Chapter 2, because Psychonauts needs more fan fiction.
Summer 2005
Phoebe Love is 12 years old. So close to being a teenager, and finally being treated like an actual teenager by her parents that she can practically taste it. If there's such a thing as the embodiment of a pre-teen teeny bopper she's probably it. Her wardrobe of hoodies and t-shirts, while incredibly large in scope are all music related, each possessing some esoteric quality. At some point her friends are going to decide they just can't be bothered to listen to her describe the importance of her Weezer t-shirts that predate the Pinkerton album. She still gets along well enough with just about everyone though, and her status as she moves from elementary to middle school has been upgraded (due to the fact that she can actually play and instrument) from nice drummer girl to the cool drummer girl with musical talent.
"Get down!"
Not that any of that seems to matter right now. Psy blasts fly overhead, fizzling out overhead or crashing into the walls behind her and detonating into a spray of mental particles that smell distinctly of ozone. One explodes above her with a thundering crash, knocking her onto her back.
Far above her lies the endless empty void of the mindscape, a black purple swirl dotted with vague pins of light. The mental abyss is comprised of spare knowledge, bits and pieces of wayward memories already too faded and forgotten to be resemble much of anything, and the overflow of the brains synaptic superhighway all boiled down to the endless soup that makes up this sky. This emptiness can be disconcerting for many people. They choose instead to keep their own mindscapes inside a familiar bubble, away from this vast expanse of nothing.
Most people however are not Sasha Nein.
There's a large contingent of campers now that, like Phoebe Love are entering middle school, and this age is, at least according to the brainiancs over at the Department of Mental Defense (a sub-sub-sub office of the National Security Agency) old enough to run them through extensive psychic warfare exercises. The fact that only seven out of the original fifteen campers that were chosen to go in in tells her that, no, no they really aren't.
A hued hand reaches down, she takes it without question and it pulls her to her feet before they turn and run down a narrow corridor to avoid another hail of psy fire. The giant rectangular constructions all around them are enormous city like objects, designed with swaths of black and white in Sasha's usual minimalist German style, although the golden…what was that Art Deco designs that trimmed the edges and sides showed a lot of Milla's influence, confirming for Phoebe that the two were in fact dating.
"This…isn't…exactly how I'd choose to spend my Friday nights," the figure beside her huffs. Phoebe doesn't have much time to glance beside her to catch Quentin's exhausted features, though apparently he's still got the breath to crack unnecessary jokes. She hates to think how her own face must look, sweaty and hair splayed every which way.
Quentin Hedgemouse turned 12 along with her. He sent her a birthday card in fact, all the way from Vermont along with a pair of monogrammed drumsticks with their band name emblazoned on them (not the real band name, he's listed the Levitators, but they'd get the name straightened out soon enough). He's still not a teen and still in no hurry to get there. The scarf remains in the realm of cool, more like his signature look at this point. Phoebe's never seen anyone else rock one around camp despite Quentin occasionally handing them out as gifts, people are afraid they'll cramp his style.
The two come to an abrupt stop, an enormous wall blocking their path. They freeze out of habit, heads darting from right to left and then behind them as they try to find a way out.
At this a sigh a mildly disappointed voice booms from out in the aether.
"Coordination children," their eyes are drawn skyward when suddenly the wall in front of them sinks back into the cubed surface below them causing their heads to swivel back to the new outlet. "Why do you think we have you run the obstacle course first? When confronted with complex multifaceted problems in the field coordination is key to solving them."
"Hey," a voice says from the other side of the wall. "I made it through on my own."
"Yes, and it remains to be seen whether or not that has been to your detriment." Sasha's voice rings back from everywhere and nowhere.
The walls collapse around them, leaving seven figures standing next to each other. Instantly each and every last student inside the training simulation turns around, spots the other and lets out a surprised yell, and instantly Phoebe and Quentin can tell that they're the odd ones out.
