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
  }
}


A day had passed since we stood on the training ground, the dust of the track still clinging to the soles of our boots. The world felt heavier now, as if the very air had thickened with the scent of ozone and the metallic tang of an impending storm. Mumen Rider walked ahead of me, his steps rhythmic, echoing against the damp, curved walls of the abandoned subway tunnel. We were far beneath the city streets, moving through a graveyard of rusted steel tracks and shattered light fixtures. The darkness down here was not merely the absence of light; it was a physical weight, a clammy presence that pressed against the sensors of my chassis. My internal systems reported a steady decline in efficiency. My left arm, ravaged by previous encounters, thrummed with a low-frequency vibration whenever I flexed my fingers. I could feel the hydraulic fluid leaking drop by agonizing drop, a slow loss of vitality that echoed the toll this city took on everything mortal and machine alike. Mumen Rider’s cape flickered in the periphery of my optical sensors, a splash of color against the grimy grey concrete.

He stopped, his hand straying instinctively toward his helmet, though he kept it tucked under his arm. His expression was one of profound focus, the lines around his eyes etched with the burden of leadership. I adjusted my posture, the servos in my knees whining with a faint, high-pitched protest. We were both silent, the quiet of the tunnel amplified by the occasional drip of stagnant water somewhere in the gloom ahead. The atmosphere was stiflingly tense, the kind of silence that precedes an explosion. It felt as though the tunnel itself was holding its breath, waiting for the first sign of movement to tear it apart. I checked my thermal sensors again; they flickered, reading nothing but the ambient chill of the subterranean earth. My tactical subroutines were running at full capacity, mapping the labyrinthine paths of the station, searching for any anomaly that betrayed the presence of Malachar. The oppressive silence seemed to magnify the sound of my own cooling fans, a constant, low-frequency hum that grated against my internal registers. I focused on the mechanical regularity of Mumen Rider’s breathing, using it as a metronome to keep my combat subroutines stable. He was the anchor here, his presence a calm, irrational constant in a world of variables. I tightened my grip on the remnants of my arm, feeling the jagged metal bite into my palm, though I felt no pain, only the confirmation of current hardware limitations.

A day had passed since we stood on the training ground, the dust of the track still clinging to the soles of our boots. The world felt heavier now, as if the very air had thickened with the scent of ozone and the metallic tang of an impending storm. Mumen Rider walked ahead of me, his steps rhythmic, echoing against the damp, curved walls of the abandoned subway tunnel. We were far beneath the city streets, moving through a graveyard of rusted steel tracks and shattered light fixtures. The darkness down here was not merely the absence of light; it was a physical weight, a clammy presence that pressed against the sensors of my chassis. My internal systems reported a steady decline in efficiency. My left arm, ravaged by previous encounters, thrummed with a low-frequency vibration whenever I flexed my fingers. I could feel the hydraulic fluid leaking drop by agonizing drop, a slow loss of vitality that echoed the toll this city took on everything mortal and machine alike. Mumen Rider’s cape flickered in the periphery of my optical sensors, a splash of color against the grimy grey concrete.

He stopped, his hand straying instinctively toward his helmet, though he kept it tucked under his arm. His expression was one of profound focus, the lines around his eyes etched with the burden of leadership. I adjusted my posture, the servos in my knees whining with a faint, high-pitched protest. We were both silent, the quiet of the tunnel amplified by the occasional drip of stagnant water somewhere in the gloom ahead. The atmosphere was stiflingly tense, the kind of silence that precedes an explosion. It felt as though the tunnel itself was holding its breath, waiting for the first sign of movement to tear it apart. I checked my thermal sensors again; they flickered, reading nothing but the ambient chill of the subterranean earth. My tactical subroutines were running at full capacity, mapping the labyrinthine paths of the station, searching for any anomaly that betrayed the presence of Malachar. The oppressive silence seemed to magnify the sound of my own cooling fans, a constant, low-frequency hum that grated against my internal registers. I focused on the mechanical regularity of Mumen Rider’s breathing, using it as a metronome to keep my combat subroutines stable. He was the anchor here, his presence a calm, irrational constant in a world of variables. I tightened my grip on the remnants of my arm, feeling the jagged metal bite into my palm, though I felt no pain, only the confirmation of current hardware limitations. «The Rallying Cry», part 5. Fanfiction — One-Punch Man.

The Monster's Lure. The Rallying Cry — One-Punch Man fanfiction | Fanfica

The Monster's Lure

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 Monster's Lure

Part 5: The Monster's Lure

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