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In memory of Flyin' Black Jackson
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405826 No. 405826 ID: a50d4e

My name is [REDACTED], but here I am referred to as 000, Zero for short. In this empty room I record what I see and what I think, a luxury and a curse, for I am the only one able to do so. I have come here of my own free will, and will stay here until the end, for better or for worse. As for who I am, it's not entirely important, though I suppose if my mind wanders enough, I could be persuaded to record it [0]. What's more important are those who join me here, likewise numbered 001 to 009. They're a broad variety of folks, some of them odd creatures I've never seen before, but I've been assured that all of them are "human enough"[1-9]. As for possessions, we have all been given a basic set of clothes. Loose orange pants, a white shirt, and a set of undergarments, white, with our choice of style, though nothing out of the usual. Nothing else. For the room, I've mentioned that it's empty, but that was a bit of a lie. The room itself is the size of an average apartment, perfectly square and without any walls or dividers, leaving it open. The lights simulate a day and night cycle, growing bright then dark across what feels like 24 hours. The walls are painted a plain gray, the floors a pleasant hardwood, though very dark in color. In one corner, there are two hoses coming out of the walls, one marked 'Drinking' and the other 'Washing'. The 'Washing' hose dispenses a sanitizing, soapy sort of liquid, suitable for washing clothes or people. The 'Drinking' hose has a meter beneath the sign, which appears to ration how much is available. The food is distributed by a chute, likewise limited by a meter, but different foods can be requested with three buttons marked 'Bread', 'Meat', and 'Greens', to accommodate for different diets. What specifically it dispenses appears to be random. In the center of the room, there is a typewriter at an exquisite antique desk, which I use to type this journal. The desk has several drawers, all locked, no matter how much force is applied. Another odd thing about this desk is that I am the only one able to touch it without experiencing an overwhelming pain, the same applying to the typewriter. Some of the others seem jealous about this. The others appear to be waking up now. I think I'll spend some time with them. - 000


[A few things to mention here. First of all, anything in these brackets are a prompt. You may have noticed the [0] and the [1-9]. The [0] was a prompt to describe Zero, the player character. The [1-9] was a prompt to describe his roommates. If there were an [ACTION] or an [ITEM] prompt, you could respond with an action or describe an item accordingly. I'll try to keep things fairly self-explanatory.]

[To respond to a prompt, simply add the prompt before your response or description. As an example: "[0] An average man of average demeanor, who lived an average life before now and came to this place for no reason in particular." The more descriptive the better!]

[To keep things from getting out of hand, The characters should be no smaller than a Mok, and no larger than a NORTHERN SERGAL, with some leeway in either direction. As Zero said, they are "Mostly Human", so nothing too far out of the ordinary. Also, Zero is a male. Feel free otherwise!]

[Respond to as many prompts as you wish, multiple responses will be chosen at random, though I may intervene depending on the situation.]

[One final thing, this quest will take a mostly dark tone, so keep that in mind.]
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No. 405831 ID: b6edd6

So what do you know about this place? Who runs it, its purpose, etc.

An experiment to try at some point: See if the others can use their clothes as gloves to avoid the effects of the desk and typewriter
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No. 405845 ID: a43a6c

[1]A red-haired man with a toned and muscular body. He is 6 feet 7 inches tall. His skin is only very lightly tanned. He sports a beard that hangs down onto his thick chest. The numerous thick telltale scars lining his skin make it clear that he was either no stranger to axe wounds or that he was the least accurate lumberjack to have ever lived. He is loud and brash and confrontational.
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No. 405857 ID: 2ae337

[2]A thin man of medium height, with lanky hair and clammy, pale skin. He has a nervous twitch in his left eye, and he routinely scratches the eyelid whenever it twitches. He stands with a slight hunch, and seems to keep his eyes on the ground unless required to look elsewhere. When idle, he digs underneath his fingernails constantly, using a barely visible undershirt that is tucked away under a black coat meant for someone larger than him. His voice is surprisingly deep, and he doesn't realize how loud he is, evident from his mumblings. Apparently he thought he was whispering to himself.
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No. 405975 ID: f74559

