wake, possibly try a windy thing, check if your soul is still intact

|| |:| Wake Up << ||



You awaken with a lonesome chirp. Or, really, you just decide to readjust in a way that stirs you from your resting position. You weren't really asleep to begin with, considering your floor is hard, flat, and by all means uncomfortable.

Sure, it might've felt like sleeping. But really, you just sort of dozed off into a sort of daydreaming state. You're not even having a good enough time processing you're all there, let alone where you're at.


|| |:| Do the Windy Thing << ||


Not only are you too tired to understand whatever that means, but you're quite entirely sure that you're most incapable of anything vaguely elemental at the moment, if ever. If you knew how to manipulate any elements, you wouldn't be sitting in a cell. You'd be warm. And full. And happy.


|| |:| Check to see if your soul is intact << ||


You're pretty sure you've got all your soul with you. Not like you'd be doing any kind of proper living, breathing, or thinking if you didn't. Kind of a silly thing to consider, really. The nightmarish daydream might've made you doubt it, but...

No, you feel it's all there. Along with the rest of your limbs. And your exoskeleton. And your eyes. Yep, everything's there. Even the stale piece of bread you tried using as a pillow. And no, that didn't work, either.

You're too tired to really reflect on anything clearly. A lot of things in your head are foggy from your lack of proper nutrition and comfortable sleep, so you're not immediately processing everything. So whatever nightmare, daydream, sleep-deprived hallucination, whatever plagued you last night, you also can't remember. Nor can you recall anything attached.

Except that stinging pain, but no, you checked. Limbs still there. Hearts still beating.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You can only process a few things, right off the bat:

1. You still woke up on a flat prison cell floor. That didn't change at all, unfortunately. It wouldn't have been as bad if the cell had anything like a cot for you to sleep on, but folks like you don't get that treatment.

2. As far as you can tell, everything external about you is intact. But you're not really awake, and you don't have any reflective surfaces, so you can't exactly get a good look at yourself in any mirrors. Something else you miss. Reflection.

3. Despite not being able to do any weird windy thing, you do hear the wind outside, despite not having any windows. The wind almost sounds pleasant from the inside, but with how quiet the prison is, for whatever reason, it just comes off as creepy.

4. The light to your cell finally broke while you were trying to doze. So if you CAN see anything, it's dim as Kh'ik. Normally, your stellar Night Vision would solve this, but -- Since you're deprived of sleep, that ability is dulled significantly. Meaning still not helpful.

5. You also might have hallucinated about something overnight, but you can't remember what. Until you get some proper sustenance and rest, hallucinations might continue plaguing you, for it. It's best not to swing at things until you know they're real.

This in mind, you can't do much. But what will you do, anyway?

|:| [[ Free Command Text ]] <<

if bread is guilty of failure properly subsitute as a pillow, then it is to be executed by consumption.
EAT DAT BREAD!

|| |:| EAT DAT BREAD << ||


While unappetizing, you do try to wake yourself up a bit with a light snack. Or heavy snack, considering the bread is harder than rock. Trying to bite into it reminds you of exactly that.

You're used to grinding up hard materials, such as bone, but the bread has been there for so long that it's beyond any breaking point. To be honest, it might make a good weapon, instead.

After chipping something inside of your mouth, you decide to add the || BREAD BRICK || to your inventory, instead.

The pain sharpens your senses some, so you're not as tired as before, but it doesn't help much further than that. But hey! It's something!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Now what?

|:| [[ Free Command Text ]] <<

Try to recall what you had hallucinations about

|| |:| Recall Hallucinations << ||


You try, but for the most part, your hallucinations over your term of imprisonment haven't been good. So far, you've had a three-headed serpent and a Pleiadeian Prostitute with Seven Chest Sacks for imaginary cellmates, you got into a made-up playfight with Captain Ionide, The Most Legendary Space Pirate in your Home System, and you had some kind of nightmare, but that last bit is the only one you can't recall at all.

You also remember hallucinating that you actually had friends before, but you know that for all your years asail, you've never made one honest, good friend in your whole life.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Anything Else?

|:| [[ Free Command Text ]] <<

Check out your room! And while you're at it, check your inventory!

Maybe you've still got an... ITEM on you?

while waiting for guard to come by, grind BREAD BRICK against the wall to carve a handle. Or dig a hole in the wall, whichever comes first.

|| |:| Check Room << ||


You'd like to correct your senses by stating that it's much less a room, and more a prison cell, but honestly, you're not in the mood for immediate spitting of sass.

The cell itself is plain, but not low-tech enough for normal escape planning. It's very dark, due to your cell light blowing out while you dozed, and most of the steel comprising the surfaces has all but faded, leaving it a more desaturated hue of the color of Arsenic.

You have nothing to sleep on but the floor, and with the room being built like a Pyramid, it makes it uncomfortable to try to sleep in any way that doesn't face the walls. You hate the way they're made, how improperly they lean, like that's just their intention, that's just their point, to feel suffocating to you. You hate confined spaces. Hate, hate, hate confined spaces.

You have a useless washing basin along the wall, broken down the center of the bowl, where the glowing green fluid already has dried trails around the cell. Most of the walls have similar dark streaks of stain, but you can't tell if that's all blood or urine. Or spit. Point is, it's been this messy ever since you got here.

There are loose bricks all along your walls, but you've never checked those. The exit to your cell is at the lowermost left corner of the cell, a barred grate leading down into a jagged hall.

There appears to be no keyhole or lock on the grate. But obviously, there wouldn't be. That's old tech. Usually, you'd just require a password for the bars to disappear...


|| |:| Check Inventory << ||


Your Inventory is, for the most part, empty. You've checked countless times after your hallucinated friends gave you false gifts, but nothing has ever miraculously appeared.

... Except a pair of || BROKEN GLASSES ||. Those are new.

You don't recall picking that up. But you decide, if the guards left it on you, maybe they thought it was important. Who knows? Maybe it is? You don't know. Maybe you just stole it.

You keep the glasses in your pocket. You're thankful you still have the clothes on your back.


|| |:| Grind Bread Brick Into Handle ||


You decide to occupy yourself in the meantime. You begin gnawing the || BREAD BRICK ||. It might help sharpen your teeth instead of chip them if you don't try to eat it, and if you keep at it long enough, you might make something useful. But that's a very low chance, there.

You haven't seen the guards pass below your cell in a very long time. You don't know how long. But you don't really care. They always made rude remarks at you, anyway.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

This won't keep you occupied forever. You know that, right?

|:| [[ Free Command Text ]]

First, check loose bricks, see if any of them lead to a convienent opening.
If that fails...
Bust down that door and prepare to kick butt and take names!...
SPeaking of names, what's yours?

|| |:| Investigate Loose Bricks << ||


That's an easy course of action. It only takes a bit of stumbling to find yourself up against the wall, and with four opposable thumbs to work with, your search starts off on a nice, fast note.

Most of them don't hide anything. For the vast majority of the cell, it just seems like age has made for shitty construction. You can imagine these probably would've been fine works of steel before, but now they're useless, startlingly lightweight bricks. One of them cuts the thumb of your upper left hand.

You manage to find the corpse of a headless pest, and a small set of notes, neatly folded around it, like a nest.

|| DISGUSTING NOTES || and || HEADLESS SMALL PEST || have been added to your inventory.


|| |:| Bust down cell door! << ||


Not that you haven't already tried, you decide to saunter on over and give the cell grate a kick.

Nothing happens. Trying to kick it again unintentionally swings your paper thin leg through the bars. You get it stuck around your knee joint before pulling it free.


|| |:| Search for Air Vent << ||


The cell itself is searingly cold, but the cold never bothers you. Still, you decide to search for an air vent anyway.

In the meantime...


|| |:| Introduce Yourself << ||


Oh! ... Oh, that's right! That's riiiiight, that's right, that was another thing you forgot! Your name! How rude you were not to reintroduce yourself to... yourself. No, but seriously, how could you forget your own name?

... Actually, to be honest, you forgot what you even look like. You've had no reflection or basic senses to go off of, being imprisoned with no sensory stimulation for so long. In fact, other than basic identity, you've been in here so long, you've forgotten more of your specific details. No wonder your memory is so terrible around everything else.

That's not a good sign.

But you do remember basics.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

First off, your species reigns priority over your name. To try and help yourself remember the rest, you list your basics.

You have a hardened metal exoskeleton. Whether it's actual metal or something very much like it, you don't remember.

You have four arms and two legs. All four of your arms taper, and the exoskeleton over your limbs is just as jagged as it is everywhere else. Scrapes and scars of numerous alien sorts riddle the plating. Your legs are as thin as a dancer, and don't immediately show any feet.

You can't recall how many eyes you have, but you can process a much higher number of colors than anyone in your system. You don't recall how many.

Your mouth is made sharply, almost like a beak, but with the serrated edges, the thin rows of long, lean teeth, and the seams horizontally and vertically along, it doesn't open normally. Mandibles would clutter it.

You're also huge. The cell was made to make you feel suffocated due to your height, but for your kind, you're considered a runt. Your build is wiry and crooked, but fit. Least, for your type.

And you have wings, but they aren't functioning properly right now. You can't see them, due to an injury in your neck that prevents you from currently turning your head too far left or right.

What does that sound like to you?

|:| An Insectoid Kind of Alien <<
|:| An Avian Kind of Alien <<
|:| An Automated Kind of Alien <<
|:| An Unnatural Kind of Alien <<

It *sounds* like An Insectoid Kind of Alien.
(though I would prefer being the automated type)

If you can hear the wind and feel the cold though the stones of your cell I assume it is either thin or shoddy enough that you could eventually pick your way through them. When the guards take you, where do they take you? (since you think they *left* the glasses on you that would mean the entire you moved)

An Avian type of being

Possibly... Automated alien would fit? After all, them taking you apart bit by bit would explain you being brought to and fro from the cell. You look too big to get out on your own.

Either automated or unnatural kind of alien, buddy. Maybe you're one of those weird biological lookalike robots? Either way, you don't seem like the typical drone...

You are... Automated! Machinated! Made by ... ... ... SOMEONE. Somewhere. You don't remember. Not in the best of shape, but hey, you were the pinnacle of your craft, for a defect.

You're just about to go on to explain how you remembered, but something else distracts you. Namely, a dribble of fluid falling onto your crest, and down between your optics.

