webAppInput

SceneIdQuery

myProfile

scene

query SceneIdQuery(
  $id: ID!
  $webAppInput: WebAppInput
) {
  myProfile(webAppInput: $webAppInput) {
    ...MyProfile_myProfile
    id
  }
  scene(id: $id) {
    ...Scene_scene
    ...SceneMedias_scene_16LRdq
    id
    order
    rating
    title
    seoTitle
    seoDescription
    isPublished
    isScheduled
    publishedAt
    content
    embeddedMedia {
      mediaId
      state
    }
    story {
      ...Story_story
      id
      isMine
      commentsAccess
    }
    prevScene {
      id
    }
    nextScene {
      id
    }
  }
}

fragment JobInfo_job on AiGenerationJob {
  id
  type
  status
  currentStage
  attemptCount
  maxAttempts
  lastErrorCode
  scheduledAt
}

fragment MediaStatusFields_media on Media {
  id
  status
  generationError
  activeGenerationJob {
    ...JobInfo_job
    currentStage
    id
  }
}

fragment MyProfile_myProfile on User {
  id
  name
  email
  isAdmin
  hasEverPaid
  isEmailConfirmed
  isEmailNotificationEnabled
  isTelegramNotificationEnabled
  isTempPassword
  avatar
  cover
  about
  contacts
  support
  telegramId
  vkId
  availableLimits
  frozenLimits
  urlSlug
  topUpPackages {
    id
    price
    currency
    toBalanceLimits
    bonusLimits
    totalCreditedLimits
    USD
  }
  availablePaymentProviders
  aiGenerationCosts {
    plan {
      size
      cost
    }
    characterSuggest
    ideaExpand
    sceneWrite {
      length
      cost
    }
    mediaGenerate
    animate {
      withoutAudio
      withAudio
    }
  }
  activeGenerationJobs {
    id
    type
    status
    limitCost
    story {
      id
      authorTitle
    }
  }
}

fragment SceneMedias_scene_16LRdq on Scene {
  id
  story {
    id
  }
  mediaAttachments(viewMode: READ) {
    id
    media {
      ...MediaStatusFields_media
      id
      type
      genesis
      previewSrc
      mediaSrc512: mediaSrc(size: 512)
      mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      videoPosterSrc(size: 1024)
      sourceMedia {
        id
        mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      }
      userPrompt
      finalPrompt
      rawPrompt
      mediaAttachments {
        id
        story {
          id
        }
        scene {
          id
        }
        character {
          id
        }
      }
      embeddedInScenes {
        id
      }
    }
  }
  embeddedMedia {
    mediaId
    state
  }
  sceneCharacterStates {
    id
    character {
      id
      name
    }
  }
}

fragment Scene_scene on Scene {
  id
  order
  displayOrder
  title
  rating
  isPublished
  isScheduled
  publishedAt
  minWaitersToPublish
  waitersCount
  readCount
  content
  story {
    id
    isMine
  }
}

fragment Story_story on Story {
  id
  title
  createdAt
  publicDescription
  type
  size
  narrativeType
  rating
  hasCharacters
  status
  isPublished
  isMine
  publishedAt
  likesCount
  favoritesCount
  displayDirection
  plotGenres
  settingGenres
  moods
  tropes
  displayContentWarnings
  sceneAtmospheres
  publishedStats {
    scenesCount
    wordsCount
  }
  author {
    id
    name
    urlSlug
    avatar
  }
  characters {
    id
    name
  }
  fandoms {
    id
    urlSlug
    translation {
      canonicalName
      id
    }
  }
  myState {
    isLiked
    isFavorited
    isWaiting
    id
  }
  lastPublishedScene {
    id
  }
}


The wind howled between the jagged edges of the skyline, tearing at the remains of the red scarf knotted around my neck. Below, the city was a sprawling, indifferent tapestry of electric yellows and artificial whites. My optical sensors adjusted continuously, trying to translate the flickering urban glow into something that wasn't a reminder of my failure. Every pulse of light from the streets felt like a mocking heartbeat. I stood motionless on the edge of the roof, my metallic knuckles white from the pressure I applied to the concrete parapet.