[4] A slender, but lean, female of average height in possession of...decidedly reptilian features. The most immediately obvious being a long, flexible tail and the second being smooth, pale, silver-green scales, covering her entire body. She also possesses clawed digits, pointed ears, and sharp white fangs, that you have glimpsed once or twice while she ate. Her hair is long, but well-kept, and purely white in color. Her face is also a bit odd as it pushes outward, forming a short snout, and her brilliant green eyes, possess, you believe, slitted pupils, although you have not gotten close enough to her to be certain of this. Also when washing you have noticed that she lacks a certain feature seen in human women, the mammary glands, but despite this you still believe her to be female based on her build and overall figure. 
Other than her physical appearance her most noticeable trait is that she has not spoken a word  since arriving in this room. You do not know if this is because she cannot speak, or because she chooses not to. You have also observed that she seems to be most active during the night cycle, presumably meaning that she is nocturnal,  and that she most commonly chooses 'Meat' from the food choices, although she has chosen both 'Bread' and 'Greens' on occasion, meaning that she cannot be entirely carnivorous.  
You have also seen her quietly observing the other residents and once or twice even caught her staring straight at you, almost as if sizing you up. It made you quite uncomfortable. However other than that she has more or less kept to herself and the other residents mostly keep away from her.

Sorry long description is long. 
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No. 405976 ID: fa9f7e

[3] A dead man with short red hair, freckles, and closed green eyes. He died of starvation, and is dressed in his Sunday best. In his pocket, he has a fine pocket watch, chain, and fob, and a cigar case with 3 cigars left.
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No. 405977 ID: fa9f7e

[spoiiler] I'm trying to see if I can exchange the drawback of being dead for the advantage of having stuff. If that's not possible, ignore Corpsey McDead. [/spoiler}
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No. 405980 ID: 30f433

[5] It's impossible to tell whether this... person... is male or female, as its body is hidden under what appears to be an oversized rain coat. Whatever the coat was made for must have been truly huge; the person wearing it now is at least six feet tall, and the hem of the coat still drags on the floor. The collar does not hide the person's face. Instead, its head is completely swathed in clean, white bandages, which continue down its neck and under its collar. Whenever the figure moves, there's a slow scraping sound, as if it's dragging large claws or some sort of heavy object under its coat. It doesn't seem interested in food yet, though it has taken a few experimental sips from both the "Drinking" and "Washing" hoses. It's hard to tell which, if either, it prefers. After making one failed attempt to use the typewriter - its hands are unbandaged and surprisingly elegant, with long fingers and human-looking skin - it retreated to a corner of the room and has been muttering under its breath. Its voice is mid-range, and it could - again - be either male or female. If there are words in the muttering, it's impossible to make them out.
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No. 405990 ID: b4474c

[As for the clothing of the residents, it has already been determined, with the only choice in the matter being their undergarments, though specifying that is optional. Please design accordingly.]
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No. 406016 ID: 2f8db2

[6] A young woman apparently not entirely of human descent, as made apparent by unusualy large eyes with yellowed sclera and milky, nearly translucent irises, and fragile, papery pale skin that stretches into thin membranes between her digits. her black hair is closely shaven, leaving short grey fuz upon her head. she has been sociable enough to any who approach.
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No. 406540 ID: 6e1234

[7] A younger looking girl with big dark eyes and very pale skin made even more so by her long, black unruly hair. She is very jumpy and nervous and seems untrusting of everyone else. Occasionally she seems to start at noises that no one else hears or stare in fright at things that no one else sees. A few times she even seemed to be talking to things that were not there and one time in a language that no one else recognized. 
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No. 406550 ID: 8c2977

[0] a middle aged man with salt-pepper hair just beggining to thin, with fine mellato skin that shows the first signs of thinning around the knuckles. His physique is strong yet lean, with most of his muscle hidden by the loose clothing provided. His steel grey eyes have a powerful gaze, but remain heavily lidded even when he is at his most attentive, giving him a false appearance of innatentiveness.

His hands are broad and long, and deft, with strong fingers that suggest he once worked with ropes, but he has too few scars to be a sailor or logger.