You're standing right below the topmost peak of the pyramid cell. You don't recall it ever dripping onto you, but you do recall the leaking dripping you normally heard never sounded as thick. The consistency isn't the same. It's the likeliest place for the air vent, but...

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

|:| Look up <<
|:| [[ Free Command Text ]] <<

a turducken!
But seriously you're an unnatural alien of some kind...Or is it automated? Hard to tell the difference, you're either made well or very much resemble a machine.

If the cell was built for a machine-lifeform, do you use air as a propellant? Tell me about your senses?

Oh, for the love of...

Don't even look first! Get your brick of bread and swing!

|| |:| Act << ||

You don't have time to consider yourself as your senses come around. You swiftly lunge, one set of claws dangerously sinking into an unprepared, slimy skull, as you bring your brick of bread out and around -

You land a direct hit! There's a choked shriek, a crack of plated bone, but you don't stop there. You occupy your other three hands, trying to pull down the writhing, pulsating thing, and you continue bludgeoning the skull in.

It's for the most part, soft, but tough. You wouldn't be able to tear it, but bashing it's head in, on the other hand, was a good option.

Claws dash forth, and there's a terrible scraping of your helm that leaks fluid, but another blow dazes the pest. Two hands free themselves of fattened flesh to take hold of the claws, keep it from striking, or try to at least, while the fourth hand still keeps hold of the skull.

It struggles. It screams. It spits awful things upon you that you really hope don't erode Illumium. Maybe it's vomit. Maybe it's acid. But you pray it's not acid.

The sound of its' pain echoes. The sound of it struggling, of the weight falling upon you as it tried to bash and scratch at metal exoskeleton echoes.

The sound of you proceeding to beat it to death does not. The cracking of bones and squishing of blood, feces, and flesh, does not echo.

You're thankful your time in the cell hasn't aged your joints enough to make you useless. And you're most thankful right now that your flesh isn't on the outside.

You're also very thankful that you're not built to process enough smell to fully take in how awful it smells. The sounds are bad enough.

You finally crush something that throbs inside the head, and it ceases. The beast falters, and seems to sputter a moment in disgusting fashion before falling limp and heavy onto you in fullest fashion. Last fit of vomit included.

You decide not to let it linger and roll it off. Give it another bash for good measure once you've got it off.

It doesn't move. You officially pronounce it dead, then return to the air vent to inspect.

The air vent is too small to use as an escape route, but now that the pest, or whatever it was, is dead, you no longer hear the wind-mimicry of it breathing. Nothing else moves through the airway. Nothing breezes through.

Either something has plugged up the airways elsewhere, or the air conditioning of the place just failed massively. Which would explain why you're reading it to be so cold. But at least now, you've got suspicions as to why the place has been so quiet.

You hope those suspicions aren't too thorough, though.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

What will you do now?

|:| [[ Free Command Text ]] <<

Inspect damage state.

|| |:| Inspect Damages << ||


You decide to give yourself a quick inspection, now that you've dealt with the vent pest. Your helm bears a large crack down to the synthetic flesh, where transparent fluid leaks through. You would assume it's your function fluid, but as the pain is beginning to dull and your sensors aren't failing, you can easily deduce that your armored exoskeleton has saved you from more significant damage there. More of the mess is more around your mouth and below than in any infectable wounds.

You bear about eight scrapes, four deeper scratches, and one of your hands looks to have been twisted out of ordinary angle. You twist it back with only a minute shudder of system pain registering.

Most of the only tragedy you suffered is you got the bile, blood, and brain fluid of the pest all over you. You're so thankful your smelling sensory state isn't as good as it could be, otherwise you'd heave. You were never fond of gore.

Good heavens, though... what WAS it?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Inspect...?

|:| Airway <<
|:| Unknown Corpse <<

It's time to act fast. Get to the high ground and leave peace time activities to scientists. The fast eat the slow. Inspect the air vent as fast as possibleö

|| |:| Inspect Air Vent << ||

It hardly looks like you could fit yourself inside, but it seems like your head can get in easy. Not that you really want to, considering the mess, but you try anyway.

You stick your head up the Air Vent.

And there's absolutely nothing in there.

Not even a drop of squishy sludge.



























Bewildered, you pull your head back down, only to notice just as well that the air vent now looks spotlessly clean, save for a few deep cracks made by you.

You look back down where the body was. That, too, is gone.

There is now no sign of the struggle, nor of any of its fluid on you. In fact, the only thing you look to have beaten up with your || BRICK BREAD || is one of your own hands. Which now looks mangled, by the way.

You cyberorganic systems malfunctioned. You have apparently, once again, hallucinated. And once you process it wasn't real, the sound of wind returns, officially settling you back in reality.

Whoops.

You decide to try and clean yourself up, or at least, consider it, until you realize the wash basin is practically useless as filthy as it is. Instead, you get back to gnawing on the || BREAD BRICK || and picking away bricks.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You don't know how much longer you can last if you begin hallucinating about murderous things. You need a way out. But the wall isn't giving.

|:| Think <<

Too dizzy to think.

>hallucinated
Well shit.

>But the wall isn't giving
well then.

Are the bars to the cell in the same state as everything else here? using bricks to knock one out or to knock out the material holding them in place might work.

|| |:| Try Grate Again << ||


After you've spent long enough picking at the wall, with nothing giving or loosening in sight otherwise, you decide you've gotten yourself into enough trouble with maybes.

The grate is old, far beyond any good condition for protocol checks, but normally opens under a Password. Breaking it with something is another option, but you only have one thing to do breaking with. You have one heavy brick and a lot of light ones. That could bring some ideas up.

Your legs are too thin to kick it in, but if your || BREAD BRICK || was enough to mangle one of your hands, it might help out with the grate. That would sort out one problem, though propose another.

You decide to risk it, gods willing. You take the || BREAD BRICK || back in one of your better hands, slowly kneel, and swing.

The sound is unpleasant to auditory sensors, resonating loudly and with horrid vibration. It unsettles some dust, but doesn't do anything at first.

You strike it again. And again. And you decide to continue doing so until something shifts, and that's either going to be you or the bars.

So something is going to give first. Eventually.

Waitwaitwait... password? Don't you have a bunch of notes you could look through for that?

You stop beating the grate.

You consider your options, your current aches... and decide to check your inventory.

You take out the || DISGUSTING NOTES || you retrieved from one of the loose brick openings. You'd forgotten you picked these up, to be honest.

They're disgustingly stained, a lot of brown and blue and gold on what used to be innocent, fresh toilet paper. You realize that it probably came from the previous cell inhabitant, and that the broken wash basin you pointed out earlier... might not be a wash basin.

Thank Heavens you didn't clean yourself up in that.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Do you really think these would help...?

|:| Read Notes <<
|:| Continue Beating Grate <<

Read notes

Yeah, read them. I kinda forgot about them.(my god that is terrible memory on my part)

|| |:| Read Notes << ||


You decide that it wouldn't hurt to read up. But you seriously don't think anyone would hide a password in here, do you? You hope nobody was that stupid. Otherwise, you'd seriously question the previous ethics of this place.

There are seven small notes in total, looking to have been written well by small hands. At least, until the last notes. You read from the cleanest piece of toilet paper to the filthiest.


|| Disclaimer |:| The Pieces will be Posted Shortly, Please Hold ||

Chocomaca 2014/12/09(Tue)13:21 No. 610301 ID: 1c677c
File 141816010636.png - (68.47KB , 906x460 , darkness.png )

I can touch my mind... It's really getting dark. I can't read these notes, just wait...

Your reading in the dark is unfortunately beyond the point of needing an upgrade, and you feel perhaps your optics were tampered with before you woke up. Regardless, you focus, and parse the language as best you can. Your translator is sub-par in its current condition, but do your best on translating the unstained bits of the notes as you can.

They don't appear to be signed by anyone in particular, but the writing is shaky. Especially in later notes. Translating may be patchy in the last bits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I don't know what the other clans were going on about, but these giants are most hospitable! It's only been three months since we first crossed them, and they've already made allies out of us!

When these creatures first came to the land, they frightened everyone, especially with their loud construction materials and their heavy armor. The others were frightened, and at least four of our neighbors attacked them to no avail. We were warned, even by our rivals, not to approach them, not to dare address these gargantuan new neighbors until they could be dealt with. But that's just big, fancy talk for " we don't want anyone making friends with these tools before we do because we just want to stay in the cheese age! " , blah, blah, blah.

Well, look at where we are! We, the Micca, the meek and minute, we the smallest, we who were looked down upon for our physical weakness and our pathetic craftsmanship, we've been honored! Here we are, with our own top-class home area, with bulletproof sliding doors as thick as shields, disguised as bricks, with whatever food and warm materials we need at beck and call! Whose to say that Micca couldn't make friends with monsters?

We were always the crafty ones. We were always looking for knowledge where our neighbors couldn't. And now we've gotten them to agree to share it with us! Oh, I could just dive back into my drinking out of joy!

I hope our tour goes well tomorrow! Hah, I hope I get enough sleep! I'm too excited to even curl up!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


This place is larger than I can imagine. Others have snuck off past curfew to explore, and they've never come back for it! It's terrifying, but oh, is it great! It's a grand kind of terrifying! It's as if we've trespassed the halls of gods!

We've already learned how to purify our drinking water, and the results have been fantastic! Our folks back home report the water tasted much better after using the tool they sent, and nobody puked for it! The giants are cautious about what to show us, since we seem really curious for ourselves, and they don't want us going in over our heads. Pah! Have they no faith? We're friends! We won't do them harm with their tools!

I've taken only to brief detours after the others started disappearing, so I haven't really discovered a lot of fabulous things, but that won't stop me from trying! I think one of the giants, a smaller one - perhaps defective? - might have seen me, last night, but they didn't seem to notify anyone. Nobody has confronted me on it yet.

One of the others had an allergic reaction to the cheese dish they brought today. Poor Sess. Her throat swelled up, her head looked fit to burst, it was ugly, it was awful! Oh, poor Sess!

But the giants were on her in seconds, with softly padded gloves and really big looking pointers. They stuck something in her throat, long and thin, and she seemed to relax in under a minute! She's been asleep since, but she's just gotten back to breathing normally, so I suppose they've got a lot more under their belt than just food expertise.

