Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. By all accounts, you are a complete and total nobody to the Powers That Be.

You've managed to survive the last 7 days at your job. Your job, of course, involves studying and researching dangerous anomalous entities in order to make money for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC).

In fact, you survived long enough to get promoted from Level 0 to Level 1. You're no longer on the bottom of the totem pole but you're still so, so far away from the top. Five more ranks to go and who's to say you'll survive long enough to reach the top?

If you're going to die here, at least you're going to die at the top. You've climbed dozens upon dozens of corporate ladders, what's one more, after all? It's the only life you've known so you might as well get comfortable with it.

As for a recap of some notable things that happened recently?

You accidently stumbled across Liz getting herself involved in office politics. While you don't care about getting yourself entangled in them, you decided to keep an eye on Liz to make sure she won't do something she'll regret.

You also learnt that one of your coworkers, Ashton, is an aberrant cannibalistic human called a 'Harvester'. For a while you thought her unconditional kindness to you was a mask for something but no, apparently she really see you as a friend. Instead of a meal, thankfully.

A dream you had last night still lingers in the back of your mind. It was the only decision you could've made, it was the only right decision, you had to leave that house.

One of your anomalies, IN LIMBO, has finally kicked the bucket. It decided that the best thing to do would be to move on. All that's left of it now is an ARTIFACT, a remnant of its anomalous power. Rest in peace, Rolle.

And lastly, an old and presumably anomalous phone you bought a while ago has been ringing non-stop during your shift. You're currently trying to negotiate a deal with a mysterious man who's offering you something that 'doesn't cost you money', whatever that means.

Your life is a surreal mess but what can you do about it? The only path you can see for yourself is doing your job to the best of your ability. You're a <span class="mu-s">wageslave</span>, born and raised to torture yourself by doing obtuse and obscene tasks all so a line goes up.

For the line must always go up.

ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low%20Rung
VINCENT SHEET/INVENTORY: https://rentry.co/VINCENTSHEET
ALLIES: https://rentry.co/COWORKERLIST
ANOMALY NOTES: https://rentry.co/RESEARCHNOTES

“The Southlands.” That’s what the races of the Northwest call them, as if they were one place—a realm unified under a single nation or people. In truth, the Southlands are a molten mosaic of humans, beastmen, and sundry others flowing over and through each other in coexistence and in conflict. The land itself is a tapestry of desert and jungle, of low savannah and high plateau, where even the Race of Man is far from uniform: the hides of the humans here range from a ruddy tan to a deep blue-black that nearly equals the Drow of Wevenore.

Not that you got to see much of it.

<span class="mu-s">You</span> are James Efron, Senior Initiate of the Hawksong Mages’ Tower. At your age—twenty-three—you really ought to be a Mage Apprentice. You should be studying in some stuffy laboratory back home in the big city like Izirina Henzler, or maybe taking a practicum under some smaller adjunct Associate Tower like your old pal Testa. But <span class="mu-i">nooo</span>, you craved a life of action, of adventure! ‘<Fireball> is meant for the field!’ you used to boast of your favourite spell. So you’d taken the field, first as a formal Field Researcher and then later as a freelance adventurer-for-hire.

And that had led you here. To the Southlands. To this dungeon.

It isn’t the cool kind of dungeon, full of monsters to kite and <Chain Lightning> for coin, alas. It’s the kind where Southrons store their prisoners-of-war, for that seems to be the size of your sad situation: a prisoner, at the beginnings of what is shaping up to be a full-scale intercivilizational conflict.

The Men of the South may be myriad, but tensions between their ilk and the fairer folk of the Northwest—your homeland, Hawksong’s aegis—have been a unifying cause as of late, and not only for the human races. Relations have been fraying since before you were born, when a sinister cabal of dark-skinned demon-worshippers staged a terrorist attack on the Mages’ Tower itself, assassinating the Archmage and destroying the much-beloved Eternal Fountain.

Hey, hey people. Yog here.

Recently, I have been consuming works of the highest form of literature, which is to say: isekai light novels. Now, you might ask me: "Yog, how can you consider this low brow weeaboo garbage literature, let alone its highest form?" and aside from all literary works being the ramblings of people half as clever as they think they are, I would answer you this: There is something beautifully self-indulgent how the genre is delightfully unapologetic in serving up what the readers desire.

