment where rational truth was proven but not yet explained, the mystique of mystery gave way to mere crime fiction, the killer nothing more than fresh meat for the detective to hunt.

Still, it wouldn't matter if they gouged out my fucking throat. I looked frantically around the lower parts of the bar, searching for the knife I'd hoped for. I spotted something almost as good: Forks, a whole tray of them, glinting in the light of the encroaching fire. I flailed for it - the edge was about in reach, but my hand was soaked - and on my second attempt managed to knock it over, scattering them all over the ground.

I grabbed two and thrust them at the culprit, who recoiled as I pierced what must have been the side of their arm. I could tell I hadn't done much damage, but I only needed one chance. Still holding the forks at the same time, I grabbed at their weapon, trying to wrestle it from their hands. They were weaker than I expected-- In moments, I felt their elbows bend back and their grip loosen. They pulled their body forward so its weight fell on my chest to compensate, trying to stifle my breathing, so I hooked my legs around one of theirs, twisting them and their arms to the side. I lurched forward, pushing them up against the bottom of the bar at a right angle, then yanked the implement back, causing them to lose one hand's grip. They went for one of the forks themselves, and I couldn't stop them, so instead I lowered my head and bit into the side of the hand that still refused to let go.

I felt them stab me in the back: Once, twice, thrice. But the adrenaline was coursing through me, same as it was in the fight with the detective, hot and cold at once, and I barely even felt the pain from the the dinky implement. Pulling my face back up and wrenching the thing one last time, blood tripping from my lips, I seized the weapon, falling back against the shattered remains of the cabinet.

Their change in behavior was instant. They used the sudden separation between us to rake at my face with the fork, cutting me just under the eye, but they were pulling away now, scrambling to get to their feet. The hunter had become the hunted. I tried to leap upward and stab them in the back, but was soaked now, and slipped against the carpet. They managed to grab a whiskey bottle and hurled it at me; it smacked me dead in my jaw and I felt a shock of pain that went all the way down my neck and into my spine, chunks of incisor and molar coming free in my mouth.

By the time I recovered enough to pursue them, they had already skirted around the bar, running back towards the far end of the carriage. The fire was almost here now, and obviously the moment it even started licking me would be catastrophic. Wine might have been ambiguous in its flammability, but the stuff covering me now was most definitely not.

I spat the tooth chunks out and vaulted the bar instead, slipping but somehow with enough speed that it didn't stop me, my body rolling and leaping and scrambling forward, a perpetual state of falling that somehow never resolved. They'd gone out where I'd come in, fleeing down the track into the darkness of the night. Where were they going? What was their plan? I didn't think about it. I just pursued.

I grabbed one of the smaller wooden chairs that hadn't yet caught fire and followed in their wake, bounding down to the rails with a thunk against the hard wood. I only had one chance: The wound on my leg had given me a slight limp, meaning a contest of stamina was out of the question, and unlike me they were wearing black and thus would vanish into the night the moment they got some distance from the blaze. I waited until my steps were as steady as they were going to get, pulled my arm back, and threw the chair, aiming for their lower body.

It didn't trip them up as I hoped, but it hit the side of their right leg, forcing them to stop and steady themselves. It was enough time to close the gap.

I swung wide and slammed them in the small of their back with the weapon, using every ounce of strength Kasua had. It would have been smarter to stab them, but I couldn't risk them dying: I wanted answers. They fell face down, their head slamming with a crack against the rails. I pinned them down with my foot, and they let out a weak grunt, trying to rise but instantly collapsing back down. Just to be sure, I held the stake against the back of their neck.

At first I thought maybe I'd given them a concussion and they'd be useless anyway, but then I realized it wasn't their skull which had cracked, but the mask. A third of it fell away, rolling down onto the grass.

I looked at, and finally having a moment of calm, realized I recognized it.

It was the treasure from the front carriage that Tuthal had told me about, the Bakare, the Mekhian death mask. Of course! The spikes were there and everything. How had I not realized it sooner?

And... now that I was thinking about that place... I recognized what the costume was, too. It was so silly I hadn't been able to make myself see until now, but it was-- It was the bed sheets, the ones from the fancy bed at the far end of the room. They'd been torn up and stained near-black with soot from the engine, tied around the figure so they wouldn't fall off and with a couple awkward holes made for arms, but otherwise had barely been changed. I could even see the washing label stitched in at the bottom corner.

