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 {
      baseCost
      audioSurcharge
    }
  }
  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
      origin
      previewSrc
      mediaSrc512: mediaSrc(size: 512)
      mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      videoPosterSrc(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
  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 gravel of the training ground crunched beneath Mumen Rider’s boots as he took a final step into the center of the open courtyard. Several hours had passed since he left the sterile, hum-filled silence of Dr. Hattori’s lab, hours spent pacing in the shadows of the city while the weight of the data pad pressed against his side like a leaden promise. Now, under the harsh glare of the stadium lights, he adjusted the grip on his helmet, his reflection distorted in the glass visor until he looked back at himself with determined eyes. His shins ached, a residual pulsing from the last skirmish, but the fatigue felt distant today, muffled by a strange, newfound clarity. He felt like a vessel for something larger, a conduit of potential that demanded expression.

Tanktop Racer stood across from him, his broad shoulders squared, arms folded across his chest in a posture of ingrained skepticism. Lightning Max leaned against a stack of rusted steel girders, spinning a small gadget between his nimble fingers, his eyes darting toward the horizon as if he were already halfway to the next fight. Aiko stood near the edge of the track, hands tucked deep into the pockets of her jacket, her sneakers digging shallow trenches in the loose dirt. Only Red Muffler remained still, his heavy leather jacket appearing too thick for the season, his gaze fixed on Mumen Rider with a grim, weary patience. The silence between them was thick, laden with the unanswered questions they all carried like unhealed wounds.

Mumen Rider took a breath, the air tasting of ozone and cooling concrete. He stood firm, refusing to let the familiar tremor of doubt touch his voice, and looked at them one by one. I have seen something today that changes everything, he began, his voice low but steady, carrying across the empty space between them. There is a threat, Malachar, that is not just seeking territory or fame. It is a tear in the foundation of everything we defend. The energy signatures it leaves behind are not just destructive—they are designed to dismantle the very resolve, the very humanity that allows us to fight back.

Tanktop Racer let out a short, sharp laugh that echoed against the metal walls. He uncrossed his arms, the muscles beneath his white tank top rippling with the movement. That is a tall tale, Rider. We deal with monsters every day, some big, some fast, some just plain ugly. They hit hard, and we hit back harder. That is the job. Why are you acting like this one is written in the stars?

Mumen Rider felt the weight of that skepticism like a physical wall. He looked at Tanktop Racer and saw not just an arrogant peer, but a man who used bravado to shield his own fear of inadequacy. Because this time, the hit back is not coming from me alone, Mumen Rider replied, his voice gaining strength as he thought of Hattori’s data. I have seen the way Malachar feeds. It does not just crush bone; it drains hope. If we face it alone, as we always have, we are merely fuel for its growth. But if we stand together, if we anchor one another, the feedback loop breaks. I am not asking for your strength to overpower it through sheer force. I am asking for your conviction to serve as a beacon that it cannot drown out.

Lightning Max pushed away from the girders, his movements fluid, almost impatient. He walked toward the center of the circle, his eyes narrowing in thought. You sound like you have been reading too many philosophical manuals, Rider. Speed is my edge. If I can outrun the enemy, if I can strike and retreat before it even registers the change in air pressure, how does standing next to you help? Is it not just a tactical disadvantage? Too many targets in one place?

Mumen Rider turned to face him, suppressing the urge to adjust his helmet. He felt the cold air biting at his neck, contrasted by the warmth of his red scarf. Speed is an asset, Max, but it is also a form of isolation. When you run, you are alone in that movement. Malachar exploits the gap between a hero and his support. When you stand next to a partner who believes in your cause, who validates your effort, you are not just target practice. You become an impenetrable wall of will. My presence is not meant to hold you back—it is meant to amplify what you already have so that the monster’s influence finds no purchase in your mind.

Aiko took a half-step forward, her fingers knotting together as she toyed with the fabric of her sleeve. She looked down at her shoes for a long moment before raising her eyes, which shone with a mixture of terror and flickering hope. I have always felt that, have I not? she whispered, her voice barely carrying. The feeling that I am just a placeholder in a C-class team, waiting for the real heroes to come save us. You are saying that the way we hold onto each other matters more than our ranking in the Association?

Mumen Rider nodded, feeling a surge of genuine affection for the fear she did not try to hide. Aiko, look at your hands. You have fought more battles this month than those who rely on their ego to sustain them. You have endurance that they do not recognize because you do not broadcast it. If you stand with us, you are not a support character. You are the structural integrity of the entire plan. Malachar cannot defeat us if we do not believe in its victory. Will you trust me to hold that line with you?

Red Muffler stepped forward, his boots crunching loudly in the silence. He sighed, the sound rattling in his chest, and reached up to tuck his scarf tighter around his throat. I have seen enough blood on these tracks, Rider. I have seen enough friends lose the spark in their eyes before they even hit the ground. If you are telling me that this is not just another suicide mission, that there is actually a way to pull those who fall back from the brink, then I am in. I do not care about the fame, or the ranking, or what the Association press release will say. I care about going home with my team intact.