The readers want a protagonist they can reflect their personalities onto? Well, this guy's personality has been polished away to a mirror sheen.

They want a loving harem of 10/10 beauties with chests that come in all shapes and sizes? A new girl will be produced to specifications with each passing volume.

They want to uplift the ignorant savages into the modern era? Don't you worry, no one has ever conceived of crop rotation, let alone the four fields system pioneered by Charles Townshend in the 18th century.

Every minute detail catered to the whims and fetishes of the readers, with the most popular garbage rising up to the top of trash heap and receiving the honor of an official publication. We do in fact love to see it. We love to see it so much, in fact, that today I have decided to engage in a little bit of isekai nonsense myself.

Just a little, though. Mrs. Yog-Sothoth doesn't like it when I poke too many holes in the fabric of the space time continuum. She says "Yog, my dear, you keep doing that and the whole universe will unravel", and who am I - a humble streamer of the 21st Dimension - to argue?

After all, my dear wife is many things: tallow skinned, silver haired, the sole heiress of some simply huge tracts of land in the state of Massachusetts, a loving sugar-mama with a very generous trust fund (thank you Old Whateley for your wise investments), possessing of an adorable horn growing from her brow, with bags under her eyes from the countless sleepless nights from... let's call it "knowing the unknowable" and move on.

But, most importantly, she's right.

Which is why I'm not going to pluck some poor salaryman from his cushy office job, or open a portal for some everyman college student to walk through on his way to class. No, my dear readers, it is you who will get to be the anime girl in this story. Our protagonist will be created, whole cloth, with no backstory other than your poor decisions.

Now, where do you want to start?
>Kick things off right from birth, changeling style.
>You got summoned by the King to be his political paw- I mean, the hero, of course.
>You got summoned by the Demon King to be his bride, because he has a human woman fetish.
>You seemingly came into being in an alley. There are no suspicious circumstances involved here, trust me.
>You got "reincarnated" as some sort of monster. Don't worry, you'll get a cute anime girl form later.
>Don't like any of those? Write it in.

Threads 1, 2, 3, 4, 5: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Halo:%20Spartan%202%20War%20Reports
Active Spartan Roster: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/12PTTzwcNVbQbIC101lrcrQQZKWhK3myTLWEQ0A1ybj8/edit?gid=0#gid=0
_
Sven-033's Qualities: [Special] Giant, [Special] Spartan-II, Maverick, Officer [Lieutenant], Wunderkind, Inspiring.
Sven-033's Advancement Paths: Brawler: Open Hand: 5/10 Bulwark: Unbreakable: 5/10 Grenadier: Plasma Wiz: 5/10 Shotgunner: 1| Diplomat 1/6 Infiltrator 2/6 Scrounger 2/6 Tactician 2 /6| Jotun 1/4
Sub objective Progress: Artificial Artisan 3/?| Blade Breaker 1/?
_
UNSC Skidbladnir (Razor Class Prowler)
UNSC Skidbladnir Crew Qualities: Eclectic
UNSC Skidbladnir Officers: Sensor Operator: Ensign Sonar Kobal, COM Officer: Ensign Kon Kiyomi. Navigator: Lieutenant Junior Grade Marisa Deluna, Weapons Controller: Lieutenant Junior Grade Valerie Faure. Pilots: Warrant Officer Bari Cook & Cadet Bernetta Coste
Spartans Aboard: Sven-033, James-005, Jorges-052. Nesta-097, Shika-108, Daisy-023. Naomi-010, Solomon-069, Malcom-059, Anton-044, Illya-077, Cal-141, and Soren-066 (Inactive/ Washout)
_
<span class="mu-s"> Current Mission: Mission 5: Operation: HVITSERK....Pending Completion/Result Calculation </span>
<span class="mu-s"> Primary Objective 1: Destroy the Einherjar Fleet and prevent any ships/ systems from falling into Covenant Hands...Success </span>
<span class="mu-s"> Primary Objective 2: Confirm the termination of or Capture and Secure the Einherjar General Codenamed "Whiteshirt"....Success </span>
<span class="mu-s"> Secondary Objective 1: Retrieve UNSC property from Einherjar Hands, if the opportunity presents itself....Success </span>
<span class="mu-s"> Optional Sub Objective 1: Win the battle with minimal friendly casualties (Less than 25% of the Squadron/ 5 ships). 3/5 (UNSC Shinigami, UNSC Dogfish, UNSC Uppercut)....Success </span>
<span class="mu-s"> Secret Objective 1: [File Decrypted] . Capture Whiteshirt's Halcyon & Experimental Exo-Skeleton Power armor </span>
<span class="mu-s"> Secret Objective 2: [File Decrypted] . Reach the Bottom of the [???] Ruins and bring back a souvenir, or several </span>
<span class="mu-s"> War Effort & Personal Rewards + advancements to Preferred Candidate Sven-033's Diplomat, Infiltrator and Tactician Advancement paths pending Mission After Action Report </span>
__

