Mingling with the public is going to wear you out, so you might want to get all that sort of business done before you relax with books and podcasts.

If you're going to head out anyway, you might as well do laundry--should probably take a shower before you leave, though.

First thing's first: you call Kate.

It takes a little while for her to answer the phone. She sounds like she was still asleep.

"What's up," mumbles Kate.

"It's Plaire," you reply. "What'd you find out about Harv?"

Kate takes a deep breath. You hear her adjust on the other line. "Short version: two attackers in Halloween costumes. One was a werewolf, the other was dressed like the fucking Machine Killer."

"The fucking what?"

"Machine Killer," Kate repeats. "You've never seen the Machine Killer series? Everything after the reboot blows, but the first three are fuckin' classics. Dude. We need to actually sit down one night and do horror movies."

You shake your head. "Okay, so they were in costumes."

"Yeah," Kate confirms. "Everybody working at the shop last night swore both attackers were guys, but I dunno. Werewolf was built like a brick shithouse, probably grown in a vat--wouldn't be hard to hide a pair of tits in a werewolf costume, those tube guys all have massive pecs anyway. Both attackers had voice changers. At the hospital there was some tall asshole in a suit--like, a regular suit trying to talk with Harv's boss. I couldn't tell if the suit was with Mondol, though, and the nurses wouldn't tell me fuck all. It was super shady."

Some tall asshole...? "Thin, blond goatee, terrible haircut?," you ask.

"Fuck," Kate chuckles dryly, "it's like you were there. Yeah, who is he?"

"He's with MondolGroup," you tell her. "They were harassing Maria the other day."

"My boss's been gettin' letters from 'em, tryin' to threaten us over zoning laws an' shit. If I ever meet that Mondol guy I'm kickin' his ass."

Early on your third day in town, you rode the bus with Harv--you just didn't know who he was, since you hadn't met Kate or attended the Biggest Shrug concert yet. Maria's grocery and the place where Harv works have both been targeted by Mondol, and both have been hit by violence.

"It has to be Mondol," you state.

"No shit," Kate laughs, "but we still can't prove it, or do anything about it. There's not a lot of customs in this town--narrowing down the werewolf shouldn't be hard, prob'ly a truck loader or some shit stuck to a Mondol contract. ...Figuring out which needledicked Mondol weasel was under the Machine Killer mask, though, that's gonna suck. How'd y'all's shit go? Give me the short version, I am... the most hung over. We can hit the deets later--you kick your dad's ass or what?"

You smile a little to yourself. "Oh, yeah, we beat the boss like... immediately. Everything after that was fucking nuts, you kind of really need the deets. ...Fireballs are go."

"Ohhh, shit?," Kate replies. "Yeah. Lemme get some pants on, and like..." she pauses, "find some pants I guess. I'll call you back later."

"No problem."

. . .

After hanging up the phone, you do a quick search for The Devil tarot card.

Addiction, obsession, excess, dependency, being seduced or consumed by material desires... or sexual ones. Living in fear or being restrained, being in bondage to luxury, feeling unfulfilled...

Jesus, that's the upright version. The reversed Devil is actually the 'good' one--representing when one finally realizes their situation and breaks free from their chains. Kate does a lot of drugs (and booze, and takes unnecessary risks), but you wouldn't describe her as... uh, all that shit. She appears to function just fine, being a cool person while juggling a job and a band and several private investigations. Is she currently living the reversal? ...She's not really breaking free of any luxury, either, though. Uhhh... maybe moving out of her mom's house and into that trailer in the backyard counts as breaking free from luxury...?

You realize that (apparently) you don't know enough about Kate to properly connect her with her tarot. Mechanically, you sort of get it--fire is heat, passion, wild and random. Fire goes where it wants and consumes everything in its path in the process... and the amount of fire you were unloading last night could definitely be defined as excessive. That, and fire aids some prominent addictions, and fire itself can be addictive--pyromaniacs are definitely a thing. All in all, you get why Kate has the power she does--

just not... why Kate.

She also couldn't use her power correctly--neither could you, but you were limited in different ways. You lack control, both of your life and Kate's fire; that makes sense. Kate was... the opposite?

You speculate that, maybe, her tarot isn't suited to her. Much like how the house wants The Hanged Man and you're stuck as The Fool, maybe Kate's card has become misaligned with her existence and she has to change one or the other to get back on track. Or... something.

