thendrawtwo

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase, Part 10

I was ready for it all today. I got up early and went to the market, Mayday was setting up and after a far too loud and far too long greeting I was able to pick up some ammo for my revolver and a shotgun from him.

I was wearing my South of Paradise jacket over my suit and hid the shotgun in the hole made in its interior. The revolved was stuffed into one of the pockets. I was ready.

I found the corner I had seen Saul and slid inside. I saw the Shadow on the corner, checking its own shadow version of the revolver and I did the same before proceeding. As I got further down, I started to hear voices talking and I got myself ready, one hand had the revolver and I got the shotgun ready in then other, rested it on my forearm and stood out. Pyotr was there, talking to Saul.

I went to shout but Pyotr moved quick, running towards me and I fired. I saw blood spurt from his right side but he kept coming and suddenly there was a blade in his hand, I stumbled back and fired again but felt the blade between my ribs. I fell back, the shotgun and revolved fell from my hands.

The Shadow appeared again, stood over the over side of the room. Stood over the body of Pyotr. I'd got him. He was clutching what was once his arm and I saw his lips move, whispering something, muttering. I couldn't see Saul. Where had he gone?

My vision started to blur and I heard Pyotr move, I tried to focus on him but couldn't. Tried to understand what he was saying but I couldn't hear it.

I heard boots and as my eyes faded I saw corporate symbols and felt myself picked up.

...

...

...

The body told me I was cold, but I didn't feel it. I couldn't open my eyes but knew it was bright. The body told me I wasn't dead, that I was healing.

'You can still be useful' the Shadow said.

...

...

...

END

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

Below you will find images of my character sheet and the log for Day 1.

This sessions listening was Random Hand by Random Hand

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase, Part 9

I had been back from my journey through Space for a day and suddenly I was seeing Basement Station in a different light.

This place could be what it was advertised, a gateway into the future, but it requires more work than we were told. You needed to earn your future. My entire life had been getting by, just waking up and getting on with whatever the day would bring.

I got dressed in my old wrinkled suit and took a walk down to the Arcade, the revolver was hidden inside my pants, under my shirt. I got there and took some time talking to regulars. Told stories of how boring my trip in space was. And managed to pick up a job delivering a Cheesecake from Boxtown to the H-Med. Quite a weird request but whatever is needed.

The journey isn't a difficult one but it's long and I was rushing, and along the way I bumped into some teenager running quick. She yelled back some local insult and I took a second to check the package and my gun, all was safe and well and before I set off, something caught my eye. The shadow was stood over a corner and within its form was another figure I recognised instantly. One of Pyotr's closest friends, Saul was sliding into an alleyway.

I knew what was next.

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

Below you will find images of my character sheet and the log for Day 1.

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase, Day 8

Owing people money on Basement Station was always a mistake, but I had no choice. I had to get away. I couldn't breathe.

I spoke to a few people until I found someone willing to owe me enough to take a ship out for a few weeks, and enough supplies to last the trip. I needed to take a job that would get me away from Basement for a while and found that Helio needed someone to deliver some food supplies to Phobos. Had a decent pay too, maybe I'd be able to pay some of what I was owed back and get myself set up somewhere a bit nicer. Maybe I could forget about Pyotr while I was off Station.

Most people didn't enjoy being in transit in a ship, especially alone. It was quiet without people to talk to. Just the ship working away while you kept one eye on what it was doing. Transport had intermittent connections so I couldn't even keep an eye online and maybe that was good for now. I spent time sleeping, reading up on the history of Heliopause and Basement Station, things I knew but had forgotten, and occasionally trying to work out. My arm hurt from using the revolver two days in a row and I felt weak. I needed to look after myself better.

