The time capsule that was buried thirty years too early caused quite a stir. Most who learned of its existence found it amusing. Of course they did. My friends and I knew that it was an omen of what was to come, but everyone else in that part of the square that night were laughing and scratching their heads about it.
The Mayor, however, was some unique combination of angry, embarrassed, confused, and paranoid. He alternated between those emotions with every sentence.
“I demand to know who is behind this!” He whisper-screamed to his entourage as they scrambled to find someone, anyone, who might be able to explain the situation. “Don’t make a scene! We don’t want people walking over here. How…. would there be a time capsule already buried here and why does it say that 1992 was the Centennial? Is this a setup to make me look foolish?”
His people did not know the answer.
The first person who was called in to help was Rhonda Moore, who was the coordinator for the Centennial. She was also a Paragon, which was an NPC that the Atlas defined as “The left and right hands of Carousel. These NPCs play a variety of characters in storylines. They can be protagonists, allies, or villains. The current theory is that each one specializes in either an Aspect or Advanced Archetype (Detective Paragon, Researcher Paragon, etc.), though their exact nature is not understood. They can be more or less powerful depending on what is needed. They pretend not to know anything outside of their scripts, but they are lying. They remember you between stories, I swear.”
I wasn’t sure if that entry was in the version of the Atlas at Camp Dyer like it was in ours. My best guess was that Paragons were on our side. I needed to know more before I could be sure.
The only way I had of recognizing a Paragon was their default level being 50 and the fact that they had numerous small posters on the red wallpaper that should normally have contained tropes, but they were all grayed out. I had originally thought it meant they were secretly enemies, but now I didn't know what to think.
Rhonda Moore, though, was born to tell people what to do. She had a calming presence that put even the mayor at ease, if only for a few moments. I saw her whispering in his ear the moment she arrived. She immediately started to take command of the situation, directing citizens away from the mysterious time capsule.
“I am so sorry that you had to see this whole mess,” she said as she spotted us watching the situation unfold. “I know you probably just want to get to your hotel and decompress so you will be ready for tomorrow. If you could wait a minute, I’ll find someone to show you to your hotel.”
I felt the subtle strings of a trope pulling over me. It was like the allure of watching videos on the internet when you have homework to do, an ever-present temptation. In this case, the temptation was to do exactly as Rhonda had requested of us.
I looked at my friends. They felt it too. Rhonda had just used a trope on us to keep us in that exact location. It appeared that the Tutorial relied on Paragons like Rhonda to ensure players did as expected. That itself was odd. If Carousel wanted us to stick around for some exposition, why not just make us do it all on its own? Why involve a Paragon?
If I were to guess, I would say Rhonda embodied the Team Leader Aspect of the Final Girl Archetype.
> Final Girl: Resilient characters often left standing at the end.
>
> Team Leader Aspect: Inspiring figures adept at guiding others through terrifying situations.
It was pretty clear why we were being asked to stay there. Rhonda and the Mayor had brought in the help of several other people from the town: Constance Barlow the Head Librarian we had met, The Police Chief Curt Willis, and Tar Bellows who owned the Pawn Shop.
In fact, everyone other than the Mayor and his aides were Paragons.
We were about to watch a type of cut scene. We had to stay there and observe.
Tar was asked to bring a pair of bolt cutters to remove an intimidating metal lock on the top of the time capsule they had just dug up. He was a bald, heavily muscled man. We had met him when we visited his pawn shop. He had hinted to us (not so subtly) that there was importance to the extra tickets I had been awarded, which led us to discover the rough message contained within them.
I half expected for him to give us a wink or some acknowledgment, but he didn’t. He was dead-focused on getting the time capsule open. He stood there, awaiting the command from the Mayor.
The Mayor was failing to conceal his unease about the situation. He wasn’t sure whether to open it or not. The debate that ensued was hushed, but it did help introduce some of the new Paragons.
“How would this end up here?” he asked Constance, “You’re the Carousel historian. Tell me I have not gone mad.”
I had known Constance as the Head Librarian, but apparently, she was an expert on Carousel too. I made a note of that.
“You haven’t gone mad yet,” Constance answered. “Unless you’re asking if the people of Carousel somehow lost track of the date for thirty years.”