The Council confronted me on my expeditions, by the way. They don't trust the Giants at all, and they don't want me getting hurt for my naivete! Hah! They're just too comfortable to seek anything better for their trouble! I know what I'm doing! I may be close to their age, but I'm not as lazy as them yet, no sir!

I heard the heavy scuffing of more metal in one of the locked rooms, during our lunch tour. The door is sealed pretty tightly, and we weren't really told about it, but I plan on seeing what that is by the end of the new month.

... Also, one of their holidays is coming up this weekend. I think it's a feasting holiday? There are far too many complicated smells coming from the kitchen, so we've all been thrown off with our tracking. But they assure us, we'll get our share when the day comes!

Perhaps this is another reason for their abundant hospitality? I can only hope it's as grand as it sounds! It smells too good in here to ignore!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I don't know what went wrong.

There was an accident today. Only our second month of free supervision, and... and one of the giants, I don't think they saw us, but they ended up stepping on someone. Krimm. Krimm, the poor man, he's blind, he - he didn't see it coming, it sounded awful!

There used to be more accidents with our free roam, but the giants always took extra caution about them, and comforted us plenty! Yet, in recent weeks, they sound more stressed, they rush past us, we've missed meals...

After that feasting holiday - which the giants informed us was part of Wasteaway, or something that sounded like the words - they've been a lot busier. We've taken to the cleaning basin more often, but it's not cleaned as often as it used to be.

Our curfew was cut by four hours. But I've snuck past it. I've learned how to bypass my little door, how to cheat it! I'm smarter than the others when it comes to locking mechanisms, like that! I haven't rusted about it!

But the more I'm looking into things, the weirder it gets. First, that room of steel tables and covered shapes, then the cupboards in the kitchen, the papers on the desk of one of the giants, it doesn't make any sense. And I've asked my giant friend about them, but she's oddly dodgy about it. She almost seems scared.

They never did tell us why they came, like they promised. Is that why they're scared?

After one of the younger ones disappeared today, curse the kids and their curiosity, I can't sit still. I need to know. I'm sneaking out again after this journal is folded up. I can't sit still anymore. I can't sit still. I can't sit still. Too cold. Too cold.

Micca aren't easily swayed. Not easily. Not easily. Not easily.

Do I sound weird? Or is it just me?

Is it me? Is it me?


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I can't believe it. I can't believe it. No, no, I can't believe it, I shan't! I shan't! Nothing in that folder made any sense! Nothing!

Are they afraid of themselves? Are they their own enemy? Enemy? Enemy? No, it doesn't make sense! It doesn't! It doesn't! They're scared of something, I hear it, I hear it, I hear it beating below the bricks! Beating, beating, beating, beating beating beating -

Get a grip! I can't keep losing myself, not like this, not like this... The sound has stayed in my head ever since I, ever since, since, since...

The door! It was the biggest giant's office, the door, the door, it was locked, but I've been sneaking, sneaking, sneaking, gnawing at the corner, my teeth... my teeth are ruined! But the doors are weaker than the bricks! I snuck in, I snuck in, and, and, and... and...

It watched me! I swear, that statue watched me from the desk! I could feel it, I could hear it, I heard it, I heard it, I hear it, I hear it, it beats! It beats, it beats, like a heart! Statues don't have heartbeats! Statues are carved! Statues are made! Little statues do not beat, beat, beat, beat, bebeat, bebeat, bebeat, bebeat -

Focus!

They're looking for something. They made base here, looking for something, they thought we'd know. We don't know. We don't know! We don't know!! They keep describing it, details, details, details, nasty little details, but we do not know! We do not know!

Why do they keep hurting us? They don't want to! They don't want to! I know! I know!

Why us? Why us? Why us? Why us? Why us? Why us? Why us?

Why won't the sound leave me alone! I can't sleep!

I can't sleep!

I CAN'T SLEEP!



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


They stole it. They stole it, they stole it, they stole it. It was their fault. It's their fault. Not ours. Not ours. Not ours. Not ours. Not ours. Squirming spawn, not ours, it's theirs, it's theirs, it's theirs, it's theirs, it's theirs, it's all theirs, theirs, theirs...

Can't lose track. I can't, I can't, I, I can't lose track, I have to think. Think. Think. Think. Thick. Thickest blood, thick, so thick, so thick, thick, thick, drip drip dripping against the brick, the others lost their patience, they paid, it's their fault, not ours. Not mine. Not mine. Have to keep. Have to keep. Thinking. Not mine.

Theirs. Theirs. Theirs. There! There! I know what they want, I know where it is, it's there, it's there, it's there, it's there, it's there, it's there, it's there, it's there, there, there, there, there, there, there, there, there, there, there, there, there, theretheretheretheretheretheretheretheretheretheretheretherethatsnotrightfocus, focus, focus, focus, focusfocusfocus, focus...

Focus! Drown it out! Drown it out, drown the drums, drown it out! Focus! Have to get the others. Have to get them out. Survivors. Have to help them. Have to help. Can't leave friends, can't leave, can't leave friends, friends, friends, password, password, password, need the password, pass, pass, pass, pass, pass, pass, pass, past, past the hallway down the second stairwell into nothing is better than this what bliss is there to the beat of the drums drums drums drumsdrumdrumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdudmdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdudmdumdu
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Actually, the last piece seems blank.There's red all over it.

After processing why there is red all over this piece, you decide to discard the last piece with much disgust.

You inspect the || HEADLESS SMALL PEST || again. Except you notice something new.

There seems to be a smaller body in the limp arms. It isn't much less decayed than the headless body, but it is not, in fact, headless, and while now fused to the older body due to manner of rot and mold, it seems to be holding something.

You take the || TOILET PAPER FOOTNOTE || and give it a once over.

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granpas dead. papas dead. most are dead.

everyone else gave up.

i think i will too.

the password isnt important anymore, anyway.

besides, theyre not our friends anymore.

they wouldve stayed if they were.

gods guide our spirits home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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You look away from the note back to the || HEADLESS SMALL PEST || and the attached smaller body. Something cold and heavy seats itself in your head.

None of that made any sense. There were too many contradictions, and too many facts against too many falsehoods, you felt that much. But you can't help wonder about it.

You take a brief moment of silence for the previous inhabitants of your cell, then set to sorting yourself out.

It seems that the rodents you've been tossing about were in fact planetary natives. Micca, if you translated properly, and fortunately, that is a pre-downloaded language for any basic bot due to their common state, but you couldn't process everything properly, of course. You're not in condition to. So obviously, there are probably bits left untranslated below the stains.

Back on track, then these new folks came in, they made friends with the Micca - not a difficult task, if you know them well enough - made deals over knowledge, and... Well, that's it. The rest gets complicated and confusing and doesn't set anything straight afterward. Beyond that point, it seems out of order. Perhaps the writer in question wasn't processing events in proper time?


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


You process that this cell actually might have been clean once. And that it might not have originally been a cell until made one.

Most facts past that point, including the words of the beheaded rodent, make no sense. No help at all. You still don't know any passwords. You still can't get out of your cell. You still don't even know how you got into the cell in the first place, and worse, you now realize that for a cell supposedly crisp as a whistle in those notes, it had to have been a long time before you were stuffed in there in the poor condition it's in now.

Either you can sort out the weird notes and try to sort those events out for yourself, and hope perhaps, that you are mistaken, and you still could make your way out with them, or you can forget about it and go back to escape planning. Your choice.


|:| Put Facts in Order <<
|:| Get back to Work <<

>put facts in order-
we can't really force our way out of here. If we could, we wouldn't be here.
Let's sit and try to figure out what's up here, and where it all fell apart.

|| |:| Put Facts in Order << ||


You decide to try to set things straight. Key term being try. Considering how confusing the notes got in the end, that's not going to be a walk in the park. However that saying goes.

The facts you have settled as sensible are these: You were stuffed in here for reasons not exactly coming to mind by those who may have been considered new inhabitants, but those new inhabitants haven't shown up in a long time, meaning they may have abandoned you. This sounds eerily similar to what the Miccan creature wrote, save for the fact that instead of being outright captured, the ones who took them in were originally very friendly, up until one of their holidays passed. That, and you don't recall any drumming noises, or beating, save for your own.

You can't tell how much time passed in-between the rodent's notes, but they had to have been there for months at a time, and still could tell that time, while you're no longer able to tell time on your own. Not only is your internal clock busted, you don't recall any of the windows being left open when you last saw the halls. These new inhabitants either boarded them up, or they were already sealed off when they got here.

According to the Miccan, the "giants" seemed friendly at first, but the deeper that the Micca looked into things, and the longer the Micca stayed, the less friendly, and the more paranoid, they became. A part of you also thinks the giants may have had to do with the other Miccans disappearing, but perhaps you're just skeptical about their two-faced nature. Or perhaps they thought the Miccans found too much when sneaking off, like the writer of the notes did.

You also have a strange feeling in your processors about the statue mentioned, but you feel that the statue may be the least of your concerns now, with your current situation. You just want to get out, and get back on cosmic sail, and put all this behind you. You're not treasure hunting this time.

But both "giants" and Micca seemed to react improperly to it. Or perhaps it was just the Micca? You don't know if the "giants" were affected before their arrival, or if they were immune, or what, but if the statue was somehow influential, you feel the worse victims are the Micca. Their minds, though crafty as they come, are some of the weakest around. It wouldn't take a lot, be it science or sorcery, to drive them mad.

The original reason the "giants" even came is unclear, but that part is obvious enough to assume on. At first, the Miccan writer mentioned that they thought the "giants" were looking for something, but the more involved they became, the more they started insisting they stole something. Perhaps something that now made negative impact, that they felt they needed to return? You don't know if it's the statue they're worried about, but that would make sense.

If you tried adding that up, then the "giants" might not have been foreign at all. They had to have been there before. If the delusions are some kind of communication method from whatever they disturbed, they had to have come there before, before the Micca ever heard about them. There they disturbed something, or stole something, and took it with them. But something made them come back, and it scared them on a lot of levels.

This doesn't add up as to why the "giants" suddenly disappeared. But that part seems fair. After all, your captors seem to have vanished as well, but considering the vast time difference, it'd be difficult to see it as related.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


So these "giants" come, they take something, they leave, but they disturbed something. Something went wrong, something scared them, so they came back later, but they ally themselves with the Micca for help.

