[Official Audio] IDIOTAPE - Pluto (11111101).mp3
Brief
TIMELINE (IN-GAME PERIOD): APRIL 30, 2022 SETTING (IN-GAME LOCATION): New Flushing, Queens, NKC. MUSES INVOLVED: [ANNA LIU](<https://rpmains.notion.site/ANNA-LIU-460bea10c0e4825e982c8134c0592d4f>), [JOAQUIN AURELIO LIU (GOODFELLA)](<https://rpmains.notion.site/JOAQUIN-AURELIO-LIU-GOODFELLA-1cebea10c0e48350991f01e1ce43ee84>), [MERCEDES SALAZAR (OUTIS)](<https://rpmains.notion.site/MERCEDES-SALAZAR-OUTIS-349bea10c0e480a08c6cf6c6f0903e37>), [HIKARU TOKIMOTO](<https://rpmains.notion.site/HIKARU-TOKIMOTO-750bea10c0e482d0940201b5ae243afe>) , SAMIR (BUZZKILL). NPCS INVOLVED: THE CLEANER, RUDY, UNNAMED STREAMERS. CONTENT WARNINGS: DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, INJURY, EMETOPHOBIA, COARSE LANGUAGE, GENDERED SLURS.
A band of independent Bring Your Own Hero stewards hunt down a violent roaming bandit after one of their own is attacked, only to learn that planning retribution is far easier than carrying it out.
Directions
The Cleaner subplot has been updated based on our player‑led choices. All agencies can now participate in the next stage of his storyline, as he is now wanted by the F.B.A.I., and has a dispatch mission open to every registered (or unregistered*!*) steward.
Any characters who were caught on film must roll in our #byoh thread in our #events channel on our Discord server to determine whether their public perception has changed. Players may also use their activity points to adjust their character’s stats if the roll result doesn’t align with their current plot direction.
Additionally, the F.B.A.I. will now be on the lookout for unidentified and unregistered stewards. More on this will be explained in a later update.
For this event, any player who was not part of the group thread may still react in person at the venue once they have received approval from the admin team. Players who prefer to respond outside the event may write a self‑para reaction post or create social‑media‑style posts in our community referencing what happened. All reactions must include a tag or header that clearly states the date of the response, and players are welcome to backdate their posts when needed.
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Ancient Grounds smells like cinnamon, espresso, and dust -- the kind that comes from pottery shards and replica dig tools mounted on the walls. Anna sits in a corner booth near the emergency exit sipping at a drink so sweet it clings to her teeth. The shop is quiet this early in the afternoon with only a few people scattered throughout the space. Overhead, soft indie music muffles the conversations between tables. It's perfect.
Anna pulls her hoodie sleeves over her hands and checks her phone. The DMs of the meeting location she sent to the other freelancers are still there along with the most recent message she sent: a picture of the framed poster hanging over her head. It's a picture of a T-rex skeleton trying to sip a latte. The caption reads "Caffeinate or Get Extinct." She's always liked that one. Her knee bounces under the table as she watches her inbox for any updates. She doesn't know much about fuli163, but she knows Outis. Anna's enjoyed working with her before because they move similarly: fast, practical, and with a mind on public safety. Outis won't care about the many Santa Claus jokes Anna still has in her alt drafts. She'll want facts. Which is a problem, because Anna doesn't have any.
She remembers the train. She remembers the prickle of awareness on the back of her neck. The ghost of a hand moving into her space. She remembers muscle memory taking over, turning before her mind has a chance to catch up. And then nothing. Prey instincts are great for being aware of her surroundings but are absolute hell on actually remembering anything afterward. She tucks her phone up into the sleeve of her hoodie, glancing toward the door as shadows pass along the street outside. Her sense are sharp today, leaving her on edge.
She keeps replaying the almost-mugging in her head: the way she felt watched; the way she slipped out of reach before she even understood why; the way the thief vanished like smoke. Anna takes another sip of her sugar-bomb and forces her shoulders to relax. There are other people that have been hurt. There are other people that care. They can all compare notes and they'll figure out who's targeting freelancers. She wants another shot at them. She wants to see their face when they're made to feel like prey.