After the first week I was getting close to Earths moon, and I was able to catch visual on Dongfeng 2, the moons capital. It dreamed of being able to move there once. It was an incredibly protective community, everyone was considered a part of the family. Mob ruled? Maybe it wasn't as ideal as I thought. My view was cut short as the ship gave me alerts on its main monitors that I could get an assist from the moons gravity. It would speed me up by a few days, save on food or O2 in case anything happened further out. I told the ships AI to complete the manoeuvre and went to sleep. The advantage of Salmon class ships is they could do simple moves like this themselves, the AIs were trained off the memories of the best pilots to exist with minimum input. And I couldn't fly for shit.

A week went by and nothing happened. I wasn't bothered by the silence and loneliness, it was how I preferred things. But if I was being honest, I was starting to miss the sounds of people working in Cutter's Line, the smell of the Arcade hell, I was starting to miss the taste of Basement food.

I was laying around, trying to sleep when the first light filled my vision. I closed my eyes to the white intense light and when I opened it was gone, a few seconds later a blue light filled the cabin, followed immediately by red, purple, green and white again.

The pattern repeated and I suddenly couldn't close my eyes.

I was in an old warship, rifle in hand as my comrade checked the clasps on my armour. We exchanged a look and she smiled at me before punching my chest. An alarm started to sound and she took a spot opposite me and we both looked down, watching as the bottom of the ship started to open. We had finally arrived at the War. It wasn't ready for us.

I was at home, the blue walls of our kitchen had grown on me over the years and as I cooked something that smelt of garlic, lemon and natural oils my husband came in, put a familiar warm hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. I felt a smile creep out and felt embarrassed. Why?

I was in a board room, something had happened and the construction of Port Sacramento had slowed down. I made a case that people were signing up to fight the War, that the lack of available skilled labourers would mean we needed to push back. But we couldn't. We needed to push forward no matter what. I was determined to build our future

I was hiding in rubble, I heard loud, crunching footsteps from all over and tried to hold my breath, I heard voices but I'm too young to pick apart language and accent. I didn't know who they were with and I was too scared to find out. Someone would find me. I just wanted to go home. Did I still have a home? What id I didn't have a home?

The ship told me we were arriving at Phobos and I was back on the Salmon. I took a second to collect myself as the ship repeated its message. I had to find a mirror and I looked at myself.

I was there, but who was I? A retired soldier? A board member for Heliopause? A child lost in the fallout of the War? Someone with a family and loving husband waiting for them?

I remembered it all. Meeting my husband, fighting the war. But I met my husband while the war was happening.

I was a child while the War happened, how could I have fought in it?

Who was I?

'Combat Ready'

The shadow had changed. Originally it was a tall shapeless spectre and over time it had grown smaller and gained a shape mimicking my own. Now, it was a dark reflection of myself, a black shape without the details of my scars.

This was a mistake and I needed to get back to Basement Station.

'Is it time to bring Pyotr in?'

I didn't even realise I was holding the Revolver. It didn't feel as heavy.

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

This sessions listening was Not The Actual events by Nine Inch Nails

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase, Day 7

There was blood on my favourite shirt.

It wasn't mine, it was Bunny and it was Mohammeds. It was a couple of Hardcases trying to survive and get out of this fucking place, same as me. But no one had my blood on their shirt because I wasn't such a fucking idiot that I'd get caught jacking a ship or stealing a teddy bear. I was smarting than that and I knew getting out of a here was a long game and I'm fucking good at playing the long game. I know how Heliopause works, and I know who the people on the street here are. I know who I should be seen talking to and I knew who to avoid.

I should talk to Dean, he was bitter but he was safe and he could put in a good word in for good work. Gold Star for Combat Ready.

I shouldn't talk to Mayday because he took risks. He got attached to coin and glamour. He thought he was king of the shit heap because he didn't know the box he was in. Red Cross for Combat Ready.

Maybe no one had my blood on their shirt because I wasn't smart enough to know they were here already. The shadow stood in the corner and flicked through a shadowing file, nodding.

'You're learning'

I had to be around people I didn't like. I had to eat food I couldn't stand. I had to be regular ol' Combat Ready, not the man with the bloody shirt thinking he could find a ghost and put a bullet in his head.

