No Truth Left

No Truth Left is a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure game where the audience will decide on what the main characters do. I hope to give varying options and consequences to the options so your choices have weight to them. Character sheets will be updated as the story progresses to show how the characters are being affected.

This is a lovecraftian horror story. Content warnings can be provided upon request. I will attempt to tag accordingly.

Mechanics

Each option may affect the two main characters' personalities. As their personalities shift based on the options chosen, those options will become more nuanced and available more often while the other one will slowly be phased out.

For example, continuously choosing 'peaceful' options will mean 'violent' options will become less available.

Characters' physical and mental health will be tracked. There will be consequences if their health dips too low, which will be tracked in the Afflictions section of their sheets.

Tags

ntl story = posts containing the story itself

ntl ooc = any posts directly from me not pertaining to the story. It could be about breaks, or asking for feedback.

The first step. Onto a solid, sure surface. The steep slope threatens to slip her, water rushing past her calves, but her shoes grip it tightly. When she takes the second step, they leave behind an impression that the rushing water cannot remove.

The path twists languidly, spiraling, spiraling, spiraling. The steep slope evens out into a path that hangs almost vertically, then twists around the wide, empty expanse. Chie glances down and sees it spinning further and further down. Dizziness and nausea rise in her stomach. She looks at Jethro instead.

The gold is dull in the darkness of the abyss. It remains steadfastly forward, and the hand at Chie’s back trembles. If she tunes out her own footsteps, she can hear a timid, unsure splash in his step. She wants to tell him it’ll be all right, but her words catch in her throat and die there.

They spiral into forever with the rushing water and silver. It stretches around them, two small pinpricks in its vast infinity. Chie’s eyes widen, as if bulging can help her take in everything. All she feels is insignificant.

A fork in the path greets them, splitting into two before conjoining back together. The one difference in their miles and miles of walking. The left fork continues in its straightforward fashion. The right fork twists and turns in ways no human can match. She had broken apart last time she took such a path. Her shoulder throbs with pain, as constant as Maverick’s quiet annoyance in the back of her mind. Could she bend again? Shed this wound?

As much as Chie would like to ignore Maverick, she has to admit he has a point. Grudgingly and with great effort, she would admit it.

She fumbles like a newborn fawn, rising to her knees before her legs give out and she falls back into the water with a splash.

“Do you just want me to take over?” Maverick asks, a derisive note ringing in the question.

“No, I’ve got it,” Chie pants. “It’s just… adrenaline. Or something. Give me a minute.”

Maverick grumbles, but Chie doesn’t give him any thought. It has only been a day, but she should realize he ran selfish. Why did her injuries matter? If she couldn’t handle it, it would just give him an opportunity to take control.

She can’t lose herself to him.

Chie yelps suddenly, a pressure at her back. She stumbles away, head whipping around.

Jethro’s nervous system kneels there, one gold arm held up. Chie presses her hand against her shoulder more, hoping to dull the pain from the sudden movement. Her breath comes out in ragged pants. Not an attack.

“Sorry,” Chie sighs. “You startled me.”

The gold nods and slowly approaches once more. Chie feels one hand against her back, while the gold-infested hand grabs her elbow. Chie hisses through her teeth as Jethro helps her stand. Chie wobbles, but takes several steps towards the silver pathway.

“Thank you.” Chie takes another step forward, but stops. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Absolutely not,” Maverick says, his resistance squirming inside her veins.

“We came here to help. So why leave him now?”

Jethro steps up next to her. Maverick sighs and grumbles, muttering to himself about bad ideas. They approach the silver pathway. Water slides down it, coating it in a sheen that reminds Chie of mercury. It twists into rippling darkness, cold and lonely. A few stars wink weakly down there. There are no nebulas, no open expanses of entropy.

She winces, but what else can she do? The gold dug holes into her palm, and bits of her skin had been torn off when she cut it loose. Not to mention the throbbing, radiating pain in her shoulder. Water soaks her through, but how much of that is actually blood?

“Whatever you’re going to do, hurry up,” Maverick says. Chie’s head twitches towards the downwards sloping pathway. “We should get moving.”

Chie’s chest clenches and she breathes deep and slow. Her legs shake as she tries to get them under her and fails. “I need a moment,” she says with patience that she doesn’t feel.

