Commission For @arsene-fixates , Biiiig Fan Of Their Ship And I'm Honored To Make Some Art For It!! Will

Commission for @arsene-fixates , biiiig fan of their ship and I'm honored to make some art for it!! Will always be grateful for you introducing me to the Informant, what a handsome fellow <3

The Art of a Moment

Summary: This wasn't art.

A look into one of the most intense moments of the game, in Sam's perspective.

-----

Sam clutched his handbag close when he faced the cold weather outside, shivering involuntarily at the gust of wind that hit him and wiping his nose using the end of his sleeve for the seventh time. The weather was the last thing on his mind right now; he was focused on saving the love of his life and solving the puzzles of this masked maniac. It was hard enough to constantly keep track of what items he had and where he needed to go. His mind was always working and thinking - he doubted he would have a moment of rest until Anna was back in his arms. 

He entered the generator and the intercom above flashed a green light. He was met with the familiar voice of Oscar: 

“I heard once that true art lives in a sparkling moment… that it’s a flash, leaving a bright trace, and is remembered for a lifetime… it never becomes routine…. Do you understand what I mean, Sam?”

He was going on about art and immortality again. Sam really couldn’t care about Oscar’s monologuing. He was constantly putting himself and his ‘art’ on a pedestal. It was enough to have to see the embalmed vessels of dead bodies, but he also had to put up with this man’s justifications for them. He didn’t care how it was done - murder was murder , and he was going to put an end to this bloodshed of young people. 

Sam was grateful for the green scarf wrapped around his person, as he had to return indoors and re-enter the freezer so he could smash some ice to obtain what was underneath. As he reeled back into position, wielding the icepick in both hands, he could hear a voice enabling him from around the room: 

“Go on, Sam, smash that anger out of you, but things are going to change… soon.” 

 And maybe he did. Maybe those grunts weren’t out of exhaustion, but of anger , of realizing what predicament he was in, of thinking of all those innocent people immortalized in green chambers. From musing how a murderer like Oscar could convince himself that thieving these people of their lives to entertain his sick view of mortality was nothing but a favor done to the victims he claimed. 

Sam scowled as he dropped the icepick. Anna was what was important. He could deal with all of this later. 

He pressed a button and a keycard emerged from the frozen device. He knew what it was for. He traversed the house and returned to a locked room he previously could not access. He slid the keycard in and was prompted to enter a code. He grabbed his journal and flipped through the pages until he found the combination he’d written down. A smart move - he had a hard time memorizing what he came across with all that was going on. 

127530.

The moment he entered the code, the door unlocked itself and he threw it open impatiently. He was once again taunted by the cool voice from the intercom above: 

“Ready or not..!” 

This was nothing more than a sick game to him..!

Sam grit his teeth angrily as he moved forward. Anger was a very powerful thing, something he normally did not feel to such a degree, and he felt it pooling more and more inside of himself. He’d reported on stories that sickened him and exposed unjustful doings of people and companies…but nothing stirred him like this . 

He wasn’t surprised to find himself in a rubber room. Someone like Oscar probably needed it. The door across from him was open and feeding light into the dim room. He could see a sliver of elaborate wallpaper beyond it and determined that it led somewhere new. As he moved to cross the threshold, the door suddenly slammed shut - trapping Sam in the padded cell. The light above him flickered off, closing him in complete darkness. 

His heart raced as his eyes widened, overcome with a sense of fear. Yes, Oscar must have control over the doors and lights. It made sense, if he had gone through the trouble of wiring up his intercom system and placing these puzzles everywhere. But he hadn’t done anything like this before - and it took Sam completely aback. 

He had no time to react any further. Oscar’s voice became the only sound in the room. The giddiness in his tone made Sam’s stomach twist unpleasantly. 

“Well, I’ve decided, Sam. I decided to try a new kind of art. The art of a moment will fill the house today. Get ready..!” 

There was a pause, although he was not done recording. Sam took this opportunity to attempt to find a handle on the door, but there was none. He tried banging on it but it did not budge. It was clear that the only way it would move was when Oscar decided to control it again. 

