Engine Room: Mirror Mirror on the Wall (Escape from Club Apophis, 41)

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STORYLINE:   In the mad dash to evade the Enforcers, the team scattered. Lost and half-blind, Minjo ducked into the nearest available door.

The corridor was a jarring contrast to the plastic surgery clinic's sterile white above. Here, everything glowed warm and decadent. She couldn't read the details clearly. Her world had been a smear of shapes and color since the sewers took her glasses. But she could feel the difference. Thick carpet underfoot instead of tile. The air tasted faintly of mahogany and expensive old perfume. Warmth instead of clinical cold.

At the end of the hall, a brass door radiated importance. She didn't need sharp eyes to recognize that shape of authority.

She ran for it, heart hammering against her ribs. She pressed the gold serpent brooch to the kiosk by feel.

"Welcome home, Mistress Paine," the automated assistant chirped. The heavy door hissed open.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

Minjo slipped inside and dropped to the cold floor. She dove beneath what felt like a bed. Her hands found a brass frame, heavy embroidered fabric, the scent of dust and trapped air. She pressed herself flat and waited.

MasterGin's voice cut through the corridor like a razor drawn across velvet. "Trying to break what belongs to me? How ambitious of you."

"You can't do this to me." Paine's voice was tight. Desperate.

"Oh, I already have."

"I built this clinic. I run it."

"And yet here we are. Think of it as a sabbatical. A very long one. Your only duty now is to ensure no one else harms another glorious hair on his head. Now go. Before I'm forced to correct what jealousy has done to your face."

Heels receded. Precise. Unhurried.

The door swung open.

"Welcome home, Mistress Paine," the automated assistant repeated, just as brightly.

Minjo shifted backward into the shadows.

Something heavy smashed against the wall. She flinched at the sound. Glass, by the pitch of it, shattering across the floor. Something small skittered under the bed skirt and came to rest near her knee. She felt the edge of it with careful fingers. A shard. Mirror glass. She moved her hand away.

From under the folds of fabric, she listened more than she watched.

The clinic administrator's breathing was ragged. The rustle of fabric, a zipper, something heavy dropping to the floor. A change of clothes. Minjo filed this away. Paine shedding the white coat in private meant the white coat was a performance. What came after was the real thing. The unmistakeable shape and colors of a nun habit.

Then the soft thud of a body sliding down a wall. Knees pulling in. A choked sob that the room swallowed slowly.

Minjo had expected many things from Nurse Paine. Crying was not among them.

She inched forward carefully, staying low, until she had a partial sightline through the gap in the bed skirt. Shapes and light. The glow of a halophone activating. Paine's blurred silhouette on the floor, something small held up in the amber light, a lock of something pale, silver-bright even to her damaged eyes. Hair. Long and silver.

Jihoon's hair.

Paine gripped it like a lifeline.

"April 13, 2055," Paine said, her voice hoarse. "Club Apophis. Five minutes to midnight."

The phone projected a hologram into the dark room. Minjo couldn't make out faces clearly, blurred shapes and moving light, but she didn't need to. She heard sounds. Clinking glasses, upbeat music, layered chatter. A birthday party. Someone singing Happy Birthday with theatrical confidence. She recognized the timbre of that voice even muffled through projection speakers.

MasterGin.

She heard the wink in his voice, "It's going to be you."

The crowd began to chant.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Minjo held herself perfectly still. She was beginning to understand what she was witnessing.

Three. Two. One.

A sound she could interpret without seeing: heavy doors opening. Streetlight bleeding in. She could tell by the way the room's light shifted even through her limited sight. The music stopped mid-note. Absolute silence.

Then a voice she knew.

Uncertain. Slightly embarrassed. Completely ordinary.

"Hi."

Minjo's hand flew to her mouth.

No one on screen moved.

Paine killed the projection. The room plunged back into suffocating silence.

The sound that followed was harder to listen to than anything in the recording. Not sobbing exactly. The specific, ugly sound of a person coming apart when they believe no one can hear them. Ragged breaths scraping against the quiet. The wet sound of grief that has nowhere to go.

Minjo shifted her weight slightly to ease the ache in her knees. Her knee grazed something, the glass shard barely touching it, and the tiny sound it made against the floorboards detonated in the silence.

Paine's breath stopped.

Then the bed was gone. Hauled back with a jarring metallic scrape. Cold air rushed in. A shape loomed over her. Minjo couldn't see the expression clearly but she could read the body language in the set of the shoulders, the raised arm. Something sharp and metallic glinted the ambient light. Shears.

Minjo froze. She calculated what she could: the distance to the door by memory, the approximate angle of the blade by the glint, and her absolute zero percent chance of survival.

She waited.

Above her, something changed. The raised arm didn't fall. Minjo could feel the recalculation happening in the pause, threat assessment shifting, the quality of the silence changing from predatory to something else.

Slowly, the shears lowered.

"I didn't mean to pry," Minjo said. She kept her voice perfectly even. "I just needed a place to hide." She nodded toward the silver strands she could make out in Paine's hand. "You disguised your betrayal with a smaller one. Brilliant."

Paine looked down at the hair. "Twenty years," she whispered. Her voice was entirely hollow. "I gave him twenty years of devotion. I bled for him. He forgot I existed the second that boy walked through the door."

Minjo considered this. "He told you it was going to be you."

"I was the strongest of his disciples," Paine said. "MasterGin had been preparing for centuries. I thought I was the culmination of it all. The pinnacle of his achievement. But I wasn't. None of us were."