“I’d rather get moving now before he decides to get uppity again.” Maverick glances towards Jethro, who sits nearby them. He seems to be listening keenly to them talk, but with no face it’s hard to tell.

“You said it yourself. If we don’t mess with the gold anymore, then we’ll be fine.”

“I said it’s possible. Not guaranteed.”

Chie shakes her head and doesn’t reply. Would it have hurt him to ask if she was okay? Sure, they fought together, but it was her body they were fighting in. A small knot of frustration settles in her stomach. She wads up her shirt and presses the fabric against her shoulder, hissing in pain.

CW: blood, mild gore

“Go!” Maverick urges, and Chie feels his will surge into her muscles, but she grits her teeth, holding the knife steady. Desperation and fear grip her, but she forces herself to wait.

The raindrop drips invert with a slosh, then stab at her with a fencer’s grace. Chie’s legs twist, pivoting her out of the way. But the tendrils turn at a right angle, keeping momentum as they bury into Chie’s shoulder. Pain flares. She cries out.

Maverick’s hand grips the gold, yanking at it, and he grunts in pain. Tears blurring her vision, Chie swings the knife wildly.

[Chie is lucky]

The knife arcs through the air, blade slicing through the mass of gold as it exits Jethro’s spine. The tendril digging into her skin spasms.

With a scream, Maverick tears it from her shoulder. Already, it has grown, root-like nodules burgeoning from the main stem. They flail in the air, wrapping around pieces of flesh and muscle they had torn from her. Chie’s vision blurs.

“Again!” Maverick commands.

Fighting against the desire to drop the knife and curl up sobbing, Chie cuts the gold, slicing the tendril that Maverick holds. He opens her hand, blood-slick and trembling. The tendril sticks to it, wiggling like a grub under her skin. Failing to bite back a cry, Chie presses the blade against it and rips it out. Blood spurts like a fountain and Chie squeezes her eyes shut, as if refusing to see it means it’s not happening.

Her knees tremble, and collapse. The water around Chie turns a murky red as the blood drips. How can she treat this? What does she have? Procedures from the hospital zip through her mind, none helpful without their equipment.

“Stay ready,” Maverick says, and Chie glances towards Jethro. The gold from his arm is gone, at least, and the gold from below his waist thins slowly.

“Do you think it’ll stop?” She asks as what remains of the golden nervous system backs up slightly and sits itself.

“Possible,” Maverick answers. “Maybe… we don’t mess with it anymore.”

Chie puts the blade away, and presses against her bleeding hand. Maverick hisses and retreats from it, leaving her with the pain.

Chie jerks back, her feet almost slipping from under her. The gold stabs air where she was standing less than a second ago. Nodules and bumps vibrate on the gold, rippling like water.

The world inverts as Chie’s legs dead drop and she falls. Air rushes past her and an explosion of gold spikes towards her. Rolling aside, they slam into the water, sending it splashing.

“React faster,” Maverick snarls.

Chie scrambles to her feet. She can’t feel the hand holding the knife with a white-knuckled grip. Her other hand shakes like a leaf in a hurricane. “Sorry.”

The gold floats in the air like a mass of seaweed, groping for her. It looks almost serene. Hypnotic. Chie steps back, glancing from it towards Jethro. The gold nervous system stands there, the head looking around as if searching.

“There,” Maverick says, jerking Chie towards Jethro. “See that?”

Chie’s eyes glance back at the gold. It undulates and spreads in the air. Then she turns towards Jethro. The mass of gold near the base of the spine warbles. The gold from the arm sinks into it, then splays out like a net cast over water.

“Glowing weak point?” Chie asks, her words falling out breathlessly. Could it really be that easy?

“Don’t know what else it could be,” Maverick says, nudging her legs forward. “Let’s get it.”

Chie takes a breath and nods. She steps forward. Her only warning is a thwp, and the gold stabs at her. It grazes her legs and cheek. Sweat stings the cuts, but she runs. It stabs at her like sharp hailstones, but she moves before it can entrap her. A tendril wraps around her shaking hand, but Maverick cleanly slices it off. It dissipates into the air.

Jethro’s shadow looms over her. The bulk of the gold gathers at the spine’s base, rippling like raindrops falling into water. Chie draws the knife back.