He rarely smiles, but is not of grim mood, he merely seems a very calm individual.
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No. 406552 ID: 8c2977

Meant to be a sort of cross between Kees Van-Loo Macklin and Jean Luke Piccard, with some "I am Not a number, I am a FREE MAN!"
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No. 406586 ID: 1b6a00

[9]a blu haired youg girl...(:
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No. 406589 ID: 1b6a00

>>406586
sorry i was joking,[9]a tall man with a muscular body, many scars, gray hair and a short beard
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No. 406712 ID: 13d5ea

[8]A tall, lanky, male teenager with a shock of blonde hair. While rather quiet and reserved he has been amicable to all who approached and becomes rather animated after talking to someone for awhile. Also he has notable small black horns sprouting from the top of his head and strange, bright orange eyes.
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No. 406804 ID: c62a0e

[5] a blu haired girl, thin and tall for her age, her green eyes sparkle against her tan complexion.
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No. 407227 ID: b4474c

"Human enough". That seems to apply to two of the others in particular. Three is what common media would call a "Zombie", though he's personable enough. Speaks in a wretched, mangled voice, but keeps his manners and stays mostly intact, even when washing. His orange hair is missing in spots. The other oddity is a woman who appears to be born of both man and reptile, with long white hair, keeping mostly to herself. I managed an introduction, and found that her number is Four. One and Nine are both tall, bearded men, aggressive and confrontational to the point that one misstep on the other's part could lead to a full-out fistfight. I wouldn't intervene. The primary difference between the two is that One's hair is a fiery orange, with Nine's a dark black. Two and Seven put me at unease, mumbling to themselves as their eyes dart to and fro. Two is male, appearing unhealthy with his thin frame, long dark hair, and clammy skin, though his voice is startlingly loud, unbeknownst to him. Seven looks to be the female version of Two, though her voice is much softer. Her murmurs are just as odd, as she speaks to nothing in a tongue decidedly alien. Six and Eight are the middle ground between normal and strange, both possessing very strange eyes, with Six's yellow and milky and Eight's a frightening orange. Six appears to have an odd skin condition, fragility one of the symptoms, and her hair is shaven. Eight appears to have two small horns coming from his forehead, and his hair is blonde. Both of them attempt to strike up conversations with the others, but typically end up speaking to each other. The final guest,  Five,  is a young girl with blue hair and green eyes, who spends all of her time singing repetitive songs to herself. She is by far the most terrifying thing about this whole experience, as she has yet to eat or drink a thing, while the rest of us woke up starving and dehydrated, including Three. As for myself, I am a middle-aged man, somewhat muscular from years of odd-jobs supporting my writing habits. My hair is greying, as is my unshaven stubble. I do not know if it will continue to grow in this place, as there is still much to learn. On that note, all events leading to my being here are beyond my recollection, a blank whiteness is all I can envision when I think back to my meetings with the representatives of this place. It is entirely possible that this is some sort of purgatory, as if this were one of those fiction novels with an out-of-place twist ending, but I'll assume for now that this is reality. It's much less complicated that way. Now, as I wait for something eventful to happen, I must think of something to do[!]. I could speak with the other "guests", or simply go about on my own whims. There is still so much to learn about this place, after all...
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No. 407266 ID: 882cf5

Observe the two manly men as they bicker.
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No. 407296 ID: b6edd6

Test out the thing with the clothes as gloves, or talk with the talkative two.
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No. 407318 ID: 450b8d

Yeah I would suggest going over to talk to the two who have seemed the most open so far.
Then maybe after having a friendly chat with them you can ask if one of them would be willing to test the clothes as gloves suggestion.
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No. 408450 ID: 0c680a

Observing the two large men is amusing in the same way as watching a bar brawl, but with twice the tension. They argue in circles about benign things, shouting close enough to spit in the face of the other, but no actual contact is made. When they start repeating topics, I move on to more productive things. I spoke with Six an Eight. Our conversation is pleasant, speaking mostly of banal topics, like the taste of the food and the actions of the others. Eight seems interested in the reptilian girl, if only because she is the most exotic of the guests. Perhaps it's a romantic intent, but that has never been the area of my expertise. None of the guests, the kindly pair included, are willing to touch the desk or the typewriter after the first attempt. They liken it to being stabbed by a white-hot blade, though there isn't a single mark upon them to prove it. Taking their word on it seems to be the best course of action until we have more dependable forms of protection, or at least an object to act as a proxy. As I finished typing, something caught my attention, and by the commotion, that of the others as well. A door, with a metal '2' embedded in the center, appeared along one of the empty walls. The orange-bearded man was the first to approach, and nothing ill happened upon his touch. There wasn't a doorknob to speak of, but it was set ajar at One's touch. From what could be seen through the crack, the room inside is pitch black. Nine, not to be outdone, shoved the door open, and it was swallowed by the intense darkness. They are now speaking amongst themselves about what should be done about this strange portal, and I find myself reflecting upon my thoughts to find the best course of action.[!]
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No. 408455 ID: 48bd6c

look inside
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No. 408474 ID: a43a6c

"Man, you'd have to be really brave to go in there. Braver than anyone else in this room. Yeah, to just charge in there would make you braver than everyone."