The shame left Paine's voice. What replaced it was worse.

"I followed the false god," Paine said, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "And I was envious of the real one."

Paine sank to her knees. She bowed her head deeply, almost pressing her forehead against the dusty floorboards.

"I didn't understand, but I do now. Someone appeared by chance. Seemingly unworthy. And..."

"Chaos," Minjo interrupted flatly. "Just the kind of surprise a god of chaos would find funny."

"No." She shook her head. "Jihoon is one of us. A Child of Apophis. He has to be. He's the Lost One. Please accept my apology," Paine whispered to the floor. "My envy blinded me. I will serve the true Chosen One. As the advocate of Yoon Jihoon, how may I assist you?"

Minjo looked at the blurred shape of the woman kneeling before her. She didn't offer comfort. She didn't offer a speech about forgiveness. The variables of their survival had just changed. She needed to exploit them.

Minjo dusted off her knees and rose.

"Can you get us into the ceremony?"

"Yes."

"Good. I need to know exactly what happened to Jihoon when he entered Club Apophis. I need the logistics of the Opening of the Mouth ceremony, Monstrum, the Old Ways." Minjo reached out and found the silver strands by feel, lifting them from Paine's hand. "And I'll be taking this mutant DNA sample. Thank you for your assistance."

For those still following along for the continuing storyline, this chapter just revealed who the Magic Mirror is in my cyberpunk horror retelling of Snow White. Paine is the mirror to MasterGin's evil queen. lol The Prince and the Huntsman will be revealed, as well as wrapping up the character arcs for Lisa, Ghost, Echo and Jihoon. I estimate there are roughly 4 more chapters left and an epilogue. What a journey!

This post was inspired by the series and wonderful items on this round of Engine Room which ends tomorrow. The setting has so many lovely things, and both outfits are gorgeous.   ...On MasterGin is the Nixon outfit by OneDays. It's one-piece outfit you buy in a single color or fatback.   ...On the long suffering Paine is the Rebis Scholar Garments. It comes in fits for men and women. It has textures in PBR that give the metallic edges sparkle, and a tattered hem.   ...From Milkbath is the Censer. Just wear it and it will trigger a 1 of 4 poses which you can alter in the texture hud. It comes in left and righted version, swing, and non swing.   .... From Cult is the Cornelia boots (shown below) for female avatars. The boots include gear details, and a spooky spinal vertebra heel. They are elegant gothic style with metallic details. But I really love the suede texture options, along with the leather.   ...The Bedroom set is by Eclectica. It includes the bed, dressers, mirrors, and lamps. The mirrors are PBR and will reflect the environment. It comes with a texture hud to change the metal color, and fabrics.   ...From Lore is the Captain's Lounge Chair, tables, and lamp. They are PBR with a hud to change the chair textures.   ...Also from Lore is matching skybox, Nemo's study. Its fantastic with elegant PBR textures.   ...From Duplexity is an art deco Radio.   ...From Ishiku is another stunning crystal glass set, Vintage Floral Decanter. It's mod, so I tinted it green to match my theme.   ...From Puddles is the Royal Scribe's Collection with lectern, feather pen, and book stack.   ...From Apika is the spooky Madame Palmelope, a hand holding a teacup, that when touched, will give you your fortune.   ..In the back, is the Architect Volta fireplace. I tinted the flames green for a spooky effect.

The Apophis series will be taking a break for the first time in almost a year, as I shift to blogging the Fantasy Faire. Be looking forward to it.  Apophis will return after that. 

On Her, Nurse Paine:

Outfit: REBIS - Scholar Garments . LaraX . OMNIPACK [mesh](Engine Room)(2000L)

Censer, pose: MILKBATH - Samael Censer [mesh](Engine Room)(799L)

Boots: CULT - Cornelia [mesh](Engine Room)(369L)

Headdress: ONEDAYs - UNHOLY HEADRESS [UNRIGED]

Hair: Limerence - Tamesis hair [mesh](990L)

Gloves: ContraptioN - Dapper Dandy's Glove, Maitreya [mesh]

Tears: SAXO - Bleeding Eyes lel EVOX Unisex [BOM]

Eyes: VelvetVue - Hibrida blue eyes :: sclera #1 [BOM]

Skin: VOGLIA - ELEKTRA Skin, EvoX, Icy With Brows [BOM]

Head, eyes: LeLUTKA - RAVEN 4.0 [mesh](3990L)

Body: TheShops - Legacy (f) Special Edition (Basic) 1.2 [mesh]

On Him, MasterGin:

Outfit: ONEDAYs - NIXON OUTFIT, Black, LEGACY [mesh](Engine Room)(350L)

Shoes: Deadwool - Dandy shoes - non rigged - black/silver wingtip [mesh](360L)

Claws: L'Emporio&PL - Oblio Vampire Claws male [mesh](350L)

Hair: bonbon - tame hair, naturals [mesh](439L)

Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

Setting:

Bedroom set: Eclectica - Steampunk Bed [mesh](Engine Room)(850L)

Chairs. tables, lamp: LORE - Captain's Lounge Chair [mesh](Engine Room)(1700L)

Radio: Duplexity - Aetherys Lux Radio - Wood/Gold [mesh](Engine Room)(299L)

Glass set: ISHIKU - Vintage Floral Crown Decanter Dispenser [mesh](Engine Room)(490L)

Books, scroll, feather pen: Puddles - Royal Scribe's Collection [mesh](Engine Room)(300L)

Hand, teacup: Apika - Madame Palmelope [mesh](Engine Room)(499L)

Fireplace: Architect - Volta Fireplace [mesh]

Skybox: LORE - Nemo's Study [PBR] [mesh]

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shot, hi-res, midday sky.