It was time to go to the Arcade, to plug in and forget everything.

So I did. And I spent the day smoking cheap cigarettes, eating fatty reheated food from the vending machine and plugged into Chariot_Online

A well worn server for Heliopause workers, good place to get info on what the company was doing, not that it was really worth knowing, but it made me feel connected.

Eventually I found my way to a discussion on the Basement, how it was sucking resources Helio couldn't afford to spend and suddenly...

fb238: we should just cut losses. Makes more sense, it's a failed experiment CoRe: folx live there fb238: I run hab there. I know, they will live somewhere else. CoRe: where? fb238: somewhere else I run HA. CoRe: that all that matters? fucking profits? fb238: profits all I need to worry about. CoRe: ur a fuck. u'll never be more than middle manager fb238: guess your a big boss? CoRe: what it matter? know i'm smarter than you are fb238: ahahahahaha, maybe I trace your account and see. got friends who can do that! CoRe: maybe I got friends who can do more than that? maybe I got friends who know ur debts. sure tenants would like to know where there money goes.

----- CoRe has been banned for threats of violence -----

'That was sloppy'

The shadow was stood behind the monitor, it wrong something on its file and shook its head.

I got up and started to walk home. Along the walk I stopped at a vending machine for a pack of cigarettes but what came out was a metal syringe filled with a bright yellow liquid. Foam. Wasn't something I 'd usually consider. I'd leave it there and walk on, too hard for me to fuck with. But nothing about this week was usual and the rest of the walk home stopped existing. I was back home with an empty syringe. Lay on my bed, unable to move. The shadow was gone for now. Clearly my new boss wasn't interested in watching this.

Good. Quiet at last. Rent was due tomorrow. What was in Erin's package?

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

Below you will find images of my character sheet and the log for Week 1, and my character sheet for the end of Week 1

This sessions listening was Random Hand by Random Hand

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase, Day 6

I don't know when the day rolled into the next. I couldn't sleep and spent the night in the Arcade, just scrolling, feeling my eyes close staring at the monitors white noise and then open as someone else shuffled in and out. I keep hearing the voice of Mayday's old boss.

'You're getting sloppy'

I had been paid out bringing in Bunny, but I didn't know if I believed it was worth it. I should eat, drink something that wasn't caffeinated and get some real sleep.

'Don't be just another one of them'

Was he right? Could a shadow be right? Could a shadow be wrong? Here's a secret, I don't know who gave me my name, but I remember how it happened. It was a joke. Someone had seen me, sitting at a bar and drowning my sorrows with the last of the money I'd been born with in the Basement. He was tall, muscular and surprisingly well dressed, shoes too clean for the Basement. He had a well trimmed moustache, hair styled with product that smelled of long forgotten trees. He was joking with some friends and tried to make a joke out of my sorry state. I tried to fight him. Barely enough energy to walk and I tried to throw a punch at a man blessed by on high, not just in looks. He turned me from a child stumbling around into a man crumbled onto the floor, bleeding.

'You got a name?'

He laughed. It didn't matter what I was called before. Who I was before was dead, a tragic accident and no one back home would stand to see me now.

'Think he's combat ready!'

They all laughed and after that, it stuck, Combat Ready.

Now there was blood on my shirt that wasn't mine, a gun digging into my thigh that was and a ghost hovering over my shoulder. Like a real soldier.

'Get out'

I had to go home, so I did. I stumbled out and started making my way back home. The image of Bunny, clutching at her arm, silent ran through my head. The monitor wasn't there to take it away now and I could see her. I looked down a dark alley and there she was, the shadow of a Heliopause manager stood behind her, scowling.

'Be better'

I stumbled into an empty, needed to sit a minute. I took the revolver out, it was heavy and stabbed against my leg. I looked over and saw someone looking at me. He looked familiar and I stared at him as he stared at me. We stared at each other a while before it clicked, his face had been on the bounty board at Mayday's. Shipjacker.

