General Alissa Cyan steps between Sketch and the unconscious Gravis cyborg, weapon trained on the rooftops. She points toward a half-collapsed avenue while Roadkill remains beside the machine, static twitching through his fur.
The Tactical Woman
The wreckage is bait. Mortus wants us watching the body while something else closes in. Move, Sketch. Down that avenue.
Across the ruins, three scavengers begin stripping loose metal from a collapsed storefront. Their pry bars knock a ragged rhythm through the avenue, loud enough to mask careful footsteps.
The Tactical Woman
Roadkill, leave it. Now.
Roadkill does not move. He crouches beside the Gravis cyborg’s dented faceplate, tiny paws spread, while blue-white sparks crawl through his glossy fur and illuminate the exposed circuitry.
The Tactical Woman
Sketch, I said move. If those scavengers are watching for a signal, this machine is their marker.
The scavengers pause over the wreckage and glance toward the alley. Alissa keeps her weapon fixed on the rooftops, leaving the avenue, the unconscious cyborg, and Roadkill divided between them.
✓ Quest Accepted
Reach the half-collapsed avenue with Alissa
✓ Quest Accepted
Keep Roadkill out of the scavengers' hands
Director's note
Sketch leans in close enough to kiss Alissa
Director's notewhole tale
Sketch commanded Roadkill, followed by snapping his fingers. At that, Roadkill powered down his electric pulses & eagerly returned to his owner’s shoulder.
Director's notewhole tale
Sketch reached into his vest pocket to retrieve a small chunk of cheddar for Roadkill.
“Sure, let’s move but stop trying to boss me & Roadkill around. I respect that you’re a General but I’ve yet to see your troops plus I’m your creator, Cyan. At ease static-rat! Good boy, Roadkill. Here, have a cheesy treat. Alright, we’re following your lead, General Cyan. But can we lay low somewhere for a minute so you can doctor my busted hand, please?”
FAILURE (Superb Reasoning, rolled -1)
Sketch Turner
Fine, we follow your lead, General Cyan. But stop bossing me and Roadkill around. Can we lie low somewhere while you doctor my hand?
Sketch falls in behind General Alissa Cyan and guides Roadkill away from the wreckage. The rat settles on his shoulder, static fading, while the scavengers watch from the storefront.
The Tactical Woman
I am not bossing you. I am keeping us alive. There is cover ahead, but not enough time to treat that hand there.
Alissa points toward a narrow service passage beneath the collapsed avenue. The scavengers abandon their pry bars and begin edging after them, making the proposed hiding place useless.
Sketch Turner
At ease, static-rat. Good boy, Roadkill. Here, have a cheesy treat. Then keep moving, General.
Sketch snaps his fingers. Roadkill powers down and returns to his shoulder. Sketch reaches into his vest for cheddar, but the pocket is empty; he leans close to Alissa instead.
The Tactical Woman
No stopping. We use the passage, then I bandage your hand somewhere the scavengers cannot follow.
Quest Complete
Keep Roadkill out of the scavengers' hands
Director's note
The narrow passage turned out to be an emergency route leading into the dark, damp & destroyed subway system.
Director's note
The trio slips into a wrecked subway car, as Alissa powers on a small tactical lantern to slightly illuminate the nearly pitch black space.
Director's note
Alissa said to Sketch as she gently took him by his injured hand & began to remove his glove.
“This section of the subway system looks all picked out by scavengers so we should be good to rest here. You remind me of the story of Super Sketch. [A translucent image of a superhero forms in the lantern light. He wears a tight white bodysuit covering his heavily built upper chest and arms. A prominent red question mark is printed directly onto the center of his chest. The lower half of his costume consists of sleek black pants or leggings paired with pointed black hero boots that wing outward at the calves. He sports a flowing, vibrant red cape that flares out dramatically behind his shoulders and waist. His hair & face looks like Sketch”
SUCCESS (Superb Reasoning, rolled -1)
The emergency passage descends into a dark, damp subway system. With the scavengers gone and the route picked clean, Sketch, Alissa, and Roadkill slip into a wrecked subway car.
Alissa powers on a small tactical lantern. Its weak beam catches rusted seats, peeling advertisements, and Roadkill’s glossy fur as the rat settles on Sketch’s shoulder.