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There is strength in numbers, Mercedes knows this well. It's why social movements are able to move the government, why change is made. It might be the sort of thing that would be seen in the Invictus cartoon, but at the end of the day, it is true. Working together tends to make it easier to overcome most adversities. As such, she is rather pleased when the other BYOH freelancers begin mobilizing with the same goal as her. The Cleaner is a danger to them all. For now, few people have been truly hurt, but who is to say that they won't escalate? Reassurances are null when their opponent is unknown.
With this in mind, she slips into the coffee shop a few minutes before the agreed hour, heading to the counter to get a latte of her own before turning to examine the inside of Ancient Grounds. Eyes hidden by goggles move around until they fall in the poster Anna had sent through DMs, and then under it, where the account owner is sitting. Nodding to herself, she moves closer, tapping the table with her knuckles to get her attention without startling her too much.
"Evening," she greets as she slips into one chair and pulls down her gas mask to take a sip from her coffee. "About how many people should we expect, you think?"
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At some point during the conversation the night before, it had dawn on Joaquin that he was the only one in Anna’s group chat that had no idea what everyone else was talking about. He had replied to her AlterEgo post assuming it was some sort of off-color attempt to keep magic alive in the hearts of children by joking about Santa Clause during his off season~~—one of those American things he had trouble parsing but still found charming nonetheless.~~
He knew he had been incorrect when Anna had threaded to block him again but he was starting to think that that was a joke too. Maybe. Or she had had a change of heart at the last minute and added him to a group DM anyway. Either way, he had been completely lost after more people joined and began discussing “Santa,” whom he had concluded was someone in a Santa Costume —In April?— targeting BYOH workers in NKC.
Which was bad. Especially since that Cleaner guy was out there too. Allegedly. And while he hoped there would be some way to resolve this issue without resorting to anymore violence, he wanted to offer his support in anyway he could.
Checking his phone one last time to make sure he’d gotten the time and place right, Joaquin paused outside the windows of Ancient Grounds and scanned the walls for the poster Anna had referenced in her last message. To his surprise, there was already another person sitting with Anna. Someone familiar.
A grin spread across his face and he bound into the coffee shop with a spring in his step. The bell above the door jingled pleasantly, announcing his arrival.
“Sorry if I’m late! I tried to get here fifteen minutes early but I’m sorry if I made you wait.”
He said and tried to wave with his dominate hand — bound by a sling — before wincing and switching to his left. Beaming he came to a stop in front of the table.
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Even as he pushes open the doors to Ancient Grounds, Sami is trying to decide if he's making a mistake. These are people he doesn't know, discussing a topic he'd tried very hard to avoid, and all that keeps Samir separate from Buzzkill here are a few pieces of fabric.
He's done plenty of stupid things for this work, and he's starting to think this whole affair should land somewhere at the top of the list.
Still, he can't deny that it's not without its use. If it had been him in the middle of that street, which it very well could have been, he probably would have landed himself in a few fights already and met with anyone who knew anything about it. Some of the others may have been the person Attacked- so the least he could do would be show up and Tell them what he knows.
A quiet alarm flares in the back of his mind as he walks through the cáfe- people are looking- and even though he pushes it away, he glances over his shoulder twice and adjusts his mask on his way over.
"Hello," He nods to the others, two women already seated and ends up standing beside the other man at the side of the table, "Good to see you all. I hope I am not too late, have I missed anything?"
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The buses are running off-schedule as is typical when the day is frequently interrupted by crime, minor disasters, and heroic rescues. Hikaru got a late start today—well, honestly, every day—and he’s squeezing a granola bar with strawberry yogurt icing into his mouth, through his bandages, for breakfast/lunch as he ducks through the crowded sidewalk to reach the meeting point.
He can hardly believe that he’s teaming up with Outis for the second time this week. Today is just a meeting of the minds, as he understands it, but it’s his first time joining a group effort like this—making plans, exchanging information and whatnot—that it’s hard not to be excited. The only downside is that he hasn’t figured out the way to explain how he went about stopping a “clean-out” without going into specifics about his power. He’s hoping no one asks for details.
He really wants to be useful.