He was wearing a pair of overalls, I caught the tag that had his name, 'Mohammad', he was part of the Waste Disposal union. He kept his eyes locked on me and slowly walked towards me, I saw a large metal wrench in his hand. His eyes darted down and I followed their gaze, right to my revolver. By the time I looked back to Mohammed, the shadow stood behind him, but this time it grinned at me, two eyes had formed, one green and one grey.

'On your toes'

Mohammed was charing at me. He didn't yell, he just ran and started to bring his wrench up. I brought the revolver up, felt my eyes slam shut and fired. The sound rang out, echoing around the alley, louder than in the office where I'd shot Bunny. When I opened my eyes, Mohammed lay still, his jumpsuit growing red from the chest outwards.

'That's more like it'

I called it in, claimed my bounty and went home to sleep. The revolver was starting to feel lighter.

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

This sessions listening was +/- by Boys Noize

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase, Day 5

Today the body woke me up with an internal alarm. I felt like something was wrong, but I didn’t know what exactly. Someone or something was coming for me and I felt naked, bare and vulnerable. My home wasn’t safe anymore and I didn’t know why, but I knew what the body was trying to tell me. I found my brown suit among the mess, and got dressed and before I could decide what to do, the body had started tidying up. Piling empty food containers and packets of cigarettes into a box for disposal, putting all my clothes together and folding them and scrubbing away at the counter. When I finally realised what I was doing, the small room looked how it did when I first arrived, it looked like the home of someone who had recently come back to like, someone who took care of what little they had and took pride in who they were. Someone who wasn’t yet known by the name Combat Ready.

The only thing that remained untouched was the Puck. Pyotr had watched the whole thing silently. Watched on as the body had taken control and thought to himself ‘that’s someone who can claim on me and get out of this whole, but he’s gone now. Back to the grave’

Back to the grave.

I needed a weapon.

The body and I felt in sync and my steps were purposeful as I made my way towards Dock 21. I knew I could find what I needed at The Arcade but thought better than going somewhere that people knew this face. I found myself at the Dock, a large structure not unlike Cutter's Line, but somehow more impressive. The outside was a buzz with people trying to sell different wares; drugs, food, clothes, old toys and good luck trinkets, all lined up as a makeshift market that could be easily collapsed if needed. Large trucks on wheels the size of myself rolled out periodically and took the imported goods to where they needed to be. Or whoever had paid for them to get lost in transit. I approached the market and took some time looking around until I found what I was looking for. At one point I bumped into a young woman holding a small stuffed hedgehog. She barely glanced my way and started towards the Dock. Looked too old for the stuffed toy, but maybe it held value. Stood dressed in a gold suit, rings on each hand was Mayday. He was known around for peddling good quality weapons, but most people couldn't stand him. He was ex Heliopause and liked to tell stories of his old life on top, and how it all got taken from him. I knew how to smile and pretend to be invested long enough to get what I needed.

We spent longer than I'd hoped talking about an old manager of his, real nasty piece of work even by company standards of nasty. Mayday used to work in reclamation, which meant taking back what the company owed; equipment, money sometimes even lives. The company owns a lot more than they put on paper

Eventually I was able to pick up a Revolver and some ammo, the last of my cash spent on a weapon I didn't even know how to use. Too late to go back.

Mayday had a terminal that could check the bounty board and I looked up what was fresh.

2 hits. A young girl, about 19 years old wanted for theft and a ship jacker. The young girl was worth more, which stank of something but the $6 would go a long way.

Bunny. Her name was Bunny, and I had bumped into her.

I made my way into the Dock, and walked around. Made polite conversation with a few truckers before swerving the conversation to Bunny. I didn't use her name, just description. White dress, big boots. Short red hair, think they call it a bob?