“Of course not,” the Mayor said. “But I do want some other explanation for the circumstances we find ourselves in.”
The time capsule they had dug up was supposedly buried during the Carousel Centennial thirty years prior in 1992. That was confusing, given that the town was currently celebrating its centennial in 2022. A hundred-year anniversary is typically a once-in-a-lifetime experience for any town. Not for Carousel, apparently.
“Aren’t there procedures and regulations for things like this?” the Mayor asked harshly.
“Fortunately, the procedures are printed on the side,” Constance said dryly. “Open in a hundred years. We’re 70 years shy.”
The Mayor shot her a sharp look.
“Chief,” the Mayor said. “Do you have any ideas?”
“What do you want me to do, Roderick?” Police Chief Willis asked. “Call in the bomb squad? Tell them we have a mysterious object?”
“If that’s the procedure, yes.”
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“We don’t have a bomb squad,” Rhonda Moore interjected before the Chief could answer. “You defunded it years ago.”
“That's true we don't have a bomb squad anymore,” the Chief said, “But I can hand this over to ol’ Tugg Montgomery and he’ll open it for us. He’s got loads of experience with explosives, assuming that's what this is. We’re always getting calls about it.”
The Chief was clearly amused by the time capsule. It was hard to tell his emotions at first, with the reflective sunglasses he wore despite it being nighttime. He might have been in his mid-fifties but he was fit and held himself confidently.
Someone I had not seen before made her way into the center of the discussion. Her name was Kitty Lincoln. She was a plain woman whose most defining feature at that moment was the neon yellow safety vest she wore that had the words, “Carousel Alliance for Residential Protection” (CARP) written on it.
In fact, according to the red wallpaper, she was the President of CARP. With her level being 50 and her litany of unreadable tropes, she was clearly a Paragon. She had not been one of the people brought in by the Mayor or Rhonda Moore. She had come on her own.
“Do you really think it’s going to explode?” she asked, quivering at the thought.
“It will if we give it to Tugg,” Chief Willis said. He and Tar looked at each other and started laughing.
“You are not striking the appropriate tone here,” the Mayor said. “I want to know what is going on here and I want to know it now.”
Half of them looked exasperated the other half amused. They continued on. Constance Barlow crafted a theory that the time capsule was a prank.
“I assure you, Roderick, this was a practical joke. I find it odd that you would get up in arms about this. It's not as if we could lose 30 years. Point in fact, the statue here was installed 30 years ago during the anniversary celebration. I suspect that our prankster took that as an opportunity to bury this fake time capsule next to it.”
For a moment that satisfied the Mayor.
Unfortunately, Kitty Lincoln was there to rain on his parade.
“How did they know that you were going to dig right here,” she asked. “The area where we chose to bury the time capsule was the subject of huge debate. The Carousel Alliance for Residential Protection worked with the City Council to decide the location that would be safest to dig and this was the location that we concluded was proper. How could anyone else have known that information, especially 30 years ago?”
As Kitty spoke she got a procession of eye rolls.
“Kitty,” Rhonda Moore said, “While we did receive the letters from CARP, we had already decided on this location months in advance. Don't forget that we actually have no idea when this capsule was placed underground. It could have been buried only months ago. As Constance has said, it is likely a practical joke.”
Kitty didn’t seem to like that her organization’s contribution was being dismissed, but she said nothing.
“So do you believe that we should open it now?” the Mayor asked, looking at Rhonda.
Rhonda thought for a moment. “I think it would be best if we opened it in front of the townspeople tomorrow when they're gathered at the opening day of the Centennial. It would be quite the photo op. Very odd and on-brand for Carousel.” She then reduced her volume down to a whisper. “Though we might take a peek in first just to ensure that we won't be embarrassed.”
“I can open it now,” Tar said, slowly moving his bolt cutters toward the lock. He looked like he was bored with the conversation and just wanted to get the capsule open.
As we watched them debate this, Isaac leaned over to me and whispered, “Why does it even have a lock? Who did they think was going to be getting into it once it was buried?”
He asked the question in a jokey cadence, but it wasn’t a bad question. Why lock a time capsule you are about to bury?
“Maybe they were trying to stop something from getting out,” I suggested, only half kidding.
