Papers, Please

*sigh*

"A'right, hon... you're up. Second window."

The woman behind the counter shifts glacially in her seat as you approach, looking down on you with a combination of disinterest and mild distaste. She fills the entire window at her booth, dwarfing the D.O.H.M. computer tablet in her bangled hand, looking for all the world as if she could balance the globe on her chest and roll her eyes at Atlas all the while. She sighs again, clearly the sole bellows feeding the furnace at the heart of the bureaucratic apparatus of Cybele Station.

"Lemme guess... you need to renew your Station I.D.?"

She casts her eyes over your shoulder at the line stretching out behind you of other people who also put it off until the last day.

"A'right, here we go... Page One. Answer the questions as I ask them to the best o' your ability, and remember you don't get any points being cute, okay... but if you make me laugh, I'll give you a hard-candy while the guards're kicking you out. A'right."

Name:
Age:
Species:
Birthplace:
Occupation:
Current Station Address:
Ring 1 / 2 / 3
Deck __
Unit __


"The next section concerns your medical history and psychological profile. Lemme know when you're ready to move on."

"Yeah whateva," drones the clerk, "page two."

Despite her attitude, it really isn’t all that busy a day in the Records Office, especially with it being the last day of the quarter. Only 10 or so other people either in line behind you or sitting further down in the waiting area, a couple of bored-looking guards on either side of the room. An old lizard, going gray around the eyes, sits in the corner reading a magazine. You can hear the page turn. Yes, in fact… it should be much busier.

Aptitude Report:
____
____

Maladaptive Tendencies:
____
____Latest Physical Results:
Agility -
Smarts -
Spirit -
Strength -
Vigor -

Toughness -
Parry -
Pace - Registered Cybernetic, Genetic, or Psionic enhancements, mutations, or abilities:
____
____

"Yeah okay Toy Soldier, take it easy…" the clerk mumbles. "Page 3."

She looks down the counter at the next window and rolls her eyes. The other clerk on duty, a wiry Bat’o with thick glasses, ink stains on his tie, and a pair of leathery wings folded tightly against his back, appears to be engaged in a one sided argument with a Crabling who’s gotten into the office somehow. The little fellow, three or four feet high, has a large coin clenched in one of its claws, and is holding it out to the agitated clerk as if trying to get him to take it. The clerk’s huge, pointed ears twitch in frustration as he attempts to explain to the silent, expressionless crab that they aren’t in a bank, and that even if they were, there would be nothing he could do with an old coin like that.

"Good grief…" sighs the woman at your window.

"Finish the form, turn it in, take a seat in the lobby, and wait for them to call you over to the Photo Booth."

OCCUPATIONAL HISTORYREGISTERED PROPERTIESSPECIAL NOTES

You sit down in the waiting area, unsure how long the wait will be and wishing you’d brought a book or something. One of the halogen bulbs above you flickers. Some blandly-pleasant Avian string-music plays quietly over the speakers.

The well-dressed Reptilian you saw earlier is still there with his magazine, and now there is another lizard, more shabbily dressed, a few seats down who seems to be eyeing him suspiciously. There are also a handful of birds: a frazzled-looking runner in a fraying sweater-vest; a pretty, reddish swimmer wearing a fine gold necklace; and another runner, a tall rooster wearing a leather jacket. You recognize him from the DO-NOT-SERVE picture inside Iguana-Don’s on Deck 2: Buster Bantam Bustamante, aka "Booster the Rooster," one of the station’s larger small-fries, crime-wise.

There’s also one more person — you have to do a double-take, it’s been so long — your old pal from a block or two over on Deck 11. He looks the same, but also different.

Yoshi is sure there’s something familiar about both lizards, but he just can’t put his finger on it. Still, he knows he ought to know them.Several things happen in quick succession while Dirt is greeting his old friend.

First, the translucent doors of the Records Office slide open to admit three new people — a trio of probably-birds in deep red festival robes and colorful, feathered masks. The bells on their hems jangle merrily as they enter and approach the front security checkpoint.