If they just wanted to return what they took, they wouldn't need help, unless the statue had been with them so long, that the original thieves possibly died, and took their knowledge of the icon's original resting place with them.

The statue drives their inheriting kin paranoid, and drives the Micca mad, and either the Micca are left to starve on their own or commit suicide.

The newcomers abandon them to their fate somewhere before this point for unscripted reasons. The inhabitants then die, the untold time passes, and your captors bring you here to lock up and collect dust.

It is unclear why their benefactors and your captors both abandoned you to your fates, but you don't process any beating or pulsing noises. If it's the same reason, you're otherwise unaffected, but if it isn't, then you're a victim of terrible coincidence.

This really isn't what you signed up for. If there's anything threatening here, you don't want to stick around. On the other hand, investigating might also put your doubts at ease, but there are more negative connotations to that than good.

Really, you don't care much for it, seeing as you just want out. But it's entirely your decision.

Do you really want to stick around and investigate, or get out of dodge like any smart start? There's no telling what it'll bring you, after all, and you don't know if you'll even find anything rewarding. For all you know, it could be a wild goose chase.

Do you really want to accept this as your first mission?


|:| Yes <<
|:| No <<

Iunno if taking this mission is gonna be smart, but I mean, it might be important in the future? Maybe? It's pretty obvious we're not just going to end shit here, so why not pick up some tips and tricks along the first hunt, huh? Maybe we should?

|| |:| Canonize first quest! << ||


You decide that it couldn't hurt to investigate. After all, it's not like it'll have any lasting impacts or mistakes! Like any other quest you've embarked on before your capture!

... You're kidding. You need to keep a sense of humor here when trying to focus on other things than hallucinations.

Still, it could prove itself to be valuable. You just do a little side-investigating while making your way out, and who knows? You might get a few nice little trinkets for it! Win-win, right?

Right!

You consider disposing of the || HEADLESS MICCAN WRITER ||, but after considering the note the smaller body left behind, you decide to keep it with you. In your pocket. Because obviously you're not going to hold it in your hands like a base-class bot, gross. You've got enough muck on you as is.

Despite your new objective, you still need a way out of the cell, though.

Think, think, think...

...hang on. The toilet paper pieces from the writer didn't help us, but that supposed kid corpse mentioned a password... What's the Miccan word for "friend"? Or "friends", plural?

|| |:| Consider Riddle << ||

Well, the singular term for "friend" in Miccan is "Lhycza", but the plural term would be -

" Lhyczes. "

There's the painful sound of rotten metal sliding into unbefitting shafts. Startled, you look down.

The grate slides open.

Now you just feel stupid. But hey, at least you've got some opportunities to progress now.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


The grate leading out of your cell is open, but in your regular state, you're too big to fit through. This is the second problem you mentioned to be posed before. But it doesn't mean it's beyond solving. It's just, well, you don't like the possible solution.

The air vent seems easy to destroy, but it doesn't seem like it would support your size or your weight under any circumstances, especially in such bad condition.

So what now?


|:| Think <<

You decide, while you're thinking, to iron out a few facts on yourself that you also forgot, before you, predictably, forget anything further.

Your creator dutifully dubbed you Faust. If you ever forgot your name, it wouldn't be hard to remember, due to the fact she engraved your name into the band of titanium around your neck seam. You don't remember much of her at all, save for her gender and the fact she cursed in more than 150 languages when you were originally stolen from her. Whatever happened to her at this point, you haven't been around to witness.

You are a Cyber-Organic Reconstruction [[for]] Proper Sentience Establishment, or a CORPSE, which is the common term used for higher-class superior intelligence machinations built with the sole purpose of replication or restoration of lost life. You are illegal in most every universal system registry you have recorded in your database, but you are not illegal in a total of thirty galaxies. Out of an entire universe. Sometimes the rest of the sentient universe is slow to accept such things. You've never complained.

Your life beyond that point is blurry at best, mostly due to the shoddy condition you're in, so trying to focus on specifics or sort too much of yourself out is a challenge right now. But it didn't get any easier from there, or any better. You're here for a reason. Albeit, a reason you deem ultimately unimportant, but a reason no less.

Though your exoskeleton is constructed of Elysium Alloy, a cheap and unhealthy choice considering all the top-dollar material that went into your flesh synthetics, your Elysium Exoskeleton is stronger than any part of the flesh beneath. The synthetic flesh beneath is highest of its class, at least, when kept in good condition, usually proving itself extremely difficult to tear, yet easy to mend due to the threading. Despite the fact the flesh synthetics reconstruct easy, they're terrible to tear apart, even though you are more than capable of tearing yourself apart for purpose. In the past, taking you apart has been the only way the guards ever got you out of your cell, but someone usually stuck around to put you back together after diagnostic appointments. However, as nobody has come by in ages, you doubt you'd be able to reconstruct yourself with such ease.

You originally were built to stimulate and enhance all the feelings of organic life, from temperature detection and defense mechanics down to pindrop-tested auditory sensors, and most inbetween. However, with the condition you're currently in, a lot of your senses have otherwise been shot. Your defenses to temperature have been blown, but you've been exposed to it so long you're just about numbed to it, your impervium alloy teeth chip at the slightest spots, and you can't taste anything, let alone properly assess the toxicity of suggestible sustenance. You feel worse than organic at this point, but maybe you've grown intolerant to it.

Thankfully, while cheap, Elysium is difficult to deteriorate or damage unless struck by something equally powerful or potent, but your synthetic flesh has desensitized and weakened. If you took yourself apart to what was necessary to squeeze through the grate, you might not be able to put those limbs back together.

You probably won't until you find help, let's be perfectly honest. If you weren't honestly just tired of rotting in a triangular box all this time, you'd just sit around huffing about it until your next diagnostic. Which still isn't ever coming, you remind yourself. You've got to keep yourself reminded you're alone, after all. Wouldn't want to get comfortable.

Well, let's discard the hand we mangled in our earlier hallucination, if we've got to lose something. Maybe the arm it comes attached to as well.
I'm tempted to toss the wings as well, but there's no garuntee we cannot get them working again, and while they're likely to be large and cumbersome as far as air-vent crawling, they could be invaluable later on.
The legs COULD be tossed, which might be interesting to try, but I'm not keen on it unless we're sure we want to keep our legs-without either, we're going to have problems moving about.

Maybe...
discard two arms, maybe only the one depending on how much we need to toss to fit.

Most all your limbs are detachable at the joints, including your wings, but your head has to remain connected in order to function well enough to progress. You consider the size of the grate in comparison to yourself.

You decide to get out, after processing. Your wings are detached first, and depressingly enough, they're probably the only things you don't feel coming off. Your back feels much lighter, in fact.

You kneel down, then gently maneuver the detached wings through and drop them to the floor. The resounding clatter is enough to leave a vibrating sound in the air, but nothing else. It's just metal hitting metal.

You then decide to remove your one mangled arm, lowering that through as well, before taking hold of the grate side with your remaining hand, and gingerly lowering yourself through. It's a wee bit cumbersome with three other arms, but it's an easier struggle than you would have had with the wings, and it only results in a bunch of scraping.

You drop into the Hallway on light feet, thankfully missing stumbling on your dropped wings and arm by a few inches. You have to keep yourself hunched over to some extent, at best, due to still being taller than the hallway is capable of meeting some way. But you'll get to stretch soon enough.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


You have entered the HALLWAY.

The scene that greets you is beyond old, but still ugly. Uglier than before, to be quite honest. It's a compact hall made more for shorter organic species than for your tall frame, smoothly seamed compared to the cells, but similarly rough in texture, with a lot of marks on the wall that look to be from designated weapon discharges and fluid expulsion. Specifically, blood and gunpowder. Looking down the hallway, the flickering lights illuminate for you what your broken cell light only hoped to ever hide.

Seven or eight guards lay dead, mutilated in some rather comical fashions, but the fact your captors are butchered in the hallway while you were laying dormant doesn't bode well. The other grates, those that led to your cell neighbors, are opened as well, so you can either assume it was a jail break you slept through, or your voice-activated password opening the rest. Judging by the two dessicated bodies that fall from their respective cells, and the silence from the rest, you easily tell the latter. Apparently you seem to be the only escapee, for the time being.

That doesn't erase the fact your guards are dead, though. That spells foreboding in bright, kitschy letters, which would presumably be neon if you were to spell them on any funny little signs. Which you can't. Which depresses you. Because you could really use a funny moment right about now.

Beside the point, the hallway extends down both ways, LEFT and RIGHT, both of which lead to other hallways to explore. The LEFT TURN looks to have had the lights shot out, but the RIGHT TURN still seems somewhat illuminated. There is nothing for decoration in this hall, sensibly enough, but you could probably loot the bodies of the guards for potential inventory.

Better late than never, you guess?

|:| [|| Free Command Text ||] <<

search the gaurds, search the gaurds!
And...Let's go into the darkness...
a bit meta but basically, we're the Gorgon, the Monster, and the Hand loss I think relates to that burnt on the soul orb thing. So we're likely to be unpleasant and going to have a deformity as a result with our main/from now on If I get this quest and how it works.

 

|| |:| Turn Left << ||


You decide to loot the guards. Old habits die hard, after all!

They hold very little valuables, so someone had to have plundered them beforehand, but you manage to pick up a few small toys for yourself!

You have added || BUNDLE OF WEAPON SCRAPS ||, || ARM ||, || PAIR OF WINGS ||, || PACKAGE OF ELECTRIC CIGARETTES ||, and one || PLATINUM BELT BUCKLE || to your inventory. You also decide to wear one of their hats. It matches, even if it's a bit small for you.

The prisoners' corpses bear no fruit, so you decide to go left. After all, you've spent enough time in the dark, right? Why break the habit?

You nearly trip over a pair of guard bodies crossed over eachother, but you make your turn and head down the Left Corridor.

The only sound seems to be your feet and some scuffling pests, but there's a heavy breathing somewhere down the hallway. You were right about the windows, though; they looked to have been sealed over in steel, the seams for the work covered haphazardly by some hideous abstract paintings.

You remember your auxiliary lights, and try to activate them, but you only get futile clicking and flickering. Seems your lights are busted, too. Figures.

You rest one hand along the wall to keep your balance and sense of direction, and to make sure you have something to feel for if you trip. You continue to fumble over corpses, but you're not immediately as daft on your feet.