Hikaru pops into Ancient Grounds and spots the group immediately. It’s kinda cool. He likes not being the only one in disguise. He walks up with an unmistakable pep in his step, waving at each person who got there before him (curse you, public transportation). He lingers for a second on Buzzkill, happy to see that he showed up despite the hint of hesitation Hikaru picked up on when he brought this up the other day.
With a final, slightly more excited wave at Outis, Hikaru removes his backpack as he takes the last free seat and starts digging for his pen and notepad while the others exchange greetings.
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Anna barely returns Outis's greeting before Joaquin bounds in (whom she did not invite), followed by a familiar-looking, shifty man (whom Anna also did not invite), and finally a silent fuli163 (whom she recognizes because, well, there aren't many people wandering around with bandages on their heads). She straightens a little as the table fills. It's a strange mix, but a good one. Better turn out than she expected, honestly. Before she can begin, however, she does have to address the elephant in the room. She stares at him a beat. Just. Taking him in. As usual. "Joaquin," she says, "why are you even here with a broken arm? I didn't invite you. Wait, *how *did you break your arm? When?" Hopefully her tone isn't accusatory, but she is just. Baffled. And maybe a little resigned. He's already here, after all. Before he can answer, though, she waves her own question away, shifting into business mode. "I-- nevermind. I can't. We'll get to it later." This is what she was good at. She'd been great at group projects in college.
"Alright," she says, raising her voice just enough to cut through the overlapping greetings and apologies. "Thanks for coming. Really." She reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out a pen -- the same type she used when she would reign organizational hell on unsuspecting group project members in college. Four people? Easy. "We all know why we're here. Someone's targeting freelancers: someone fast, quiet, and good at disappearing. And unless we want more people getting hurt, we need to pool what we've got. I'll start, since I was the one who dragged everyone out here." She taps the pen against her opposite palm. "I was on the Q when they tried to hit me. I felt them before I saw them -- or before I didn't see them," she corrects, deliberately avoiding looking at Buzzkill as she scans the assembled group. "I managed to dodge, but I couldn't get a good look at them. No face, no voice, no tells. Just. A presence. And then nothing. That's my intel. So if anybody has anything else -- sightings, patterns, weird vibes -- anything. Doesn't matter how small. We'll figure out the bigger picture once everything is on the table." She gestures with her pen at Outis and takes out a tiny flip-top notebook, ready to pass the baton to keep the conversation orderly and moving forward. "Alright, what have you got? Even if you think it's not important, trust me, it probably is."
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Meeting other BYOH stewards outside of the regular bruncheons is a novel experience, she must admit. While she has worked with most of the people around the table at least once and would trust them to watch her back during a task, she can't see she has talked to most of them much outside of the odd encounters. It's fairly overwhelming in a way, even as she makes sure to wave or nod at anyone arriving, but not overwhelming enough to distract her from the glaring fact that was Joaquin being hurt. She had seen him in the distance a few days ago and he hadn't had the sling. That he had now was concerning, and she makes a note to pull him aside after the meeting is over to ask what the hell is that about. Still...
"I would actually also want to know what happened to your arm," she offers quietly, before glancing back at Anna and paying attention to her words. Once she is done, Outis hums in thought.
"I also happened to see them on the Q line. The Cleaner had a man's build, and was wearing an uniform. A dark navy jumpsuit and a basketball cap. It almost seemed like a maintenance uniform to me. Unfortunately, I couldn't see much beyond that."
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Joaquin grin only grew wider as more people enter the coffee shop — Buzzkill and fuli163, he hand only met them in passing and hoped that they could grow closer. He was beaming at them, wondering if he should have worn his supersuit as well when Anna called him out by name. His smile drooped at her question, and her tone.
“What? I was in the group dm? Was I not meant to show up?” He asked, frantically looking to the others for help when she followed up with another question. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet unsure of what to say when she, mercifully, changed the subject again.
Joaquin’s face furrows up in concern as Anna recounted her encounter with THE CLEANER — his heart hurt, he didn’t know she had almost been attacked. Instinctively, he tried to reach over with his right arm to give her hand a gentle squeeze of support, but only ended up hissing in pain as his still mending arm shifted in its sling — ‘ oh, that’s right… ‘
While he contemplated on whether trying again with his left hand would just make things awkward or not, Outis addressed him and questioned him about his arm as well.