He listened intently to the sound of the killer’s own footsteps. He was clearly walking down a hallway, as Sam recognized the sound of heels hitting hard tile. Why was he still recording if he wasn’t speaking? Whatever was coming next didn’t bode well, and the journalist found himself holding his breath and tensing every muscle in his body so as to prepare for it. 

Oscar started speaking again, but it clearly wasn’t to Sam. There was the sound of glasses moving, of murmured voices and conversation carried far in the background. Were there…other people here? Besides him ? 

“Distinguished guests, as you all know, today I prepared a private presentation of my new variety of Goldvale Whiskey. Its wonderful taste and aroma will astound you. So let us drink.” 

He listened - horrified - to the audible sound of clinking glasses. There were groans, he even heard a voice asking ‘what was that? ’, before the recording was overcome with coughing and exclamations of agony. There was the sound of tables being knocked over, glasses shattering on the floor, woman audibly fainting and exclaiming…Sam processed all this with his jaw agape and desperately tried at the door again. No matter how much he pounded and attempted to rip at the padded walls with his fingernails…nothing happened. 

He didn’t even know when he started screaming. He was exclaiming at the top of his lungs to warn those people to get out of there - don’t drink the whiskey! - this was a murdering madman and they were at his mercy!!! 

The column he’d written in the Wellshire Telegraph briefly flashed before his eyes. His warning to the public, of the man who moved in the same rich, highly educated circles who was firm in conviction. That he could be anyone - even naming a random situation like a business partner inviting someone to a charity dinner in his mansion. He compared him to a chameleon - changing to fit his surroundings, suspecting him to reside in a country mansion. 

Has Oscar gained inspiration from his column? His random example of masking himself and inviting others to dinner? Except now it was a whiskey presentation? 

Sam wanted to pull his hair. He wanted to scream his lungs out. The murderer’s voice rang over the intercom, sounding disgusted and disappointed with what just happened. 

“And they call this The Art? Mass murderers are not worthy to stand with me! Oh, now I ruined so many beautiful showpieces and I will never forgive myself for that!” 

The light flickered back on and the door opened again. Sam hesitated before moving out and into the room that he had been sealed from. A horrifying sight greeted him - five bodies laying limply on the couches and chairs, facing a table with a bottle of poisoned whiskey and four full shot glasses. He could see the shattered remains of one by one of the bodies, who had dropped his share in the fit of the moment. 

He was in a room full of dead bodies. Not one embalmed and dressed person - but several people, who had been breathing and talking mere minutes ago. The aura of death reeked heavily here and he could almost taste it on his tongue. He feared touching them because he knew they would still be warm. They were fresh and effective kills - not a sight of a massacre, but several murders, nonetheless. 

As his eyes studied the scene, widened and full of discernment, Oscar’s voice surfaced in the room. 

“Are you condemning me? Well…I must admit you’re right. That was…sloppy.” 

Sloppy . 

That was how he was going to describe it? Because they weren’t preserved pieces of ‘art’? Oscar single handedly poisoned five people by hosting a fake presentation, while also monitoring and steering Sam in this gigantic circle of a puzzle. How and when did this happen? Had he planned for this to happen, and have him witness the sounds of people dying? 

He felt sick. He felt numb. He had no idea how to grasp this situation as his eyes hovered over the slumped bodies. He started imagining Anna as one of them, eyes shut and no longer moving. Just the thought caused him to retch a little in his mouth, and he adamantly turned away from the sight. 

His hand shook as he went to record this in his journal. 

This wasn’t art.

Finished reading The Phantom of the Opera book!!! Time to replay Mystery Legends baby!!

Commission for @arsene-fixates , biiiig fan of their ship and I'm honored to make some art for it!! Will always be grateful for you introducing me to the Informant, what a handsome fellow <3

Last place… another injustice Oscar has to endure in his tragic existence

Pan over to Oscar dramatically perched in his seat, shaking his head and tsking

His Soul (Chapter 12)

Reliving a Memory

Summary: After saving the abducted collectors, you were trusted with Curioso's box. What seems like a dangerous possession slowly turns into an opportunity to learn more about this creature and his curse. Can you earn his trust, and possibly, his affection?

Pairings: Curioso/Reader, Curioso/The Detective

Contains spoilers to the Bonus Chapter of the game.