My internal systems groaned. Diagnostics scrolled rapidly across my vision in a stream of crimson text: hydraulic fluid loss in the left arm, thermal threshold nearing critical failure in the core, logic processors struggling to categorize the sensory input of the last hour. I had been dismantled, pushed down, and disregarded. A machine of war, built for precision, rendered obsolete by a transient psychic force. The humiliation was not a calculation, but an ache humming through my titanium chassis.

Footsteps crunched against the loose gravel behind me. They were light, uneven, and hesitant—human. A faint scent of rubber and street grime drifted on the cold air. I did not turn around; I did not need to scan my surroundings to know it was him. The presence of the man in the blue jumpsuit was as distinct as a heat signature in a frozen wasteland.

"You should have stayed below, Mumen Rider," I said. My voice was a low hum, distorted by the static of my damaged vocal processor. It sounded like grinding metal, devoid of the control I usually demanded of myself.

"The city is quiet now, at least for a moment," he replied. His voice was soft, lacking the sharp, demanding edge that I usually associated with effective communication. He took a step closer, the gravel beneath his boots shifting with an agonizing, deliberate slowness. "I watched you fight out there. No one else moved. No one else even looked in that direction. You kept them safe, even when… even when it wasn't clear if you were winning."

I gripped the parapet tighter, feeling the concrete crumble under my grip, sending fine dust swirling into the night air. "I achieved nothing. The entity escaped. My mission parameters were explicitly centered on total annihilation, and yet, I stand here with my systems frayed and the target still loose in the shadows. I am a machine designed for destruction, and I failed the most fundamental test of my existence."

I felt the shift in the air as he moved again, hovering somewhere just out of my peripheral vision. I knew he was looking at me with that gaze of his—that relentless, stupid empathy that always seemed misplaced. It grated on my circuits, a persistent, rhythmic irritation.

"You're still standing," Mumen Rider said, his voice quiet but steady. "That counts for something, doesn't it? You stood up to something that made everyone else freeze. When you fell, you got back up until the fight moved away. That’s not a failure, Genos. That’s what heroes do."

I turned my head slightly, catching a sliver of him in my side-optic. He was standing with his hands at his sides, his helmet tucked under one arm, his expression weary but undeniably earnest. He looked small. The city, with its towering steel skeletons and neon arteries, dwarfed him, and yet he stood there as if his presence alone provided a shelter for someone as broken as I was.

"Heroes?" I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "A hero is an entity with influence, a status earned through concrete impact on the world. I am merely a weapon that lost its trajectory. I despise this… this feeling. This rage that burns beneath my synthetic skin, demanding I hunt it down, yet lacking the operational capacity to fulfill the request. I am a prisoner of my own design, and you talk to me of heroism as if it were a comfort."

He sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to acknowledge the gulf between us. "Maybe it’s not comfort. Maybe it’s just the truth. I saw you fighting. It was hard to watch, seeing you pinned like that, but I also saw you never once gave up. You were trying to calculate the next strike even while you were flickering out."

"I do not require your witness to my inadequacy," I snapped, my jaw clicking as I adjusted the internal pressure of my actuators. "Your support is a weight I cannot afford to carry. It implies a sense of shared humanity that I severed the moment I chose this path. If I cannot control my own rage, if I cannot be the absolute shield I swore to be, then any sentiment you offer is merely noise in an already compromised stream of information."

I felt him shift his weight, his gloves rubbing against his thighs. He was searching for something to say, something to bridge the chasm we were standing on, but there were no words that could recalibrate my core. My isolation was not an absence, it was a requirement.

"I'm not trying to be noise," he said, his tone dropping to a whisper. "I know I'm not the strongest. I don't have weapons or armor. But I know what it means to feel like you're not doing enough, or that your best just isn't reaching the finish line. I wanted to help you. Just… stand there for a moment. Catch your breath."