He knew he was pouting at this point, but he couldn’t help it. He had figured his injury would have been one of those things people would be too polite to mention; but after living in NKC for so long, he’d realized that there was a rather large culture difference between himself and others where he was always lagging behind.
As Outis gave her own intel, he couldn’t help but feel even more out of place.
“I… my apologies, I don’t really have information about the cleaner guy. Thankfully, I have not had any encounters with him or seen any attacks…” He muttered, looking down at his feet.
Deciding that he could at least answer Anna and Outis’ earlier inquiries, he cupped his right elbow with his left hand and began, “ As for my arm… I was mugged on Saturday while I was on my way to Fort Greene Park… ” His voice trailed off, embarrassed.
“That request for the cat food popped up and I thought it was weird since it only ever shows up in the mornings so I figured maybe it was urgent? I don’t normally take that request because I don’t need the mo—” He couldn’t say that, that would definitely be rude to say among other B.Y.O.H. stewards. “—I was nearby and I like cats.”
Clearing his throat he continued, “Unfortunately I cannot give any information about the person who robbed me. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t even know I was being followed until the first strike. But it was strange, they never actually touched me.” Except for the arm, but no one else needed to know about that. “ It felt like… The pain was coming from inside me? I couldn’t breath all of a sudden and something was happening to my heart and I couldn’t stand anymore and then I went flying and—”
As he retold the story, he was surprised by how much reliving the event turned his stomach; dread and shame raced each other up and down his back leaving him feeling burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The attack had felt strangely personal, like his assailant wanted to inflict as much damage as possible. But he couldn’t say that, he didn’t know for sure — the only proof was his arm — and there were people who would not take kindly to the implication that what he had experienced was anything more than a robbery that gotten out of hand.
“I don’t know… I passed out and woke up in the hospital...” He trailed off, a far away look in his eyes before they suddenly snapped up to meet Anna’s and then Outis’.
“But you don’t have to worry, I’m okay now! All my other injuries have healed and I only have some minor aches and bruises— and, well, the arm— but I can already feel that getting better now that I am around you, my dear friends!”
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With all five freelancers gathered together in the coffeehouse, Sami feels a little more confident. It's a solid little crew- he'd nodded at fuli163 as he'd entered, but other than that, he'd stayed steady and silent. They all seem to have more experience with this... cleaner, as they call him, and for a few minutes, he wasn't sure if his experience was even worth sharing.
And then Joaquin spoke. Actually attacked, with serious injuries, and... well, that's why he'd showed up, wasn't it?
"It may have been him, who attacked you." Sami says, looking over at Joaquin (and pointedly avoiding the broken arm), "I'm quite sure he doesn't need to make contact with his victims to attack them."
Once he starts speaking, he's not sure if he should continue- he barely saw a thing, it wasn't him being targeted, and he couldn't even help the freelancer who was in time. But... he's still got to try, even if he's forcing himself to stay and talk, as Anna had said to start things off- even if you think it's not important, it probably is.
"I didn't see him at all, the street was crowded, but I had a bad feeling, I suppose, so I checked the currents, and if he'd touched them, the current would have changed." He explains, shifting under the rest of the freelancer's gazes, "It didn't."
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Hikaru’s so absorbed in his notepad that his cheek is nearly touching the table while he furiously scribbles away. It’s only until Joaquin’s story slowly elucidates something that perhaps the storyteller himself isn’t aware of that he finally looks up. Hikaru carefully eyes each person at the table, wondering if they’re coming to the same conclusion, before his gaze lands on the speaker. He’s all of the sudden filled with pity, frowning at Joaquin’s misfortune; something akin to anger sparks within him. Impotence for being without means of helping.
He returns to his notepad with a new mission. First, he quickly finishes what he’d been working on. Hikaru reaches into his bag a second time, and when it’s in his hand, he pulls the cap off a yellow highlighter before pressing it against the page for a few, haphazard strokes. A few seconds later, he rips the page out and slides it under the notepad while he begins scribbling away at the new one.
Buzzkill says what he’s thinking with a lot more professionalism than Hikaru could’ve hoped to invoke. The man is calm, politely arriving at a verdict without wasting words, seemingly experienced at skirting around social landmines. Meanwhile, Hikaru rips out the second page and self-consciously holds on to it while he pushes the first one toward the center of the table.