It all felt, looking at it now, remarkably slapdash. Literally the kind of costume you made for a kid when you had to throw something together over the course of five minutes.

But... more more importantly, it meant that whoever was wearing it... had to have come from the front carriage.

But how was that possible? It'd vanished.

I looked down at the culprit, who seemed resigned to their fate, barely moving.

"Who are you?" I asked.

They said nothing, only breathing heavily.

"Show me your face," I commanded.

The did the exact opposite, burying their face in the ground further.

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"Show me!"

I kicked them in the side, forcing them to roll on their back. Even so, they still covered the exposed part of their visage with their hands, so I flicked at their wrist with the weapon. They winced, and finally, I saw.

It was... Hildris.

Half of Hildris's face was staring up at me, her eye wide and panicked.

My mind tried to process this. On an immediate, gut level, it felt like it made a certain amount of sense. Hildris had vanished. The carriage had vanished. It was only logical for them to have gone to the same place. But of course that was just magical thinking! The two events couldn't possibly have the same explanation; one was confined to the back of a tiny room and the other had consumed a fifth of the setting. So what had happened? What?!

No, maybe I was on the wrong track a moment ago, when I'd said she had to have come from that room. It wasn't impossible for her to have, I don't know, gone in there and obtained the mask and the bed sheet after I'd collected the Last Winter, or had Tuthal bring them to her. So all of this could have been planned in advance. But even so, Hildris as a culprit was out of nowhere! She hadn't been a major factor in any of my theories, the only thing that had seemed to be going on with her at all was her relationship with Tuthal. Where was this coming from? Had an entire component of the plot gone completely over my head?

I didn't know what to say. "Y...You," I simply hissed ambiguously, like a victim in the opening of a mystery right before they were impaled by the offstage mastermind.

Hildris' lips wobbled as if she might say something, looking ambiguously guilty or frightened, but ultimately she said nothing.

"Why?" I demanded. "What... is this? What have you done?"

She swallowed the air. "Kasua," she said, her eyes darting upward strangely for a moment. "You... you shouldn't have..."

"Stop!" I heard someone cry out from behind. "Don't hurt her!"

I recognized the voice as belonging to Bahram instantly, but still couldn't help but turn. There he was, struggling and panting for breath as he stumbled past the fire and towards us despite his injured leg, holding his hands up. "Please, just wait!"

I wondered how he escaped his bindings, but that was the lesser question. Why was he telling me to show mercy on Hildris? Was he part of this too, like Summiri? But then he'd attacked Summiri. Was that all an act? Where did the performances end?

He wasn't armed, but he was getting closer and closer. I had to be prepared for another fight. If it came to that, it would be better to kill Hildris now, while she was prone, and focus my attention on him. At least if everyone else was dead, I'd win a technical victory by being the last left standing.

That's right. I'd already been marked with the label of 'murderer'. Since then, this had been the only path open to me. I just hadn't wanted to admit it, had been enjoying myself too much.

I raised the stake, holding it in both hands, and looked back to Hildris.

"STOP!" Bahram cried out again, his tone now completely desperate. "SHE'S JUST A GIRL!"

It didn't feel right to kill someone in cold blood like this, and my instincts were fighting against it in a way they hadn't until this point. I found myself thinking about how to do it painlessly. Short of a bullet to the head, the fastest way to kill someone was supposed to be to destroy their heart--

Wait.

'Just a girl'? That didn't sound like he was talking about Hildris at all. It sounded like he was talking about Kasua. Me.

A spike of anxiety hit me. Was... I somehow in danger? Was there another threat?

I looked down at Hildris. She was now looking in Bahram's direction, but otherwise nothing had changed. Her crappy costume was falling off, revealing normal clothes and no further tricks, and her hands were both splayed out hopelessly. She was utterly at my mercy. It was impossible for me to be killed by Hildris.

I jerked my head up. I looked out into the plains, to the right and the left. There was nothing but grass as far as the eye could see, which thanks to the fire was at least a mile or so, which would far exceed the play area. It was impossible for me to be killed by anyone on the plains. (This included the cat, which continued to watch.)

I looked backwards, towards Bahram. He was too distant to make out his face clearly in the strange lighting, but he still had his hands in the air, and regardless was in no condition to fight. It was impossible for me to be killed by Bahram.