Chie begins unraveling gold. Or, trying to. She kneels next to the mass and begins working on the spine. The mass jolts to its feet as she starts working, and looks wildly around. Chie holds her hands up as Maverick forces her back.

“Easy, easy!” She says. “I’m just trying to help.”

Its movements slow and she wonders just how well it can see her. Then it carefully sits back down, back towards her.

“Thank you.” Chie says. It gives no indication that it heard her, but she begins regardless.

The gold spinal cord is a tangled mass of fishing wire. There’s no beginning or end to the gold itself, and some knots are so tightly woven together that removing them is impossible. Chie works on a clump near the brain stem, loosening and unwinding. The progress is non-existent. And the mass keeps shuddering, making the delicate work all the more difficult.

Chie glances towards the face. The gold in the hands shiver. Gently, Chie takes the one that was holding the gun and moves it away from the face. The tremors increase, but the gold nerves are so neatly exposed that Chie unwinds them easily.

Down the wrist. The gold she pulls out waves in the air like seaweed underwater. It spasms.

“Watch out!”

Maverick’s will slams into Chie’s legs, leaping back. Chie’s arms windmill as she loses her balance. She falls as a sharp spike from the gold stabs into the ground where she was standing moments ago.

The gold mass is on its feet as well, looking around. It doesn’t notice the part of itself, free-floating gold burgeoning sharp nodules.

Chie fumbles for her pockets.

“Oh hell yeah,” Maverick says as she pulls out the pocket knife.

The gold lunges.

“Hold on a minute,” Chie says, walking to the wall. Maverick’s annoyance shivers up her spine. As she walks, his shadow’s arms throw themselves in the air before falling by her side. It’s a ghost of a movement, like shadows in fog.

Chie peeks around the wall and recoils slightly in surprise. It’s not Jethro. Well, it’s not Jethro like she’s Chie. There’s a maybe Jethro-shaped twisting tangle of gold sitting in front of the door.

“What the hell?” Maverick mutters.

It takes a moment for her eyes to work through the thin filaments and spiraling lines. Work diagrams hanging on walls spring forth from her memory. “It’s a circulatory system,” Chie says. Once the connection is made, she can see the Jethro in the gold. Sitting crossed legged, elbows on his knees. One hand supports his cheek, the other is cupped like he is holding a gun.

Chie approaches, frowning. “Or perhaps… his nervous system?” His brain and spinal cord are a mass of gold, weaving in messy knots and bundles along where bone should be. The periphery system is easier to see, with the thin wires of gold becoming neater and neater the further out they go. The only thing out of place from it is a nose ring, from which the filaments spread from.

“Very interesting. Let’s go.” Maverick jerks Chie’s feet.

Chie stumbles, but rightens herself quickly. “You say that dismissively, but this does have implications.”

Chie steps forward again. The gold is just… there. Could she? Her fingers twitch.

“You’re thinking again,” Maverick accuses. “Stop thinking. You don’t act right when you think.”

Chie snorts. “Spoken like a true MRA.”

“A what?”

“Besides, we turned back to help him. Maybe…”

Sea salt permeates the air and fills Chie’s nostrils as she breathes. The gentle lap of waves pulls her from the blankness of sleep. A sense of serenity envelopes her, spreading over her like a blanket. There is no rush to leave the soft lethargy of sleep. Not here, where there is no time.

At some point, her eyes crack open to infinity yet again. The shining expanse stretches before her, breath-takingly radiant as the first time she saw it. Water rushes, and she lies on the mattress. The slow turn of the universe elicits a shiver of awe.

“Hey.” A familiar voice calls to her from her right. Her left. Below her and above her. Chie’s head lists to the side. No one. “Hey. Move.”

Chie’s hand twitches. Her back jerks and she lifts into a sitting position. The world she sits on stretches in front of her, leading to a silver pathway that turns downward. Familiar.

“I’m serious,” the voice says again. “I’m respecting you.” There’s derision in the word. “But that only stretches so far.”

“You ass.” The words are automatic to the prideful tone. But speaking grounds her. The words solidify her place in time and space as the sounds burst into life, vibrating against her eardrums, and then dying.

“Oh! Oh. Maverick” Chie pushes herself up.

“Who else?” He asks.

“For a moment, I lived in a blissful world where you were not possessing me.”

