View source for Logs:A: Hostile extraterrestrial lifeforms likely incompatible with health of a subterranean community. May still provide significant value as intermittent nutritional supplement. Recommended to monitor for future dietary needs.

{{ Logs
| cast = [[Anole]], [[Bug]], [[Gino]], [[Lumin]], [[Nessie]], [[Zack]]
| summary = "I'll make a bunch of hot chocolates so that you guys can enjoy another game." (set beneath [[Logs:Operation: A.S.S.E.M.B.L.E.|the Brood invasion]].)
| gamedate = 2024-05-20
| gamedatename = 
| subtitle = 
| location = <MOR> [[Welcome to the Freakshow]] - Morlock Tunnels
| categories = Anole, Bug, Gino, Lumin, Nessie, Zack, Morlocks, Mutants, MOR Welcome to the Freakshow
| log = 

Wider and more spacious than many of the surrounding nooks and niches, this chill cavern is the central hub of the Morlock's underground network. With tunnels branching off in many directions, it takes a while to learn to ''navigate'' from here to where you want to go, but there's generally plenty of more experienced people around to teach newcomers the ins and outs of the pathways. Here, though, is a safe place to come and relax, for what value of relaxation can be found among moss-covered walls and the occasional stagnant puddles on the floor. There's been furniture brought in, a mismatched assortment of crates, mattresses with busted springs, a few broken and subsequently repaired chairs, a folding table in a corner. Shelves along a wall hold entertainment; books, a smattering of board and card games, sometimes snacks. There's even electricity, wiring none too safe and visible in places where the wall has been broken open; the naked light bulbs flicker often and the lone outlet has had so many power strips attached it is undoubtedly a fire hazard.

It's a lazy Sunday -- afternoon? Evening? Who's to say. Time down here is weird. The tunnels have been enjoying their peace and quiet, settling in, finally, to the growing pains of the New Rush of sewer denizens. Someone's grilling spam in a corner. Someone's taking a nap on a pile of old pillows. Anole certainly has nowhere to be and nothing to do, and so he's flopped belly-down on a ratty old blanket on the floor, looking with increasing resignation at the many (many) cubes of Disease that are littering the Pandemic board in front of him. "If Bogotá gets hit again I think we're going to be ''kind'' of screwed."

"Oh you're ''so'' going to jinx it!" All Nessie's legs are folded comfortably beneath her. She's been studying the board, too, ''trying'' to logic out their certain impending doom. "If the medic takes a flight to -- oh no we don't have that card. Oh but the dispatcher could -- hrm." She is perhaps resigning herself, too, although kind of cheerfully. "What did we say the yellow cubes were? Krabby Patty Withdrawal? There's worse ways to go."

"That's if we ''get'' to the next medic turn." Zack has been a somewhat lackadaisical Disease Hunter, leaving most of the strategy up to the others while he absently distracts Chairman Mao with a laser pointer to keep the gremlin-cat from batting all the pieces off their board. He's setting aside the pointer for the moment, though, to finish up his turn proper, now plucking the cards from the deck and -- "Whomp ''whomp''," he says aloud, but the absolute certainty of their death does not stop him from still placing the requisite cubes in city after city as the outbreak chains. Just to drive home the crushing-ness of their collective defeat. "least it wasn't Cholera. I'm getting Krabby Patty Withdrawal for ''real'' now, though." He's been ''pretty'' intact the past couple days, but ''is'' starting to look Pretty Wilty as the (day? Night?) wears on.

Gino was not playing, sitting in an egregious manspread on a milk crate a short distance away from the board, neatly tucking the last of his weed into a third joint (the first two already tucked safely away in the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt) on a rusty, usually-rickety cafe table standing ''very'' stably, for now, on only three of its four feet; the last is hovering off the ground. He ''was'' paying attention, evidently -- he laughs and echoes Zack's "''Whomp'' whomp!" in a fairly decent Squidward impression. "There's ''better'' ways to go too."

Lumin is watching over Nessie’s shoulder, not playing but clearly invested. They’re idly scraping some dirt out of a crack in their glass with a toothpick. 

At the sound of their defeat, an amused smile crosses their face, “Truly tragic. Never thought the world would lose to uh…''Krabby Patty Withdrawl.'' After all we’ve been through.” 
They gently push themself to their feet and brush themself off, “I think I’ll be heading top side for a bit. I should be back soon, would anyone like to join? Or maybe ah…I could ''grab'' anything for anyone?” At that last offer they do send a quick, concerned glance at Zack’s wilting form.

While Bug had been watching the game progress, he was not particularly participating, though some of his littler bugs did try and help with cube removal (but flitted off at the imminent threat of Krabby Patty Withdrawal). "Oh, no, don't do that," he says serenely to Lumin, "You should stay put. There's aliens up there today." He tilts his head and looks towards the game, "I'll make a bunch of hot chocolates so that you guys can enjoy another game."

The shake of Anole's head is exaggeratedly mournful, considering they all knew this was coming. He's starting to collect the cubes and cards back up, nodding at Lumin's offer. "I'm good, I'm good. Oh! Strawberries in season, though, if any happen to fall off a farmstand that'd be so good." He's sitting up a little straighter, brightening at Bug's offer. "Oh man you the ''best'', I would love a -- wait. Aliens?"

"Oh! The gardens by Mendel have strawberries this year." Nessie is helping, sorting some of the cards before adding them back to the pile. "-- Is there another rift, because I have a friend who came from one of those and I don't think it's very considerate to say aliens. Maybe like, extradimensional immigrants?" She's scrunching her forehead up in thought. "Do you need a hand with the cocoa?" comes next, together with a ''dubious'' assessment of the size of the common space: "... the ali -- um, visitors, don't need, like, a place to ''stay'' do they?"

"Definitely could use some meat if you see any lying around." Zack is looking to Gino after this, at the mention of aliens, his head tilted quizzically as if maybe the other newbie has managed to pick up on the Weird Mutant Slang that is clearly going over his head. "Uh -- when you say ''aliens'', you mean --?"

Gino has finished rolling off his joint, and he's tucking it into his mouth and standing -- "Ey, if you're going topside --" before the conversation throws him for a severe loop; he returns Zack's questioning look with a shake of his head. "''Welp''," he says bracingly, "sounds like something I don't wanna deal with. Y'all don't mind if I --" he doesn't wait long enough for a response before he plucks a matchbook from the inside of his shirt, strikes one across one shelly knuckle to light up.

Lumin looks around at the others, and stares at Bug. They blink once, twice. “…Are you quite sure you didn’t mistake one of ''your'' bugs for an alien?” They ask with an amused smile. However, they ''do'' sit back down, trusting Bug’s word on at least ''something'' going on topside, even if they don’t quite believe the ''aliens''. 
There is some concern that crosses their face as they glance upwards towards the ceiling. 
“Thank you Bug, for the warning.”

"Oh. ''Space'' aliens, seem like bad company," Bug assures Nessie as he gets up to his feet, "You get started on another game, I can handle the beverages. And the meat." He nods acknowledgement to Lumin's thanks and adds as he exits to get to work, "Maybe tomorrow it'll clear up."

---

It's some amount of hot chocolates, some amount of gaming, and a considerable stretch later. Zero -- hale and in one piece -- is bounding after a tennis ball back into the main cavern. In his wake is Zack -- strolling, not slouching, back into the Morlock den. His sunken flesh has filled out and there's some actual ''color'' in his expression. He's swinging a lobster cracker in one hand with the same panache he might flip a balisong. "Shit, yeah. S'mad aliens up there."
}}