You've known Kate less than a week. You might just have to accept that you don't know her that well, as much as you like her. How she embodies The Devil is... still a mystery to you, personally. The Fool and The Sun seem to pretty well fucking nail it, though.

...Now you're wondering what cards everybody would be. What's Franklin's sign? Maria's? ...What was Lora's? Does the bus have a sign?

If what the dream ring does is consistent, you should be able to 'borrow' powers pretty easily. You might be able to figure out what cards represent what people and what class archetypes/roles they entail just from trading names and getting to know folks. ...Though, if the dream ring also takes on evolved powers like Cici's ability to grow, you might hit a few power dead ends when you can't drag randos into the dream to level up their forms.

You can think about the dungeon later, though. While you've still got your phone out...

you call Lagi.

. . .

It takes a moment for someone to answer. "Yo," says a sleepy male voice. Does everyone sleep until noon in this town? "Who it is?," he asks.

"Uhh... my name is Plaire," you begin. "Someone said I should call you about... uh... medical assistance...?"

There's a brief pause.

"...Ohhh. Oh," he says, his tone seeming to perk up. "Yeah, that's me. I do a little private practice. No business over the phone, though--I gotta see some shoes, ya mean? I'm seein' a regular at 7 today in front o' The Shittyplex, you wanna be there we can work somethin' out."

"A... alright," you reply. "Sure. Thanks."

"No prob, brah." You both hang up.

...You're not entirely sure what just happened. The Shittyplex? Gotta see some shoes? You... think you just started a drug deal...?

Hopefully, Kate will be up and about by 7:00 pm, because otherwise what the fuck

Breathe.

Settle.

Focus.

You take a shower.

You change into some clean clothes.

You are officially out of good shirts, and must resort to your collection of ill fitting tanktops from a brief period last year when you were trying to rock tanktops (it did not work out).

You used to own a lot more shirts--band shirts, video game shirts, anime shirts--but they're still in Addersfield. What you managed to grab on your way out was... uh... less than ideal. You were kind of in a hurry and more worried about the computer.

Ugh.

You spend a few hours working on a video. ... Trying to work on a video. The length of time that you've been making internet videos does not jive with how little money you still make; you need to up your game somehow, but you don't know what that entails. You're making videos the best you can, and your content is good--right...?

Nobody complains, at least.

You decide to make a two part video--both because it lets you knock out two videos with less effort (seriously, like a third of the work is just getting shit set up to start working on a new video) and because the anticipation or whatever might make the whole thing more appealing. You do get that whole setting up part done, which will make it easier to really get going later--

but you find it difficult to get going now. You're... frustrated. About this, about a lot of things. It's hard to think about Crush Souls lore when... fucking everything is happening, you're being Crush Souls'd in real life and there's a god damn government cover up of real magic, one or more witches are dead, there's a talking sarcophagus living rent free in your brain, your house drinks blood and your mayor drinks blood and one of your friends leaves notes in blood and another of your friends, is a bus

FUCK.

But you need MONEY.

THINGS COST MONEY, PLAIRE

YOU NEED MONEY TO NOT DIE.

DO YOUR LITTLE VIDEO GAMES DANCE YOU FUCKING CLOWN BRAIN YOU NEED LEGAL TENDER

GIVE THEM THEIR ANSWERS AND JOY PAGLIACCI, YOU BUFFOON, YOU FUCKING CARTOON CHARACTER, MAKE IT ALL MAKE SENSE FOR THEM YOU FUCKING, PROFESSIONAL IDIOT

AGGGGHHHHHHHHHodDAMMIT

You almost break your keyboard.

Almost.

It would not be the first, and you make sure the keyboard knows that.

You take your last Brainsate.

You decide it's time to do laundry and be out of the house for a while.

You pick up your box of dirty clothes and you head out.

Money. Money. Need money.

Plaire needs. More money.

Laundry machines, cost money

you don't, have money ♪

You do have, some money ♪

but you need to spend it on, a whole list o' shit, that now also includes laundry because your house has eaten the washer and dryer and now it has a taste for ♥blood♥ this is it, isn't it? Temperance talks like that because she's been driven mad like the literary Renfield

maybe the mayor is hiring?