Midnight Order: GIN AESTHETICA (Escape from Club Apophis, 30)

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STORYLINE: Old Seoul looked different from above, like a glowing circuit board designed by a madman and dropped into the dark past.

Romance rested his forehead against the cool, tinted glass of the hovercar. The low, soft rumble of its turbine slipped into his bones. Gangnam slid past in layers of aggressive light and chrome. The streets were cleaner than he remembered, scrubbed of humanity, louder with commerce, hungry for attention. Every surface was a screen; every face on the sidewalk had been polished for an audience that never blinked.

His breath fogged the glass, erasing him. When it thinned, a human face stared back like a ghost from another decade. His hair had gone dark, black as faded ink, longer than it had been minutes ago. Only the tips still clung to pink, like a bad memory refusing to let go. The glamor was not broken. It was exhausted.

He had overextended himself in Kyra’s rescue, enchanting hundreds of Monstrum instead of weak, disposable humans. The cost pressed in now as a dull ache behind his eyes, a weight in his limbs, the city suddenly too loud, too bright, too close.

He had been an idol trainee here. Back when the buildings were shorter. Back when idols still pretended to be human. Back when he believed fame would save him.

It didn’t.

A massive hologram pulsed against the smog-choked skyline.

NEW YEAR. NEW YOU. Designed for the life you deserve.

GIN AESTHETICA™ rose beneath the slogan, pristine and obscene. The headquarters of the monster who had hollowed out his homeland and sold it back, piece by perfect piece.

Romance sighed, fogging the glass again before the climate control erased it.

This was a dangerous game. If his plan was going to work, he needed to pass inspection. He needed a pick-me-up.

He pulled out his halo phone and logged into a burner account.

User: Mira Bio: Club organizer. Devoted fan. Founder of the Romaniacs.

The profile image was perfect. A middle-aged woman with soft cheeks, kind eyes, and a haircut that chose practicality over vanity. Someone you trusted with small complaints and unguarded truths.

Someone safe.

He typed: "Still on for coffee? That café you like, near the giant billboard?"

The reply came almost instantly.

Helga: "Yes, of course. I’m just across the street now. I’m wearing a blue coat."

Romance smiled faintly.

Helga. Loyal. Lonely. Careful with money, careless with hope.

The car descended, settling with a whisper of displaced air and the hum of anti-grav stabilizers.

“We have arrived,” the AI announced, voice empty of anything resembling care.

Romance glanced out through the dark glass. The café glowed warmly at street level. And there she was. Blue coat. Phone in hand. Scanning faces for a friend who didn’t exist.

His reflection stared back at him in the window. Beautiful. Hollow. Ready.

“The things I do for love,” he murmured.

The hermetic seals hissed open. Romance stepped out into the street, his pink hair tips catching city light as it stirred in a breeze that smelled faintly of coffee.

Streetlights kissed the silver embroidery of his formal suit like sparks on cold iron. Burgundy fabric clung and flowed, regal and restless, as if stitched from the memory of applause.

He had taken two steps when sharp heels clicked against cement.

A nurse emerged from the plastic surgery clinic.

Blond. Impeccable. Terrifying.

Her uniform had been reinvented into high-fashion couture. Seams sharp as scalpels. Luminous white fabric cut with authority. A gold serpent brooch pinned at her collar caught the streetlamp glare, its diamond eye unblinking.

Paine. MasterGin’s personal assistant.

“Thank you for coming, Master Romance.”

She bowed deeply. The words carried across the sidewalk, slicing cleanly through the traffic noise.

Helga froze.

She turned, eyes wide. Confusion collapsed into disbelief.

“Did you say… Romance?”

Silence stretched.

Romance glanced from Paine to Helga, pulse skidding. Then he laughed, warm and effortless, the sound of someone who belonged exactly where he stood. He stepped forward, angling his body between the nurse and the woman.

“No,” he said lightly. “The real Romance would be ancient by now, wouldn’t he? I’m just a model," he gestured to the clinic. "A celebrity impersonator. DJ Romance.”

Helga followed the movement. Understanding settled across her face.

“Oh!” Relief bloomed into a smile. “Mira set you up for this, didn’t she? That rascal.”

She laughed, then softened. “You carry his style beautifully. You really do. I always liked him best in the early years. When he sang to rooms, not stadiums.”

Her smile turned wistful. “Before Romance was Romance. You have excellent taste.”

Something sharp flashed behind his eyes and vanished.

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head politely.

She hesitated, cheeks warming, her phone lifting uncertainly. “May I… if it’s not strange… could we take a photo together?”

Romance’s smile deepened. The kind that ruined lives gently.

“Of course,” he purred. “Allow me.”

He took the phone, stepped close, and drew her in with practiced ease. The camera loved him. Loved her more for standing beside him.

She gasped when he showed her the image.

Romance did not release her.

“You know,” he murmured near her ear, voice brushing skin, “we could give your friends something better to talk about. How about a kiss?”

She flushed scarlet, entranced. She shyly offered her cheek.

Romance cupped her chin instead, and drew her in.

