<span class="mu-s">WELCOME TO THE AMERICAN FEVER DREAM.</span>

Have you ever heard such an eye-catching phrase? The poster before you certainly draws the attention of anyone who notices it. It's endearing, even. Yet you are filled with regret every time you look at it --- the landmine loaded with high-explosive cynicism could blow up in your face if you let your gaze linger upon it for too long.

You walk backwards, plunk yourself down into your office chair, and let out a long exhale out of deep relief, having finished moving the last of the boxes to your new Office in District P. Your wandering eyes drift upwards, following your invisible breath as one would follow a rising trail of cigarette smoke. Sometimes, it's important to mindlessly contemplate the eroticism of ceiling tiles. And some other pleasant-sounding nonsense.

Anyway.

You suppose you should introduce yourself.

OFFICE CALM (Atrium Carceri, Cities Last Broadcast, God Body Disconnect - A Thousand Empty Rooms) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jfU1HN2pSQ

You are <span class="mu-s">JOHN SMITH</span> or, to put it another way, <span class="mu-g">MISTER ANONYMOUS.</span> Your name is not terribly important these days.

But, in the gaze of others, the work that you do has earned you the moniker of a <span class="mu-s">TROUBLESHOOTER.</span> Someone who finds trouble, and shoots it.

You do not have problems, but you have solutions.

So your sought-after peace of mind is fleeting. There are clients to be heard, work to done, rent to be paid, and you hate the future for holding the power of expectations over you.

Let's get to work.

It is the autumn of the year 1254, Anno Curia, with winter approaching ever so slowly from the frigid north upon the normally so pleasant valleys that you have nestled your armies in. There thankfully won't be much snow like there is back home. Nor will it be so cold as in Greifswald, but nevertheless you want to be prepared for the inevitable.

Yet there are dark clouds already gathered over the Mithradian Archipelago; the infidel has been put on the back foot. But now it is the crusaders themselves who threaten to jeopardise the war effort, and Mithradianans themselves have proven no aid either. That one of them has declared himself king is perhaps the worst thing that could have happened at that moment, but it would seem that ambition has won out over nobility in the hearts of man.

For now, you can only watch the developments down south with caution. Montpelerin has carved out for himself a very rich realm, and he will entrench himself in it with every day that passes. Your hopes are now focused upon the other three 'big' leaders of the crusade, Marlwick, Castelanne, and Westernesse, and the unaligned knightly orders. There are a lot of players in this game, you have found, and a lot of them are completely untrustworthy.

Yet that is not all that you are concerned with, nor is it the biggest problem ever. If you can manage to build a coalition of northern crusaders, you could force Montpelerin to come to terms; aside from that, you could also stand stronger against the imperial government, the Doge of Alotoro, and the infidels themselves. Though with the campaigning season behind you, it will have to wait until next year.

Now, you are combing through the bowels of a palace built upon the ruins of an ancient fortress, searching for any clues that may help you achieve your goals. The forge that you found there could serve as the main supplier of arms for the campaign of next year. And indeed, it is a grand thing; the furnaces stand empty, their mouths cold and deprived of their molten metal. The anvils and their tools stand rusted and decayed. Whatever was left of the products stored in the storerooms had also rusted. Getting this place running again might require you to invest some significant resources, both material and human, into this place. But there is an anvil unlike the other. Not black and metallic, but marble, with golden engravings. It emits a faint golden glow with a soft metal hum. It is broad, heavy, and pristine, untouched by time and neglect. A hexagonal hole in the middle, or perhaps it's better to call it a slot or a keyhole.

Obviously something belongs there, but when you came down here the first time, you couldn't find the damn thing; you discussed it with the Vilicus, a being who fills the same station as the seneschal back home. Nevertheless, after consulting him and looking around for any place such a thing might be stored, you, like many before and after you, spend a few hours in silent suffering searching for the key

You are <span class="mu-s">Nicole Smith.</span> You are a <span class="mu-s">SHIFTer</span>, a person capable of using anomalous abilities to alter the world around you. You are a <span class="mu-s">Cleaner</span>, a deniable asset used by massive mega-corporations called the <span class="mu-s">Alphabet Companies</span> and anyone else willing to pay you.

Most of your jobs are from your <span class="mu-s">Handler</span>, a member of a powerful family who asks you to check up on things or 'clean' up messes for him.

All of this is taking place in the <span class="mu-s">City</span>, a massive megacomplex spanning across hundreds of thousands to hundreds of millions of square miles. Being a <span class="mu-s">Cleaner</span> is one of the most efficient ways to make money in this continental sized megacomplex if you know what you're doing.

