webAppInput

SceneIdQuery

myProfile

scene

query SceneIdQuery(
  $id: ID!
  $webAppInput: WebAppInput
) {
  myProfile(webAppInput: $webAppInput) {
    ...MyProfile_myProfile
    id
  }
  scene(id: $id) {
    ...Scene_scene
    ...SceneMedias_scene
    id
    order
    rating
    title
    seoTitle
    seoDescription
    isPublished
    isScheduled
    publishedAt
    content
    story {
      ...Story_story
      id
      isMine
      commentsAccess
    }
    prevScene {
      id
    }
    nextScene {
      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
    videoGenerate
  }
  activeGenerationJobs {
    id
    type
    status
    story {
      id
      authorTitle
    }
  }
}

fragment SceneMedias_scene on Scene {
  id
  story {
    id
  }
  mediaAttachments {
    id
    media {
      id
      type
      origin
      status
      previewSrc
      mediaSrc512: mediaSrc(size: 512)
      mediaSrc1024: mediaSrc(size: 1024)
      videoPosterSrc(size: 1024)
      generationError
      userPrompt
      finalPrompt
      rawPrompt
      activeGenerationJob {
        status
        currentStage
        id
      }
      mediaAttachments {
        id
        story {
          id
        }
        scene {
          id
        }
        character {
          id
        }
      }
      embeddedInScenes {
        id
      }
    }
  }
  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
  }
}


Hours later, Hermione’s legs had gone numb. The crates pressed into her spine, and the smell of damp concrete and stale alcohol coated her tongue. She blinked against the gritty ache in her eyes, forcing herself to stay alert. The men had settled into a lazy rhythm—bottles clinked, low laughter rumbled, and the scrape of boots on the floor came in slow, careless intervals.

She risked a peek around the edge of the crates. Harley lay crumpled near the center of the room, her legs still bound, her body limp. No one was looking at her. The men had gathered around a makeshift table of stacked pallets, cards scattered across the surface. Rex was laughing at something, his voice loud and slurred. Dmitri sat with his back against the wall, eyes half-closed. Leo hovered at the edge, clutching a beer bottle he barely touched.

And there—past them, past the flickering light of a single bulb—was a door. Not the main entrance where they had come in, but a smaller one, set into the far wall. A rusted handle. No lock visible. It might lead to a stairwell, a corridor, a way out.

Her heart hammered so hard she thought they must hear it. She pressed her palm against her chest, trying to steady the rhythm. If she could just get to that door, if she could move silently, quickly, while they were distracted…

Rex slammed his cards on the table and bellowed, “Read ’em and weep, boys!” The others groaned. Garrett laughed and reached for another bottle. Viktor smiled—a thin, cold thing—and took a long drag from his cigarette.

Hermione eased herself out from behind the crates, inch by inch. Her tights snagged on a splinter, but she didn’t stop. She came to a crouch, then to her feet, keeping low. The door was maybe twenty paces away. She moved like she had never moved before—each step deliberate, the balls of her feet finding the ground without a sound. She kept her eyes fixed on the men, ready to drop at the slightest turn of a head.

Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. The air was cold against her teeth.

The door grew closer. Fifteen paces. Ten. She could see the rust flaking off the handle, the gap beneath the frame where a sliver of darkness showed. Freedom, just beyond.

A floorboard creaked under her boot. The sound was tiny—a mere whisper in the noise of the room—but it cut through the laughter like a knife.

Garrett’s head snapped around. His eyes locked onto hers.

For a frozen second, neither of them moved. Then his lips curled into a grin.

“Well, well, well.” He was on his feet in an instant, crossing the space in three long strides. Hermione bolted for the door—her fingers brushed the handle—but Garrett’s hand closed around her arm, yanking her back so hard she stumbled, nearly fell.

“No—please—!” The words tore out of her. She twisted, clawed at his grip, but his fingers were iron. He dragged her away from the door, into the open space of the room.

The other men turned. Rex’s grin widened, showing gaps where teeth should be. Leo looked away, face pale. Dmitri merely watched, his expression blank. Viktor rose slowly from his seat, the cigarette still in his hand.

“Let go of me!” Hermione kicked, her boot connecting with Garrett’s shin. He grunted but didn’t loosen his hold. Instead, he shook her, hard, rattling her teeth.

“Quiet, little mouse,” he growled. “You’ve been hiding long enough.”

Viktor walked toward them, his boots clicking on the concrete. He stopped a few feet away, looking at her with a cold, appraising stare. “So. The student finally shows herself.” He took a drag from his cigarette, blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “Bring her to the center. I want to see her properly.”

Garrett yanked her forward. Rex stepped in, grabbing her other arm, his thick fingers digging into the soft skin of her bicep. She thrashed between them, her school tie coming loose, her blouse pulling free from her skirt.

“Please,” she gasped, her voice cracking. “Please, I won’t say anything, I just want to leave, I promise—”

“Promises are cheap,” Viktor said, turning his back on her and walking toward the middle of the room. “Bring her.”

They dragged her. Her boots scraped against the floor, leaving skid marks in the dust. She threw her weight backward, but they were too strong, too many. Garrett’s hand shifted to her hair, twisting the blonde strands, forcing her head up.

“Stop struggling,” he hissed in her ear. “It’s only going to get worse.”

Her vision blurred with tears. She saw the crates where she had hidden, the door now so far away, the broken shape of Harley Quinn still sprawled on the ground. This couldn’t be happening. She had almost made it.