Their lips pressed together. A kiss deepened just enough to steal her breath. Her knees weakened before she understood why. The phone flashed again and again. Her life flowed into him. Warm. Bright. Threaded with memory. Her love for the man he had been burned sweetly in his lungs.

Delicious.

A sweet sip to be savored. It hit like a vintage year, bright and reckless. For a fraction of a second, faint blue light bloomed where their mouths met, hidden beneath the camera strobe.

“Enough.”

Paine tore the phone from his hand and deleted the images with surgical precision. Unapproved evidence erased with a click.

Helga swayed, grasping the hovercar for balance. Hands trembling. She looked older all at once. Drained.

Romance exhaled, irritated. A wisp of faint blue smoke curled briefly from his lips. His skin gleamed brighter now. His hair shone. His feral eyes sharpened into smoldering amber. For a moment, the world felt edible again. He could almost believe he was in control. Almost.

He smoothed his cuff. "Do you want a good photoshoot,” he said coolly, “or not?”

Paine snapped her fingers. Two men in lab coats appeared immediately, guiding Helga inside with murmured reassurances. A seat. Water. Monitoring.

Romance watched them go. The fragrance of her life still swirled around him, bright as fruit and just as rotten. For a moment he wanted to run after her, to give something back.

Instead, he swallowed the craving and let it become power. He had to be cold; Paine was watching. If he met her gaze, she might see the desperate animal scratching under the facade.

Her sacrifice will not be wasted, he told himself, the lie tasting like ash. It is fuel for a higher cause.

Mask in place. No guilt. Only resolve.

He shouldered his bag, the one with the devil-horned heart charm, and entered the clinic through doors of quartz and sterile luxury.

Inside, sound vanished into a hush that pressed against the ears. There was no reception desk. No signage.

Glass cases lined the space, displaying garments beneath the Apophis ATELIER mark. Clothing designed not to hide alteration, but to celebrate it.

Jackets cut for shoulders beyond human geometry. Dresses engineered to honor augmentation rather than disguise it. Trousers generous where flesh had been rewritten.

This was not indulgence. This was infrastructure.

“Greenroom,” Paine said sharply, pointing. “Makeup and wardrobe shortly.”

Romance sank into the chair before a smart mirror. The lighting shifted, flattering by force. Micro-corrections flickered across the glass.

ID: Pending.... DJ Romance Acceptable. 27% facial imperfections.

He rolled his eyes. An old ache tugged at his chest. He closed his eyes, breathed, and failed to make the yearning leave.

He pulled out his halo phone. He watched the status dot beside her name until it flickered green again.

Mira: "Hey Helga, did anything exciting happen?"

Her icon lit immediately.

Helga: "Mira OMG you will never believe—"

The phone vanished.

“Pink, cheap, and far past its expiration date.”

Romance froze.

The voice came from behind him, close enough to chill the skin at the nape of his neck.

In the mirror, something pale unfolded into the room.

MasterGin.

Not in a lab coat. He wore a sheer white tunic that clung like fog, open at the throat, draped to frame the sharp line of his collarbone and the cold arrogance of his chest. Gold chains crossed him in deliberate geometry, more jewelry than restraint, each link catching the light like a sinful promise.

He held Romance’s halo phone between two fingers, as if it had offended him personally.

“Bubblegum Relic,” Gin sneered savoring the words.

Then he closed his fist.

Metal shrieked. Glass cracked. The device collapsed like tinfoil, crumpling into a glittering ruin that fell to the floor.

Romance stared at the debris, jaw tight.

MasterGin leaned closer.

In the humming mirror, his smile hovered beside Romance’s reflection, a beautiful predator sharing the frame.

“If you ever feed in front of my clinic again,” Gin said softly, a low, deadly purr, “I will have you recycled into a cheap pink vinyl pressing of the worst music ever recorded. Do I make myself clear?”

Romance kept his gaze on the mirror, locking eyes with MasterGin.

“I wonder what would happen to your empire in Seoul,” Romance said, voice low and controlled, “if the locals learned what really goes on at GIN AESTHETICA™.”

MasterGin leaned in, presence collapsing the space, forcing Romance smaller. Then he straightened abruptly.

“First offense,” Gin said, as if mercy bored him. “You didn’t know the rules. I will allow it.”

A hand slid onto Romance’s shoulder.

Then, without warning, it snapped to his jaw.

MasterGin’s claws hooked under Romance’s chin and yanked his face upward—not toward him, but toward the mirror. Hard.

The chair creaked. Romance’s breath caught. They stared together at the reflection. Two monsters.

Gin tilted Romance’s head left, then right, studying him like an expensive object that had begun to tarnish. His thumb pressed into Romance’s jawline with just enough force to hurt.

“Excellent glow-up,” Gin admitted, the compliment almost an insult. “How much did you take?”

“One year,” Romance said, refusing to flinch. “She won’t miss it. Her last five would have been Alzheimer’s.”

Gin’s eyes narrowed in the mirror.

“You can tell that by looking?”

Romance’s lips curled faintly. Sweet. Poisonous.

“Yes,” he said. “And not just humans.”

Something tightened behind Gin’s gaze. Interest, threat assessment, or both.

He released Romance abruptly, as if bored of the sculpture.

“Feisty,” MasterGin murmured, almost pleased.

He drifted closer behind Romance, close enough that his breath warmed Romance’s neck. In the mirror, their faces aligned, predator and pet.

"Do you know what you are?” he asked softly.