You get the drill.

As for how that job is going? Not half bad!

You teamed up with a group of revolutionaries down at an abandoned underground facility and dealt with a handful of anomalies down there. In the process of working with them, you brought a soviet soldier from WW2 back into the future through anomalous time travel means.

You proceeded to head to a rave to unwind, got a new body for a body possessing ally to control and started to prepare for your next mission. This was hampered a bit by your apartment complex and the surrounding block turning into rubble thanks to the Spooks trying to mess with G-Corp.

You carried on regardless and started your latest mission: Checking up on your Handler's extended family to see how they're holding up. You have to travel all across the City to do so but the first stop at Q-Corp was quick and easy. You had to kill a sniper and deal with an android trying to defame you but you easily secured the first Foxtrot. That's when you moved to D-Corp for the second one.

D-Corp has been hell. Your allies have been slowly losing more and more of their sanity as you travel the district. You entered up at a spore infested facility in pursuit of the second Foxtrot. You dealt with a Spook there and entered a unsteady alliance with her before finding Seath Foxtrot.

It took setting the anomaly controlling him ablaze to snap him out of the anomalous trance he was in. He's with you now, though!

You're now busy dealing with a side quest about a missing dog that was kidnapped by a gang. You're on the way to the warehouse the gang is taking nest in order to rescue said dog. You can't wait to get out of D-Corp, man.

ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Cleaner
PASTEBINS:
MAIN CHARACTER SHEET (Your stats/abilities/perks are written here): https://pastebin.com/3y638TfK
ALLIES (contains their stats, abilities, recruitment costs, and RAPPORT): https://pastebin.com/8gdVZBPe
MECHANICS: https://pastebin.com/A9nLYWP6
PARTY (Who's with you currently): https://pastebin.com/NeYKiyED
INVENTORY (contains your items, consumables, weapons, etc.): https://pastebin.com/n0MH6M17
CITY INFO (General information about the Alphabet Companies and other notable entities): https://pastebin.com/ZP2JN7mT

The Third (don’t ask what happened to the second) Thread in Fatale Albion!

<span class="mu-s">The First Thread:</span>
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6085308/

<span class="mu-s">Other Threads by Lumina Canima:</span>
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=meguca+royale

<span class="mu-s">INTRO</span> (please do not skip this)

◕ Fatale Albion is a Spin-Off of Lumina Canima’s “Meguca Royale”, taking place in the U.K. Three players have already been selected in the first thread, one has quit and another took their place in the second. They each will answer to their own prompts with their own characters. This Quest will have major spoilers for PMMM, so if you haven’t watched it yet and don’t want me to ruin it for you, watch it right now or else. If you still want to read and participate in this quest then I’ll have something to show you.


◕ In the previous thread, the Witch was “Neutralised” and every civilian lost in the woods had been evacuated. Now the main concerns are whether Alba Appleton should follow up on Marisa’s invitation, and how Abigail is going to explain her deal with Claire. Along with Stephanie’s reaction to the “Soul Gem Talk”.

<span class="mu-s">OTHER STUFF</span>

>What happened to the second thread?

It fell off abruptly. Thankfully I keep a back-up of all relevant posts made. I’m also going to be posting the last active posts I made along with Abigail’s response.

>Can I also join in the suffering?

I’ve decided that I’m <span class="mu-s">Not</span> accepting new players because the pacing would become even worse than it already is. Apologies for anyone who got their hopes up.

The Church of the Sun uncovered an ancient secret about the world - the gods created a powerful ritual which when successfully performed can make a continent raise from the sea floor, but by doing so one or more existing continents might sink! Further research is needed, but it is possible that all major cataclysms in the past were caused by someone performing this ritual.

The ritual was uncovered by translating slabs from an ancient underwater Nagah temple recovered by an intrepid group of adventurers. According to these texts, the ritual can only be performed once per millenium at most. According to the sages calculations, the most recent ritual... was already performed a few years ago and no one noticed.

So there is a whole new continent somewhere in the Endless Ocean to be settled!

The Church of the Sun loses no time and finances an expedition to the unknown continent. Ten vessels, each with 200 crew, are sent to colonize the new land.

Many stormy months later, about half of the vessels crash land against the rocks of an unknown continent.

Sick, starving and cut off from the rest of the world, the new colonists must decide how they are going to live from now on!

But they must decide quickly - the land ahead is unforgiving, and all kinds of amphibious creatures are already beginning to claim it for themselves.

The people decide their new city will be called Naga. They get together and decide on a system of government.