Finally, I looked up at the train. By this point, the fire was spreading even to the rear of the observation car, and parts of the roof further back were starting to give way. No one, no matter what position they took or gear they wore, could be in or on top of it. And the other two carriages were positionally blocked, and regardless too far away. It was impossible for me to be killed by anyone on the train.

In other words... it was impossible for me to be killed.

So what did he mean? "W-What are you talking about??" I screamed back at him.

Hildris swallowed. "I'm sorry, Kasua."

I looked sharply. "What do you mean, you're 'sorry?! What's happening! TELL ME WHAT Y--"

𒀭

There was no fanfare when it happened. One moment I was there, and the next I was back in the in-between world, not out on the track but in a smaller, enclosed space. Like when I'd been executed in the Magilum Domain, I noticed there was a piece of paper - or something metaphysically analogous to a piece of paper - in my hand.

I looked down at it.

It read, "You have entered an area where spectating has been forbidden by the administrator, and have been placed in the nearest accessible location."

As established earlier, it was difficult to have emotionally strong reactions in the realm of the Stage, but I somehow managed to be pissed off anyway, feeling an urge to rip it up and throw it on the ground. Without even choosing to do it, I found myself manifesting physically out of frustration.

I gasped for air as I did it, having spent so long as Kasua that it was a physical shock to be back to my normal self, and it took a second to orient myself to my body as commanded literally instead of feeling like I was its very close advisor. I swayed a little and corrected my glasses as I adjusted.

I looked around. I was in a room much like the one I'd started all this in, a box bereft of decor, except this one was somewhat larger and even more empty than the last. It contained only two pieces of furniture: An armchair and a coffee table. Looking down at said table, I could see the handful of belongings I brought with me - my resonator, the keys to Ptolema's cabin, my notebook - laid alongside a single sheet of parchment.

I snatched it up. It read:

Sadly, your character has been killed. Don't take this as having failed - it's part of what makes a murder mystery!

If you wish, you may now leave through the door on your left. But even if you failed to attain a perfect victory, we would love for you to stay for the afterparty, where you and the other players will be formally scored and invited to discuss the game and your roles in retrospect. This will take place after the game has resolved.

Until then, please feel free to make yourself at home, adjusting this room as you wish. This table will also function as an assembler if you desire any food or entertainment.

Thank you for playing.

'Your character has been killed'? 'Your character has been killed?!'

I scrunched up the note and threw it at the floor angrily, then kicked the chair, failing to knock it over; it must have been made of hickory or something. What the fuck did they mean I'd been killed! That was impossible! I checked every single direction! Was there a fucking bomb in the observation car or under Hildris' skirt that'd gone off? (There was no bomb.) Had Kasua had a stroke? (Kasua hadn't had a stroke.) It made no sense! It made no sense!

This was bullshit. I was about to get the answers, and they'd cut me off with some shitty deus ex machina that probably wouldn't even end up feeling foreshadowed properly, assuming they'd followed the rules at all. And they weren't even letting me see the climax! I had to just sit here in ghost jail knowing that the story was playing out without me, hoping to maybe get a rough description post-hoc at best!

I almost stormed out on the spot, wanting to go down to the Valley and knock down some trees or something, but forced myself to stop when I remembered the reason I came here to begin with. Still, I felt furious, both at the imagined gamemaster, and at myself for not seeing through whatever tricks they'd been using. Why hadn't I noticed it was Hildris sooner? I should have been able to judge that from height. And what had Bahram been trying to tell me? Now it felt obvious he'd been the most trustworthy one from the start. Shit-- I should have locked myself in the room with him back in the engine car instead of going outside, then it'd be three against one. And that was after the screwup with Summiri! So many mistakes!

And how had Hildris been in the engine? How would she have even got in there? We went straight down the only hall to the only entrance!

