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
  }
}


A few hours of agonizing navigation through the pulsating, vein-like corridors of the pocket dimension had left the small crew exhausted, their nerves frayed to the breaking point. The transition into what now presented itself as the cockpit of the Milano felt less like progress and more like a taunting hallucination. The lighting pulsed with a sickly, flicker-heavy bioluminescence, casting erratic shadows across the consoles that looked almost real, yet felt fundamentally wrong to the touch. Rocket felt his fur stand on end, a sharp, buzzing vibration humming through the soles of his boots. He crouched by the central navigation array, his gloved paws dancing frantically over a interface that constantly shifted density under his fingers. One moment it was smooth, cold metal, and the next, it felt like molding warm, wet clay.

I am Groot, the adolescent tree-like being whispered, his voice sounding thin and hollow in the confined space. He stood near the pilot seat, his long, thin limbs braced against the vibrations of the floor, his large eyes fixed on the way the cockpit walls groaned with a sound like grinding teeth.

Yeah, keep an eye on the perimeter, kid, Rocket snapped back without looking up, his voice raspy from lack of hydration. I do not need you telling me when the walls are moving; I need you to notice if, or when, this entire reality decides to collapse on our heads. He felt a bead of cold sweat track through his fur. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that he tried to dampen with technical focus. He yanked at a panel, his sharp claws scraping against the synthetic material that refused to grant him access to the ship's logic flow.

Peter Quill leaned casually against the passenger console, his red leather jacket pulled tight across his chest as he checked the air pressure gauges. At least, that was what he was pretending to do. To Rocket, watching from his crouched position, it was obvious that Quill was just stroking the non-functioning haptics, trying to project an air of command that he absolutely did not possess. Quill’s smirk didn't reach his eyes—eyes that were scanning the blinking, nonsensical readouts with a growing, frantic edge of panic that he was failing to hide.

Don't worry about the lock, Rocket, Quill said, his voice dropping into what he likely thought was a reassuring, suave tone. I have got a bypass sequence in mind that will have us back in deep space in no time. We are just dealing with a standard atmospheric fluctuation, probably something left over from the last jump. It is all under control, I have encountered navigation glitches like this a dozen times before. Nothing a little finesse and my superior knowledge of this ship cannot fix.

Rocket let out a sharp, incredulous huff, his whiskers twitching in annoyance. My superior knowledge? Quill, look at this. The fuel regulators are reading negative fifty percent, and there is a glowing geometric shape growing out of the throttle lever. This is not a glitch, this is a nightmare. I am telling you, we are not flying anywhere unless you start being honest about what is going on with this space.

Quill chuckled, a wet, nervous sound that echoed off the flickering cockpit panels. He adjusted his headphones, looking away from the console as if he could simply ignore the growing distortion in the peripheral view of the viewport. We are fine. We have more than enough fuel to make the jump, easily. I just had the tanks topped off right before we hit this sector. A little bit of extra reserve, just in case, you know how I get when it comes to being prepared. We could cruise the entire quadrant twice over without even hitting the reserve light.

As the words left his mouth, a strange chill swept through the cockpit. Rocket saw the air grow thin and brittle. He felt a sudden, sickening shift in gravity. The navigation array beneath his paws suddenly hardened, the soft give of the interface replaced by the cold, inert, and unforgiving texture of solid gray stone. He pulled his hands back, startled, watching in horrified silence as the entire panel turned from functional metallic plating into a jagged, unmoving block of granite.

What did you just do? Rocket barked, his voice rising in an uncontrolled pitch. Look at the controls, Quill! They are gone. You just turned the navigation array into a rock because you felt like inflating your ego with another one of your ridiculous stories about the fuel tanks.

Quill froze, his hand still hovering over a display that was now nothing more than a solid, non-functional slab of gray mineral. The pride in his face vanished, replaced by a pale sheen of sheer terror. He pulled his hand back as if burned, his gaze darting between the stone console and his own trembling fingers. The cabin air felt heavy and stagnant, the flickering lights slowing their rhythm until the cockpit was plunged into a half-lit, tomb-like stillness. Groot shifted, taking a retreating step away from the controls, his branches trembling against the wall.

I... I thought it was just a figure of speech, Quill stammered, his bravado crumbling away like dust. I just wanted to keep us calm, I just needed it to sound like we were not completely stranded. I did not mean, I did not know that the thought, that the lie would actually...

Rocket stood up slowly, his cybernetic enhancements clicking as he adjusted his posture to stare at his teammate. He saw the way the cockpit windows shifted from displaying stars to displaying endless, folding loops of darkness. The realization hit him with physical weight. Words, thoughts, the desperate, hollow masks they wore—they were drawing the architecture of their prison. And Quill, with his compulsive need to hide his fear behind a wall of tall tales, was the worst navigator they could possibly have.

We are not just lost, are we? Rocket whispered, looking at the stone console. We are being sculpted by his own nonsense. And right now, we are out of time, and he is out of lies to tell.