> Feudal Monarchy. The traditional mode of government. Twice as much unrest can be quelled by garrisons. This means taxes can usually be higher.
> Trade Republic. No fancy nobles, all government roles are elective. Trade revenue is doubled, but corruption tends to be high as well.
> Tribal Confederacy. A loose alliance of clans. All tribe leaders meet in a council to organize mutual defense. Military units cost half to feed.
> Theocracy. A single powerful religious order controls the land. There is no unhappiness, but research progress is halved.

It is May 19th 0079, of the Universal Century, five days since your first two missions and the Federation's first victory against Zeon in the Australian front. Brigadier General Warren Keller organized scattered Federation forces into a formidable fighting force, launching an operation to retake a major port base in Brisbane to re-establish supply lines with the mainland Federation forces and build a solid foothold to reclaim Australia from the Spacenoid invaders.

Though Keller received credit for the victory, you are still widely recognized for the vital role you played in the Battle of Brisbane. For your pivotal contributions to the battle- successfully shooting down two Zakus, saving the lives of your squad mates, and convincing the Zeon base commander to surrender peacefully to prevent further bloodshed in a massive battle, you earned two promotions and a few shiny medals that you don't quite know what to do with.

You are now Corporal Jag Rommel- squad leader of your own anti-Mobile Suit specialist unit, one of three squads that make up the 7th anti-MS platoon lead by your former squad mate Yunnus Wynn. It's something you're still trying to get used to, both in responsibility and the way others now treat you. For your nearly unbelievable contributions, you have started to become a bit of a folk hero to your fellow infantrymen. The pressure of their expectations bear down on you, adding to the weight of the lost souls you feel obligated to carry on your shoulders.

Not only that, corrupt officers are beginning to pester and harass you. Some covet the fame and achievements you've achieved, convinced that your glory is nothing but tall tales and stretched truths that you somehow got Keller to believe. After all, how could a fresh recruit achieve so much in so little time, in the profession with the highest mortality rate?

Whatever the case, it sickens you that even in such dire times, there are those that only think of themselves and what they can stand to gain amidst the horror and bloodshed, but you try to keep yourself centered and focus on your goals.


It is currently midday, and you are:

>Out for a walk, thinking about the last time you spoke with Will and Helena
>In the mess hall, listening to Gaspa entertain the other soldiers as he recounts the Battle of Brisbane
>Looking through personnel dossiers to choose who will join your new squad
>Other- write in?

You're Larry, the hill giant, just chilling in your hill when suddenly you feel an ominous sense of impending doom, as if the entire world is going to collapse and reality is about to end.

"I'm hungry," you say out loud.

You open your giant sack to see if you have any food left. Nope, no food—just a bunch of worthless silver you accidentally got when you ate a merchant.

Well, time to get some bacon. You grab your club and decide where you're going to get your next meal.

> Into the nearby farmland. You could steal a cow. It's pretty safe, but the farmers might get angry.
> Into the forest. You could club a bear, a boar, or a wolf to death and eat it, but you might get harmed.
> Ambush another caravan. With some luck, you can eat a horse, an ox, or a donkey, and put the merchant in your sack.
> Write in.

Your name? Tiara Boobowski, Tiara the Manx, Princess Tiara, whatever, you were supposed to be Sonic's girlfriend but... Honestly you're not sure what happened with that, some dumb thing about "Your zone no longer existing" from some multi colored Sonic Wannabe. It was kind of annoying. You've mainly been slumming it here with your dad for as long as you can remember. It's nice enough, a lot of other people live here, there's some jerk Nack and his sister Nicolette always running around. A lot of folks who look like Sonic or act like Sonic but you know they aren't <span class="mu-i">your</span> Sonic. When you woke up today you didn't expect anything to be much different than normal.

"Good Morning Tiara." your father Gazebo remarks

"Hm." you nod in response, blankly staring out at the bustling city-space overlooking your home. You peer down.

There's a Vector walking hand in hand with a Vanilla, a version of Cream with them, you see an older Tails fly past a younger looking Sonic and... Wait a minute... who is that?

On the street below you see a hooded figure, not too uncommon a sight, any wanderer from any zone could be wearing a hood but something about the energy in this one was... off? If you didn't know any better... You'd think that there was a red glow around them.

"Tiara?" your father asks "Is something the matter?"

> Go down there and investigate guns blazing
> Go down there and investigate, being stealthy
> Leave it be, not your problem.

The ISS Halcyon drifts silently through the vast emptiness of deep space, its engines emitting a low, steady hum as it approaches the source of a faint distress beacon. The signal crackles with distortion, warped by radiation and gravity fluctuations, but its origin is clear: the Ark Horizon. Once humanity's greatest triumph in interstellar colonization, the ark was a shining symbol of hope when it launched centuries ago. Now, it’s little more than a ghost ship, drifting perilously close to the event horizon of a black hole.