“We both wish,” Maverick scoffs.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re in my head right now,” Chie replies, slowly turning around. No one stands beside her. The only thing in the flat expanse is the wall and the door from out of her room-turned-prison. Without the other three walls, it’s a bad deterrent to escape. But…

Is Jethro still on the other side?

“I’m not sure I know how this all works,” he replies. “Though I’m not looking from your eyes right now. I’m a bit above your head.” Chie’s hand rises and turns. An impression of a hand is superimposed over her own. The palm is wider and fingers longer than her own. Chie pokes it, and meets solid resistence.

“I can feel that,” Maverick muses. “Clearly. It’s not numb, like it usually is.”

“Interesting…”

Maverick twitches Chie’s head up. “Not that interesting. Come on. We’ve got our exit.”

Chie’s development

-Due to her dream experiences, Chie’s mentality is slightly more adaptable towards weird stuff. Additionally, she has gained many strange marks on her body.

-Chie will stand up to Maverick when their needs conflict. However, she will try to compromise first and foremost.

-Chie’s desire to help people she knows outweighs helping herself.

-Chie has begun to struggle with pointlessness.

Maverick’s development

-Despite his demands and wants, Maverick tries to be conscious of Chie’s own needs. Emphasis on tries.

-Maverick is motivated through selfish, self-aggrandizing means and answers.

-While Maverick will lie and keep his motives to himself, he is less willing to do so.

Chie’s inventory

-Phone, pocketknife, flashlight

Chie's HP: 7/10.

Chie's Sanity: 9/10

“But this…” Chie looks out the window again. If she tilts her head to the side and scrunches her shoulders together, she might be able to scrape through. Might. “This is just pointless, isn’t it?”

It’s not! Maverick’s voice raises, and bounces around her skull. Chie’s head hurts. If we survive, that’s what matters! That’s not pointless! If we make it out of here, then we can continue!

“But then Jethro will die.”

Then Jethro dies. Maverick says coolly, as if discussing a move in chess. It’s no big deal. People die all the time.

Chie rubs her eyes. What can she do? Just one person, against a man who has a town of people and monsters at his beck and call. She feels so small, like a candle sputtering in a storm.

“Maybe we should concentrate on handling Marsh?” Chie asks. “Or Deacon Mills?”

How do I know you won’t just hold me back? Maverick asks. You don’t want Jethro to die, so you probably won’t want Marsh or Mills to die, either.

The thought of killing someone drops lead in Chie’s stomach. She squirms uncomfortably.

Thought so.

The feeling of abject nothingness is her only warning before Chie is slammed back from her body. Her eyes dart about on their own accord and her neck cracks.

“I’m not going to give up so easily,” Maverick says, pulling at the bars. “So just sit there and wait.”

Chie pushes against him weakly, then settles to watch her hands work fervently and meticulously at the bars, scraping cement away in little clouds. Her nails chip and her skin bleeds as the sun falls to the horizon, and Chie can’t bring herself to care. With only her mind to distract herself, she realizes just how few options they have. As the last flickers of light abandon them, Maverick steps back, admiring his work.

Both bars are solidly in place. A small hole against the top of one and Chie’s mangled fingers are the only sign of Maverick’s attempts. “Well, that was-” he cuts off.

Pointless?

“Shut up.”

Maverick pulls back from Chie’s hand, and stinging pain greets her. After hours of nothing, the sensation is actually welcome.

Come on, she says. Give me back some parts of myself. Let’s go to bed.

More sensation returns. Legs, an arm, her head. Much of her remains numb, but she’ll take what she can get. Chie collapses on the flimsy bed and lies in the darkness.

CW: discussions of suicide

The muscle’s in Chie’s neck twitch towards the window. Get to work.

With a sigh, Chie steps up to the windows. She stares at the bars, feeling Maverick press his will against her, and puts her hand on her hip. “Say please.”

Seriously? Maverick’s voice drips with incredulity and the hand he controls twitches slightly.

“Working together doesn’t mean you get to take control all the time,” Chie starts, feeling like she’s lecturing a toddler, “and it doesn’t mean you get to continuously order me around like I’m your servant.”

Maverick wastes several minutes muttering and cursing. Chie can’t make out all the words he says, which she lingers on while he decides if he wants to be nice. What is he talking with and what is she listening with so that she can’t fully understand him?