Eventually someone pointed me to a small room to the side they said she went into. I thanked them and made my way, checking the revolver. The room was a small storage room, boxes with ration bars and bottles of filtered water were neatly placed around, whoever did inventory took pride in their work. Eventually a found Bunny sat in a tall chair by a terminal, she was swinging her legs and humming to herself. She hadn't noticed me.

I took a second to take a deep breath and held the weapon out and called out her name. She started to turn towards me but stopped, went back and started humming again. I called out again and she didn't budge, I felt sweat drip down my brow and suddenly felt my finger curl.

The revolver fired.

A hole formed in the wall and suddenly, the wall started to melt. The room wasn't the room, suddenly I was in an office, Mayday was there, gold suit and all, getting chewed out by his awful boss. His boss was just a shadowy figure. He was telling Mayday how he needed to be better, be smarter, be more thorough. I felt myself lift the revolver again and fired, hitting the boss square on and watched him fall.

I blinked and was back in the room, Bunny was clutching at her arm, blood streamed down. I tucked the gun into my trousers and walked towards her. I took a close look and realised her forehead had small scars all along, incisions played in perfect distance. Around her eyes were swollen, like something had been attached and torn off. I glanced at the terminal and saw she was chatting with someone, words stood out:

Pick Up

Test

Careful

Escape

Maydays shadowy boss' voice came in my head

'Be More Thorough'

Too late to back out, I hooked Bunny's good arm and led her out. I got a lot of looks from the truckers in people in Dock 21, but no one came forward to stop me or ask questions. Maybe this was something they were use to seeing? Maybe they knew better than to risk payday.

'Be Smarter'

I took Bunny to a terminal on the wall of the dock, and rang into the local law, claiming the bounty on Bunny. They arrived within 3 minutes and took her away, paying up the bounty and I left without looking at another soul.

The bodies heart was beating harder than it ever had. There was no going back now.

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

This sessions listening was The Sky, the Earth and All Between by Architects

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase, Day 4

Morning came quick and easier than normal, I had cleared off a small part of my rooms packed kitchen counter and put the small puck on it. A small 4 Inch circular disk, on it, a the face of man with a long groomed beard, a shaven head. Under it the name "Pyotr" and the bounty. $25. Practically a fortune for someone like me.

I needed to find out more. No.

I needed distraction.

I checked the terminal and the only salvage job going was the mine from earlier in the week, apparently the work had slowly due to its risk. Guess I didn't have a choice.

I got myself dressed, back into those heavy trousers and jacket and made my way down to Cutter's Line. When I got there people had started working, and I found Dean directing as team working through the previous days scrap for anything worth anything. He gave me a suspicious eye when I told him I was here to work on the mine, mumbled something about selling my soul for a comfy chair and lead me over. I had my tools purchased a few days ago and got to work.

The salvagers from the previous few days had done their work well, the thing was pretty much done, but I guess they had gotten spooked. Pyotr was known as one of the Old Heads, they had started as smugglers and drug dealers, making a name for themselves as someone us Hardcases could trust. As I pulled the detonation box out, I saw some of the guys watching, they each had a cigarette in hand, toying with the small cylinders as they watched. It took a few years, but eventually the words started flowing. Words of anger, words of injustice, words of revolution. When I finished putting the small box down safely they all released a large breath and went back to whatever they should have been doing, lighting the cigarettes in unison. Revolution doesn't come without making enemies. Revolution doesn't come without spilling blood.

With a good clump of cash in hand, I made my way to the Arcade, I needed to relax.

I logged into a console in the back, no Jack-In today, and did my usual. Looking over old arguments and reignited topics, but something was digging at me, the image of the puck came back whenever I felt my eyes start to close. I couldn't tell you how it happened, but one minute, I was watching people arguing over a classic movie and the next, my message to sussur0 was open again. Was he about to write back? Was he trying to sell me something? I took a minute staring at our previous conversation. Suddenly the whole thing had a way more devious feel to it.