The heavy breathing is louder than it was before, but you can't tell why. You feel the shuddering chill of possible panic come back, and palm the shape of the || BROKEN GLASSES|| in your breast pocket for comfort. It seems to help, minutely.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


The new hallway has split into two divergent paths, now, but at the end of this hallway itself looks to be a door-like outline, if you can make it out to be one, and that might mean elevators or stairs. There is also more fluid leading down the Right Corridor turn, and a potted plant at the Left Corridor Corner.

The heavy breathing seems to echo, leaving you disoriented on which direction it's coming from, but you want to avoid the trouble.

|:| Continue Forward <<
|:| Turn Left <<
|:| Turn Right <<
|:| Turn Back <<

Blood's always a god sign, right? Anybody else wanna go right?

|| |:| Turn Right << ||


You decide to take the Right Turn down the corridor.

You continue feeling the || BROKEN GLASSES in their pocket, and it seems to help further, the more you focus on that instead of the breathing noise. Instead, the heavy breathing dies down, and you understand the sound now to just be more of the unstable air vent. You would've hated to have tried climbing through those before, only to suffer something horrible of anything up there.

You take great care not to slip in any of the fluid, continuing to feel along the wall, until a door is found half-open. A flickering light beams strongly from inside despite unclean conditions. The fluid in front of you is revealed to be more blood.

Lots more. Leading right into the room.

Hey, you introduced yourself earlier! Do you really have to keep referring to yourself in that person? I like your name, c'mon!

A point is made, and Faust takes a brief moment to collect himself.

His memory fails him fruitfully here, so he hasn't been able to keep track of the unimportant things. Especially when the name is still on his engraving panel, where it remains safe. But he supposes a change of tone is in order, for himself, here.

He looks to an engraved plaque the door's light illuminates. It now comes to attention why there is a lot of blood there; Faust has officially entered the Medicinal Wing of his Unknown Floor.

He palms over an engraved letter plaque, and enters the lit room, A180. The light sears his optics, brighter than the broken lights the last lit hallway before his cells gave him, but he's able to clearly see the little blue room for what it is. Finally, he can see something without hindrance. For once.

The room itself is dejected. Though thankfully taller than the Hallway, thought not by much, and still uncomfortable, it is a room one would consider small regardless, with four soft-looking beds inside. These beds are split off into pairs, one pair split by tattered curtains on the left side of the room, the other pair split on the right, with a short cabinet and broken bookshelf inbetween, and about six more hideous paintings litter the walls. Unfortunately, there is very little blood on the walls here, and none of it covers the horrible art. If only.

Three out of four beds are diagonally set, and terribly upset, either disheveled by struggle or purely by bad caretaking, but the fourth has been viciously overturned, over by a corner, where it looks to hide a body beneath a white sheet. The body doesn't move at first glance. The sheets of the others are either in messy folded piles, or in ruins on the floor, where they're stained. That'd be awful for an organic, really. One of the blanket bundles looks to have been defecated in, too.

A holographic photograph flickers in static near the rightside beds, set on the corner of the bookshelf, seemingly ruined by the water running from a broken flowerpot which was tipped over beside it. The flower is gone, but the vase remains.

Faust looks over the Holographic Photograph, or what little of it shines through the distortion. It looks to be a figure of an aquatic grayish-green lifeform with cephalopod roots, from what he can vaguely tell. Unless the tentacles are distortion imagery. The figure is posed in front of a hotel with three non-polyp kind Cnidaroid creatures, and the whole group looks to be striking ridiculous poses in front of what can barely be told as a resort. Features aren't clear, and colors in the photograph blur and bleed significantly due to the static, distorting anything distinct, but he would assume this was a family picture set for one of the patients. Using stock images for empty frames is considered universally illegal, anyway.

Cautious, he looks over to all the bloodied messes under overturned sheets around the room, stepping over another one gingerly as his optics move over to the body in the corner.

Out of the goodness of his programming, he steps back over to clean up the water with part of his coat, then proceeds to move the broken vase away from the photograph. He dries off what he can.

He then steps back over the mess on the floor again, looking the room over.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


Care to investigate?


|:| [[| Free Command Text |]] <<

Describe architecture

|| |:| Describe Architecture << ||


There's not a lot to describe, really. The cell Faust was in before was paneled like bricks because it was made to accommodate many small folks, but this room itself is not made for that, and follows the same architecture as the last hallway lit, as he assumed the rest of the building did.

The walls are flat, but there are a lot of crooked seams running along the wall, almost giving the areas where they merge the look of hexagonal shapes. Some of the only blood on the wall dried in lumps, leaving a very unpleasant texture closer to the floor, which he can hardly tell for the looks of it by how much blood and blanket covers it.

He assumes, logically, that a room with such plain, functional architecture, was meant to be decorated artistically by accessories so that it stood out. The paintings lined along the wall, barely hanging onto their slots, and the choice in drapery, show this.

He thinks the room would've looked nicer with a tapestry or two of linen draped around the light fixtures, which hang from the ceiling like drying wax, but at this point, it doesn't really matter.

The only nice-looking parts of the room left are the curtains separating both pairs of beds. They're very nicely embroidered, even if older than dirt, so the saying goes, and he assumes that the blanketing of the beds would've mimicked such, if they weren't stained so terribly. Compared to all the steely blues of the place, however, the curtains are a nice shade of green, and the blanketing of the beds, if he's not terribly mistaken, looked to be some kind of near-white blueish-green mixture. Usually, he would be able to name the colors immediately, but most of his processing ability, as previously mentioned, is bunked.

It's a very nice infirmary room setting. He's sure most organics loved it back in the day. But right now, it was just gross to be around.

|| Disclaimer |:| A Discussion page has been established! Please see this page for any quest inquiries and debate, as well as a place to argue your artistic interpretations of characters, items, and places, so as to see what will be canonized as what you draw in the story. ||

Check the weird blanketed lump in the corner, if you feel brave enough.

Check whether the blood is from natural emergentic occurance or something abnormal

|| |:| Investigate abundant blood << ||


Faust struggles to kneel down to the messy floor, careful not to let his knees hit the metal. He takes this moment of rest to look over the mass trails of blood. Most of it looks to have been dragged in here, while it looks like other areas of blood were spontaneously pooled here from sudden death. With the lack of ejected blood along the walls, he suspects it had to have been done with a specialized tool. He only knows a few that could be responsible.

Folks were either incapacitated here, or were dragged here to get cleaned up by weaker figures. At least, that's what the reddened beds and messy floors tell him.

He doesn't quite like that.


|| |:| Investigate blanketed body << ||


He pulls himself back up to his feet, then awkwardly shuffles over to the body-like shape in the corner. With some good effort, he manages to push the overturned bed out of the way, before he makes the somewhat painful effort to kneel again.

Just in case, he quietly bares his || BREAD BRICK || in one hand, while another very, very slowly moves to pull away the sheet - - only to discover a pile of bloodied up tools, and...

An Ace Applicant?

Faust looks over the pile of discarded tools and the discarded weapon. Most all the tools are dried bloody from lack of use overtime, from saws, to scalpels, to scissors and shivs... Most of these are either broken and useless or merely bloodied up, dulled to bluntness, and hidden for personal recovery. They'd make for some good improv weaponry should he decide to combine them with anything in his inventory, seeing as they're useless on their own.

He picks up the Ace Applicant. The assault rifle is small, for his size, and obviously is missing a lot of key components, but otherwise, it would make a very good bludgeoning weapon until he found better.

Ace Applicant Assault Rifles, otherwise just known as Ace Applicants, are an ingenious, but by organic terms, inhumane weapon, invented by a particular looney outcast of the clinical claws of the black market medicinal branch. When threats became too much in the Pleiades system for a particular party's business to go well, their local doctor decided to act, and the Ace Applicant was born.

The weapon itself only grew popular due to smuggling, but it's seen as universally cruel, even if efficient. Mostly for the fact that, while it takes forever to charge manually, a full charge has enough power to erase the skin from a target. Partial charges eliminate less skin, but the damage is still awful, by heavens, and the burning afterwards still leaves it in agony hours after it's been mended.

There's a note attached, which he translates.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I FOUND THIS ALL ON MY OWN!!

ITS MINE NOW, I PUT MY NAME ON IT!!

BOSS IS DOING INVENTORY, SO IM HIDING IT HERE!!

NOBODYS TO TOUCH IT UNTIL I COME GET IT!!

UNDERSTAND?!

ITS MINE! MINE!! MINE!!! THAT MEANS DONT TOUCH!!

- BOBBY

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It appears that this is just a pile of tools someone scavenged up to hide here during an inspection. Most legal folks don't want anything to do with this kind of weaponry, so that'd mean your most likely suspect for the folks responsible for the building massacre would be criminals.

It would prove a lot more useful than the || BREAD BRICK ||, but only if he keeps it long enough to fix it. And that could be a very long time.

Otherwise, it's just a tougher bludgeon.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


On one hand, having such a tough weapon will not only boot out some of your lighter inventory, due to the space it takes, but will prove invaluably useful should you get the chance to fix it.

On the other hand, this weapon is probably the closest thing to galactically outlawed you can even think of. Worse than the other things. If any legal folks caught you with this thing, you're quite sure the punishment would be most wicked, and you wouldn't be beyond begging for death penalty for the cruelty. That, and it seems one of the assailants has claimed it as their own. If they find out you took it, that'd also be troublesome.

Then again, it's not much better in bandit hands. You'd probably regret leaving the weapon with them in the future.

Take the Ace Applicant?


|:| Yes <<
|:| No <<

Time's up!


|| |:| Leave Ace Applicant << ||


Faust decides the weapon is too cumbersome for the useless state it is in, and instead pockets some || MISHANDLED SCALPELS || and a || BUNDLE OF SHIVS ||. He also decides to pocket one || BUNDLE OF MYSTERY MEAT || from beneath another blanket.

Just as he considers what to do next, the lights go out. The air conditioning shuts down, leaving the entirety of the hall in tense silence.

From the bypassed stairwell echoes a distant shouting, and his hearing, sharpened in the silence, catches the bare minimum of what seems to be an argument.

He tries to stalk his way out of the room, but the floor is littered in skinned meat and discarded, bloody blankets. He stumbles a lot, and eventually gets stuck in the door.