Raz and Lili are there, of course, they're the camp prodigies. It must've been Raz's voice from the other side of the wall. Coming from the exact opposite direction is JT, already the quick draw psy blast slinger it's no surprise that he's survived. Chops stands directly behind him, still trying to catch his breath, doubtless it's JT who's been keeping him on his feet all this time. Finally, approaching from a hallway across from that pair is Mikhail. Also not a surprise, he's the oldest and easily the toughest.
That just left her and Quentin, who have apparently survived out of nothing more than dumb luck. Her field is pyrokinesis, Quentin's is levitation, enormously talented in both their own rights, but not exactly equipped for the life or death, endurance marathon Sasha has set up for them here. Anyone taking lots would say they would be the next two to drop.
"Well blow me down," it's JT who speaks up first. Like Raz he doesn't even sound winded. "He's done corralled us."
"Is a conundrum to be sure," Mikhail agrees. "All of us packed together, like the Royal Rumble makes for inviting target."
"Then we'd better get out of here. Listen if we team up and separate ourselves into a levitation group they can send us atop the buildings here which can give us the high ground and…" Raz begins, already putting together a plan at a mile a minute.
"Listen Einstein's," it's Lili's turn to speak out. Despite the deep breaths of the others still trying to find their battle footing and the confident voices of the three sharpshooters in the group her voice immediately commands their attention. "We're dealing with Sasha Nein here. The same secret agent who just obliterated half the class. If you think he's not going to see that one coming from the other end of his mind you're all out of yours."
Here she twirls her hand cynically before batting her eyes apologetically at Raz, though almost in her own sarcastic fashion.
"No offense."
Quentin and Phoebe trade looks. The conversation buzzing around them makes the whole thing truly seem like a life or death situation. Discussions of complex mental strategy designed to manipulate the psychic landscape, how best to line up the perfect psychic shot, thoughts on how best to get Sasha into a tombstone pile driver. Heated debate in the midst of an unfolding disaster where the wrong decision could spell ultimate destruction. The only thing is…it's not, they both know it, and like the pair shrikers in gym class both of them are wondering why they decided to expend the effort instead of just throwing themselves in front of the dodge balls and getting it over with.
From the looks of things, the way Chops looks like he's about to hyperventilate into JT's ten gallon is a rough indication that he shares their sentiments.
The three of them collapse against the side of the remaining architecture in unison with each other, taking deeps heavy breaths as they do so…does one need to breathe in the mental world? Now there's a metaphysical puzzle for later.
"After this," Phoebe huffs loudly, "I'm going to take a long shower, get my bag of marshmallows and crash in front of the t.v. until I pass out."
"Good," Quentin breathes in unison. "Idea guy. I'll make the popcorn. Maybe we can pop in some FMA."
"Oh for goodness sakes Quentin," she gasps, now very consciously aware of how very much the sweat is just pouring down her face, dripping from her eyelashes and soaking her cheeks. "We're not watching another one of your weird Japanese animes."
"Aww come on my dude, you'll love this one. It's got a talking dog and everything."
"This better not be another Ol' Yeller thing."
"Dang, what gave me away?" he asks, all smiles.
"You still have that stupid smirk when you're bluffing." She huffs back, eyes still narrowed suspiciously in his general direction. "I get to choose the movie this time."
"Nightmare on Elm Street? No wait, I forget. You only like the horror films where you can empathize with the characters." Phoebe feels her head growing hot, like pyrotechnics hot, glaring like she's ready to light up a bonfire right then and there. So what if she cried with the 2002 film version of Carrie?
This kind of banter appears to be second nature to them at this point. They've been poking each other with barbs for so long they don't realize they've drawn all eyes in their direction.
"What's up with them?" she can hear Raz ask. Even from her distance Phoebe can practically feel Lili's eye roll.
"It's a Quentin and Phoebe thing, we probably wouldn't get it," the girl drawls matter-of-factly, hand on her hips like this information should be obvious. Raz can only stare blankly in response. To be fair he's usually off on some adventure deep in the collective unconscious saving the planet from the forces of mental tyranny to pay much attention to their back and forth.