CoRe: I need info sussur0: $$$ CoRe: not here. too sensitive. sussur0: ... CoRe: we need to meet. in person sussur0: ... CoRe: about the old heads *SUSSUR0 CLOSED THIS MESSAGE*

Shit.

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

Below you will find images of my log for Day 1-4.

This sessions listening was Echos & Ghosts by Call Me Malcolm

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase Day 3

I was the first person in Cutter's Line today, the toolkit I picked up yesterday worked a charm, and came with enough Tools that I was able to improvise the rest and get through the Eye. Carefully detaching wires, removing components and full boards and setting aside. Full rounded panels were able to be screwed off once I knew the more valuable parts were off and safe, no point being careful if I was going to just risk blowing up half of the Line with a loose fuel line.

Reaching the lens' that Dean wanted took time, but it was done and I handed them over with a big smile on my face as everyone else was starting to pack up. He paid up, and gave thanks, saying he'll let me know when work comes up again. I left the Line and gave out a sigh of relief he handed noticed the bulky recording drive I was hiding inside the secret pocket of my jacket. It was outside my expertise to get into, but figured I could talk someone to get into it for me, for a decent price. Maybe tomorrow I'll spend some time at The Arcade or one of Boxtown's bars and see who I could shake up. But that was tomorrow's problem. Tonight, I deserved to celebrate a little.

I went to a bar, got myself a pack of Extra Long Ladyfingers at the Vender, along with a Spicy Synthmeat Kebab, a personal favourite, and even treated myself to a can of Haishenwai Beer. The can was dented and had clearly been there a while, but Hais was Hais. I took my little ensemble and tried my luck at the slot machine. Took a few spins but eventually I landed on a nice straight, the machine flashed wildly, made gunshot noises and played an old Western musical sting and as I finished my can, I heard a thunk in the tray and reach down to collect my winnings.

Fuck you.

A bounty puck, $25, enough to get myself onto the full time employment line and on my way out of here, but there, staring back, was the face of Pyotr. The Fucking Old Head himself.

It wasn't until I got back home, clutching the puck I remembered the recording still in my jacket. I needed sleep.

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

Below you will find images of my character sheet and the log for Day 1-3

This sessions listening was Partial Eclipse of The Pomps by The Pomps

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase Day 2

It wasn't my choice to wake up today. My rooms lights came on full bright and I was awoken with them, I jumped over to the wall to turn them down and saw my rooms vid-screen held instructions for the day.

Report to Cutter's Line

I sighed, slammed the big RECEIVED button, it was the only button on the wall mounted console, and turned to look into the room. It wasn't as bad as it could have been; the table in the middle was covered in my clothes from yesterday, the small bare bed in the corner has it's single sheet crumpled to one side. I stumbled through to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in a few days. My hair had grown longer than I liked so I wet it and slicked it back as far as I could, but it rebelled and pushed itself forward again into a messy mop. This wasn't a fight I was willing to have so I splashed my face to wake myself up properly and stumbled back into the main room and scanned properly. Over on the far side, folded up were the rest of my clothes, it didn't take long to find my more hardy work gear; a stained light shirt, a pair of heavy pants with extra pockets and heavy jacket. I pulled on the shirt and pants held the jacket up. On the back, someone had used some kind of paint to write the words South of Paradise over the Heliopause logo. The jacket had been a gift from someone, belonged to someone long dead and I didn't know if South of Paradise was a ship, a gang or just a catchy slogan. The inside had been cut open in places, creating extra secret pockets, used to hide weapons and contraband; not my business. I put the jacket on and took one last look at myself in the mirror, almost a professional.