Second, the shabby lizard suddenly hisses, loudly, and with what could be anger, disgust, or a mixture of both. The short frills on his neck quiver and fan out in agitation as he points a clawed finger at the more dapper reptile.

"Thatsss it! I knew I recognissssed you from somewhere, you egg-sssucking mother—"

Third, one of the trio of robed figures extends a hand and releases a cloud of brilliant orange-and-scarlet butterflies into the air, while the other two shimmy back-and-forth in what looks like the beginning of the traditional Avian Goddess Dance, their bells chiming out a lively beat. A couple of people start to point and laugh and clap as the dozens of little flame-like insects dance on the air… but there’s something else dancing on the air too — something silver and glinting like glitter or maybe metal-shavings or maybe—

But no, wait, the one robed figure has something else in their hand— it’s an orb or box of some kind and it’s starting to glow…

The flash-bang steadily increases in brightness until it suddenly flares up like a tiny sun and then pops in a blinding, dizzying explosion of color and light and sound. The little bits of silver — mirror crystals from the surface of Thoth, lighter than air and omni-reflectional — pick up and spread the light, ensuring that not a single shadow is spared the impossible glare.As you reel from the flash, vision naught but a chaos of light and nonsense, you can only dimly make out the screams of panic beneath the ringing in your ears. Then, two more sounds rise up over the din, each the hot scream of an energy weapon being discharged. One of them is followed by a cry of pain, and the second only by the thud of a heavy body hitting the ground. As far as you can tell, neither of them was you. Not long after the two secondary blasts, a voice speaks clearly and authoritatively to the room. The accent is pure Mountain Avian, noble and practiced and clear… not at all anxious or strained.

"Everyone on your hands and knees. We don’t WANT to hurt you, but you must understand that we WILL accomplish our objectives at ALL costs. Today is not the day to die a hero."

Yoshi looks around him, and as a picture of the world begins to slide back into focus, he determines that he’s one of the first of the victims of the blast to fully recover. Most are on the ground, clutching their eyes and ears. He sees that Dirt is coming around, but still blinking hard.

On the ground near the doors, he sees the first security officer curled up against the side of his booth. He’s been hit with a blast that probably wasn’t "technically" lethal, but at that range it might as well have been. Luckily, it seems he took it mostly in the side. He groans as he clutches the spot with the opposite hand. Both limbs on the stricken side are slack, but twitching badly.

Whoever got hit with the second blast fell around the corner of the counter, and is out of Yoshi’s line of sight. Probably it was the second guard.

Not far from the groaning officer lays a pile of dark red robes, shed by the three birds now standing in the center of the room, one the dirty-white of a gull, another the ashen black of a vulture, and the third, cardinal red. They still wear the festival masks, which must be covering something more tactical, in order to account for their immunity to the flash bomb. The vulture’s arms appear to be mostly cybernetic. The bright-red avian’s arms, though, end in wings. All three are wearing paramilitary gear and carrying what look like modified energy rifles. The black and white birds’ weapons are smoking. Apparently, it was they who fired the bolts.

The three birds begin to move again without any directions, as if according to an agreed-upon plan.

First, the vulture turns around to face the doors. He then fires two more blasts: one up into the corner of the room, and another at a small panel on the wall. There is a series of mechanical sliding noises as the frosted glass of the doors is darkened by armor plating on the outside.

Second, the cardinal and the gull approach the counter, where the titanic woman still sits in her window.

"You will give us access to your computer, and you will open the back room vault," says the cardinal, apparently the leader.

"Imma be real honest wit you hon," says the clerk, holding her glasses in one hand and rubbing her blinded eyes with the other, "I pressed the panic button back when you was still dancing with the butterflies. The cops are already onna way, and I’m locked outta the system."

The cardinal nods curtly in understanding, and gestures to the gull, who nods back before hopping the counter and pushing the woman’s rolling-chair out of the way with a taloned foot.

As Yoshi brushes the mind of the gull, his mouth fills with a hot, electronic taste, but her thoughts are as cold and salty as sea-spray. He thinks he can make out a list of some sort, but reading it is like trying to make out words written at the bottom of a troubled pool. He can get anything concrete.