His nails pressed in. A sting. A reminder.

“You are a contagion.”

Romance swallowed. Not fear. Recognition.

“When humans love you,” MasterGin continued, voice velvet over steel, “they do not simply adore. They submit. They volunteer. You make slavery feel like devotion.”

He leaned closer, eyes bright with interest now, almost reverent.

“Proof delivered live on my doorstep. I watched the security feed.”

Romance didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“My kind requires proximity. Physicality.” Gin whispered. “But you... You only need a digital signal.”

Romance met his eyes in the glass, unflinching. “I can turn your brand into a theology. But I need payment.”

MasterGin’s grin widened. “So yes. Your New Year campaign.”

He tapped Romance’s cheekbone, as if testing firmness. “You will pour that curse into the lens until they beg for my scalpel like it is salvation.”

His grip tightened.

“And if you do it perfectly,” he murmured, “I will grant your Kyra an appointment. I will assess what remains of her flesh to see what can be salvaged.”

MasterGin’s eyes narrowed, almost playful.

“Disappoint me… and your one billion won doll stays broken. Forever.”

He extended his hand, the hand that made monsters beautiful and vain humans slaves.

Romance stared at it.

For a moment he saw Kyra as she lay dying. Helpless. Ruined. But beneath the ruin, he saw the outline of forever. Not a victim. Not a doll. A bride. A blade. A beginning.

Then he took the hand.

“Deal.”

MasterGin released him. “You look thin. Bring your best face to the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony. Drink ten years.”

With a sharp click of heels, he sashayed away, his feather-light tunic dissolving into the clinical light.




Midnight Order is open! This round is even larger and packed with all that is dark and awesome. Seriously, look at that image above. Wow. Stunning. It's not to be missed.

On Romance is Pendulum's Illuvion suit. It has lush PBR materials that dazzle. It comes with several texture options. It's an entire outfit including boots. Perfect for formal events, and just being fabulous. Romance's interesting hair change was inspired by the Lorna Hair by Ni.Ju. The wildcard hud includes a texture that is black with pink tips, which gave me the idea that his glamor failed.

On MasterGin, is the stylish 1920s Erte-like gossamer Loana's Gown. The top is semi-transparent. The gown comes in several texture options. Added to his harem-chic is the Justiciar's Livery Chain by Requisition. It's unrigged and has PBR texture hud. From Buffy's is the Galina choker, part of a full outfit with a fit for Legacy Male. From Lex is the Bat of Hell earrings, incase anyone forgets MasterGin is quite a vampire.

On him, DJ Romance:

Suit: PENDULUM - ILLUVION.Suit, Legacy M [mesh](Midnight Order)(1600L)

Hair: NI.JU - Lorna Hair, wildcard [mesh](Midnight Order)(300L)

Tattoos: HISS - PATTERNS FACE ROMANCE [BOM](250L)

Rings: MANDALA - Sinra Rings season-3-HD, Legacy M [mesh]

Brooch: Schelm - 2.Devil Heart Straight Barbell [mesh]

Earring in mirror: RavenBell - Starlit Earrings, Moonlit [mesh](350L)

Hair in mirror: NoMatch - NO_TENDERNESS [mesh]

Head: LeLUTKA - Kane Evolution [mesh](3990L)

Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

On him, MasterGin:

Robe: REBIS - Loane's Gown, Legacy M, white [mesh](Midnight Order)(300L)

Choker: BUFFY'S - Galina Choker - LGM [mesh](Midnight Order)(1333L)

Necklace:  REQUISITION - Justiciar's Livery Chain [mesh](Midnight Order)(350L)

Earring: LEX - Bat of Hell [mesh](Midnight Order)(249L)

Belly Strap, belly ring: Aii - BlackMage, Athletic, Belly Straps, Navel Piercing [mesh]

Claws: L'Emporio&PL - Oblio Vampire Claws male [mesh](350L)

Hair: bonbon - tame hair, naturals [mesh](439L)

Shine: BLAXIUM - Sweaty Body Shine [applier]

Head: LeLUTKA - CAMDEN 4.0 [mesh](3990L)

Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

Pose: 3M - gogogo_A_7

Setting:

Chair: Midwest - Ash Recolor Pack - Armchair Cream [mesh](199L)

House: Fanatik - Sky Tower [mesh] (3800L)

Door PBR: Erfe Design - Medusa Floor PBR  Material, black [PBR]

Room PBR: Erfe Design - Maldives  Marble Material, ivory [PBR]

Chair PBR: ARTSY - Velvet Fabric 0 [PBR]

Skyline: AXON Skybox - Cyberpunk megapolis [mesh](50L)

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky :

 

Salvage Station: The Underworld (Escape from Club Apophis, 27)

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STORYLINE: They were trapped. Trapped in the pitch-black catacombs beneath the Forbidden Zone, with a creature that shouldn't exist. It had slipped through the sewer grate above, a thing of tattered cloth, scraping metal, and impossible, hungry light. The team had followed the Saja's rule, don't move, don't look. But it was too late. The Sister was in the tunnel with them, and it could smell their fear.

The swirling vortex of its face flared, searching the dark, hungry and close, vibrating the stone like a cracking bone.

Echo pressed her back to the tunnel wall, her breath hitching. Don’t look. Don’t look. She bit her lip. One sharp sting. One copper-scented drop. The air seemed to gasp in reply, as if the tunnel itself could smell it. The Nun’s head snapped toward her. It could smell the blood. It lunged.