Please. The word drips contempt like an infection drips puss, but it was what Chie asked for. She moves to the window and starts fussing with the bars. They are loose in their holes, and twisting them showers dust. If both bars come out, she could possibly squeeze through.

Her hand slows as a weight settles on her. Why did you stop?

“This feels pointless,” Chie says, glancing back at the door. “I came here to try and stop Jethro and Rin from dying. But if I do escape…”

You can’t help what he does, Maverick offers. If he wants to kill himself for Marsh, then he’ll kill himself. Simple.

“But it doesn’t sound like he really wants to,” Chie shoots back. She picks at some of the concrete and flakes it away from the top part of one bar. “It sounds like he’s just being swept along.”

He still has choices, Maverick says. He’s choosing to stay, he’s choosing to put a gun in his mouth.

Chie doesn’t answer immediately, her hand slowing. Is it really a choice? Jethro hadn’t sounded enthused to be here. Could this be some form of abuse? Did Marsh have something held hostage over Jethro?

Chie’s arm jolts with unfeeling, then regains itself. Maverick mutters darkly in her head. I. He cuts himself off with a huff of Chie’s lungs. You’re not going fast enough. I want the arm. There’s a pause. Please. The word is insincerity incarnate.

Chie looks at her sandwich, then looks at the arm Maverick is controlling. He doesn’t move it. Stepping away from the door, she mutters, “A little help?” The fingers twitch and Maverick’s thoughtfulness hums in the back of her mind. Chie bites back an exasperated sigh. “Maverick. I’m hungry. Come on.”

He slams into Chie, and her awareness splits to different pieces of her body. Her hand grips the plate tightly, her shoe pinches her toe, and Maverick locks her eyes on the door. He takes an awkward step forward, only in control of part of her legs.

“What is the final truth?” He demands.

You don’t have to be rude about it, Chie says.

“I don’t care about being rude to them,” Maverick snaps back quietly.

You’re being rude to me, too!

Maverick snorts, and Chie itches with annoyance.

“I don’t know,” Jethro says. “Just that Hiram and Marsh’ve been working… on it? Towards it?” He pauses and Maverick shifts Chie’s body from foot to foot. Her eyes are still locked on the door, as if staring at it for long enough will rip the answers from it. “Outsiders have been popping by more often than not now, I suppose.”

“Do you know Deacon Mills?”

“Nah, not really.” There’s a shift of fabric, then whispers. Jethro sighs. “Sorry.”

“Liar,” Maverick mutters. Then he steps back, slamming Chie back into herself. The sensation vibrates like a discordant note and she staggers, placing a hand to her forehead. Or, tries to. Maverick clings stubbornly to it.

They’ll need to talk about that, Chie decides. But later. She puts the plate on a crate and begins eating. “Thanks for answering my questions, Jethro,” she says between bites. “I appreciate it.” Maverick drums Chie’s fingers on the crate.

“Sure,” is Jethro’s simple reply.

“Okay, so you don’t help him. But some others lead this… Order of Dagon thing with him?” Chie asks, hoping to steer the conversation back to something that might help her. Maverick’s attention sharpens and he presses against her. Like someone’s face pushing against her skull, she shivers.

Don’t push me away, Maverick says, and Chie grits her teeth against the discomfort.

“Esoteric Order of Dagon,” Jethro corrects.

“What do they do?” Chie asks. Lowering her voice, she whispers to Maverick, “it sounds a bit like Mormons.”

What are Mormons?

“It’s a religious order,” Jethro responds, and Chie gives herself a point in favor of correctness.

“Soo… is it a Jesus thing? Or…?”

Jethro snorts. “Not specifically Jesus, no.” He pauses. “For one, this god is real.”

The fish monsters flash in Chie’s mind, impossible evolutionarily and terrifyingly inhuman. Her denial of this being dies in her throat. “So, it turns you into… uh. Fish mons- p. People. And… what? What does it get from you?”

“That is what it gets from us,” Jethro says.

“So… what do you get, then?”

“The town gets gold.”

And Jethro got a rickety old boat and a house that was falling down around his head. Chie chewed on her lip, unsure of what else to say. The opulence of the mansion above her disgusts her even more.