--

Curioso’s wording surprised you. ‘See inside his soul’? You assumed he wanted to have a deep conversation with you. Despite how tired you felt right now, you were more than willing to endure a few more hours of consciousness if it meant you could get an insight into this creature’s past and feelings. It was everything you’ve been waiting for. 

Filled with trepidation, you nodded your head, the words failing to leave you as you were stunned into silence. 

That was when it happened - you got a clear look at the blue flames flickering in his mask’s eyes when he moved closer towards your face. Your eyes widened as your heartbeat quickened, unsure of what he was going to do. Bite you? Kiss you? Both of those options had your head spinning. Before you had a chance to protest, a bright flash blinded your sight and senses.

-----

. . . 

. . . 

When you opened your eyes, Curioso was gone. You could only see in black and white until your sight adjusted and the color gradually returned to your surroundings. Your eyes darted around as you realized you were no longer in your small apartment. Instead, you appeared to be standing in a run-down bathroom. 

Actually…you weren’t standing at all . Your perspective was farther down below, like you had fallen to your feet and were sitting in the far corner of the room. When you went to stand, your knees buckled beneath you, and you realized this wasn’t what you thought at all.  

You were already at your full height, but that couldn’t be. You felt little and…different? When you held your hands in front of your face, a small pair of light-colored palms met your eyes. You felt the familiar sensation of fear and anxiety swell in your chest. You were about to call out to your jester friend - ask what exactly was going on here, but you were interrupted before you could.

“Curioso! Unlock this door! You can’t change the fact that nobody wants to see you at the party!”

You jumped at the voice and whipped your head over to the door - where a woman’s silhouette met you on the other side. She appeared to be holding a piece of paper in her hand, but you couldn’t make out what was on it. You blinked stupidly at the sight and frantically searched around the room. She was talking to Curioso, but how did she know him? Where were you exactly? 

The woman attempted to open the door but the handle would not turn. She banged angrily on the tinted glass, hard enough that something abruptly fell off from the wood and landed onto the floor. It looked like a panel, which had clearly been concealing something underneath it. Before you could move, another figure joined the woman across from you, urging her away with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Come on, mom! I don’t wanna be late! Leave the freak!” 

She was led away despite her insistence. The paper slipped from her fingers and slid underneath the door. As their footsteps disappeared, you realized your chest was heaving and you were pressing yourself  flat against the wall. You felt terribly confused and disoriented.

“Curioso?” You called out weakly, your voice still sounding as your own, but everything else about you was feeling…odd.

“I can feel that you're scared, Detective.” His voice sounded from around you, distant like he was in another room, but clear enough for you to understand. “None of this is real. You can calm down.”

“What is going on?” 

“You’re inside my soul, reliving a memory of mine. A day I remember so clearly…” 

“Huh?” You looked at your arms and legs confusedly, knowing this was not your body and definitely not your clothes. “Where am I? Where are you ?” 

“You’re seeing things from my perspective. And as for me…I am still here with you. Don’t worry.”  

You noticed the bathroom mirror above the sink and walked over to it. It was too high for you to peer in, but a smaller mirror was sitting on the back counter. There, you finally caught your reflection - which was the image of a young brunette child. There was an open wound on your upper lip. Now that you realized it was there, it started to sting with a harsh reminder that it was fresh. 

Your hand hovered over it and you flinched in pain. You looked around the room for a second time, unsure of what was happening exactly. 

“So, what are you saying? I’m in your memory?” Your gaze returned to the little mirror, staring back at yourself in awe. “...Is this what you looked like?” 

“Yes. That cut on your lip - it happened before I ran into this bathroom. I got into an argument with my mother when I got that invitation in the mail…I was hurt and I locked myself in here.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed together in concern. You wanted to ask more about this injury, but decided there were more important things to worry about right now. You looked around and started gathering useful things, taking a look at the open panel on the door before you decided to speak again. 

“I guess you were serious about me ‘seeing your soul’. How exactly did you manage to do this? Am I inside your box?” 

“It’s magic, Detective. I can make almost anything happen. And letting you inside my soul was the best way for you to understand what happened to me. Find the missing pieces to the lock and leave the restroom when you’re done.” 