Echo flinched. She looked up and screamed. 

The Nun's face spit open like a cursed flower. A burst of light shot out of it, locking onto Echo's eyes. It was going to feed.

“NO!”

Ghost moved, a black-clad blur. He lunged past Echo, knife flashing, a perfect, lethal thrust aimed at the creature’s center mass. The blade went through. Hit nothing. No body, no bone, just empty robes and a sudden, violent chill that flash-froze his glove. 

The Nun, a thing of cloth and hungry void, swatted him aside like a fly. 

Ghost slammed into the wall. The small hand-crank generator on his belt dug into his hip.

The generator.

The Nun loomed over Echo, its vortex spinning faster, drawing her in.

Ghost didn't have time. He ripped the generator free and, with a snarl, wound the handle once.

A loud, grinding GGRRIIIND shrieked through the tunnel, obscenely loud, vibrating with raw, stupid power.

The Nun reared back. It shrieked, a sound of conflict, torn between the smell of fresh blood and the taste of pure, crackling energy.

Ghost made the choice for it. He hurled the generator with all his strength down the opposite tunnel. "GO!" he signed in the air, a useless, frantic gesture in the dark. 

The generator clattered against stone, its tiny light flickering. 

The Nun forgot Echo. It forgot them all. With a final, ravenous howl, it chased the power, tattered cloth and shadow vanishing into the black. 

Silence collapsed around them, broken only by Echo’s hyperventilating sobs.

Hwan’s voice cut through, cold and urgent. 

"Get up. Form a chain. Hold on. Do not let go. And run."

They scrambled in total darkness, a chaos of limbs, boots, and breath.

“I can’t see!” Plague yelled.

“No one can!” Minjo shouted back.

Ghost ignored the chain. He scooped up the trembling Echo and took the rear, covering their escape.

They ran blind, a stumbling mess through the darkness.

Minjo's foot caught on a loose stone, and she went down hard, breaking the chain.

"Minjo!" Plague stopped short. “I got you!”

He fumbled in the black, reaching. His hand landed on....

"Minjo, I'm so sor—"

SMACK.

"Just get off me!" she hissed.

“Okay, okay!” He grabbed again, wrong again.

“Plague,” Minjo said, voice lethal. “That is not my arm.”

"FINE!" Plague dropped to all fours. "Piggyback. Now! Let's go!"

Minjo, swallowing her pride, scrambled onto his back.

“RUN!” Hwan’s voice echoed ahead.

They raced deeper, lower. Then, the air changed. Cold stone gave way to a warm, humid sweetness that clung to their tongues.

They burst into a cavern. And it wasn’t dark. It glowed.

A vast, impossible garden sprawled before them, phosphorescent fungi rising like pillars, glowing moss draped from stalactites like drowned willows, and long gelatinous tendrils hanging from the ceiling, pulsing faintly with internal light. A cracked bioreactor tank sat half-buried in the cavern floor. Its shattered glass leaked viscous cyan fluid that streamed into the soil, feeding the luminous vegetation. The entire chamber hummed softly, like the heartbeat of something enormous sleeping under the earth. The air shimmered with drifting spores, each one pulsing like a tiny glowing seed.

“Is this… the surface?” Echo whispered.

“No,” Hwan said. He stood by a rusted miner’s railway, his face pale. “Do not stop,” he ordered. “Do not touch anything. This is MasterGin’s garden. His… nursery.”

“Nursery?” Plague panted, legs burning under Minjo’s weight.

“For parasites,” Hwan said. “We saved a man from here once. When we pulled him out...," his breath caught, “…he looked like a jellyfish shaped like a man.” He swallowed. “He was still screaming.”

SPLASH.

The surface of the leakage pool broke.

Something rose from the neon sludge. It was translucent, dripping, and pulsing with soft, sickly light. It looked like a man, but the skin was a clear membrane, revealing organs that floated in gel and bones that had softened into cartilage.

It had no face, only a vibrating film where a mouth should be.

“Oh god,” Plague choked out.

The Jellyfish Man shrieked, a wet, gurgling sound and lunged. A whip-fast tentacle of dissolving flesh lashed out toward Minjo.

“Move!”

Hwan stepped in front of them. He didn't raise a shield. He raised the hammer. Vanilla. The worn mallet he'd carried as the Ice Cream Man.

But as he swung, the air warped.

The metal underneath groaned and expanded, thickening into a massive, rough-hewn block of pale granite. The handle twisted, wood becoming thick, rusted rebar wrapped in leather.

It wasn't a tool anymore. It was a boulder on a stick. An ancient weapon of the earth.

CRACK-BOOM.

Hwan slammed the massive stone club into the creature’s chest.

The impact was seismic. The Jellyfish Man didn't just fly backward, it became a projectile. It slammed into the cavern wall with such force that the rock face splintered. Dust rained down. The entire cavern shook.

Hwan hefted the stone hammer onto his shoulder. It had to weigh three hundred pounds, but he held it like a toy. He looked back at the students, his eyes burning with feral amber light. But that was not the only shocking thing, Hwan appeared to have transformed too.

“What are you staring at?” Hwan growled. “Run!”

They wasted no time plunging back into darkness, up the long winding staircase carved into rock—endless, spiraling, scraping the breath from their lungs toward whatever they prayed was an exit.

They hit a wall. A dead end: a smooth stone chamber with no outlets. The sound of their breathless pants felt loud in the small space.