Or something to that effect.
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No. 408592 ID: 450b8d

Go in
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No. 409612 ID: 328c98

My curiosity had bested me, and summoning as much bravery as I could, reached my hand into the blackness... Or at least I would have, if it did not resist my touch, forcing my hand away with some invisible force. I made several attempts at it, even going so far as to ram it with my shoulder, but I was tossed backwards with just as much force as I put in, sending me tumbling to the ground. I looked to the others, judging their reactions. The only one completely unfazed was the blue-haired child, a naive curiosity beyond anything else. She began to approach the door, but the lizard held her back, fearing for her safety. The large men had been glancing from one another to the door and back again since I had first been denied entry, as if waiting for the other to make a move. I decided to encourage them. "My, it would take a brave one to try the door after what's happened to me. I think it may be impossible." The intended effect was seen immediately as they attempted to shove each other aside to get into the door. Nine had made a last-minute strike against One, and slipped into the portal a second before the orange-haired man. When One flung himself against the doorway, he was met with the same resistance I was, sending him even further than I from the intensity of his rush. He was left dazed, and the door was left shut, this time with a '1' embedded in the centre. I opened it once again, greeted by the very same emptiness that continued to deny me access. The remaining of the "manly" pair had begun shouting curses at the door as he picked himself up. What none of us had noticed, save Four, was that Five had broken free, and was already jumping into the shadows before anyone had time to react. One let loose a mighty roar as he barrelled at the door, and yet another when he smashed himself against a blank wall, leaving himself bloodied, but the room itself no worse for wear. Six and Eight attempted to comfort Four, who was quite distressed over the loss of Five. It seems she holds maternal feelings toward the younger guests. The dark-looking pair were both muttering worried words to themselves in their odd ways, and Three was taking it all in stride, a grin across his decaying face over the unfolding drama. It was an hour of tense waiting before the portal reappeared. What emerged had drawn a scream from the reptile, a laugh from the ghoul, and panicked gasps from the rest. The blue hair and green eyes, matched by a coating of dark crimson. In her hand she held a butcher's knife. The portal closed. Nine did not return.
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No. 409614 ID: 3eab24

Whoever is most skilled in doing so disarms her and takes her to the ground. Then they can hold her there while we ask "why the fuck".
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No. 409721 ID: f74559

She must be pretty strong to take down One though, not to mention crazy for randomly killing someone anyway.

I suggest everyone keep their distance and be wary of her right now. If you send anyone to subdue her, send the zombie (if he will agree to anyway) since he's already dead and seems to find this all so amusing.
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No. 409722 ID: f74559

>>409721
Oops sorry, she killed Nine.
He's still a big strong man though.

Also, maybe try talking to her? If she really is insane it probably won't help any, but it doesn't hurt to try.
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No. 409841 ID: 2c0e3c