Tanktop Racer stopped his pacing, his posture softening slightly. The humor that had been his armor for so long seemed to slip, revealing a tired, honest man underneath. He looked over at Lightning Max, who had gone completely still, then back at Mumen Rider. The air felt heavy again, but for a different reason—not with threat or cynicism, but with the gravity of a commitment made in the dark.

You are insane, Mumen, Tanktop Racer said, the words lacking his usual biting edge. He reached out and clapped a heavy hand on Mumen Rider’s shoulder, a gesture that spoke of a grudging, deep-seated respect. But the logic, as crazy as it is, holds up. If being a hero is about more than just the punch, then maybe we have all been doing it wrong for too long. If you think we can handle this thing by sticking together, then you have got my support. Just make sure you do not get us killed on your first tactical experiment, okay?

Lightning Max smiled, a quick, sharp expression that lacked its usual cockiness. He gave a nod of his head, his eyes scanning the group as if seeing his allies for the first time rather than just recognizing them. I can adjust the pace, he admitted, his voice quiet. If the plan requires me to be a pillar rather than a bullet, I can do that. I am in as well, Rider. Let us see if your theory about willpower carries as much weight as a heavy punch.

Aiko clenched her fists at her sides, the hesitation vanishing from her posture. She straightened her back, her breathing leveling off as the uncertainty in her heart gave way to a singular, focused intent. I have been waiting for a reason like this, she stated, her voice stronger than it had been all night. I am in, too. Whatever you need us to do, I am ready.

Mumen Rider moved his gaze across the faces of his comrades. He felt the warmth spreading through his chest, a sensation that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the day. It was the weight of responsibility, and yet, paradoxically, it made him feel lighter. He understood clearly the geometry of the danger that lay before them, the precise, mathematical probability of their survival if he failed to maintain his focus. He stepped into the center of the formation, his presence acting as the requested anchor, and saw that the others were already adjusting, shifting their ground to match his cadence. They were no longer a collection of disparate heroes waiting for instructions; they were a unit, waiting for the first word to guide their collective movement, their willingness to support one another shielding them from the encroaching, unseen dread of Malachar. The path ahead was jagged, yet looking at the men and woman before him, he saw the spark of a new, untethered resolve. Tanktop Racer, Lighting Max, Aiko, and Red Muffler stood together, their silence forming a barrier of mutual trust that stretched across the dusty track like an invisible shield against the coming storm. They remained in place, awaiting his command, their stances corrected and ready to move as one.

The gravel of the training ground crunched beneath Mumen Rider’s boots as he took a final step into the center of the open courtyard. Several hours had passed since he left the sterile, hum-filled silence of Dr. Hattori’s lab, hours spent pacing in the shadows of the city while the weight of the data pad pressed against his side like a leaden promise. Now, under the harsh glare of the stadium lights, he adjusted the grip on his helmet, his reflection distorted in the glass visor until he looked back at himself with determined eyes. His shins ached, a residual pulsing from the last skirmish, but the fatigue felt distant today, muffled by a strange, newfound clarity. He felt like a vessel for something larger, a conduit of potential that demanded expression.

Tanktop Racer stood across from him, his broad shoulders squared, arms folded across his chest in a posture of ingrained skepticism. Lightning Max leaned against a stack of rusted steel girders, spinning a small gadget between his nimble fingers, his eyes darting toward the horizon as if he were already halfway to the next fight. Aiko stood near the edge of the track, hands tucked deep into the pockets of her jacket, her sneakers digging shallow trenches in the loose dirt. Only Red Muffler remained still, his heavy leather jacket appearing too thick for the season, his gaze fixed on Mumen Rider with a grim, weary patience. The silence between them was thick, laden with the unanswered questions they all carried like unhealed wounds.

Mumen Rider took a breath, the air tasting of ozone and cooling concrete. He stood firm, refusing to let the familiar tremor of doubt touch his voice, and looked at them one by one. I have seen something today that changes everything, he began, his voice low but steady, carrying across the empty space between them. There is a threat, Malachar, that is not just seeking territory or fame. It is a tear in the foundation of everything we defend. The energy signatures it leaves behind are not just destructive—they are designed to dismantle the very resolve, the very humanity that allows us to fight back.

Tanktop Racer let out a short, sharp laugh that echoed against the metal walls. He uncrossed his arms, the muscles beneath his white tank top rippling with the movement. That is a tall tale, Rider. We deal with monsters every day, some big, some fast, some just plain ugly. They hit hard, and we hit back harder. That is the job. Why are you acting like this one is written in the stars?

Mumen Rider felt the weight of that skepticism like a physical wall. He looked at Tanktop Racer and saw not just an arrogant peer, but a man who used bravado to shield his own fear of inadequacy. Because this time, the hit back is not coming from me alone, Mumen Rider replied, his voice gaining strength as he thought of Hattori’s data. I have seen the way Malachar feeds. It does not just crush bone; it drains hope. If we face it alone, as we always have, we are merely fuel for its growth. But if we stand together, if we anchor one another, the feedback loop breaks. I am not asking for your strength to overpower it through sheer force. I am asking for your conviction to serve as a beacon that it cannot drown out.