The group sees the doodled depiction of a very scary man. Next to it is a bullet point list of notable characteristics expressed by Hikaru’s admittedly silly way of articulation, and at the bottom of the page:
He looked like this I intercepted him right before he mugged someone a few days ago… I got really lucky. sorry I couldn’t catch him for good :(
And while everyone is looking at the note, he shyly slips the second one towards Joaquin. This one has a cute teddy bear doodled on it, warmly wishing Joaquin get well soon within a giant speech bubble.
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Anna listens and takes notes, knee bouncing under the table. While they talk, she quietly asks for clarification (“What day was this?” “Where did it happen?” “Which stop?” “Northbound or southbound?” “Morning or afternoon?”) and jots down their responses without comment, her handwriting tight and slanted from the tension in her hand.
Then Fuli163 slides the drawing into the center of the table. She holds a tight leash on her instinct to go still, to make herself less noticeable, and she forces her breath to stay even, her shoulders loose.
“Right.” She clears her throat, glancing at Outis, her gold-standard for ‘functional adult coworker.’ worker. Okay. I can be competent. I can do competence. Watch me competence, she thinks, thoughts spiraling in a part of her brain she’ll deal with later (WITH YELLING MAYBE?). “Let's review.”
She taps her pen against her notepad. “We know they’re big, apparently rocking frosted tips.” She gives Fuli163 a nod. “Lucky or not, those are great details. Don’t discount that.”
She raises one finger. “They’re using the maintenance clothes as cover, so they can get close without being noticed.”
Second finger. “We’ve seen them in Brooklyn and LibGlen. I’ve heard about attacks in Queens, so we have a general cluster.”
Third. “They’re targeting BYOH specifically. Not civilians or random commuters. But they’re also not just hitting freelancers on jobs,” she continues. “I wasn’t working, but they still tried me, which means this isn’t opportunistic. This is deliberate.”
Her eyes flick to Joaquin’s sling, then away before she can get stuck there.
The lights in the café look wrong -- too bright at the edges, too dim in the center – which means her pupils must be massive, predator-wide. She forces her gaze down to her notes, but her eyes keep flicking up, skimming the room in quick, silent sweeps. Outis. Fuli163. The masked man she’s just realizing she doesn’t know the name of. Joaquin, there with a broken arm he apparently got yesterday and didn’t tell anyone about (DEFINITELY WITH YELLING).
“So how are they finding us?” She gestures vaguely at herself. “I don’t exactly scream ‘makes bank doing freelance work, please rob.’ Most people look right past me. So how did they pick me out on a crowded train?”
“And then there’s the cat food request. That request never shows up in the afternoon. Ever.” She inhales slowly, then looks at Fuli163's drawing again, glances at Joaquin. “I’m glad you’re okay. Okay-ish, whatever. But Management should have never let it get this far.”
She taps the paper again. “Whoever this is put Joaquin in the hospital, so they're escalating. And they're apparently doing all of this without touching anyone, so it's something ranged, internal: Energy manipulation, pressure, something in that family."
She presses back in her chair, the feel of unyielding wood grounding. "I’m not suggesting we go looking for trouble, but I think we should get some kind of boots on the ground today. We head out in pairs. Stay within a few blocks of each other. One person walks a normal route. The other shadows them from a distance. If someone is tracking us, we see how they're doing it. If they show up, we call the rest of the group. And while we're doing that, we brainstorm how they're identifying us. Because if they can pick us out when we're off duty, that means there's some kind of leak or a security breach. Or someone is feeding them inside information."
She looks around the table again. “Personally, I think Outis and Fuli should be the watchers. You two are the only ones who’ve actually seen them. You’ll know what to look for.”
Her gaze flicks to Joaquin and then to a spot just over the masked man’s shoulder.
“Joaquin and… you,” she says, nodding toward the masked man, much too late to ask for his name, “should be the walkers. They probably won’t go after the same person twice, but Joaquin might be the only person I’ve met who actually owns BYOH merch.”
She closes her notebook with a soft snap, waiting for the verdict.
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