“Hwan, where...?”

SWISH. THUD.

A heavy stone door slid shut behind them, sealing the stairs.

"We're trapped!" Plague yelled, pounding on the stone.

“No,” Hwan said. His voice no longer echoed; it was unnervingly close.

He stood in the dim light at center of the chamber, leaning on the massive stone hammer.

“You’re trapped,” Hwan corrected.

He lifted the hammer one last time, and swung upward, driving the stone head into the ceiling with a deafening, rhythmic clang.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

And then, ...light exploded, and he was gone in a burst of gold.

They were alone, ears ringing, in the dark, betrayed.

“Of course he teleported!” Plague roared, kicking the wall. “The snake! The shady Saja! We’re dead! We are so, so dead!”

"No," Echo rubbed her arms as she shivered. ”I don't think he's a Saja.”

SCRRRAPE.

A noise from above. A slice of light cut down as a metal hatch squealed open, painfully bright. A silhouette leaned over the edge.

“Well, well, well. Looks like the Nerd Rescue Party needed rescuing. What I wouldn’t give to take a picture of your faces right now.”

“Lisa?” Echo whispered, shielding her eyes against the glare.

Another voice joined, bright and incredulous. “Are you guys okay?”

… Kyra.

Then a final shadow stepped into view. Kyle Baek tossed a rope ladder down; the rungs hit the stone floor with a clatter. His voice was deep, bitter, hollow.

“Welcome, fellow livestock,” he said. “To the Pen.”

On him, Hwan:

Tattoo clothes: Nefekalum - Salvaged Armor - Rusted 07 [BOM](Salvage Station)(199L)
Skin: Fallen Gods - Radioactive [xy]+FGInc.+ Uranium [BOM](Salvage Station)(743L)

Hammer: Arts&Gear - *AG* (PBR)StoneHammer [mesh](Salvage Station)(200L)

Sleeves: REBIS - Junkyard Sleeves . LegacyM, yellow [mesh](Salvage Station)(250L)
Boots: Web Dew - WD Boots Daniel - Legacy Athletic, yellow [mesh](Salvage Station)(275L)

Shorts: [LOB] OKLAND SHORT - BLACK [mesh]
Briefs: UKYAH - Lalotex Briefs (Legacy Athletic) [mesh]
Hair: Ginko Hair - #97 Hair - Rigged(Male/L) [mesh]
Hair: Air Kazura A01_Tail white [mesh](200L)
Hands: {Aii} Demonic Touch - bom/all parts, Legacy M [mesh](800L)

Tattoo: LeLUTKA - Freckles.004 [BOM]
Tattoo: HISS - PATTERNS BODY 2 - FADING TINT [BOM]
Eyes: {Rue} - Eyes/Grimalkin: Saffron [BOM]
Head: BeSpoke - Oni Jube [mesh]

Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)

Setting:

Railway tunnel: Red Shadow - RS-Decadent Road [mesh](Salvage Station)

Jellyfish: {anc} - Abyssal Jellyfish 2Li (allcolor) [mesh](Salvage Station)(239L)

Wall, pose: Arts&Gear - *AG* Stone Cracked Wall [mesh](Salvage Station)(210L)

Mushrooms: Dysfunctionality - [DDD] Giant Mushrooms [mesh]

Mushrooms: CONSTRUCT - Glitter Mushroom [mesh]

Glow worms: LOVE - CAVE GLOW WORM [mesh]

Set: Fanatik - Architecture: Lake Chamber [mesh](500L)

On Him, The JellyFish Man:

Skeleton: [ jintaiya ] - High-Performance Deluxe Skeleton AvatarSkeleton [mesh](1800L)

Glitter: E.V.E - Rapunzel Suit Glitter [BELLEZA-M] V.3.3 [mesh]

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shot, hi-res, midday sky.  JellyFish Man at midnight.

 

Salvage Station, Camp Syndicate: The Hunting Ground (Escape from Club Apophis, 26)

(click to enlarge)

STORYLINE: The plan was in ashes. 

Minjo’s hand trembled with the cold fury of an intellectual whose entire framework had just been shattered. Her weapon stayed leveled at Hwan’s chest.

“You destroyed it,” she spat, the words tight. “Our plan. Our tech. Our only way to reach Kyra. You just... ended it.”

“I destroyed a beacon,” Hwan replied, his amber eyes flat and unfeeling. “You weren’t contacting your friend. You were ringing a dinner bell. Patrols will be here in minutes. You can stay...”

He turned his back on them, a profound act of dismissal, and stepped through the shimmering boundary of the Forbidden Zone.

“...or you can follow me to your friends.”

“Wait!” Echo cried.

Then came the sound. It began in the distance, a high-pitched, metallic shriek threading through the forest, - a choir of knives being sharpened in the dark. It was getting closer.

Minjo lowered her weapon, rage cooling to pure survival logic. “Everyone... pack light. Now.”

Ghost, the silent protector, was already moving. He grabbed a small Prepper’s wind-up generator, and shoved a knife in his belt. As he crossed the veil, the faint blue light of his halo-gloves glitched, fizzled, and died. His digital voice went with it. Now he truly was mute.

The world turned gray. The air thickened instantly, pressing in with a physical weight, saturated with the smell of dust, rust, and long-dead carcasses.

“We don’t go over. We go under,” Hwan commanded, his voice a low gravel in the dead air. He motioned to the skeletal city ahead. “The Sisters patrol the streets. We take the tunnels.”