"My breath is an artificial intake of ambient air, and you know it," I said, my voice rising in a controlled, metallic fury. "You want to see me recover? You want to believe that there is a path back to logic? I am damaged, Mumen Rider. My internals are compromised, my objectives have been subverted, and the rage I harbor is not something that your kindness can dampen. Every word you speak is a reminder of how little I have left to lose."

I stepped away from the parapet, the movement jerky and heavy. I didn't want to see the way his eyes would soften when I rejected him. I didn't need to look to know that he was hurt by my distance, but that it wouldn't change his resolve. That was the most infuriating thing about him. He was a tether that refused to snap, no matter how much I pulled against the line.

"I cannot be what you want me to be," I stated, the finality of my tone resonating in the quiet space of the rooftop. "I am sinking into my own failure, and I refuse to drag you down with me. Your empathy is an obstruction. It limits my ability to calculate, to focus, to do what must be done to fix the mess I have made of tonight."

He stood silent. I could hear the faint, steady pulsing of his heart—a rhythmic, organic sound that stood in stark contrast to the buzzing of my own power core. It was a rhythm of life he was trying to offer me, but I had no place to put it. My design was fixed, my path was lonely, and the silence that followed my statement was the only thing that felt balanced.

I walked toward the edge, the wind whipping through my metallic frame, clattering against my plating like rain on a tin roof. The city stretched out below, a dizzying, beautiful, and terrifying descent. I didn't look back at him. I couldn't. If I looked at him, I might recognize the reflection of my own humanity in his kindness, and I couldn't allow that distraction to compromise the cold, hard logic of my next move.

I turned away from Mumen Rider and leaped off the building.

The wind howled between the jagged edges of the skyline, tearing at the remains of the red scarf knotted around my neck. Below, the city was a sprawling, indifferent tapestry of electric yellows and artificial whites. My optical sensors adjusted continuously, trying to translate the flickering urban glow into something that wasn't a reminder of my failure. Every pulse of light from the streets felt like a mocking heartbeat. I stood motionless on the edge of the roof, my metallic knuckles white from the pressure I applied to the concrete parapet.

My internal systems groaned. Diagnostics scrolled rapidly across my vision in a stream of crimson text: hydraulic fluid loss in the left arm, thermal threshold nearing critical failure in the core, logic processors struggling to categorize the sensory input of the last hour. I had been dismantled, pushed down, and disregarded. A machine of war, built for precision, rendered obsolete by a transient psychic force. The humiliation was not a calculation, but an ache humming through my titanium chassis.

Footsteps crunched against the loose gravel behind me. They were light, uneven, and hesitant—human. A faint scent of rubber and street grime drifted on the cold air. I did not turn around; I did not need to scan my surroundings to know it was him. The presence of the man in the blue jumpsuit was as distinct as a heat signature in a frozen wasteland.

"You should have stayed below, Mumen Rider," I said. My voice was a low hum, distorted by the static of my damaged vocal processor. It sounded like grinding metal, devoid of the control I usually demanded of myself.

"The city is quiet now, at least for a moment," he replied. His voice was soft, lacking the sharp, demanding edge that I usually associated with effective communication. He took a step closer, the gravel beneath his boots shifting with an agonizing, deliberate slowness. "I watched you fight out there. No one else moved. No one else even looked in that direction. You kept them safe, even when… even when it wasn't clear if you were winning."

I gripped the parapet tighter, feeling the concrete crumble under my grip, sending fine dust swirling into the night air. "I achieved nothing. The entity escaped. My mission parameters were explicitly centered on total annihilation, and yet, I stand here with my systems frayed and the target still loose in the shadows. I am a machine designed for destruction, and I failed the most fundamental test of my existence."

I felt the shift in the air as he moved again, hovering somewhere just out of my peripheral vision. I knew he was looking at me with that gaze of his—that relentless, stupid empathy that always seemed misplaced. It grated on my circuits, a persistent, rhythmic irritation.

"You're still standing," Mumen Rider said, his voice quiet but steady. "That counts for something, doesn't it? You stood up to something that made everyone else freeze. When you fell, you got back up until the fight moved away. That’s not a failure, Genos. That’s what heroes do."