The Paragons continued their whispered debate, which only persisted because of some unspoken concern the Mayor had that only Kitty Lincoln seemed to agree with. While she didn’t want to open it because it might contain anthrax, a bomb, rats, or vulgar writings (?), the Mayor’s concern was harder to pin down.
The more the conversation went on, the more I started to sense some kind of dread from him that his script didn’t have the words to explain.
All of this set the scene for her to arrive. She walked like she was gliding. Her style of dress was even more flamboyant than it was the first time I saw her. She wore an extravagant purple dress, and more scarves than any one person needed. She wore multiple rings on most of her fingers and earrings that could have been used as windchimes made from precious stones.
Madam Celia Dane. She was a Psychic Paragon as best I could tell, either the Seer or Occultist Aspect, I couldn’t be sure though I leaned toward the former.
“Greetings,” she said, loudly. She put on more of a show than I remembered. “I sensed my services were needed.”
“You know things are serious when the psychic shows up,” Police Chief Willis joked.
If Madam Celia heard the comment, she ignored it.
“I am here to ease your mind, Roderick,” she said looking at the Mayor.
The Mayor didn’t see the humor that the Police Chief did.
“And how will you do that?” he asked.
Madam Celia moved close to him and said, “You will open the capsule. That’s what I have to say. Whether it is now, tomorrow, or the next day, or thirty more years from now, you will open it. When you do, you will figure out what message the past has for us. The voices of the dead can be louder than the living here in Carousel. When they choose to speak, you will hear them. There is no use delaying what will happen. There is even less use ignoring what already did.”
The other Paragons acted slightly unsettled by her tone.
“Celia,” the Mayor said in a worried tone, “This was buried on August 5, 1992. Surely I don’t have to tell you what day that was.”
The was a silence as the Paragons suddenly seemed to realize whatever it was the Mayor was hesitant about.
“No…” the Chief Willis said. “You're not suggesting... I’m not sure where your mind is, but you’re wrong. Whatever it is… it can’t have anything to do with that.”
“I’m telling you,” Rhonda Moore said, “It had to have been put there recently. It doesn't make sense. The date they put is in bad taste, but there is no reason to think it is accurate. Either way, it could be a PR disaster now that you bring that up.”
Constance the librarian started to argue her prank theory again, but she was cut off.
“Open it,” Mayor Gray said. “Celia is right. I will open it. No use putting it off. Go ahead, Tar.”
It sounded like something happened thirty years ago, something that might be related to the contents of this time capsule. Something they weren't talking about.
Tar had the lock snipped in seconds. He stepped aside and eagerly awaited a glimpse at the contents.
“If you could back up for a moment,” the Mayor said. “I’d like to see what’s in it first myself.”
Tar and the others reluctantly moved to the side so that only the Mayor was facing the latch that would open the capsule.
Mayor Roderick Gray stood before the metal cylinder with raw reverence. It could have been a prank, a typo, a casket, or something beyond explanation. It was all of those things until he opened it.
It took a bit of pulling. The hinges were rusted, and a seal had been formed. He did manage to get it open.
As he did, he stared down into the container, grabbed a flashlight offered by Tar, and examined the contents. His expression of curiosity never changed. He just stared. I couldn’t read his face. He stood still for a minute. I never got a clue of what he saw.
He closed the lid.
“Did you bring another lock like I asked?”
“Yep,” Tar answered, brandishing a padlock from his pocket and handing it to him.
“Have this brought to my offices… the ones at the clock tower. We should get the hole covered with a tarp so we can bury the proper time capsule tomorrow as planned. Can someone remind me of when it is supposed to rain again?"
"Three days from now," Rhonda answered quickly.
"Good. We're in the clear. The contents of the previous capsule deserve careful consideration, Rhonda. We won’t be showing them to the populace just yet. Clear out. It’s near curfew, isn’t it?”
All the while he spoke, he stared into the distance, like he was still processing what he had seen.
The police chief looked at his watch. “It is. We need to get these people cleared out of here.”
The Mayor accompanied the workers as they loaded the old time capsule into the crate that the new one had come out of. They used a forklift to haul it away.
A calm had come over the Mayor that he didn’t have before.
Something else had changed too.
On the red wallpaper, in addition to the appearance of a collection of unreadable tropes, his Plot Armor had risen to 50.