The smell of dried blood lingered on your upper lip as you laid flat and prone against the medical table, eyes tracking the numerous programs flashing above your eyes as the AI Rita ran what amounted to a diagnostic scan of your head, checking your brain activity and neural patterns for any abnormalities or damage. Checking yourself and Shika in to the medbay was the first thing you did once you'd been shuttled over from the Lawrence of Arabia to your own ship.
Cont

Welcome back! Don't worry, you didn't miss a thread, I just completely failed to label the prior one correctly. That aside, last time: Mark worked his assignment at Wayne Manor and set off a domino chain that eventually led to the raid of Scarecrow's most recent Fear Toxin Laboratory, funded by Kal Quincy Late.
====
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gotham%20City%20Beat%20Cop%20Quest
====

"I was just checking in." You say, trying to stay casual. "He was one of the first calls I ever took and I promised to look out for him."

"You promised?" Caesar asks, he pauses for a moment before following up. "Did you promise my dad?"

"I did." You reply quietly, like your words could physically break the stillness in the air. "But uh... there is something worth celebrating still. We nabbed Scarecrow today."

"Woah." Caesar marvels.

"Did Batman help?" Isabelle chirps as she gnaws on a plain tortilla.

"Nope, GCPD did it ourselves... with SOME help."

"Who helped?" Caesar asks, he and his sister locked in on your story.

"The Quick Response Team, they're like SWAT basically. But uh... you know how it is. Can't really tell you anymore until the case moves along but, I feel good about it."

"Maybe we'll be out of here in time for me to go back to school." Caesar muses.

"Oh?" His mother laughs gently. "NOW you want to go to school?"

"Yeah..." Caesar grumbles, his eyes fixed on his plate as he shifts food around. "I gotta be like... responsible."

"Oh, mi dulce hijo." She coos.

"Mamá, para." He groans as his face goes a bit red.

"It's good you wanna go back to school, man." You say with a smile. "You interested in college at all?"

"If we could afford it." He shrugs. "Maybe."

"Hijo, that's an issue for me to worry about. Not you."

"There's options for that too." You bring up. "Scholarships, grants, and stuff."

Caesar shrugs again.

"Though I guess it depends on what you wanna do when you're older."

"I saw Caesar looking up stuff about the police." Isabelle happily blabs much to Caesar's chagrin.

"Izzy..." He groans. "It ain't like that, I dunno what I want to do. I just wanna help you out with Izzy." Caesar looks up to his mom who blinks away some misty eyes.

"You're so sweet, hijo. But we'll be okay, you have to focus on yourself too. Maybe you can do something with art? You're always drawing, right?"

"I could also work with Julian at the docks. He said they're always looking for people to help move crates."

"Julian. The same Julian who gave you bags of stolen oranges to sell?" His mother asks with a pointed voice.

"Mom I-"

"I don't like that boy." She says simply.

It has been millennia since humanity became a star faring race. Enough time for stellar regimes to have risen and fallen, for technologies to be forgotten and relearned and for a diaspora of life; both human and alien to spread across the galaxy.