I turned my head slightly, catching a sliver of him in my side-optic. He was standing with his hands at his sides, his helmet tucked under one arm, his expression weary but undeniably earnest. He looked small. The city, with its towering steel skeletons and neon arteries, dwarfed him, and yet he stood there as if his presence alone provided a shelter for someone as broken as I was.

"Heroes?" I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "A hero is an entity with influence, a status earned through concrete impact on the world. I am merely a weapon that lost its trajectory. I despise this… this feeling. This rage that burns beneath my synthetic skin, demanding I hunt it down, yet lacking the operational capacity to fulfill the request. I am a prisoner of my own design, and you talk to me of heroism as if it were a comfort."

He sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to acknowledge the gulf between us. "Maybe it’s not comfort. Maybe it’s just the truth. I saw you fighting. It was hard to watch, seeing you pinned like that, but I also saw you never once gave up. You were trying to calculate the next strike even while you were flickering out."

"I do not require your witness to my inadequacy," I snapped, my jaw clicking as I adjusted the internal pressure of my actuators. "Your support is a weight I cannot afford to carry. It implies a sense of shared humanity that I severed the moment I chose this path. If I cannot control my own rage, if I cannot be the absolute shield I swore to be, then any sentiment you offer is merely noise in an already compromised stream of information."

I felt him shift his weight, his gloves rubbing against his thighs. He was searching for something to say, something to bridge the chasm we were standing on, but there were no words that could recalibrate my core. My isolation was not an absence, it was a requirement.

"I'm not trying to be noise," he said, his tone dropping to a whisper. "I know I'm not the strongest. I don't have weapons or armor. But I know what it means to feel like you're not doing enough, or that your best just isn't reaching the finish line. I wanted to help you. Just… stand there for a moment. Catch your breath."

"My breath is an artificial intake of ambient air, and you know it," I said, my voice rising in a controlled, metallic fury. "You want to see me recover? You want to believe that there is a path back to logic? I am damaged, Mumen Rider. My internals are compromised, my objectives have been subverted, and the rage I harbor is not something that your kindness can dampen. Every word you speak is a reminder of how little I have left to lose."

I stepped away from the parapet, the movement jerky and heavy. I didn't want to see the way his eyes would soften when I rejected him. I didn't need to look to know that he was hurt by my distance, but that it wouldn't change his resolve. That was the most infuriating thing about him. He was a tether that refused to snap, no matter how much I pulled against the line.

"I cannot be what you want me to be," I stated, the finality of my tone resonating in the quiet space of the rooftop. "I am sinking into my own failure, and I refuse to drag you down with me. Your empathy is an obstruction. It limits my ability to calculate, to focus, to do what must be done to fix the mess I have made of tonight."

He stood silent. I could hear the faint, steady pulsing of his heart—a rhythmic, organic sound that stood in stark contrast to the buzzing of my own power core. It was a rhythm of life he was trying to offer me, but I had no place to put it. My design was fixed, my path was lonely, and the silence that followed my statement was the only thing that felt balanced.

I walked toward the edge, the wind whipping through my metallic frame, clattering against my plating like rain on a tin roof. The city stretched out below, a dizzying, beautiful, and terrifying descent. I didn't look back at him. I couldn't. If I looked at him, I might recognize the reflection of my own humanity in his kindness, and I couldn't allow that distraction to compromise the cold, hard logic of my next move.

I turned away from Mumen Rider and leaped off the building. «The Rallying Cry», part 2. Fanfiction — One-Punch Man.

The Burden of Rage. The Rallying Cry — One-Punch Man fanfiction | Fanfica

The Burden of Rage

Caped Baldy

Mumen Rider has always been the underdog hero—no super strength, no flashy moves. But when he discovers he can amplify the willpower of any hero nearby, his true potential awakens. Now a despair-feeding monster threatens the city, and Genos is overwhelmed by his own rage. Should Mumen boost Genos’s power and risk his friend losing control, or let him fight alone? In a world that measures strength by destruction, Mumen must decide what it truly means to be a hero.

The Rallying Cry — The Burden of Rage

Parte 2: The Burden of Rage