Hwan strode toward a wide service entrance. A quick, open route.

Ghost froze. He grabbed Minjo’s arm, his grip like a steel clamp. 

He knew the main tunnels were patrolled, often flooded, thanks to the Smart Chip map. And Hwan himself, was a creature of the Zone, an eater of souls. He was leading them too calmly, too openly. Ghost trusted his own instincts more.

Fifty yards away lay a forgotten manhole, rimmed with rust. Smaller. Deeper. Safer.

He shook his head at Hwan’s silhouette. Then, with the tip of his knife, he scratched two words in the dirt: Separate. Follow.

Minjo’s eyes flashed with understanding. This was one of Ghost's insights, another of his "mic drops" delivered in steel and dirt. He was betting their lives on the Underground Catacomb Map burned into his memory.

He wrenched the manhole cover aside. The metal screamed in the silence. He gestured, "Down. Now."

One by one, they slipped into the pitch-black. The cover sealed above them with a dull, final thud.

They vanished.

For five agonizing minutes, they moved cautiously in blind, suffocating silence. The only sound was the rhythmic drip... drip... drip... of water, echoing in the vast dark. Ghost felt his way along the cold stone walls, while his other hand held a lifeline to Echo. Every breath was a risk. Every step was calculated.

Then he stopped.

The tunnel was wrong. There was a sheer wall where a fork should be. The map in his head dissolved. The subtle turns, the new forks. The data was bad. He was lost.

He froze, one arm raised in warning. Doubt, a feeling he despised, flickered in his mind like static. He had failed them.

He had no choice. He pulled the generator from his belt and began to crank. The grinding noise was obscenely loud. The halo-gloves flared a weak, ghostly blue, casting their terrified faces in eerie light as he frantically tried to access the map file.

“Lost already, Ghost?”

The voice sliced through the dark, not twenty feet away.

Hwan stepped from a side tunnel, his amber eyes like twin suns in the void. He’d been waiting.

"Your choice was clever, Little Shinobi,” Hwan said evenly. “But this is my home. I carved these holes. I know where they all bleed. You should have known a map on a decades old smart chip was out of date."

He tilted his head toward the damning blue glow. “Now snuff that light. You’re ringing the bell again.”

Ghost obeyed, his jaw tight. The light died, plunging them back into a darkness that felt heavier, more hostile. His gamble had failed. His insight was wrong.

They moved on. They had little choice. Hwan was now in the lead.

The tunnels grew narrower, the air moldy and old. A soft vibration hummed through the ground, a low-frequency thrum that they felt in their teeth, like the Zone itself was breathing.

Hwan stopped suddenly. He didn't lift a hand. He simply ceased. “Hold,” he breathed, the sound barely a whisper.

A stillness fell, heavier than the darkness.

“They’re close,” Hwan whispered. “The Sisters see like snakes, they hunt heat and motion. They smell power. And they feed on sight. Do not move. Do not bleed. And do not look, no matter what you hear.”

Above them, a wide sewer grate. Beyond it, gray daylight filtered through dead leaves.

A shadow moved across it. Something gliding, jointed and wrong. The rustle of heavy fabrics.

A procession.

Plague made a strangled sound, half-gasp, half-prayer. Ghost pressed a heavy hand to his shoulder: Silence.

One of the Sisters paused directly above them.

Her habit, stiff with dried blood, brushed the grate. She sniffed the air, neck twitching like a bird. She could smell them. She could smell the residue of the generator, the faint, delicious trace of power from the device they’d just shut down.

Echo clenched her fists until her nails drew blood. Her need to do things right screamed inside her skull. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t....

The Sister lingered above, the click of rosary beads too close, too hungry.

Then, a metallic creak. The grate above them shifted.

A second later, something dark and slender slipped through the bars.

Metal scraped on stone, -- slow, deliberate.

The Nun was descending into the tunnel.

No one moved.

Echo bit her lip until she tasted blood. Minjo’s fingers hovered over her weapon. Plague was trembling, his breath a ragged, silent scream.

Ghost didn’t look. He couldn't.

He drew his knife by feel alone, holding it low, angled for silence. The sharp steel of the blade caught the Nun's swirling light, reflecting it as a single, dull-red glint.

The thing crawled closer, its joints cracking, its robes whispering against the wet floor. Its breath, if it could be called that, came in ragged pulls, tasting for life.

Hwan’s rule, a memory in their heads: They see through motion. They feed through eyes.

A drop of something, not water, fell onto Ghost’s shoulder.

It hissed.

He froze, holding his breath.

On Him, Ghost:

Cowl: SOMNIUM - Outlander [mesh](Salvage Station)(350L)

Coat: SOMNIUM - Outlander [mesh](Salvage Station)(350L)

Knife: FOE - Tsarkknife [mesh](Salvage Station)(699L)

Pants: Rebis - Werk Trousers [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(350L)

Mask: Pucca Firecaster Creations - PFC Ninja (Male) [mesh]

Headband: :::Last Ride::: 47 Samurai/Headband back [mesh]

Gloves: Archivefaction - Penumbra Gloves_Legacy M_Slim Fingers [mesh]

Setting:

Cursed Nun: Orphic - Dreadveil + Male (Full-body cloak)[mesh](Camp Syndicate)(599L)

Setting: Dreadmorne - Dungeon/Catacombs Building kit [mesh](Camp Syndicate)(1500L)

BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shot, hi-res, midday sky.