. . .

maybe The Back Room is hiring

and like, ... are looking for someone that will just work when they feel like it, maybe a couple hours a week but we'd just kind of figure it out as it comes, plenty of places probably have employees like that it's the future baby you have to--The Back Room cannot possibly afford to hire you under their current business model.

You could try that Wudju app you saw advertised on TV, you're sure you could make a lot of money doing ???????

There is a gentleman already waiting at the bus stop. You don't even realize it until it's too late and you're already standing there and if you turn around now he'll know you're trying to avoid him and it'll be awkward,

You manage to resist the urge to scream at him, an urge that becomes even more powerful when he starts to say words at you

"How's it treatin' ya?," he asks. "Tha house, I mean."

"It's alright, I guess," you reply. "It was supposed to have a washer and dryer, so I got screwed on that. MondolGroup ran all the laundromats out of town for reasons that I'm sure are logical and business driven, and not just a giant supercorp being a petulant fucking bully, so I get to plunge into the dystopian cattle car that is MondolMall on a day I'd really prefer not to see other human beings."

You take a breath.

The man smirks, and takes a long drag off his cigarette before finally commenting, "Eh, Mondol ain't so bad. S'convenient, at least--everything under one roof. Tough night?"

You confirm that the dream ring does not give you any special abilities in real life.

"Sure," you reply with words and not a fireball that would instantly reduce him to ash

"You are comin' up on tha record," he says, before subtly motioning to across the street. "I live next door. I think tha longest anybody's stayed in your house consecutive's like, two weeks? Everybody's in and out after that. One of 'em, I think... Resident numba 4? He even tried sleepin' outside." He takes another puff of his cigarette.

You tighten the grip on your box a bit. "So you've been spying on your neighbors for a while, huh?"

"Couple years now. Force o' habit," he says... and he flashes you his badge. Central Intelligence. The federal government's foreign intelligence/national security wing, also known for being particularly mysterious and especially sinister even by the standards of other shady government organizations.

He only shows you the badge for a moment, partially concealed beneath his suit jacket--as though he's trying to keep it low key, a little secret between the two of you.

You're a speed reader, and not presently in the mood for this. "Your badge expired three years ago," you point out.

Despite being caught impersonating a federal agent, he simply smiles. "Good eye. Most o' these local yokels are half illiterate--you'd be amazed what tha cops'll tell ya when they think you're a fed. Fetchin' coffee for Central Int was fun, but I didn't really like how they operate--"

"So who are you?," you ask. "Like, actually. Private detective? Con artist?"

"Self employed journalist," he says, "sellin' to tha last great frontier... tha internet."

"Con artist with a blog, then," you clarify. "Got it."

You take another look at the house he pointed to. ...It's a pretty nice house.

"Look," he says, "I know you're from outta town, but there's no way you ain't heard tha stories. That house o' yours has got a history, and history is money."

"It was cheap," you state bluntly. "You could have bought it yourself."

"I don't deal with that supernatural crap," he tells you. "I know better than to put my name on somethin' like that. You, though? You got balls, kid. Your moxie and my experience, we could make ourselves quite a--"

"I also shit out content for the last great frontier," you interject. "If I decide to vlog about how aliens stole my washer and dryer I don't think I'll need a partner. If I did, you're already at the back of an increasingly long line. If you wanna make a business proposition you should lead with something besides lying to my face."

Asshole.

"What if I lead with some photos?," he asks. His tone is even, his faint smile wholly unaffected by your entire spiel. "I bet nobody else in that line o' yours has got pictures of tha crime scene."

...What?

You put the box down. "What crime scene?"

"Th'original owner," the man says. His smile widens, but he keeps his nonchalant posture-- leaning against the bus sign. "What happened to 'em. I got pics."

"Bullshit," you blurt out.

"No bullshit," he swears. "I told you, these local cops--"

"What happened to them? ...The original owner. I'll think about the pictures, I need to know if you're blowing smoke up my ass first."

He takes a long

slow

drag.

"She exploded."

What

What

"Bullshit," you repeat. You want him to clarify. You want him to give you details in an attempt to further convince you.

"Swear to God," he says. "Like I said: I got tha pics if ya want 'em, but I want in. First lady that lived in that house was a shut-in, hardly left the joint. One day she just... popped. Blowed up in her own bed, in her sleep it looked like."

"Like... spontaneous combustion...?"