“Things have been gearing up lately,” Jethro muses, more to himself than to Chie. “Like they’re preparing for something. Hiram’s been talking about it, whenever I stop by the Gilman House.”

“What’s he say?” Maverick asks.

“Soon. Soon we’ll stand at the end of the silver paths, where the lies of the universe collide, and come out as the final truth left.”

The sentence hangs quietly in the air between them. Confusion and dread wrestle inside Chie, and she can almost hear flutes playing quietly. A rumbling darkness and something… Chie presses her hand against her chest, willing her heart to slow down.

Footsteps approach and Chie nearly jumps out of her skin when the door cracks open. Rin appears, pushing a plate with a sandwich and chips at her. The look she gives Chie as she takes it is one of pity and resignation. Then the door closes and locks once more.

Frustration boils through Chie’s veins and she strangles the air in front of her. Tensing her muscles helps, but only a little bit. Had coming back been pointless? Is there nothing she can do? She paces the small room.

Maverick rides her frustration and pushes from her lips. “Do you even want to live?” He demands through her.

“I do,” Jethro says, a wistful tone in his voice. “There’s so much I want beyond this damn town.”

Chie’s pacing slows, and she stops in front of the door.

When the hell is Rin getting back? Maverick muses. The sooner we can get started on the window, the better.

Chie ignores him. “Who exactly is Marsh?” Jethro had mentioned the factory in the 1900s, gold, cleaning stations, and the fact that Marsh owned a lot of property in town. But none of that came together in a coherent picture as to why he could force Jethro to kill himself with just a word.

She hears shuffling, sees the bulk of Jethro’s shadow move from under the crack between the door frame and the floor. “He’s… The Leader,” he says, in a way that makes Chie realize The and Leader are Capitalized for Importance. “The Marsh family has been in Innsmouth for generations, passing down the land, the factory, the stock, and the responsibilities.”

“Trust fund baby,” Chie says automatically.

Jethro snorts, but ignores the comment. “Their family leads the Esoteric Order of Dagon, with a bit of help from the Gilman family.”

“Your family helps him?!” Chie’s incredulity explodes from her. She had risked her life to come back here! And he’s in cahoots with Marsh?!

“I’m on a twig of the family tree,” Jethro responds. “Not enough family blood to help.” He pauses. “I never told you my last name.”

Chie flushes. “I uh. I saw it written on some pictures,” she admits. “There was a photo album.”

“Ah,” Jethro says. “Mom was big on albums.”

TW: suicide

“Can I have something to eat?” Chie asks, opening a box. “Or is that against your orders?” Chie frowns, the last a sarcastic remark from Maverick.

“It’s fine,” Rin sighs. “I’ll get it.” Chie pauses in her search, listening to Rin walk away. Then she glances down into the box.

[Chie is unlucky]

More gold jewelry wrapped up in cloth. It pulls at her again, the slightest of tugs. Maverick twitches her hands, and she replaces the lid. As Chie digs through more boxes, she glances at the door.

“Jethro?”

He grunts.

“You won’t really kill yourself, will you?” More jewelry, more jewelry, and nothing useful.

“I’ll really kill myself,” Jethro says around the gun barrel, resigned.

Chie studies the walls, a subject that is more easily understood than Jethro. Plain gray concrete stained with water stands in front of her, stalwart and unmoving. “But why? What has he done to earn your loyalty?”

Another sigh. “Loyalty has nothing to do with it,” he says. “Neither does choice.”

“So he’s forcing you?” Chie asks, moving to the window bars. She tugs on them. “Threatening you?”

[Chie is lucky]

They wiggle, bits of concrete dust and caulk raining down on her hands. This is it! Maverick shouts.

“It’s complicated, Chie,” Jethro says. He’s quiet for a moment. “This was inevitable, anyway. I wish you would’ve just kept going.”

Chie moves away from the window. When Maverick protests, she whispers, “after Rin brings us our food.” Then, louder, “I couldn’t have let him kill you, though. Or Rin.”

“Still.” Jethro lets the word hang in the air. “It may happen either way, and you’re stuck in the middle of it.”

“Is there something we can do so you can escape?” Quickly, she adds, “You, not me.”

Jethro laughs, a low, watery, mirthless chuckle. “No. It’s too late. Been too late.”