[Scene 1: The Weight of Shared Fate]
The silence in the alley was louder than the collapsing Metro. The glowing mission directives—etched not on paper, but directly onto their consciousnesses—had stripped away the last layer of Leo's comfortable denial. His self-doubt was real, yes, but the Protocol knew his greater weakness: the people he cared about.
He looked at Lulu, who was nervously adjusting her camera, trying to process the idea that a cosmic destiny involved her photo ops. He looked at Tank, whose brute loyalty was now being exploited as a power source.
And then he looked at Astrid. Her posture, usually aggressively alert, was tight with vulnerability. Her eyes, those sharp, analytical green lenses, were wide with a terrifying blend of rage and reluctant acceptance.
"It knows my mentor's last destination," Astrid whispered, the fact hitting her not as data, but as grief. "The Rooftop Carnival. It's using my past to force my future. This Protocol... it's not efficient, Vance. It's cruel."
Leo pushed himself up, his exhaustion suddenly tempered by a fierce, protective instinct—the true root of his Inertia power. "It knows how to hurt us," he repeated, his voice quiet but steady. The pain of others always had a way of cutting through his own chronic procrastination. "Which means we go where it wants us to go, but we do it our way."
Dr. Sylvia Rook, ever the pragmatist, cleared her throat. "Compassion acknowledged, Vance. Now, let's leverage that emotional connection. The Protocol's next push will be here." She gestured toward an inconspicuous industrial building. "Welcome to the hidden hub: the Dream Weaver Observatory."
[Scene 2: The Ethereal Seer and Her Pet]
The Observatory was stunning. It wasn't merely a room; it was a giant, glass-domed sanctuary under a perpetual, vibrant starfield. Telescopic arrays projected constantly shifting dream images onto the walls, making it impossible to focus on a single piece of objective reality. The core was dominated by a circular, crystalline table displaying a chaotic, glowing map of the cosmos.
A figure was waiting at the map, radiating an unnerving calmness. This was Lys Delmar. She wore flowing robes that seemed to catch the starlight, and her ethereal silver hair framed heterochromatic eyes—left blue, right gold. She was gently stroking a small, black cat with iridescent fur: Dreamcat Spindle.
"Did you dream in color last night?" Lys asked softly, turning her otherworldly gaze toward Leo. Her voice was like wind chimes—dreamy, cryptic, and deeply unsettling.
"No, I dreamed about a duck with a hammer, which I assume is standard cosmic horror," Leo sighed, instinctively finding her too much work.
Lys smiled faintly, pointing to the chaotic map with a staff topped with a crystal prism—her Dreamweaver Scepter. "The Protocol has spoken. It is time to decode the first truth."
Astrid was immediately skeptical. "I need data points, not poetry, Miss Delmar. We have a logistical target—The Rooftop Carnival—and a finite window before the Lunar Cycle shifts. Can you provide actionable intelligence on 'The Duck'?"
"Facts first, feelings later," Astrid added pointedly, using her catchphrase to draw a clear line between them.
"Your facts are merely shadows of deeper truths," Lys returned easily, holding up a small, swirled monocle—the Echo Lens. "My Echo Lens reveals the hidden messages behind your data."
Dreamcat Spindle, meanwhile, slipped off the table and nudged Leo's leg, sensing the faint static of anxiety and the unique scent of his Inertia power.
[Scene 3: The Clash of Logic vs. Intuition]
The challenge was laid out: the cryptic riddle, "THE DUCK WITH THE HAMMER," was somehow the key to locating the Red Teapot and activating the next portal.
Lys pressed the Echo Lens to her eye, studying the shimmering glyphs Leo had drawn on a napkin. "The duck represents movement—uncontrolled desire. The hammer is force—the need for change," she murmured, lost in her symbolism.
Astrid was furiously cross-referencing the symbols on her tablet, using her high intelligence to discard every mythological or historical reference. "This is statistically impossible! The symbol set is fractured. I can't find a logical correlative!"