Arriving at Cutter's Line I looked around for Erin, or an evidence of what might have been in the package but couldn't find anything. It wasn't long before Dean, the big boss around here found me and came over. He held a clipboard and flicked through a couple of pages as he talked. He talked slow and deliberate, without any humour as he ran through typical safety procedures; occasionally he looked up and I could see the boredom in his eyes. Eventually he turned the clipboard towards me and gave me the job; they had a couple of small salvage jobs come in and I was to help finish the job. Probably be a few days work but it meant pay. He gave me a choice; an old Surveillance Eye or an old Mine. The Mine probably didn't work, but the pay would be double. And I couldn't tell you why, but something about the Eye spoke to me. I remember thinking about the Old Dogs yesterday, maybe there was an answer somewhere and this old says footage could help. I took up the job and started to work.

The Surveillance Eye was about the size of my room, a giant orb with a glass panel on one pole, but instead of being filled with empty food boxes and cigarette packets, it was filled with all the machinery and magic it needed to fly, spy and record our every move. Something about slowly taking apart revealing the Eye to the world felt liberating. Like getting revenge on an old enemy.

The first part went well, taking off the outer casing, making my way towards the actual machine. I managed to get that off and reveal it's mechanisms with ease, but that was where it started to go wrong, I realised I didn't have the tools needed for the more delicate work and no one else in the Line was willing to share, especially the ones who got stuck working the Mine. I stood for a while just scanning across the exposed wiring and machinery of the satellite, figuring out which tubes sent secrets to where and which kept the Eye alive, when it was.

I spent so long working the outer casing off, and so long thinking about the machine that I didn't even realise everyone else had left the hard before Dean came and clapped me on the shoulder, telling me to go home.

I went to a small shop just outside the Line and bought a toolkit so I could crack the rest of the machine and then stumbled home.

I hung the work clothes up, easier to find tomorrow and got in to bed. It was only after laying down I realised I hadn't eaten today, but tiredness took over and sleep came quick.

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

Below you will find images of my character sheet and the log for Week 1, so far.

This sessions listening was Nothing & Nowhere by The Birthday Massacre

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social

[thendrawtwo]

Hardcase Day 1

I don't know who the first was to call me Combat Ready but now everyone calls me Combat Ready, so I guess you should to. I wasn't always Combat Ready; I use to be someone else.

But they died.

And here I am, reborn on 'Basement Station'. Not quite the heaven I was promised, but I guess I didn't deserve that. I'm someone who knows how things work; I know how to feel the flow and how to follow it. I know where the lines are and how to avoid it, and I know how to watch out for those that don't.

I woke up today and really had to think if I wanted to open my eyes, but the body had other ideas. The body asked for food, it asked for warmth my shitty hole couldn't provide, and it demanded a cigarette. So the body pushed me up, I found my clothes; a crumbled grey shirt missing 3 buttons, old brown dress trousers and stained, worn brown shoes and dressed myself. I avoided the mirror hanging in the bathroom as I stumbled around the room, looking for a pack of cigarettes and eventually found a pack holding a single Patriot's Own. Fuck. That means today is a people day.

The Patriot hung from my mouth as I made my way through Basement Station. Some of the old signs still hung up, trying to give hope to the hard cases like myself.

'The Future is Port Sacremento'

'The Expanse Starts with Us!'

Bright smiles and happy families adorned the billboards, hidden behind decades of graffiti by people felt abandoned, let down and angry with nothing to do but keep fighting. Maybe one day they can climb out of Basement Station, and finally get that future they were promised. No one ever went over the slogans, just the faces.

I took the quick route to The Arcade, avoiding anyone and everyone who might try and spark a conversation with me, but I should have known that wouldn't last. I opened the door and was hit by the smell of tobacco and Haze, the small room was always filled with smoke mixing and mingling in the air, while the occupants sat at terminals, wired in and living completely separate lives. Chances are someone was Online talking to the person next to them and might never know. I went straight to the old Vending Machine and put a coin in, the pack of '8 Blessings' hit the drum and was followed by a small 'ding dong'. I sighed, bent down to pick the pack up and turned around, and stood leaning over the front desk opposite the Vending Machine was Wizard. Like a twisted mirror image of myself, staring into my own past they wore a similar brown suit and grey shirt, but neatly pressed, a tie matching the suit hung loosely around their neck and a big grin plastered across their face. I opened the pack and took one of the '8 Blessings' out the cylinder had printer on its side: "It is easier to stay out than to get out"

Fuck You.