"Maybe," he says, taking a shorter puff. "Wasn't any fire, or scorch marks or nothin' though. Freaky stuff. Hey, I gotta go--but you wanna talk shop, y'know where to find me."

He wanders his way back across the street, just as the bus is pulling up.

...So he wasn't waiting for the bus.

He was there for you.

You pick up your box and quickly board the bus.

"Do you know that guy?," you ask the bus, giving a nod toward the smoking man currently returning to his home.

"I do not," the bus replies. ...She pauses, before continuing. "I have seen him around town, but I don't have any information on him."

Stopped being a fed before the witch's death and coverup. Marlow said he'd interviewed everyone in the neighborhood, but didn't mention this guy--but if this guy saw Marlow's research as competition then of course he wouldn't tell Marlow anything--

you didn't even get this fucker's name.

He didn't get your name, either, but still

"Where would you like to go?," the bus asks.

You take your usual seat.

Big sigh.

Deep hesitance.

"MondolMall," you finally tell her. "...I gotta do laundry."

Two other people ride the bus, as well, neither of whom you recognize; they spend most of the ride talking about some card game. They both get off of the bus before you reach MondolMall.

You eventually reach MondolMall.

Fortunately, the Brainsate is beginning to kick in by the time you arrive.

You thank the bus, and carry your box of laundry through two sets of double doors. Of course there's a bus stop right in front of the mall entrance.

Of course the laundromat would be nowhere near the mall entrance.

You don't immediately spy any sort of information kiosk. Just an ATM, various security devices, and Mondol's... uh... media stuff. Screens and tubes that are also screens.

The mall is obnoxiously loud and eerily quiet, simultaneously. The PA messages echo throughout the building, and the various commercials and programs that are constantly running are cranked up high enough that speaking over them would take some effort--but at the same time, the acoustics of the place just make everything feel... empty. All the audio sort of resonates into a bland slurry. It's like drowning in white noise. People are talking and the screens are talking and there's music and it just

all fades and blends into itself. It just becomes sound, nothing distinct or familiar. The only other place you can remember sounding even slightly similar was like... the skating rink, when you were a kid. It's the sound of loudness.

It does that to all of your senses. The smell is just... there. Indistinct but present. All the crisp whites and luminescent blues just kind of burn straight through your retinas--it's hard to focus on the distance, and the mall is very large. It's oppressively generic, overpoweringly hollow--like the mall was designed to evoke both everything and nothing. MondolHomes had the same aesthetic, there just... wasn't so MUCH of it.

You approach a member of MondolMall security.

"H... Hey, uh--" You swallow dryly, "does this place have like... a map, or a directory or something...?"

"Have you tried the MondolApp?," he asks. "It can automatically download a map of any MondolMall you visit, as well as provide discounts and customer points so you can save while you shop."

His delivery is so clean and so consistently paced, there's no way he didn't rehearse that. You also notice he didn't answer your question, he just sidestepped straight into selling the app. "Oh, uh--" you wince. You don't want to be rude but "No thanks."

"Well, we hope you find what you're looking for here at MondolMall."

You head off on your own, keeping an eye out for any sort of guides--but alas, they really want you to download the app. Instead, you're forced to navigate the mall and search for the laundromat yourself, like some kind of neanderthal. MondolMall really does appear to have everything--music, games, like four different restaurants, kitchenware, a church...? The church isn't currently having service, but you struggle to imagine what a MondolPastor would preach about. ...The importance of tithe, probably.

Thankfully, MondolLaundry is on the first floor, because the mall also has multiple floors. You catch some of Mondol's preferred programming while you wait on your clothes.

Most of what MondolMall beams into your eyeballs is just ads--ads for Mondol stores (MondolToys! MondolAutomotive! MondolHardware!), ads for companies MondolGroup is friendly with (like Wudju and Chariot MT), and ads for some conservative politicians trying to get re-elected. There are snippets of news, but they're very...

carefully curated.

Talking heads, mostly, with very little real footage of events. The bigger cities are seeing more unrest in the lower tiers as violence breaks out between cops and the underprivileged; this is treated as a "barbaric deterioration of core values," and the news sides firmly with the police.

Groups are still fighting various companies about the mistreatment of the engineered. The demand for decent pay and less ridiculous contracts is treated as "socialism running amok." No mention of whether anyone's looking into the whole engineered people can't live more than a decade issue.

