Book Six, Chapter 3: The Performance

Alright, just like we practiced.

We all stood around the dining room table, fanned out.
I handed a rolled-up newspaper to Camden—I had just purchased it from a stand down the street.

“Any luck?” I asked.

By the time Camden unfolded the newspaper and had it set out in front of him, he already knew the answer.

“Looks like we got it,” he said, flipping through the pages.

Oh, how I had missed his Eureka trope.

Within a few seconds, he had found the ad we were looking for. It almost looked normal—just an advertisement for a pizza place. Nothing too special: buy five pizzas in a week, get the sixth one free.

Of course, there was some catch. We didn’t know what it was yet, but there was a catch. I had some guesses.

The ad itself was an Omen—but interestingly, you couldn’t see it unless you dialed the number for the restaurant. The Atlas talked about this. As soon as I had typed in the number—555-7468—I could suddenly see the Omen staring back at me on the red wallpaper.

By the Slice.

No one said this storyline was their favorite, but it was still a staple to the old-timers, not the vets from Camp Dyer, from way back before then.

“So we’re good?” Antoine asked.

“We’re good,” I said. “You have the map?”

“I have it right here,” he said, holding up a very old and fragile piece of parchment.

It, too, was an Omen—one that could be activated simply by driving in the direction of the storyline while holding the map. Antoine and Logan had to steal it from a guy at a bar in southeast Carousel.

They would have to steal a car.

The Vets at Camp Dyer had a strict only-steal-from-storylines rule. The players from before them were more nuanced. They knew there were situations where you could steal things, looting Carousel proper itself. Situations like the hostage situation we had plundered.

“So, how did you get it?” I asked.

“Got him drunk. As soon as he was passed out, it was easy pickings,” Logan said.

“All right,” I said. “By the Slice and The Sunken Cradle—”

“I think you missed a part,” Antoine interrupted.

“Oh, of course. How silly of me. By the Slice and Antoine Stone and the Sunken Cradle—both stories are supposed to be really good for grinding out Rescue tropes. So that is our goal. Always be looking for opportunities to save other people in very cinematic ways. Do it On-Screen if possible—it’s worth taking the risks. We need those new tropes. Without the ability to steadily rescue people, our levels will stagnate, you know the spiel.”

Everyone nodded. There was an energy in the room. A nervous energy. How could we not be nervous? We had storylines to run soon.

“Then after we get the rescue tickets, we have to get a writ of habitation so that we have a place to put all the people we rescue,” Logan said. “It’s like a Rube Goldberg machine. Every single action necessitates a different action before. In the end, we achieve… something.”

He had been drinking, which was to say, pretending to. Logan didn’t actually drink all that much, for as often as he had alcohol in his hand. There was an awkward pause after he was done speaking.

“I think it’s more straightforward than that,” I said. “More like dominoes. Or chess.”

He nodded.

“But none of it matters because all of that is just details until we discuss throughlines,” he said.

I took a deep breath.

“I know that,” I said. “As soon as we figure out the safest way to trigger Carousel’s throughline, we’ll do that. We just don’t want to be caught off guard or go in too quickly.”

“Carousel’s throughline,” Logan said. “Have we even discussed other possibilities? You said there was a whole list.”

“That’s true… Can we discuss this later?” I said. “Whatever throughline we end up picking, our next move is the same.”

“Why later? Why not now?” Logan asked.

Tensions shot up in the room. I wondered if there was a strange hourglass in the mountain-sized tower out west collecting red sand.

“I think Riley just wants us to stay focused on what we’re about to do. We have storylines to clear,” Anna said, trying to be a peacemaker. “We need to tackle one thing at a time.”

“And I need to know the long-term plan so that I don’t feel like a schmuck. I think that’s a fair request,” Logan said. “If I’m about to literally go die for your plans, give me all the information I need to know if it’s a good idea.”

In situations like this, I would normally just leave. Social confrontation was not my forte.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

But I had to stay.

“I don’t have a lot of information,” I said. “I told you about the scientist lady who wants to find the secrets of the universe, and you said you weren’t interested in that.”

“But there were others,” he responded. “You supposedly went and got to peek behind the curtain, but you still keep secrets. I thought that if we went along with your little plan, you’d finally let us in on whatever it is that’s going on. But you come back, having seen so many amazing things, and you’re still secretive. It’s like you have no other mode.”

Angry eyebrows, activate.

“They don’t like being talked about,” I said. “They don’t see themselves as part of the story. They don’t want us to mention them. Don’t you get that?” I asked, gripping the edge of the table firmly. “Carousel’s throughline is the one Project Rewind was designed to revive. It’s the one you were brought here to run, the one with the promise of curing your cancer. I don’t think we need to look at the others.”

“Why not?” Logan asked. “Maybe we’re making bad assumptions. Let’s double check.”

I was at a loss for words. I looked around, hoping someone would support me. But the truth was—they seemed to agree with Logan. If not with his tone, then at least with his opinion.