I approached Wizard, and his smile faded as they placed a small brown package on the desk and explained the job to me. It was actually simple; deliver the package to Cutters Line. Don't damage it. Don't look inside. Don't damage it. Be quick and deliver straight to Erin and only Erin, DON'T DAMAGE IT. I couldn't help but put my hand in my pocket and feel how empty it was. The job was simple but Wizard liked to over explain, by the time he'd finished the message on my cigarettes simply read "get out"

Fuck You.

The job was easy but it took time. I took the shortest route I could past the H-Med. Heard the moans of people inside getting wounds stitched up. It was never polite to ask anyone where the new stitches came from, but you couldn't help but wonder. Just outside I found $1 on the floor and scooped it up. Maybe today wasn't too bad, cigarettes had paid for themselves. The package was surprisingly heavy despite being able to fit under one arm. I could feel it whirring and humming inside, something mechanical working away, I could feel slight vibrations as I held it tight and started to wonder what it could be, probably some weird tech Erin needed, best case scenario it was some archive drive for some of Erin's particular interests, worse case scenario...

Better pick up the pace.

Cutter's Line couldn't be more opposite to the Arcade; it was open, and full of the noise of crews shouting all sorts of insults to each other, people laughing at the jokes and the sound of boats getting repaired and upgraded. Right by the entrance lay a bucket filled with cigarettes, I took one from the packet and dropped it in. Clearly the Blessings had got me feeling superstitious. It didn't take long to find Erin; one of the dockworkers pointed her out and her bright pink hair stood out with the salvage crew she was currently flirting with, and once she saw me and the box I was holding she started to walk my way. She took the box very excitedly, but very delicately and handed over the $2 I was owed for the job. Asked to keep it between us and gave me a very greasy handshake. Extremely formal for Erin. I wiped my hand on my jacket as I made my way out, figuring I'd earned myself the right to go back to bed, but the body simply told me that it needed food.

I stopped and got a small box of Taco Noodles and suddenly found myself back at the Arcade. I found a free terminal at the back of the room, bought myself a patch of Jack-In from a small vending machine by the terminal and took to finding someone Online.

At first, I didn't know what I was really looking for, I was eating my Taco Noodles, smoking and I just found myself reading through posts and pointless conversations on DaBazaar, a message board for people who thought themselves the biggest and baddest on the Station but, lets be honest... if that was true you wouldn't spend this much time Online.

Eventually I found myself hunching forward, trying to use my body to hide the screen making a post, suddenly I had a question I needed answering:

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE OLD HEADS?

The Old Heads were old school gangsters, use to work all over Basement Station until one day they just suddenly disappeared. I lit another cigarette and lay back before I saw a private message appear, a small cactus icon at the top of the screen; sussur0 had sent me a message, rather than replying publicly. This should be good, sussur0 normally knew what they were talking about. sussur0: Really wanna know? CoRe: sure sussur0: Why? CoRe: something about today sussur0: Today? CoRe: Yeah, dunno. Just feel like we should know. sussur0: They took a dive. Didn't wanna keep surviving in Sac, so took a ship and left. CoRe: why that a secret? sussur0: For me to know, you to find out CoRe: more? sussur0: $$$ *CORE CLOSED THIS MESSAGE*

sussur0 knew what they were talking about and knew they could get paid for knowing it. It was fair, I just couldn't pay right now. The body called for bed.

Finally, we could agree.

This is a days entry in the journalling game HARDCASE by Thursday Garreau. If this intrigued you, you could find this game and many others at their Itch, which I implore you to visit.

Below you will find images of my character sheet and the log for Day 1.

This sessions listening was This Consequence by Killswitch Engage

You can follow me at wheeleigh@bsky.social