A few hours of agonizing navigation through the pulsating, vein-like corridors of the pocket dimension had left the small crew exhausted, their nerves frayed to the breaking point. The transition into what now presented itself as the cockpit of the Milano felt less like progress and more like a taunting hallucination. The lighting pulsed with a sickly, flicker-heavy bioluminescence, casting erratic shadows across the consoles that looked almost real, yet felt fundamentally wrong to the touch. Rocket felt his fur stand on end, a sharp, buzzing vibration humming through the soles of his boots. He crouched by the central navigation array, his gloved paws dancing frantically over a interface that constantly shifted density under his fingers. One moment it was smooth, cold metal, and the next, it felt like molding warm, wet clay.

I am Groot, the adolescent tree-like being whispered, his voice sounding thin and hollow in the confined space. He stood near the pilot seat, his long, thin limbs braced against the vibrations of the floor, his large eyes fixed on the way the cockpit walls groaned with a sound like grinding teeth.

Yeah, keep an eye on the perimeter, kid, Rocket snapped back without looking up, his voice raspy from lack of hydration. I do not need you telling me when the walls are moving; I need you to notice if, or when, this entire reality decides to collapse on our heads. He felt a bead of cold sweat track through his fur. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that he tried to dampen with technical focus. He yanked at a panel, his sharp claws scraping against the synthetic material that refused to grant him access to the ship's logic flow.

Peter Quill leaned casually against the passenger console, his red leather jacket pulled tight across his chest as he checked the air pressure gauges. At least, that was what he was pretending to do. To Rocket, watching from his crouched position, it was obvious that Quill was just stroking the non-functioning haptics, trying to project an air of command that he absolutely did not possess. Quill’s smirk didn't reach his eyes—eyes that were scanning the blinking, nonsensical readouts with a growing, frantic edge of panic that he was failing to hide.

Don't worry about the lock, Rocket, Quill said, his voice dropping into what he likely thought was a reassuring, suave tone. I have got a bypass sequence in mind that will have us back in deep space in no time. We are just dealing with a standard atmospheric fluctuation, probably something left over from the last jump. It is all under control, I have encountered navigation glitches like this a dozen times before. Nothing a little finesse and my superior knowledge of this ship cannot fix.

Rocket let out a sharp, incredulous huff, his whiskers twitching in annoyance. My superior knowledge? Quill, look at this. The fuel regulators are reading negative fifty percent, and there is a glowing geometric shape growing out of the throttle lever. This is not a glitch, this is a nightmare. I am telling you, we are not flying anywhere unless you start being honest about what is going on with this space.

Quill chuckled, a wet, nervous sound that echoed off the flickering cockpit panels. He adjusted his headphones, looking away from the console as if he could simply ignore the growing distortion in the peripheral view of the viewport. We are fine. We have more than enough fuel to make the jump, easily. I just had the tanks topped off right before we hit this sector. A little bit of extra reserve, just in case, you know how I get when it comes to being prepared. We could cruise the entire quadrant twice over without even hitting the reserve light.

As the words left his mouth, a strange chill swept through the cockpit. Rocket saw the air grow thin and brittle. He felt a sudden, sickening shift in gravity. The navigation array beneath his paws suddenly hardened, the soft give of the interface replaced by the cold, inert, and unforgiving texture of solid gray stone. He pulled his hands back, startled, watching in horrified silence as the entire panel turned from functional metallic plating into a jagged, unmoving block of granite.

What did you just do? Rocket barked, his voice rising in an uncontrolled pitch. Look at the controls, Quill! They are gone. You just turned the navigation array into a rock because you felt like inflating your ego with another one of your ridiculous stories about the fuel tanks.

Quill froze, his hand still hovering over a display that was now nothing more than a solid, non-functional slab of gray mineral. The pride in his face vanished, replaced by a pale sheen of sheer terror. He pulled his hand back as if burned, his gaze darting between the stone console and his own trembling fingers. The cabin air felt heavy and stagnant, the flickering lights slowing their rhythm until the cockpit was plunged into a half-lit, tomb-like stillness. Groot shifted, taking a retreating step away from the controls, his branches trembling against the wall.

I... I thought it was just a figure of speech, Quill stammered, his bravado crumbling away like dust. I just wanted to keep us calm, I just needed it to sound like we were not completely stranded. I did not mean, I did not know that the thought, that the lie would actually...

Rocket stood up slowly, his cybernetic enhancements clicking as he adjusted his posture to stare at his teammate. He saw the way the cockpit windows shifted from displaying stars to displaying endless, folding loops of darkness. The realization hit him with physical weight. Words, thoughts, the desperate, hollow masks they wore—they were drawing the architecture of their prison. And Quill, with his compulsive need to hide his fear behind a wall of tall tales, was the worst navigator they could possibly have.

We are not just lost, are we? Rocket whispered, looking at the stone console. We are being sculpted by his own nonsense. And right now, we are out of time, and he is out of lies to tell. «The Truth Trap», part 3. Fanfiction — Marvel Cinematic Universe.

The First Lie Manifests. The Truth Trap — Marvel Cinematic Universe fanfiction | Fanfica

The First Lie Manifests

Whatever It Takes

After a heist goes wrong, the Guardians of the Galaxy are trapped in a pocket dimension where every lie takes physical form. To escape, they must navigate a world built from their own deceptions — but with Drax unable to lie, his brutal honesty may be the only compass. Can they unravel the truth before reality collapses?

The Truth Trap — The First Lie Manifests

Parte 3: The First Lie Manifests