JT and Chops trade looks like neither one wants to wade into this. The only one not giving them strange glances is Mikhail, and only because he's preoccupied himself with silently reviewing how to perform an arm bar on a bear.
It turns about to be Quentin who address' the looks first.
"Ok, if we're gonna do something here we might want to pick up the pace just a little bit," he says, face still a sweating mess.
"For real," Phoebe agrees.
The ideas flow forward like they've perched on their lips just ready to leap.
"An omnidirectional five manned assault!"
"Circle the wagons!"
"Stone Cold Stunner!"
The other trio look towards Lili pleadingly, as if she was the only one with the skill and the sense to turn this disaster parade around. It was then to their utter horror that Lili's first order of business seemed to be explaining to Mikhail why the Steve Austin's finishing moved would not in fact be effective in this instance.
Phoebe's had enough of this. She already painted a picture in her mind of her, in her most comfortable oversized T-shirt lounging in front of the T.V with camp snacks. It's burned into her mind, in stark contrast to the military strategy larpers meeting that's playing out in front of her right now. She looks over at Quentin and can see he's in the same frame of mind.
They understand why they're here, but they're still asking themselves…just why they're here. Because they're Psychonauts? Sure, but Milla always said there were plenty of additional roles within the organization other that pure combat. Phoebe's always looked more towards the counselor roles anyways. Quentin's not sure what he's going to do, but why the way he looks like he just ran a marathon after five minutes of scrambling around and ducking into cover she's guessing that he's not going to be rushing for any field assignments either.
Not that they could do much anyways. Perhaps she could try and burn Sasha and probably the rest of the crew while she was at it with her unbridled pyrotechnics while Quentin levitated the entire cast for 15 and a half seconds before inevitably dropping them all on their heads. No, this wasn't exactly their domain. They're the odd couple out here, and they can both feel it.
That's when an idea worms its way into her head. An idea that's melding itself with last nights movie of the week, borrowed from JT's shelf when Quentin's copy of Outlaw Star wouldn't play.
"Hey," she yells to her best friend who looks to be about two second away from the heresy of removing his scarf on the off chance that it might let him breathe easier. "You remember last night's film?"
"Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?"
Mention of JT's 8th favorite cowboy flick, and 3rd favorite cowboy flick finale causes him to pause and turn his attention towards this discussion of all things. The duo barely notice, they're in that zone again, reading each others minds before the thoughts are out their mouths. Quentin smiles at her.
"Where you goin' with this Phoebe?" he grins, looking a little more devious than he usually allows.
"You remember how it ends?" she asks, climbing to her feet.
Raz has stopped talking now, following JT's eyesight over towards the dynamic duo.
"A little dramatic don't you think?"
"Beats sitting around here don't it?"
And so it does.
Neither Phoebe or Quentin are really prone to theatrics, much less grand last stands. Still, there's an excitement and energy when they stand to their feet. There's a power to their wild rebellious yells that pulls Lili and Mikhail away from their own conversation and towards them. Having stood and screamed in union they both turn in the way they came from and preparing to make a charge that would make the Light Brigade proud. Bolting and bellowing they run down the alleyway they came from before their shouts almost turn into laughs at the absurdity with which they're taking themselves.
Raz snaps his fingers suddenly.
"The sacrificial pawns strategy! They're turning themselves into targets to give us a chance to find his blind side!"
Yeah…sure…. Phoebe thinks. Let's go with that. This is not them running into the heart of the battle just to get away from the battle. It's not them taking the hardcore (maybe cowardly depending on your point of view) way out from Sasha Nein's training chessboard of doom. It's…a Quentin and Phoebe thing, just what they do.
"Your sacrifice will not be in vain!" Raz calls after the two with a mock salute. The rest of the crew follow their lead and rush off into another tunnel attempting to put their "plan" to good use.
It really is a bit theatrical for their tastes, but Phoebe notices as she and Quentin trade goofy looks. A little theatricality might not be all that…
Pow!
One shot, two hits. Sasha's nothing if not efficient.