Tank, meanwhile, just wanted to expedite the process. "Wait, a duck that hammers things? Is it just a really tough, gold-plated goose? Let's smash AND grab! I'll just smash the entire Carnival until we find it!"
"No smashing, Tank," Leo interjected, momentarily forgetting his fatigue. He knew why the riddle was so potent: it was born of his own mind. He realized the duck was the symbol of action—the very thing he resisted. The hammer was the tool of creation or destruction—the power he was afraid to wield.
"It's a contradiction," Leo explained, speaking with the unintentional strategist's clarity he only possessed in crisis. "It's the fear of being forced to do something definitive. The Red Teapot must be the destination that forces me to stop resisting the power."
[Scene 4: Deciphering the Riddle's Core]
Lys's dreamy eyes suddenly cleared, illuminated by Leo's unexpected insight. "He speaks truth, Analyst Laura. The riddle isn't historical; it's psychological. The Red Teapot is a psychic anchor designed to break Vance's Inertia."
Dr. Sylvia chimed in, holding her Naptime Gavel. "The fact is, Vance, you're an empathy sponge. This Protocol is manipulating your desire to protect your team by making the reward—the Red Teapot—a necessary step to save them from the Protocol's influence."
Astrid finally found a logical connection. "Wait. If the riddle is psychological, the Protocol uses Leo's mind as its guide book. The only time Leo leaves the Fortress is for snacks or… offbeat documentaries." She quickly searched Leo's obscure preferences on her tablet. "The Red Teapot is a famous celestial pattern in an antique star map—the Librarian's Star Chart!"
Lys confirmed, pointing the Dreamweaver Scepter toward the Observatory's glass dome. A section of the starfield immediately lit up, highlighting a cluster of stars that formed a perfect teapot shape. The center of that pattern? The Rooftop Carnival coordinates.
Relief washed over the team. Logic (Astrid), intuition (Lys), and Inertia (Leo) had successfully collaborated. Their differences sparked genius, and Leo felt a compassionate surge—a selfless caring that was far more draining than any Inertia pulse.
[Scene 5: The Duck Manifestation and Escalation]
"Excellent. We now have an actionable destination and a three-hour time window," Astrid declared, regaining her clipped, efficient composure. "We need to move with maximum speed and minimum emotional baggage."
Tank was already cracking his knuckles. "Let's smash AND grab! Get the duck clue and find the taco stand!"
Just as they turned toward the portal array, the Observatory's dome groaned. The glass didn't crack, but the reflected starlight coalesced on the crystal map table, shimmering violently.
From the swirling starlight, a cartoonish figure materialized. It was about the size of a pigeon, rendered in bizarre, angry neon yellow: the Duck with the Hammer. It had a tiny, oversized hammer and furiously began pecking and hammering the crystalline table, creating loud, high-pitched clinks.
"QUACK! MOVE! QUACK!" the apparition shrieked, clearly intent on rushing the team.
Lys shielded the Dreamcat Spindle, which was arching its back, hissing at the surreal entity. Leo instinctively reached for the REMulator Band on his wrist, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. The threat wasn't a shadow or a gear—it was a terrifying, physical manifestation of his own deepest, most absurd anxieties.
CLIFFHANGER:
The Duck with the Hammer smashed its hammer directly onto the central map table, which immediately cracked, sending a blinding ripple of energy directly toward the nearest portal. The creature pointed its hammer at Leo, its neon eyes blazing with urgency.
"TOO SLOW, SLOTH! MOON SHIFT IMMINENT! IF YOU DON'T GO, WE ALL GET STUCK!"
The portal array overloaded, dissolving the walls of the Observatory into a whirling, unstable vortex of stars and chaos. The team was pulled violently forward, plunging them toward the Rooftop Carnival—but the unpredictable nature of the corrupted portal meant their landing could be anywhere, or anywhen.