The Raihan Empire is but one splinter of the human diaspora. At its height the Empire spanned eight star systems but eventually corruption and decay set in. The Empire collapsed, its great works crumbled, its worlds became isolated. For a thousand years it was so…

Until a new warlord arose on Raiha, one that managed to quell the disparate factions fighting over the Throne world. When all his enemies were vanquished he marched upon the palace district where the remnants of the Imperial family cowered. However, instead of seizing the throne for himself Arcturus Garan pledged himself and his army to the service of the remaining Empress and took the title of Lord Commander.

Together the Empress and Lord Commander began the process of rebuilding the Empire, first securing the home system, then bringing each of the wayward colonies back into the fold.

Five out of the original eight colonies have been absorbed back into the resurgent Empire. Only the systems of Noto, Higg and Kornen actively resist annexation. Together they have formed the NKH Defence Pact, or simply the Pact.

Now the Pact must guard its independence against the growing might of the New Raihan Empire. The odds are not in their favour, they are outnumbered and outgunned, but the Imperial Forces have not yet regained their full power and the war is not over yet…

((This quest is an indirect sequel to Space shipyard quest, knowledge of previous threads is not required but it will do much to add context. Previous threads can be found here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=space+shipyard))

Violence. Repugnant, alluring, superfluous, indispensable….

You remember primary school: running past metal doors and out into the recess playground, the teachers would always say "don't play rough." But inevitably someone would cross the line, and pushes and kicks and punches would be thrown over a crude joke or a prank, or for any one of a million stupid reasons.

You were never one of the offenders. But you do remember a close friends being a frequent troublemaker and an almost semi-permanent fixture inside the principal's office; on returning he would parody the principal's lecture in a faux serious voice—”propriety this, behavior that,” and other such things that kids liked to make fun of.

But at the end of whatever day he'd decided to make trouble, you would always spot him sitting on a chair inside a bereft classroom, looking downcast. Then you'd see his mother and the homeroom teacher deep in conversation, walking down the hallway and entering the room, closing the door behind them.

The following day he'd always return muted and solemn, and no roughhousing would occur for several days. You'd learn many years later that at dinner, when his father would ask "How was everyone's day," his mother would report on her son's mischief. Sometimes his father would wait until after dinner to bring out his belt. Other times, right there and then, he would administer his displeasure.

It befuddled you. Education at the point of the sword—a paradox if ever you saw one. But it wasn't something you ever personally experienced growing up, getting "disciplined" in that manner.

Your father…

>wasn’t around much
>wasn't around at all
>wasn’t prone to violence

>It is January 24th of the Year 71 of the Cosmic Era

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<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Frieden Moon, The Mind-Killer. Black-Band pilot of ZAFT.</span></span> Has found himself participating in a covert infiltration of the Atlantic Federation's G-Project using his background as a former EA pilot... Though unfortunately caught in the crossfire of ZAFT's operation to steal the Mobile Weapons in Heliopolis Colony. A deceived partner uncovers a secret of the Nation of ORB. <span class="mu-i">Which now lays on Frieden's own hands to pilot.</span>

in a meaningless world, a girl finds heaven in scarlet mist

You are Marnie, a girl living in the Ark known as the Digital World. For all your life, you've endured a dreary existence in City 87-O, haplessly railing against a skin-deep system that denies you all but the most meaningless human experiences. You've spent years beholding the shining tower in the center of the city, and watched its guardian Digimon circle it endlessly, protecting the portal that leads out of this sunless landscape. Throughout your youth, you never thought you'd actually be able to make your dream a reality. But things have begun to change over the past few months.

A chance meeting with a Digimon has plunged you into a hidden world of wonders, filled with wild Digimon, enigmatic Code Crackers, mysterious server partitions that reveal the City's inner workings to you, and underground organizations seeking to bring change to this world. Amidst this danger is the authenticity you've so dearly craved, and you've never been happier.

Right now, you're in the middle of a mission to take down your Digimon Nemesis. You and your partner, Phascomon, have broken into the lair of DarkTyrannomon, who has taken over an entire Job District. You've made it past his lieutenants and minions and are mere steps away from facing down your foe one last time and putting an end to his danger.

Once that's done, you plan to climb The Tower, defeat its guardian, and finally claim your freedom. The real world awaits.

==

Thread 1:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6216903/

Thread 2:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6254189

Thread 3:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6297141/