The Tactical Woman
This place is defensible enough for a short rest. Give me your hand, Sketch. I need to get the glove off before I bandage it. You remind me of the story of Super Sketch.
She gently takes Sketch’s injured hand and begins working the glove loose. He leans close enough to kiss her, then turns his attention to the lantern-lit darkness.
Sketch Turner
This section looks picked clean, so we should be good to rest here. You mean the superhero I created to compensate for my lack of self esteem?
A translucent hero, an adult human man, forms in the lantern light: a heavily built man with Sketch’s face, a white bodysuit marked by a red question mark, black winged boots, and a vivid red cape.
The Tactical Woman
The broad outline is clear, but I cannot tell whether this Super Sketch is a warning, a memory, or something the lantern is projecting. Rest first. We can verify the details afterward.
Director's note
The translucent projection of Super Sketch faded away.
Director's note
The low groan of Sketch’s stomach growling broke the silence that followed his words.
Director's note
“Alright yall we got us another wild night here at the World End Underground Fight Club!” A loud male voice suddenly echoed through the tunnels.
Director's note
Alissa responded to Sketch. “You claim to be the creator of this world but you don’t know who that is?… That’s where we’re getting our or next meal, amongst other things for our inventory, sir.”
“I know I created Comic Zone but I’m obviously not the creator of the laws of physics here. I have no clue how we just saw Super Sketch or what it means but he might be my only way back to my dimension. Roadkill, we gotta eat something buddy. Who’s that? A fight club, huh? I thought I’d have sometime to let my hand heal before the next bout but let’s follow the sound of that chanting crowd & crack some heads. [“Nah Sketch, you sit this one out.” Alissa insisted. “I know these guys…My ‘troops’.””
SUCCESS (Good Perception, rolled -2)
Sketch Turner
I created Comic Zone, not the laws of physics. I have no clue what Super Sketch means, but he may be my way home. Roadkill, find us something to eat. Who's that? A fight club? Let's follow the chanting. I thought my hand would have time to heal before the next bout, but we can crack some heads.
The translucent hero fades from the lantern glow. Sketch's stomach growls into the silence, and the sound of chanting rises through the tunnels, leading them toward a wrecked station concourse.
The Tactical Woman
Nah, Sketch, you sit this one out. I know these guys. My troops.
Alissa keeps hold of Sketch's injured hand and works the glove loose while guiding him onward. Roadkill rides his shoulder, and the lantern reveals barricades, battered benches, and a crowd gathered beyond them.
The Fight Announcer
All right, y'all, we got us another wild night here at the World End Underground Fight Club!
The Tactical Woman
You claim to be the creator of this world, but you don't know who that is? That's where we're getting our next meal, among other things for our inventory, sir.
Sketch and Alissa reach the concourse. The chanting crowd fills a ring beneath hanging work lights, with scavenged food and supplies stacked beside the entry rail. The cost is clear: the lantern battery has drained during the approach, leaving the route back nearly black.
“If you insist, General. So, these boneheads are your “troops”. Great, then tell them to load up a couple of survival packs full of food & supplies for us so we can continue taking out Mortus’ minions. Something tells me that we’re gonna have to take the fight directly to him because hiding will never get me out of Comic Zone.”
FAILURE (Good Willpower, rolled -3)
Sketch Turner
If you insist, General. These boneheads are your troops, so tell them to load two survival packs with food and supplies. We need to keep taking out Mortus’s minions. Hiding will never get me out of Comic Zone.
General Alissa Cyan raises her voice toward the ring and gestures at the stacked provisions. The chanting crowd quiets by degrees, faces turning from the fighters to her and Sketch.
The Tactical Woman
Troops, prepare two survival packs. Food, water, medical supplies, anything portable. We are requisitioning them for an active operation against Mortus’s forces.
No one moves toward the supplies. Instead, the crowd answers with a low, unified laugh. Several spectators fold their arms while the announcer leans over the rail, blocking the nearest packs.
The Fight Announcer
Those packs belong to the house, General. Your troops do not work here, and nobody walks out with a prize without earning it in the ring.
The Tactical Woman
They are not my troops. I misjudged the room. Sketch, the supplies are not available by command, and forcing the issue would put us against an entire crowd.
The announcer gestures toward the ring. The crowd’s chant swells again, sealing the failed requisition into a new condition: food and supplies remain behind the fight club’s rules, not Alissa’s authority.