His voice disappeared, which was a good indication that he wouldn’t be here to entirely guide you. You supposed he still got some enjoyment out of watching you solve puzzles and move forward on your own. Except this time, it wasn’t a game you were playing - it was a memory of his. You were inside Curioso’s soul right now…which you still had a hard time wrapping your head around. 

During your brief search of the bathroom, you stumbled upon a photograph of what had to be Curioso and his family. He was standing next to a man and a woman. The boy’s name was Albert and his mother was simply labeled…’mom’. Your eyes lingered on the old picture for a long time, noticing that he was the only one not smiling. It had to be a relic of the past. 

Why was he letting you see this? Why now ? 

------

… 

It was the most confusing yet intriguing experience you’d had. 

You got to experience this memory of Curioso firsthand. You got to maneuver the world around you as a child again, except it wasn’t your own past. You saw your friend’s childhood home, but you also learned that Curioso’s family despised him. You learned of his feelings for Emily when he was a child, a little girl who was famous for collecting figurines, and that he and his brother fancied her. You used his hands to make one special for her Birthday party. Then you chased after a cat who had stolen your finished work, and learned that Emily wanted her guests in a mask and costume with a gift. When you found a disrepaired jester outfit someone left on a bench outside, and won a special mask from the machine next to it, you quickly pieced together the source of his attire. 

As you went to walk through the masquerade-themed event in the park, you were quickly drawn away from the memory. You had no choice but to watch the scene from afar, everything happening completely out of your control.  You watched with mesmerized eyes as he approached his childhood love and presented the gift he had worked so hard on. 

..You realized he had spared you from the embarrassment he must’ve felt. You were filled with the emotion secondhand as you witnessed it all. When Emily ripped off his mask, being the only one who had his true identity revealed. The ridicule. The laughter. The mean faces of the children around him - who had to have been his friends and acquaintances at the time. The girl he crushed on, mocking him like the rest of the crowd was…Like his own family had treated him. 

His voice sounded around you as you faced this difficult scene.

“ Nothing went as I’d imagined. Of course, Emily wanted to see the mysterious presenter’s face. I was ridiculed and humiliated. I felt like my world was ending. But then I met someone who seemed to accept me.” 

That was when you were forced back into the memory, shifting back into the small figure who sniffled and tripped on small rocks and dirt. You were facing a wagon surrounded by pitched tents and colorful flags. It reminded you of one of those traveling circuses who hastily set up their tents in focus for their performances…not that you’d been to many before… 

When you approached the wagon, a woman was sitting on the other side, looking at you with her eyes full of sympathy. She had curly, brown hair and big silver earrings, wearing one of those outfits you’d often seen fortune tellers in. 

“Why would a nice boy like you cry? Perhaps I can help,” She leaned towards you. You sensed clear intent in her actions. “But I need your help first. I’ve lost a precious medallion from my collection. Please find it.” 

And so you lived through this next part of Curioso’s memory - solving different puzzles from various boxes and things, getting from one place to the next, in the task of fixing this stranger’s medallion. You wondered why Curioso had so willingly done all of this…you understood he was vulnerable and lost, but you had a hard time understanding what this lady’s deal was. After all, what adult would recognize that a child needed help, but didn’t call the authorities or try to find his parents? She refused to assist him until he found something she lost - which wasn’t something any reasonable person would do. You just couldn’t grasp why she had taken advantage of a lost child for her own personal gain. 

..You eventually learned why , and it wasn’t a good reason at all. 

It was after you finally fixed the medallion and proudly placed its cover back on. You handed it over to the woman, who looked delighted with your compliance and greedily snatched her possession from your hands. Her grin was wide as she regarded you from above.

“What a wonderful job! Here, open this box and find your great reward.” 

She handed you a box… Curioso’s box . Your jaw fell agape and you refused to touch it, but your hands acted on their own at that point. You didn’t feel in control anymore and watched with fear as your fingers worked at restoring an image on the top of it. It looked to be of a specter in a hooded outfit conjuring blue flames. When it was reassembled, more parts of the box opened itself to you - where you had to match magical symbols that you were sure you’d seen before. 