In the cramped command module of the Halcyon, tension hangs thick in the air. A flickering holographic display casts pale light across the room, illuminating the image of the Ark Horizon—a behemoth nearly a kilometer in length. Its once-pristine hull bears the scars of its decay: dark scorch marks streak its surface, and strange, pulsing organic growths cling to its structure like a disease. The crew exchanges uneasy glances, the weight of their mission settling in.

Commander Elise Kael stands at the center, her presence commanding even in the dim light. Her voice cuts through the silence, firm but not without a trace of unease. “Alright, team. You know the drill. We’re here to investigate the Ark Horizon, figure out what’s going on, and stabilize its course if we can. Our own fuel’s tight, so we need to move quickly. Priority one is restoring navigation.” She pauses, scanning the faces of her team. “And keep your eyes open—something about this doesn’t sit right.”

As if on cue, the airlock hisses open, drawing every gaze toward the newcomer stepping through. Clad in a sleek, state-of-the-art survival suit, the figure moves with quiet purpose. They’re an intelligence officer, recently arrived aboard the Halcyon in an FTL escape pod—a desperate journey that drained nearly all its antimatter reserves. Their sudden arrival and mysterious assignment had already stirred murmurs among the crew.

The officer halts just inside the room, their expression unreadable. In one hand, they hold a small, secure data module. “Commander Kael,” they say, their voice calm and measured, “I’ve been assigned to this mission. My orders are classified, but I need to reach the Ark Horizon’s mainframe and upload this data. That’s all I can tell you.”

Kael studies them for a long moment, her sharp gaze probing for cracks in their composure. Finally, she nods. “You’ll follow my lead once we’re on the Ark Horizon. No going rogue, no surprises. Understood?”

The officer inclines their head in agreement, offering nothing further. The rest of the crew looks on, uneasy but silent. No one speaks as the Halcyon drifts ever closer to the derelict ark, the faint pull of the black hole’s gravity beginning to make its presence known. Whatever secrets the Ark Horizon holds, they’re about to find out.

Long ago, this continent flourished under the reign of an advanced magical civilization, one whose unparalleled mastery of arcane arts allowed them to command the very forces of the infernal. These sorcerers bound powerful demons to their will, using them as tireless servants and conduits for their magic, reshaping the world with an almost godlike touch.

Yet, their dominance was not eternal. The heavens shifted in a cataclysmic cosmic conjunction—a rare and chaotic alignment of celestial bodies that unleashed devastation upon the land. The intricate bindings that held the demons in servitude shattered like brittle glass, freeing these vengeful entities. With a fury born of centuries of bondage, the demons tore through their former masters and their grand cities, leaving only ruins and death in their wake. The continent, once a beacon of wonder, became a forsaken wasteland haunted by demonic predators.

In the vacuum left behind, other civilizations across the world began to thrive. No longer overshadowed by the oppressive might of the sorcerer-lords, they grew in strength, ingenuity, and independence. The title "Demon Lord," once signifying a mighty magician who ruled with legions of infernal minions, faded into myth.

Generations later, tales of the fallen land's treasures and mysteries lured colonists from a distant western realm. Driven by ambition, desperation, or the promise of glory, they boarded ships and braved the seas to claim these cursed lands as their own. However, they were not fools—they knew the dangers that lurked. Among their number traveled a single, resolute Demon Hunter, sworn to protect the settlers and face the infernal beasts that still prowled the shadows.

That Demon Hunter is you. But who are you, truly?

> Duelist: You are a master of agility and precision, wielding twin blades in a deadly dance. A small crossbow rests on your back, reserved for moments of dire necessity. Armor slows the nimble, so you wear little, relying instead on your speed and skill to outmaneuver both demon and man.
> Arbalest: A sharpshooter of unmatched precision, you carry a colossal crossbow capable of devastating power. Its dual firing modes allow you to strike with singular force or unleash a volley of smaller bolts in rapid succession. Close combat is not your strength, but a short sword at your side provides a last line of defense.
> Peace Priestess: Blessed by divine grace, you walk unharmed among the demonic hordes, shielded by the Goddess’s Pact. As long as you do no harm to any living creature, no demon may lay a hand upon you. You carry no weapons but hold a satchel of healing potions and the knowledge to brew more. Instead of battling demons, you barter with them, offering your own blood in exchange for their magical aid. Yet, mortals are bound by no such covenant, leaving you vulnerable to human threats.
> Write in