Lightning Max pushed away from the girders, his movements fluid, almost impatient. He walked toward the center of the circle, his eyes narrowing in thought. You sound like you have been reading too many philosophical manuals, Rider. Speed is my edge. If I can outrun the enemy, if I can strike and retreat before it even registers the change in air pressure, how does standing next to you help? Is it not just a tactical disadvantage? Too many targets in one place?

Mumen Rider turned to face him, suppressing the urge to adjust his helmet. He felt the cold air biting at his neck, contrasted by the warmth of his red scarf. Speed is an asset, Max, but it is also a form of isolation. When you run, you are alone in that movement. Malachar exploits the gap between a hero and his support. When you stand next to a partner who believes in your cause, who validates your effort, you are not just target practice. You become an impenetrable wall of will. My presence is not meant to hold you back—it is meant to amplify what you already have so that the monster’s influence finds no purchase in your mind.

Aiko took a half-step forward, her fingers knotting together as she toyed with the fabric of her sleeve. She looked down at her shoes for a long moment before raising her eyes, which shone with a mixture of terror and flickering hope. I have always felt that, have I not? she whispered, her voice barely carrying. The feeling that I am just a placeholder in a C-class team, waiting for the real heroes to come save us. You are saying that the way we hold onto each other matters more than our ranking in the Association?

Mumen Rider nodded, feeling a surge of genuine affection for the fear she did not try to hide. Aiko, look at your hands. You have fought more battles this month than those who rely on their ego to sustain them. You have endurance that they do not recognize because you do not broadcast it. If you stand with us, you are not a support character. You are the structural integrity of the entire plan. Malachar cannot defeat us if we do not believe in its victory. Will you trust me to hold that line with you?

Red Muffler stepped forward, his boots crunching loudly in the silence. He sighed, the sound rattling in his chest, and reached up to tuck his scarf tighter around his throat. I have seen enough blood on these tracks, Rider. I have seen enough friends lose the spark in their eyes before they even hit the ground. If you are telling me that this is not just another suicide mission, that there is actually a way to pull those who fall back from the brink, then I am in. I do not care about the fame, or the ranking, or what the Association press release will say. I care about going home with my team intact.

Tanktop Racer stopped his pacing, his posture softening slightly. The humor that had been his armor for so long seemed to slip, revealing a tired, honest man underneath. He looked over at Lightning Max, who had gone completely still, then back at Mumen Rider. The air felt heavy again, but for a different reason—not with threat or cynicism, but with the gravity of a commitment made in the dark.

You are insane, Mumen, Tanktop Racer said, the words lacking his usual biting edge. He reached out and clapped a heavy hand on Mumen Rider’s shoulder, a gesture that spoke of a grudging, deep-seated respect. But the logic, as crazy as it is, holds up. If being a hero is about more than just the punch, then maybe we have all been doing it wrong for too long. If you think we can handle this thing by sticking together, then you have got my support. Just make sure you do not get us killed on your first tactical experiment, okay?

Lightning Max smiled, a quick, sharp expression that lacked its usual cockiness. He gave a nod of his head, his eyes scanning the group as if seeing his allies for the first time rather than just recognizing them. I can adjust the pace, he admitted, his voice quiet. If the plan requires me to be a pillar rather than a bullet, I can do that. I am in as well, Rider. Let us see if your theory about willpower carries as much weight as a heavy punch.

Aiko clenched her fists at her sides, the hesitation vanishing from her posture. She straightened her back, her breathing leveling off as the uncertainty in her heart gave way to a singular, focused intent. I have been waiting for a reason like this, she stated, her voice stronger than it had been all night. I am in, too. Whatever you need us to do, I am ready.

Mumen Rider moved his gaze across the faces of his comrades. He felt the warmth spreading through his chest, a sensation that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the day. It was the weight of responsibility, and yet, paradoxically, it made him feel lighter. He understood clearly the geometry of the danger that lay before them, the precise, mathematical probability of their survival if he failed to maintain his focus. He stepped into the center of the formation, his presence acting as the requested anchor, and saw that the others were already adjusting, shifting their ground to match his cadence. They were no longer a collection of disparate heroes waiting for instructions; they were a unit, waiting for the first word to guide their collective movement, their willingness to support one another shielding them from the encroaching, unseen dread of Malachar. The path ahead was jagged, yet looking at the men and woman before him, he saw the spark of a new, untethered resolve. Tanktop Racer, Lighting Max, Aiko, and Red Muffler stood together, their silence forming a barrier of mutual trust that stretched across the dusty track like an invisible shield against the coming storm. They remained in place, awaiting his command, their stances corrected and ready to move as one. «The Rallying Cry», part 4. Fanfiction — One-Punch Man.

Gathering the Allies. The Rallying Cry — One-Punch Man fanfiction | Fanfica

Gathering the Allies

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 — Gathering the Allies

Part 4: Gathering the Allies