The image deconstructed itself again, disappearing in the air with an ominous sound. That was when you felt something peculiar in your chest - and your surroundings faded into those black and white colors again. You were pulled out of the memory once more, faced towards the kid as the box opened itself in front of him and began to pull him inside…

“No!” The child exclaimed, his eyebrows furrowing in anger. “You will pay for this! All of you!” 

The woman grabbed the box and looked inside of it longingly, with that sinister smile played out on her lips. “Such a nice, trusting boy…you will serve me forever!” 

-----

…

…

It felt like the memory itself was being peeled from your eyes as the colors returned and you were finally back in your apartment. Curioso was in front of you, sitting on the edge of the couch with his mechanical hands clasped in his lap. He regarded you as you returned to the present, speaking in a sad tone: 

“I’d been her servant for so long…until the box came to Andrew. You already know that story.” 

You wiped your eyes with your hands, looking around to make sure everything was real. You touched your chest and looked at your arms…everything looked normal. You were at the right height and you felt like yourself again. You sighed with relief as your gaze returned to the jester, who bowed his head at your reaction.

“I’m sorry for putting you through all that, Detective, it’s just…I don’t know how I could have told you using words.” 

“That…” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “...Was all of that real?” 

“It happened so long ago ... .but everything was as I remembered.” He seemed to look away as his mask faced elsewhere. “Except maybe for a couple of things. But they’re not that important.” 

Your mouth fell open as everything came rushing back to you. That bathroom, the house, the party…it felt like you had lived every second of it. But you didn’t, really. You were merely reliving his memory. Every emotion you felt in there felt just as real as everything around you. You could feel pain, embarrassment, excitement….how had he managed to pull you from your apartment and bring you somewhere else? 

You shook your head. That wasn’t important. What mattered was what you saw…what you heard…you clutched your jaw as your stare focused on Curioso - the image of that child conjuring up in your mind, trying to match the two together…

“What…what happened to you?” You whispered. “You were human. A child…” 

He looked down, not saying anything at first. Your throat tightened as tears threatened to sting your eyes. You don’t know why, but you were getting emotional. Thinking of that woman, of Curioso doing everything for her, of him getting trapped in that box after he opened it…

The jester brought his mechanical hands to his mask, clawing around it like he was searching for skin. “I was fine at first. But then she brought me out, and she kept sending me back in . Things started to happen. It was like the flesh and bone fell off of my body, while I was being squeezed into something that was too small for me. Everything I was…I wasn’t anymore.” His voice lowered in defeat. “I had nothing left.” 

Your eyes watched his hands and his arms as he moved. You observed the joints connecting them. You pointed weakly at his limbs. “..Where…how did you get those, then?” 

“I took them. They were from decommissioned puppets at the carnival’s theater. I made them my own.” 

“So, wait…” You knitted your eyebrows together, trying to piece it all together. The room was getting hot and stuffy. “You were reduced down to nothing? You had to take possession of dolls to make yourself whole again?”

“Oh, Detective. I’m far from whole.” His tone dropped. The grin permanently etched onto his being failed to convey how sad he sounded. “There are still so many parts of me I have never gotten back.”

He sounded so sad and it honestly broke your heart. You had no doubt in your mind that he was telling the truth. It all made sense. Why he was so aggressive over that woman, why he’s wearing what he is and the source of his obsession for collecting…it had something to do with Emily, you thought. Iit didn’t help that it was a medallion part of a collection that brought his undoing. There was something deeper to it; you were sure you’d learn about that soon.

..For now, you inhaled sharply and moved forward, wrapping your arms around Curioso and crushing him in a tight hug. 

It was one of the most peculiar sensations you’d felt. 

His clothes felt empty yet they weren’t - like you were touching a presence that was there but also was not. Despite it all, you knew he was there and that you were embracing him. And that was all you needed as you held your jester friend. After a minute, you felt the clothes shift and artificial hands clutched at your back. He was returning your hug. It filled you with a special warmth and elation. 

You wanted to take back all the pain he’d gone through. You wished you could give him his body back.. He was missing so much. A family, a body, a face…it was all taken from him. You shivered imagining it happening to yourself…to lose everything and be trapped under someone’s service for decades…it explained everything yet didn’t. 