Faust tries to free himself, but to no avail. His lower shoulder joints are jammed, leaving his legs askew in the room as unseen obstacles.

As he tries to free himself further, the shouting fades away.

Soft steps pace up the stairwell. He tries to struggle further, but the source of the sound makes way.

The steps then start coming down the Medical Wing.

The steps enter his hallway. Faust freezes up, instinctive caution stopping his attempts cold.

His translator is slow on the automatics. The steps softly pace down the length of his hall.

A higher-pitched, hoarse voice grumbles to itself. There's the sound of shuffling cloth, metal scraping metal as boots dragged over the floor in heavy fashion.

Faust holds his next breathing cycle. He turns his head very slowly, careful not to let anything creak.

Down the hall, what looks to be a bottom-heavy silhouette storms down the hall, glowing bioluminescently in bloody reds among many tattered, soft fins. There's movement from the softly glowing figure as it scratches neckline of its crystal dome helm with a slimy hand. Slimy by the sound, not the sight.

Faust's translator finally catches up as his new fishy friend comes down, only playing on muted note.

" ...re, oh suuuuure," it grumbles, " you'll do fiiine, they say... you glow in th' dark, they sayyyy, you don't need no fuggin' flashlight t' work, you'll be fiiiine..."

It throws its webbed hand down with a huff. " Nasty tadpoles, th' lot of 'em! If I had any likeminded folks 'ere, like me, 'ere, I'd have up an' bunked out 'f 'ere on th' last ship, but noooo, now I'm stuck 's th' local techdeck expend'ble... "

It almost passes by Faust's room without note, but Faust readjusts, and one of his hands slip off the door frame. The new sound it makes overshadows the figure's grumbling.

It stops. He quickly, quietly plants himself back into position, but far too late. It turns, a faint flicker of color briefly illuminated beneath the domed helm.

At this point, he is now officially thankful he didn't fix the light settings on him yet. Nothing on him lit up or gave way that he was there. But that didn't fool the intruder.

It turns on its heel, then slowly walks over.

As he holds himself attached to the upper door-frame, it has room to pass below him, but barely. It pushes his stomach and legs to get in, but he thankfully catches himself and pulls his legs up before the newcomer notices.

The figure pushing part of him back inside, though, only gives him enough room without notice to pull himself back in. With most of himself pulled up, he goes the full length and silently hoists himself fully to the ceiling. He covers approximately 70% of the ceiling space clinging to the deactivated light fixtures.

The intruder enters the room.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


|:| Input Command <<

Try to roll onto your side so as to get your more functional arm underneath, both to push off and to shield it from damage if whoever's approaching is hostile.

Nevermind that, misunderstood the situation.

Say to the intruder "You want out? I also want out. Let's be friends."

Be prepared to drop down and inflict disabling injuries if this appeal is not well-received.

The intruder does not yet notice Faust, thankfully. He would sigh in relief, but that would give him away.

The stranger stalls. The bioluminescent glow dimly illuminates the room, but does not illuminate it enough to discern Faust from the ceiling tech.

The stranger trips over a bundle of blanketed blood and meat, and curses. " Fer fugg'sake... ! "

There's a slight scraping. The stranger almost notices. Scratch the almost. It does notice. But the scratching does not come from Faust.

Faust disrupted the tool pile taking his new things. The heavy weapon has tipped over. The stranger notices the shape in the dark.

" ... Th' fugg... ?"

The stranger diverts attention from the rest of the room to approach the uncovered tool pile. It kneels down, with a grunting effort, only to freeze up. It brushes a few of the saws out of the way, and runs one hand over the Ace Applicant.

The sound it makes gives way to recognition. It knows this brand.

" No... " it starts, most disbelieving of the situation, " it ain't... this ain't, it can't be... "

It almost picks it up, but sees the [n]note[/b] first. After reading it, it huffs. " No, it has t'be. " it goes on to say. " Bobby wouldn't flip over any ol' trinket... "

The stranger takes the || BROKEN ACE APPLICANT || for themselves, holding it up. " But 'ell iffin' I'm gonna leave this thing t'Bobby. Basterd's too dang'rous fer it. "

The stranger wraps it up in bloodied cloth, but hesitates.

Faust slowly attempts to lower himself. HE takes care to be as quiet as he can, believing the stranger to be distracted.

But the stranger whips around, taking the sheet off as quickly to point the defunct tool at him.

Faust freezes.

The stranger stands taut as a bow, tense from shoulder to knee. It stands heavy on its feet, but not without experience in posture. Faust makes no sudden movements.

It does not threaten him. Instead, it stares.

It very slowly looks him over.

" ... you ain't no guard." it says.

Faust looks between the defunct weapon and the assailant incredulously. He speaks, though static accents his voice.

"... And you know that's broken, right? " says the CORPSE.

The assailant stops. It pauses, but instead of taking offense, laughs at him before wrapping it back up. " Yea," the stranger replies, " 'm well aware i's busted! Nice t'see y'noticed!"

The stranger does not seem immediately threatened. Faust attempts to make conversation.

|| |:| Negotiate with Assailant << ||


Faust very slowly lowers himself, but remains tense on his own. His vocalizer remains on low volume. He states he means no harm.

" Oh, I know!" the stranger interrupts, a laugh almost popping out like a bubble, " I know my fair share o' machin'ry! An' y'all don' look like y'mean 'arm, anyway. I mean, yer missin' some... key parts."

Faust was not properly armed with his necessary combat components in his cell. He knows this.

The stranger continues. " But I mean, y'ain't no guard... We took care o' those prigs back when we snagged th' place t' begin with! Trust me, th' Big 'ead was reeeeeeal thorough!"

Faust states that he was kept in one of the cells, and he doesn't recall why. The stranger rubs its glass dome and thinks, humming.

" Weeeeeell... we ain't real familiar wit'is place, see? " it starts, " we're foreigners. Th' doors were password-locked, an' we didn't know th' local say, so t' speak. An' from th' smell, we kinda 'ssumed..."

They assumed the prisoners were dead. Judging from the dessicated corpses Faust remembered from before, he wasn't surprised if they were. But he wasn't organic. He survived. But for how long...?

" I mean, I ain't s'prised YOU'RE still kickin', bud!" the Stranger continues. " I'm jus' sayin... we wasn't thorough 'nuff, 'pparently. "


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


|:| [|| Free Conversation Input ||] <<

|| |:| Mention the previous complaints << ||


Faust mentions that he overheard the stranger complaining about its work. It seems unhappy being there.

The Stranger tenses up, but sighs. " First 'n for'most, bud," it goes on, " I'm female. An' second..."

"I might be, ay'. But I mean, ain't no'ne 'oo were ev'r 'appy wit' bein' thieves, were they? ... Cept th' folks in stories. An' th' folks doin' th' steal'n'. O'erwise, no'ne else 's 'appy."

Faust loves stories. He's always thought the stories of folks lives were interesting, but he feels that she's unhappy with how hers turned out.

She doesn't immediately respond. There's brief silence, before she puffs. " Well, I mean, lookit you! Yer a mess! I can't imagine y'like yours, neith'r!"

The Stranger's trust falls two points.

Faust does take note. He did reactivate from dormancy as a "mess", this is true. He isn't pleased with it either. He was bringing it up as a point to relate with her.

She seems a bit regretful about her harshness, as her voice softens. It remains perfectly hoarse, though.

" ... right. Sorry, bud, 'm just... "

The Stranger's trust rises one point.

Faust brings up that their stories would probably take a better turn if they were to contribute to eachother's stories themselves. The Stranger herself has made positive impact on him already, he says, politely flattering her.

Her bioluminescent glow brightens. She sputters, but he can't translate anything coherent from her next comment.

The Stranger's trust has risen seven points.

"... say, you're one'a those... dead-bots, right?"

The Stranger seems bewildered by her lack of terminology, but runs herself through a few terms before corrections. " I mean - - I mean, CORPSE things... I mean those, right? "

Faust confirms this.

" Then... you're not like th' others. Right? "

He doesn't entirely understand. So he asks.

She seems a little tired, but explains her bewilderment anyway. " Bud, I ain't no tadpole. I know my 'bots, 'nside 'n outside, from th' common Calculator t' th' Magnus Corpor't'in Copilot . I know my 'bots, an'... I mean, it's kinda obvious yer diff'rent. "

" Most 'bots, I mean, either they think 'n a level b'low ours, 'r superior t'ours. They ain'ever equals. But you guys, yer brains aren't... I mean, is it true?"

She gestures to him in wonder, and suspicion. " Yer... y'all ain't pre-programm'd, 'r whatever. Yer smart all on yer own. An from th' ads, it's cause y'all used t' think right 'mong us, right? "

Faust confirms this. This is obvious knowledge, basic even for the least-evolved sentient children watching their advertisements. Everyone knows the jingle. But he, oddly enough, doesn't recall. Why...?

" So... I mean, what did you used t'do b'fore? "

Huh?

" ... Bud, I mean... y'all're raised from dead folks. Ya had t'live as sum'thin' else b'fore that, right? I mean, iffin' y'all're wantin' t'relate t'MY story... then it has t'be BIG, right? What was it? "

... They would, yes. This is also vital programming, essential to any and every CORPSE product. But she's asking what he lived as before, right? That's normally an easy question.

Except... he can't remember.

He tries, he tries and tries, but he can't remember. At least, nothing sensible enough through the noise to make anything out clearly enough.

Well, he's corrected, because he gets a few statements, but they make little sense.