I couldn't even think straight. I grabbed the resonator and pulled up my conversation with Ptolema, wanting to vent. I ignored the few messages she seemed to have sent while I was inside and went straight into writing.

alma: hey su are you done with the thing yet

alma: i'm getting some furniture for your part of the house and i wanted to know if you wanted a traditional or foam mattress

alma: most people prefer foam but you seem like the kind of person who would want traditional

alma: i'm sorry i don't know what i meant by that

alma: i wasn't trying to say anything class-related, you know i hate that stuff, i just figured that foam doesn't cool as good and you seem like someone who gets hot easily

alma: but like not in a sweaty way or anything, more like if you leave a logic engine on for too long

alma: also i guess foam is traditional if you're saoic so really the whole question was dumb my bad

alma: i just got both, you can pick when you get back

Utsushikome: Ptolema, they fucked me over!

alma: what

Utsushikome: I'd almost solved the mystery and then they just suddenly told me I was dead out of nowhere. I had the culprit at my mercy and everyone else was already out of the picture, so I don't know how it could have happened.

Utsushikome: It was completely unfair. It must have been some sort of gimmick. They were obvioiusly trying to do an anti-mystery thing, commenting on how the entire genre is illogical and we can never really understand anything that's going on around us, so it would be just like them to have some stupid out of context twist at the eleventh hour.

Utsushikome: Like, whoops! Turns out two characters you've never even been introduced to were actually just out of sight the whole time, and it turns out they have the same seed and just touched. Everyone dies from a contact paradox! You really can never know what's going to happen! Spooooky!

Utsushikome: Gods, it's so annoying. You can't even buy normal mystery novels any more. They'll all either hardboiled trash, romance with the serial numbers filed off, or this stuff. Why don't other genres get this shit? If you try to write a fantasy novel that's just about how dumb the concept of elves or people going on adventures is, everyone will think you're an asshole and your books will rot on the shelves. But if you do the same with mystery everyone acts like you're some metafictional genius!

Utsushikome: I just don't fucking get it.

alma: su

alma: you know that i am your friend and i am here for you no matter what

alma: but i have absolutely no idea what you are saying right now

I sighed to myself.

Utsushikome: It doesn't matter. Forget it.

alma: you were just doing this so they'd

alma: well i can't say it here but you know

alma: did you meet their standards

Utsushikome: I don't know. They have me waiting in a room before the post-mortem right now.

Utsushikome: Somebody told me it wouldn't matter, though. And anyway, I found out something even more important.

alma: what's that

Utsushikome: It wasn't just a player, the person running this whole thing was apparently someone from our class.

Utsushikome: So my focus right now is on making contact with them.

alma: i see

alma: well that's good news i suppose

Utsushikome: I'm not sure about that. It feels more likely Neferuaten might have set the entire thing up.

alma: hm

Utsushikome: Do you have any idea who it could be? Anyone into this sort of thing?

alma: well bardiya is a little into the acting scene, but probably not him for obvious reasons

alma: and it wouldn't be ophelia, she hates this stuff even more than you do, and probably not mehit for different reasons

alma: i guess that leaves yantho or balthazar

Utsushikome: It wouldn't be them. That doesn't feel right at all.

alma: su with all due respect i am not certain you are the best person to judge that

alma: since you met both of them once and have not seen them in literally a billion years

I clicked my tongue.

Utsushikome: ...what about Kamrusepa?

alma: uhh

alma: i mean obviously this doesn't rule it out but I've never seen her around the domain

alma: i think we met maybe once a really long time ago back when the magilum was still the big one

alma: but not since then. at least not that i know about.

Utsushikome: I see...

alma: why do you ask

Utsushikome: Another thing someone said. The story they had us play out was really Rhunbard-oriented, specifically a lot of countryside customs. And I know Kamrusepa was from the Rhunbardic countryside, so it feels in her wheelhouse.

alma: are you sure you're not just thinking this because you were reading the book from her yesterday

Utsushikome: The possibility did occur to me, yes. But it's the best thought I have at the moment.

Utsushikome: There's a certain quality to the way some of the characters were written, too. Hard to explain

alma: well, you knew her better than i did

alma: but like i said, even primaries change more than you might think

alma: so i wouldn't discount being taken by surprise

alma: anyway do you need anything

Utsushikome: No. I'm just waiting.

alma: okay well there's something i'm in the middle of taking care of at my job right now so i need a few minutes

Utsushikome: Okay. That's fine.

Utsushikome: Wait, you have a job?

alma: if you can call it that

alma: anyway just try to calm down, you don't wanna give whoever did this an earful just cause you didn't like their writing

alma: wanna get off on the right foot

Utsushikome: I suppose you're right.

alma: well unless it is kam

Utsushikome: If it's Kam, I'm going to murder her immediately as a bit.

alma: good