Another CEO got busted for "sexually charged crimes," which is just vague enough to mean anything. The general trend of rich people getting tossed off their thrones is not commented upon. Likewise, "the number of people searching for employment has continued to decrease." Yeah, because people are just giving the fuck up and making Crush Souls videos, not because everyone's finding meaningful employment you deceptive fuckasses. Try discussing how many people are having to work two or three jobs or how many people are still living with their parents or forced to share apartments because housing is too expensive--

Basically, this monument to capitalism is really keen on pushing capitalist propaganda. Zero surprise, but it still pisses you off. You would probably rocket off into space if the Brainsate wasn't keeping you planted firmly on the ground.

No local news, at least, so you don't have to hear some asshole "journalist" smearing Kate or Harv or whoever.

Eventually, your laundry is finished. You shove your clean clothes back into your empty moving box. The laundromat costs more than you'd like, but not enough to put a real dent in your meager funds; you still technically have a little money. ...Just a little less money than you had.

You do have some things you could probably shop around for while you're in the mall. It would mean spending more time in MondolGroup's clinical capitalist big brother wonderland, but it would save you from having to travel to other places. ...Which you suppose is the basis of their entire business model.

Touche, fuckers. It is convenient.

. . .

"By the time you walk out of a Mondol building, they know you better than you know you."

You decide not to contribute to MondolGroup's data on your spending habits. You grab your laundry box and you make your way back to the entrance of the mall.

On your way to the door, you spy the guard you spoke to earlier.

"Hey," you tell him offhandedly, "I tried your app, but it just kept redirecting me to a closed church."

"I'll submit a report. Thank you, Ms. Stevens."

oh

"We hope you found what you were looking for here at MondolMall," he replies. "Sorry for any inconvenience."

Nope. Nopenope. No.

You. Fucking. Bail.

You hold onto your box like it's a shield. Your power walk is maximum.

You don't have to wait at the bus stop very long, which is good for everyone.

The bus greets you in her usual warm but... precise tone. "Where would you like to go next, Plaire?"

"AnywherethefuckbutMondol," you blurt out as you find your seat. "Flasks. Where can I buy a flask?" Crush Souls has a mechanically important flask. Also you need to do mana wine science. ...Also flasks are cool.

"Mond--"

You make a very special Plaire noise, and the bus immediately switches gears (so to speak).

"According to their website, Furniture & Whatnot sells metal flasks."

"...So the Whatnot is flasks?"

"Furniture & Flasks would be tighter branding," replies the bus.

"Flasks & Furniture," you mutter. "They could specialize in bar-themed furniture, too, like stools and... glass racks. Dart boards. Things they have in bars."

"Pool tables," the bus suggests.

"Yeah!" Damn, if only you could get paid to have ideas. "Can you take me to Furniture & Whatnot?"

"Of course," says the bus.

You are driven across town to the local Furniture & Whatnot. Or at least, to the bus stop nearest to it. It's not a long walk, but you do have to pause before you exit the bus--

"Can you watch my laundry?"

"I can," the bus confirms.

"Thanks! I'll try to make it quick so you don't have to like... fight anybody off."

The store looks like it's seen better days. Aside from how heavily they're leaning on the Whatnot part (seriously, they could rename the store to As Seen On TV), a lot of the random knick-knacks, cutlery, hair care products and other assorted items are on clearance or heavily discounted.

Which is bad news for Furniture & Whatnot, but good news for you, a person who is broke.

"Hello. Hi," greets a young lady in a uniform polo. "Hi there. Can I help you?"

"I need a flask," you state.

"I..." she pauses. "Do not know where we keep those, but I can sure find out!"

You follow her for a little bit as she checks a computer toward the back of the store. Along the way, you pass another employee who is giving free samples of cookies; you nab a cookie.

Eventually, you both eat the cookie and find a metal flask. You also grab a laundry bag.

You inquire about getting your house key duplicated, but--

"Our key copier machine thing is down," says the employee.

Hmm. "When'll it be fixed...?"

The employee shrugs. "It's been months."

While in the line to check out, you also pick up a bag of candy.

You are left with almost no money.

You once more board the bus, who assures you that no one messed with your cardboard box full of laundry. You add your newly acquired loot to the box, minus several pieces of candy that mysteriously disappear while you decide what to do next.

It's about 4:52 pm.