-̱-̚-͂҉̫̭͚̯̻̟̞-̳̲̞͎̭̯-̤͉̙͓͊̅ͣ-̲̳͔̻̞̀-͍̬̮̥͕͊̃͐̇--̻̬̱̟̝̈́-̴̤̥͗̈́́̾̑͋ͦ-͉́ͦ̈́̊͊-̭̩̼̗͉͉̱̋̿̾̽͢-̴̿-͉͕̺̣͎͕͗̍ͣͅ-̰͈͍̝͚̓̓
̪-̦̩͖̠̆͒̉-͚͕͉̓̑̾̌̈-̡̻͔̯̈̄̊ͯ-̮̭͌͐ͩ̉̈͢-̯̺̰͚̗͙͝ͅ-̥͚͍̤̰͉̫ͪ̉̃̂̓̅͠-̯̐͢-̄̑̈́ͮ҉̭̗͔̰̗̞̰-̶̻̱͈̱̄̾̂ͦ̍ͩ̃-̈͊ͮ͐͋̄̽͏̼̬̘͕͉͇-ͭ̔̍̓
̸͖͎̫̲̠̗̟̀̐̆-̗̠̿̌ͮͤ̈̎̃ͅ-ͣ́-͓ͫ̈́͂ͦͯ-̈́ͧ̕-͓͇̟̝̜̝̂̄̊̀̉͑ͣ-̠͔̫̕ͅͅ-̮̟̮͛͋ͦ-̩̜̣͖͂̋ͧͩ̄͊̚͢-̢̥̙͚̩̬̏̄-̥ͮͩͤ͌ͯ-̬͎͈̞͙̯̬̌ͫ͐̉̈ͣ-̵̏
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̴͓̻̳͕̦ͧ̓͆͋̓͛ͅ
̨̣͔̟͉ͫ͒̔͋"͙̼̣̾̇̆͌̚ ̮̯̐̋P͂̅r̖̩̟̙̺̺͍̐̄ͮ̾̄̋o̭̗̣ḿ̻̝̭̣̞͊̂̾i̖̫s̳̖̲̪͊͑̅͗ẹ͚̣̬̭̥̖ͥͧ̽̔͊̓̚͟ ̱̬ͨ̓m̙̻̮̱̞̯͕̽̎͊̋e͎̩͓͚͔̅ͧ̑̄ͪ.̯̥̱̜͙̱̩ͬ̑͐̓ͧ̓ͫ ͈̘͖̻ͮ͞"̖̰
͍͇̳̗̼̬͒̐
͇͕̯̫͍ͪͦͮ̃ͬ-̯͓͔̺̤͇͒̃̇̿ͦͅ-͛͊ͪ̔̓̇͑-̀͗̇-ͥ͑̔̒̓̈́̍҉̙͓͕̙̙-͈͔͙̠̱͙̥ͣͥ͌͑-̴ͦ̐̾̅͛͗-̸̬̭̥̤͍͇̏̋͊̆̉̋-̫̜̭̙̻̊̔͋-̴̞̪͉̭̻̏ͤ̅͒̽̍̽-̄̂̌
̷̝ͨ͋̽̄-̘̜͚̟͔̙ͫ̃̈ͬ-̲̬̤̯̝̳ͅ-͍͎͕̌ͧͣͤ̓̓-͇̒ͨ͛͂̄ͯ-ͧ̐̃̋ͩ̽̃͏̯-͓̲̗͍̎ͫ̕-̶͚̞̺͍͉ͨ̈-͙͈͗͑̀̈͌-̦̟̘͕ͣ͆͑ͬ̑̋-̲̳͚̠̲̼̿͌͒̈͌̅͗-͇̠̪̬͓͘
̥͉-̫͊͆ͮ-̗̑ͥͮ͑̈́̏-̓͊̇̿-̈͂̿͡-̦̩̊̕-̜̞̗͙͓̎ͬ̔͗̅̚-̝̯̍-̠̳̍̍̌ͅ-̿̊̿̚-̡̜͙̙̇̒ͭ̎̃ͅ-̭̝ͨ̓͐ͭ̃-̼-̜̿ͨ͗̏͐̌̌-̖͓̜͖̠̑̆̊-̴--̞ͦ͆̎̅́̏̀-
̼̖͓̝̹̭̠̈ͥ͗ͯͥ̿̕-̻͑̎̿-̞͚ͦ̓ͧ̇̍͒͛ͅ-̯̄-̹̦̞̫̝̉̕-̬̣͕͙̫̬͇̐͗-̸͙̏-͉̙̱̤̣̓-͖͕̯̱̞̓̀͗-̰̬̈́


Like that one. They just... they end up in static! The resounding memories of the life originally raised from the dead for the product normally have flawless memory, but his in particular is glitchy and painful! He's quickly learning to hate it, despite the hollow feeling it draws from him.

The Stranger notices that he's apparently flinched in response, and quietly steps forward.. Once. Twice.

Faust says... that he doesn't remember a lot of his story. But he knows it's long. Long enough to tire the nostalgia even from him. But the sentiments of the past do not leave him, regardless of his absence of thought.

He longs to set things right for himself. He feels that was part of the reason for his construction, so his place might have been a part of his life before.

Despite his lack of memory to supply, he knows she wants to make her story better as much as he does. They've both made significant mistakes, whether they remember them or not.

The Stranger is silent for a long time.

The Stranger's trust ????? by ?? points.

She doesn't comment for a long time. But eventually, she points to his crest.

"... izz'at bad?" she asks.

Faust feels his helm, and remembers the crack to his cranium he inflicted. Or had inflicted upon him. It was a hallucination, right?

He says the pain has dulled by now, but... he's fine otherwise. He just has a headache.

" Izzit a bad 'ne? "

He doesn't want to admit it feels bad, but it's uncomfortable. So he nods.

She hesitates. She glances between her || BROKEN ACE APPLICANT || weapon and her new intruder. She seems to consider her options...

".... Ok."

" I'll do y's a favor, a'ight? Just this one, an' i's b'tween us, a'ight?"

He nods, confused.

" I gotta get th' power workin' again, so I can't stick 'round an' 'elp out like I'm itchin' to, so... tell ya what. "

" You take this Assault rifle, an' you bust't up real good, make't look so bad m' boss lets me keep it fer m'self... then I'll come back next time power goes, an' try t'elp, ok?"

Faust noticably relaxes, sighing in relief. His back cracks as a part of his sudden change in posture, but he doesn't care.

He takes the || BROKEN ACE APPLICANT ||, and decides to use his || MANGLED ARM || item to do it some damage without hurting the detached arm further.

It takes some tough work, and his scraped shoulders are quite sore and tired now, but he pulls the limb back to reveal a || DESPERATELY HELPLESSLY BROKEN ACE APLICANT ||, labeled specifically by the new girl.

She takes it back and wraps it more tightly afterward, the hidden glow beneath her domed help glowing brightly enough to show the faintest silhouettes of a wide, gnarled smile.

" Yer a gem! A real gem!"

She hugs him, and something else creaks. Realizing her abundantly friendly reaction, she pulls off quickly, and with awkward shifting. She coughs. " Right, right, sorry, bud... "

She pushes past him and out the door, but doesn't leave without turning back around to wave. She lowers her volume, hoping the echo doesn't carry.

" I'll be back 'n 'bout five-'undred clicks, a'ight, bud? "

" Stay safe! Th' pests 'ere're brutal! "

He hears about lethal pests, and suddenly remembers his internal clock can't tell time in the current conditions. But as he quickly tries to ask, she waves him off, and she's gone before he can. She heads down the hallway further, back down the Past Left Corridor instead, and she's gone.

Crisis Averted.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


Faust has somehow talked his way out of brutal murder, but for how long? He doesn't really have any plans for this corridor, but if the Stranger's friends are downstairs, he's sure as all not going down to meet them.

What should he do now?


|:| [|| Free Command Input ||] <<

Time's up!


|| |:| Rest << ||


Faust rubs his head and groans. Honestly, with the stress of the squeezing and maneuvering, his clumsiness, and his blindness in direction, he's lost track of how long he's been wandering the halls. Honestly, the exercise has worn him down.

Nobody can blame him, after all. He was cramped in a cell for heaven knows how many sleepless nights. He tires out easier than he usually does.

He decides that it would be best to let himself rest. He warily looks back out into the hallway, both ways, before softly pacing his way over to the opposite room. Using a bit of force, and some cloth along the wheels to keep noise down, he drags more beds into one of the other rooms.

Staying in the well-lit room is too risky if someone wants to go back and check on their certain stash, so he'll, for the most part, be sleeping in one of the other rooms.

Once he's lined the beds up in Room A190, he aligns them to make a proper bed for his size. Once he's measured himself out properly, he lays down.

The material is welcomingly comfortable, for having worn away in age so long. Definitely a good change from his cell floor.

He finds it almost too easy to fall asleep. He's out in minutes, and the fog of dreams drawing in his head clear away the static.

Faust has fallen asleep.

You have unlocked the use of Tokens!


Tokens are non-physical representations of currency you, the active players, will continually get, that which can unlock Memories! That's right! The more Tokens you collect, the more Faust remembers, about this life and the ones before it!

You collect tokens in a number of ways, from unlocking achievements, to discovering easter eggs, completing quests, working through Crisis situations, helping people... and so much more! The more tokens you collect, the more memories you unlock, and the more memories you unlock, the more abilities you unlock at certain tiers for Faust!

Consider it your leveling currency!

You have 10 Tokens!

Would you like to spend them now? Or save them for later?

Y/N?

You have idled long enough, and the decision has been made for you.

You have decided to use your Tokens!

Please select your first categories.

|:| Environmental <<
|:| Familial <<
|:| Romantic <<
|:| Platonic <<
|:| Unrelated <<

|| |:| Inquire Further << ||


The Token System runs on Categories and Sub-categories. Simple and efficient, it starts out with few options, which branch into more options, which may branch into many, and shows a system of price ranges for particular upgrades, the more valuable being more expensive and the less valuable being less expensive, obviously.

The subgroups to the memories are mostly the same, branching into Insignificant and Significant. If you buy a more expensive memory upgrade, it will unlock the memories before it in tally, but at the cost that you still lose just that many Tokens anyway.

While you can purchase Memories now, there might also be Valuable Memories or Upgrades you can save Tokens up for later. You've only just started.

Now, would you rather get into Token Exchange, or save up for it and Wake up?


|:| Wake <<
|:| Shop <<

Wake up.

|| |:| Wake Up << ||

You decide to save your Tokens, and instead Wake Up Faust.

Faust is now wholesomely refreshed, but his body dully aches. He hasn't moved or made any sound yet, but there is already sound in the room in the form of someone grumbling, moving items around as they blindly fumble over and curse his sleeping shape.

His translator can't immediately catch their language, but they don't seem aware of him being awake. Instead, they're fondling panels and plates upon him, seemingly trying to tear them off for scrap. As he can't see damages in the dark, he can't tell if they directly did damage to the internal systems, but he doesn't feel better than before about it.

He decides he doesn't like that.

He reaches over with tired intolerance and grabs the intruder's head. The muffled squawk they make is unfamiliar, but annoying no less.

Their head is small. Puny. Frail. He almost feels bad.