Your gaze traveled the floor, tracing the moonlight coming in from the window. You had so many questions. But one particularly found its way out of your lips:

“What…didn’t you remember? You said it was a couple things. They’re important to me.” 

He released you and you found this opportunity to step back, not even feeling embarrassed for comforting him. You wanted to do it and you felt that he needed it…come to think of it, how long has it been since he’s shared any human contact? 

“My name,” He replied weakly. “I don’t remember what it was. And I never learned my mother’s, either.” 

You rubbed the back of your head, feeling confused but nodding along anyway. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone naming their son ‘Curioso’...” 

Something about him looked tired…or maybe he was just feeling vulnerable right now. “Curioso is…was…my stage name. She never bothered learning my REAL name before she trapped me.” 

“...She said she made you her servant. What did that mean? What did she do?” 

“Exactly what you think. She made me run her errands, do everything she pleased. Carry out all her hard work so she could sit back and take it easy.” He spat this out spitefully and you couldn’t blame his anger. “But then the box changed me, and…I had no choice but to don this costume and these limbs…it gave her the idea to lend me to the circus. I was part of a theater puppet show.” 

“A what?”

“A puppet show. The ones with marionettes. She thought I could pass for one…I was forced to play in these ridiculous shows, wearing these stupid clothes I’d stolen years ago for a party…I had to perform well, because if I didn’t, she would force me into that box for weeks. I was craving nothing but freedom at that point.

The name ‘Curioso’ became my whole identity. I used my magic during the shows, and the crowd loved what I could do. They thought it was all a performance - that everything was fake. They had no idea I was real.” 

“Is that where those things came from in your box? The plays?” 

He sounded giddy. “Dolls and figurines were my very first collection, in remembrance of Emily. I made a lot on my own, but I also collected some of the puppets from the retired acts. I would make more for them, anyway. They kept me company in the box and I got to practice my performances each time I was trapped inside.” 

“That sounds…terrible...” 

His enthusiasm died down at your words. “It was the only escape I had from it all…” 

You were learning so much about him and his past…it was like all your questions were being answered. But it all felt terrible, because they weren’t the happiest things to learn. His past was tragic and you felt nothing but sympathy for him. You still couldn’t help searching for more. “I get why you got obsessed with collecting things, but…why human souls?” 

He folded his hands and stretched out his pearl-colored legs. “I spent decades observing everything around me. There were some awful people in the carnival business. People with their own obsessions. I got to see the ugliest parts of their souls, behind closed doors." 

He picked his head up to stare at the moon outside. "-And then I realized: I'd done nothing to deserve my imprisonment. I was a mistreated child, lost and vulnerable. Meanwhile, these people willingly take advantage of others and feel no remorse for it. They even made money off of tricking them like she did to me..! Why must I be cursed, while people like * them * get to prosper?"

"They didn't deserve their souls getting taken. That doesn't justify-"

"--That's the thing, Detective…they were suddenly regretful over everything they'd done, once they were in my hands. They didn't realize the harm their obsessions caused until I had them. Isn’t that proof of justice?"

"But it could have been done another way! Just like Raymond or Julia, they got to atone for what they did."

"And that's why I so badly wanted your judgment. You proved how fun my game could be…although I wished you’d made different decisions.” 

He was returning back to his usual playful self. You were relieved to see it, but had a feeling it meant he was going to stop answering your questions. This might’ve been a good place to end, anyway. You learned a lot and had the whole night to digest everything. You’re getting the book tomorrow, so…you’ll continue this conversation then. 

Still. You had to show your appreciation…you were grateful he finally told you more of himself and his past. It was more than he had to do, and although you wished he wouldn’t have poured this on you so late at night, you were ever so grateful for it. 

“..Thank you for telling me all of this. For trusting me.” 

“I wouldn’t call it ‘trust’...” He tilted his mask. “...But a precaution.” 

You arched an eyebrow. “A precaution?” 

“...If you truly care about me, Detective, then it is nothing more than a precaution.” He sounded uneasy. Why did he always have to confuse you like this? You held down your frustration. “You can send me back now. I hope you sleep well.” 

“...You, too.” 

You sent him back in the box, still reeling from everything you learned.