They stopped in the center of the room. Viktor turned to face her, arms crossed. The other men formed a loose circle around her—Garrett and Rex still gripping her arms, Dmitri standing at Viktor’s shoulder, Leo hovering at the edges, unable to meet her eyes.

Hermione’s breath came in ragged sobs. Her whole body trembled. She felt small, so impossibly small, caught in the bright glare of the single bulb.

Viktor studied her for a long moment. Then he smiled, slow and deliberate.

“Now,” he said, his voice low and calm, “we can begin.”

Hours later, Hermione’s legs had gone numb. The crates pressed into her spine, and the smell of damp concrete and stale alcohol coated her tongue. She blinked against the gritty ache in her eyes, forcing herself to stay alert. The men had settled into a lazy rhythm—bottles clinked, low laughter rumbled, and the scrape of boots on the floor came in slow, careless intervals.

She risked a peek around the edge of the crates. Harley lay crumpled near the center of the room, her legs still bound, her body limp. No one was looking at her. The men had gathered around a makeshift table of stacked pallets, cards scattered across the surface. Rex was laughing at something, his voice loud and slurred. Dmitri sat with his back against the wall, eyes half-closed. Leo hovered at the edge, clutching a beer bottle he barely touched.

And there—past them, past the flickering light of a single bulb—was a door. Not the main entrance where they had come in, but a smaller one, set into the far wall. A rusted handle. No lock visible. It might lead to a stairwell, a corridor, a way out.

Her heart hammered so hard she thought they must hear it. She pressed her palm against her chest, trying to steady the rhythm. If she could just get to that door, if she could move silently, quickly, while they were distracted…

She waited. Breathed. Listened.

Rex slammed his cards on the table and bellowed, “Read ’em and weep, boys!” The others groaned. Garrett laughed and reached for another bottle. Viktor smiled—a thin, cold thing—and took a long drag from his cigarette.

Now.

Hermione eased herself out from behind the crates, inch by inch. Her tights snagged on a splinter, but she didn’t stop. She came to a crouch, then to her feet, keeping low. The door was maybe twenty paces away. She moved like she had never moved before—each step deliberate, the balls of her feet finding the ground without a sound. She kept her eyes fixed on the men, ready to drop at the slightest turn of a head.

Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. The air was cold against her teeth.

The door grew closer. Fifteen paces. Ten. She could see the rust flaking off the handle, the gap beneath the frame where a sliver of darkness showed. Freedom, just beyond.

A floorboard creaked under her boot. The sound was tiny—a mere whisper in the noise of the room—but it cut through the laughter like a knife.

Garrett’s head snapped around. His eyes locked onto hers.

For a frozen second, neither of them moved. Then his lips curled into a grin.

“Well, well, well.” He was on his feet in an instant, crossing the space in three long strides. Hermione bolted for the door—her fingers brushed the handle—but Garrett’s hand closed around her arm, yanking her back so hard she stumbled, nearly fell.

“No—please—!” The words tore out of her. She twisted, clawed at his grip, but his fingers were iron. He dragged her away from the door, into the open space of the room.

The other men turned. Rex’s grin widened, showing gaps where teeth should be. Leo looked away, face pale. Dmitri merely watched, his expression blank. Viktor rose slowly from his seat, the cigarette still in his hand.

“Let go of me!” Hermione kicked, her boot connecting with Garrett’s shin. He grunted but didn’t loosen his hold. Instead, he shook her, hard, rattling her teeth.

“Quiet, little mouse,” he growled. “You’ve been hiding long enough.”

Viktor walked toward them, his boots clicking on the concrete. He stopped a few feet away, looking at her with a cold, appraising stare. “So. The student finally shows herself.” He took a drag from his cigarette, blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “Bring her to the center. I want to see her properly.”

Garrett yanked her forward. Rex stepped in, grabbing her other arm, his thick fingers digging into the soft skin of her bicep. She thrashed between them, her school tie coming loose, her blouse pulling free from her skirt.

“Please,” she gasped, her voice cracking. “Please, I won’t say anything, I just want to leave, I promise—”

“Promises are cheap,” Viktor said, turning his back on her and walking toward the middle of the room. “Bring her.”

They dragged her. Her boots scraped against the floor, leaving skid marks in the dust. She threw her weight backward, but they were too strong, too many. Garrett’s hand shifted to her hair, twisting the blonde strands, forcing her head up.

“Stop struggling,” he hissed in her ear. “It’s only going to get worse.”

Her vision blurred with tears. She saw the crates where she had hidden, the door now so far away, the broken shape of Harley Quinn still sprawled on the ground. This couldn’t be happening. She had almost made it.

They stopped in the center of the room. Viktor turned to face her, arms crossed. The other men formed a loose circle around her—Garrett and Rex still gripping her arms, Dmitri standing at Viktor’s shoulder, Leo hovering at the edges, unable to meet her eyes.

Hermione’s breath came in ragged sobs. Her whole body trembled. She felt small, so impossibly small, caught in the bright glare of the single bulb.

Viktor studied her for a long moment. Then he smiled, slow and deliberate.

“Now,” he said, his voice low and calm, “we can begin.” «A wrong turn», part 4. Fanfiction — Harry Potter, DC Universe.

A wrong turn — Caught in the Act

Part 4: Caught in the Act