He considers his options.



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


|:| Kill <<
|:| Knock Out <<
|:| Interrogate <<

|| |:| Kill << ||


He remembers the intruder assailed him first. As the law of the land so always goes, when you're hit, hit back.

He squeezes. The intruder's head pops.

He sits up in pain. He can't entirely tell how much damage the little guy did, but he can tell it's bad. At least, on the outside. He had to have removed more than ten panels of exoskeleton armor, at least.

Faust inspects the body. Emaciated at best, malnourished at worst, the intruder's feathers are ratty, worn down to wiry figures. They also appear to have a broken arm.

He feels bad about their condition, but with the shape they were in, they also shouldn't have been trying to use him for scrap.

This brings about the brief fear that others would know where he was. He loots the body and decides to leave. Quickly.

Faust loots one || DISASSEMBLY KIT || and fifteen || EXOSKELETON PANELS ||. This promptly boots out his || BUNDLE OF BROKEN SHIVS || and his || BUNDLE OF USELESS MEDICAL TOOLS ||. Such short-lived inventory. He needs to expand.

He promptly, quickly kicks the body underneath the beds, and leaves the room. The power is back online, in particular areas, but there is no sign of his fishy friend.

He decides, instead, to keep moving. He'll find the fish eventually.

Faust heads further into the Medical Wing.

The power has been returned, and seemingly repaired, so half of the rooms along the hallway are now lit, giving him more than a partial view of his path. There's still much blood and gore, but he's far less likely to trip now, and his fitting slumber has resolved him of his exhaustion. He is now free of hallucinations.

He looks along the numbers and peeks into rooms every so often. Nothing really stands out yet. That's rather disappointing.

He's begun to miss the aquatic woman he met earlier. Even if an enemy, she at least made good conversation. But the hallway is absolutely silent, save for his own steps and air conditioning. Which, by the way, is working again.

He almost feels like he should've spared the little bird creature plundering him. Maybe he'd get to talk a bit before brutally murdering the little scoundrel.

But her, at least she was nice. She didn't immediately go for his throat, but until the power goes out again, he won't see her again. From the sound of her, it's a frequent thing, that, so he has high hopes.

He tries to occupy himself while exploring. Maybe a song, or a little story to tell himself again, to keep focused.

He feels more a song fits than anything. He's not one for belting out rudely, and his voice isn't usually very loud, but with his size, it sometimes comes across that way.

He knows to keep his volume down. He tries to remember a tune...

Ah, he remembers. He clears his throat.

O' Charlie was a weepin' boy no older than a sprout,
His meals were banana peels half-sealed from the grout,
He always cried that he had lied and lost his baby 'bout...

But he was sick and for his trick he'd not see 'imself out.

There's a presence now aware of Faust for his singing. An anomalous figure peeks out from beneath one of the bloodied sheets, mistaken for a corpse, and begins to follow him.

Faust is not aware. He cannot hear it. He just continues singing himself along.

Oooooooo, Charlie,
Oooooooo, Charlie,
Liar that you be,
Why, Oooooooo, Why,
Can't you save the screams for me?

Oooooooo, Charlie,
Oooooooo, Charlie,
Trickster that you are,
Stop, please, Stop,
You might wander off too far...

For his obliviousness to his situation and his weakness of senses due to lack of assistance, he does not notice the figure slowly come up behind him.

There is a shifting of feet. The figure pulls something sharp out. Sharp and crooked.

The figure swings, and there's a brief shockwave of pain rippling down from the impaled point of opened back panel and weakening, emaciated flesh all the way down his spine.

For all his size, the fact the little thing manages to leap up so far is surprising, but he doesn't have much time for complaint. The blade pierces at least two vital things, leaving Faust to crumble to the floor like paper.

He doesn't get a lot of time to react. He turns around as quickly as he can, but that gives the assailant another chance.

The Blade pierces Faust's face. It comes out through the back of his skull. There's a lot of hideous sparking and distorted noise.

Faust screams.

A quick tearing of the Crooked Blade down his weakened facial synthetics and the revealed portions of neck skin, down to his collar, cuts the annoying racket out.

Once Faust falls silent and nonresistant, the assailant pulls his blade free.

The large robot falls to his side unceremoniously.

The assailant turns him back onto his back, then pries open his chest panels. Once enough flesh over his core processing area is revealed, it lifts the blade again.

A quick blade through his core is enough to cease his struggle.

Faust dies.

... Thankfully, Faust is not actually your first protagonist character. The Quest is obviously not yet done.

The assailant -- oh, sorry, the First Protagonist -- removes their || CROOKED BLADE || from the chest of the dead monstrosity.

They rather rudely rifle through his inventory.

They loot the || DISASSEMBLY KIT || and || USELESS TOILET PAPER NOTES ||. Everything else is junk to them.

The assailant checks Faust over for any life signs. He has none. Relieved with this, they get back up to their feet, back to their crooked stance.

There's no point in lingering, to them. But before they leave, they give Faust's head a kick.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


" Y'all have some shitty trackin', don'tcha? "


|:| Answer <<

...I dunno man. I kinda get the impression there really should be more of us for this ride, I sure don't know what's up, buuuut I guess this is as good of a starting point as any. What's up?

|| |:| " What's up? " << ||


The Protagonist huffs, an awful sound to be sure. " Well, I don' care how many of you fuckboys I'm gettin', 'slong as I found y'all t'begin with! "

" Seriously! Seriously! I been hidin' out'n this 'ere gorefest fer what, three months?! Three fuckin' months I was waitin' on y'all t'chime in, jus' say 'Eyyyyy, buddy, bro, mango dango joestar tango, sorry we're LATE, we're read t'kick ass now!', but noooooooooo... "

They kick the head of the dead monstrosity again, a bit more harshly. " Y'all just wanna fuckin' robot t'do yer dirty work! " they silently snapped to themselves, to their nonexistent crowd. " An' I'm almost offended! "

They huff and puff a bit, but once they take a deep breath for themselves, the ragged sigh following it comes far more easily than expected. Shorter, to be sure, but more easily. Ill-tempered, they seem.

" I'm jus' glad I ain't leavin' this gorefest alone, t'b'onest. " they only go on. Really, for all their blustering, they're at least thankful they found them to begin with.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


" So, what were y'all up to with this 'ere ol' rustbucket t'begin wit?"


|:| Answer <<

" ... Oh, wait, y'all were askin' me a question?"

" Guess I shouldn't jump th'gun on ya. Lemme think real fast..."

" A'ight, here we go."

" I've been squattin' in this 'ere gorefest motel mess fer 'bout three months now. I been watchin' these fuckboys eat, sleep, an' steal from erry corpse 'ere. 'Cept mine. I always do th' chameleon schtick, y'know, I keep swappin' places an' shiftin' gears when noboy's lookin'."

" Th' place is infested wit' thieves. Bandits, looters, pirates, whatever, don't know, don't care. All stealers. All scavengers. Y'all can't steal what don' belong t' begin wit', an' these dead don' belong 'ere, anyway."

" I been tryin'a find my own way out, but I mean... y'know how it is, bein' legally blind. Can't do shit."

" So, ANYWAY..."


-=-=-=-=--=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


" ~*What's up*~ wit' Frankenstein 'ere? ~*What's up*~ wit'cha'll?"


|:| Answer <<

best I can tell, the franken was a prisoner here, before graduating to one of the roaming bandits. Then you killed him, and won us, well, me, in the bargin.

The Protagonist considers these words on uneven feet, as they make way past the dead monstrosity and onwards down the hall.

" Oh, so 'e was negotiatin', was 'e?" they went on to wonder, " I can take a guess. Techy fishbait always had a thin' for combat-useless 'bolts. Kinda likes th' company. Y'know. B'fore she tears 'em apart."

" If y'all got t' negotiatin' wit' 'er, then y'all woulda ended up knocked up onna table wit' nothin' for y'selves but a buncha hangin' wires an' an automatic vocalizer answerin' machine. Tha's 'bout it. She might be real imposin', physically, but she don't know organic harm like she do robot harm. You woulda been miserable. "

The Protagonist sheathes their || CROOKED BLADE || in a makeshift belt accessory, made from spare linen and scraps of leather. They're a bit thankful that there's nobody else in the hall, otherwise, their little self-conversation would've drawn attention.

" Anyway," they start, " 'ere's th' deal, awright? I'm blind. Actual, real, legally blind. Means I can't actually see for shit, y'get what I'm sayin'? So what y'all gotta do, here, is what y'all, I assume, failed t'do wit Frankenstein... Y'all gotta be my eyes an' ears. I can't see shit. You can. So you gotta illustrate it for me real clear, in real clear... uh..."

" You folks can display imagery, right? Iunno, visions or whatever, but yer gonna hafta do that, or else we're gonna be 'ere a long while."

They smiled. A lot of uneven rows of gnarled teeth on curling lips showed it, even though it looked more like a default snarl for anything else.

" Good. Then be 'all one 'r a thousand, I'm glad t' have ya. "



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


" Now. Iffin' y'all had plans before, wouldja rather follow those, or y'all jus' wanna help me get outta this dump instead?"

Do you want to abandon your quest for freedom, or continue along your path?


|:| Continue Quest, Treasure Hunt <<
|:| Abandon Quest, Escape Building <<

|:| Continue Quest, Treasure Hunt <<

[||:| Achievement Unlocked; Back from the Grave! As a reward for reviving a supposedly long dead text questline, this achievement will reward you with a " Second Chance " ! You will find out what those are later! |:||]


[|| |:| Continue Quest, Treasure Hunt<< ||]


He considers the proposal, then nods. " Aye," he replies, " that'd prob'ly be best. Iffin' ya had 'im searchin' fer sumthin' 'ere, might's well keep lookin', yeah? Yeah. Good idea. "

You have raised his amicability towards you minimally, and soothed what remained of his previous temper.

Without imagery sent in to guide him, he guides himself more along the hall by touch and sound, and resumes his expedition.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


He refrains from talking in this time interval, as it distracts from the sensations he should be focusing on when moving under the radar of others, but as he explores, this gives you time to contemplate your next moves, or otherwise debate among yourselves actions.

This, in other terms, means you now have the option to make FREE ACTIONS, allowing you to suggest or command beyond what is predetermined and given to you.

This in mind, what do you do?


|:| _______________ <<