I've told everyone to keep their distance, and only come to my aid if thing turned violent between me and the girl. I would rather resolve this with words than violence, even if she was something far more sinister than the young girl she appeared to be. She was prancing about, humming off-pitch tunes to herself. She had yet to wash the blood off, which made the scene all the more disturbing, but I steeled myself and approached, speaking in the calmest tone I could. "Hello, Five. How are you doing?" She turned to look to me, wearing that same blank smile she always had. She looked to me for some time, so I continued. "So, what happened in the room? What happened to Nine?" Her laughter was staticky and distorted, and her voice was that of three at one, all a different tone. "The voice told us to fight. We fought. I won!" She giggled, which sounded as if it echoed upon itself, and I took a step back as she began running her thumb across the blade of the knife. I couldn't notice if he had cut herself through all the blood already present, but I'm going to assume that she did. "How did you beat him? He looked much stronger than you." "Would you like for me to show you? You look much stronger than me." She started walking toward me, and I backed away, still waiting to call for help. It was a decision I regretted quickly, as she leaped at me and slashed across my chest, cutting through my shirt and leaving a gash in its wake. One decided that this was reason enough, and charged in, tackling her and pinning her to the ground by her wrists. She didn't take kindly to that, and in response let loose an abyssal, blood-curdling scream, loud enough for the sound waves to be visible! All the guests, myself included, were stunned by this horrifying noise, and Five took this chance to plant her feet against One's chest and kick him away with far more force than a human of her size could manage. The seedy-looking man recovered soonest, and managed to sneak up behind her. Grabbing we by the shoulders, he swung both himself and the girl toward the typewriter's desk. I had recovered enough to follow through, and slammed into her hard enough to send her crashing into the desk. Neither the desk nor the types righter budged an inch, despite the fact that she had hit it hard enough to knock her into a daze. Her touching the desk did not draw a scream, though it did draw smoke from her staggered form, an effect I had yet to see. Perhaps it was the force she had hit it with, or maybe the duration of the contact. As I contemplated this, I heard a thunderous roar from behind me, and turned to see One stomping towards the prone Five. He towered over her, and as she looked up to him, covered in the blood of his rival with a grotesque grin on her face, he likely felt no remorse when he kicked her against the desk. One's expression was grim, but remorseless as he continued to stomp her against the agonising surface. When she finally did scream, the only other sound was that of Three's laughter. [10, 11]
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No. 409845 ID: 3eab24

[10] A woman, with a body that one may note as that of a supermodel's. She wears her deep brown hair at shoulder length. Her eyes are blue, but a close examination reveals a tinge of green. She keeps to herself and appears rather put off by the freakshow that she has found herself in a room with.

She claims to not be able to stand blood or violence, but in reality she gets a certain... pleasure out of having another's life in her hands.
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No. 410559 ID: 252e1b

[11]A solidly built woman, one with a matron's air to her. She has a lantern jaw, short-cropped black hair, and thin lips. She is missing the last joint on her right pinky finger, a freshly stitched flap of skin the only clue as to what happened to her finger.
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No. 410600 ID: bf669f

Five's body seemed to disintegrate into nothingness after she finally passed, and the knife along with it. We were unable to pull it from her hands, no matter how hard we tried. Four was deeply shaken by all of this, so both me and the friendly pair spent some time calming her down. She appears to be more friendly, now, though she has retreated into a corner to gather her senses. One has been sullen over the loss of his rival, and has taken to sparring with the walls to vent his frustration. We spent the rest of the "daytime" washing ourselves up and having something to eat, not much conversation going around. Night passes with the same lack of activity. I tend to sleep propped up against the desk, it seems. As the next morning dawned, there were two more of us than I had counted the night before. Two women, one young, one old. The young one held the appearance of a supermodel, though the plain clothing suited her poorly. She appears to be grateful of my presence, as the "less human" of us has put her at unease. Her being here seems to have confused her somewhat, but she was able to remember her number just fine. Ten. She wore it as sort of a badge of honor. Eleven was something entirely different. Solid build, short black hair and a stern jaw. She would look more in place at an orphanage, with her matronly mannerisms. She has taken to trying to enforce manners among us, what with us sleeping splayed out wherever we pleased, and "bathing so openly". One doesn't like her. One odd thing about her is that the tip of her right pinky finger appears to have been crushed. She refuses to speak to me about this, and without reason to push her, I will leave it at that. Now, I've noticed that my journals have been very detached. I've been contemplating whether I should include more personal details about my activities, or if I should keep to this more efficient style[!]. As I mull this over, I can speak with any of the guests, try and learn more about the room, or I can simply wait until something like the door comes up again[!!].
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No. 410736 ID: 13d5ea

If you want to include more personal details then go for it.

I suggest attempting to talk to either Two and/or Seven. Especially Two since he seems like he may actually be an alright guy with how he helped out with Five.

If that doesn,t work out, then search around the room again to see if there's anything you missed.
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No. 410771 ID: 252e1b

Ask Eleven what solution she proposes to the sleeping and bathing arrangements. Given current resources it doesn't seem like much can be done, but perhaps she has an idea.
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No. 410799 ID: a43a6c

More details are good.

Talk to the new arrivals about their pasts. Play rock-paper-scissors with the lizard.
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No. 410840 ID: d79664

^Oh trout you always think outside the box.
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