Fighting For Your Life!

[strangerpeople]

WELL SH*IKSSHSH*

[The first thing you feel when you finally come to is a headache.

The bad thing is that it's not even a painful headache - it's one of those annoying headaches that's just below the threshold of pain, and it's centered right in the middle of your forehead. Just...ugh. Where's the aspirin?

For that matter, actually, where are you? This is not your beautiful house! In fact, as get out of your bed, you realize this place isn't even remotely a home. And whatever you're wearing isn't even remotely what you recall wearing. (I mean, yeah, it's not uncomfortable, and whoever dressed you was kind enough to make sure you had underwear on, I suppose. That's one less thing to worry about, right?)

Also, you have a weird wrist...watch...comm...thing on you, which is nice. Or at least it would be, if it and every other computer in the place didn't suddenly start making the second most ungodly noise you will no doubt come to hear in this place. The noise is followed by a a message on every desktop in the area, which won't be disappearing any time soon. Thankfully, your nifty wristwatch comm is spared this unavoidable screen, and tapping a button let's it disappear to reveal a simple profile interface, alongside a a text, calling, and photo function. Something tells you those latter two won't be particularly useful to you in the long run.

In any case, apparently you now have a Title, as well as a power, even if you've never had one before. Why? Where the hell are you? Who else is with you? Can you get out?

And...is someone laughing? The sound seems to bounce off and echo faintly throughout the floors. It's high-pitched, and - as you get closer to the theater - it gets just a little louder and just a little more grating. It sounds like a rabid hyena that huffed helium. Hopefully, it's just a movie or something that can be turned off. Someone ought to go in and do that.

In the meantime, welcome, Titled - and good luck.

There are fifteen strangers in this place.]


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Comments

[losergod]

[ ... Good thing he was passing through, he supposes. Normally he's not one to help people, but this is just a little bit too pathetic not to. ]

Panicking won't help. Hold still.

[ Here, he'll help you get it off, just... stop flailing around, all right? ]

[mementodagger]

[Yurick finally holds still, but he's panting hard enough to fog up the inside of the bubble and his eye is round with distress. From what he can see through the condensation, the stranger helping him looks a lot like himself and the mage kids in Lazulis Castle, pale-haired and fair. A fellow magic-user? Something about that calms him just enough. Maybe he's in part of the castle he's never seen before, that's all. Much as he doesn't trust strangers, he wants out of this thing on his head. His voice squeaks out, echoing inside the bubble.]

H-- help....

[losergod]

[ He removes the helmet with only a little fumbling. Here, Yurick, you are freed. And he will smile at him, although how creepy that smile may or may not be is up to interpretation.

He's... trying, at least. ]

There. You've been freed from your imprisonment inside the space suit. Although I must say, I could have watched you flailing for quite some time more, it was something of a sad sight, and I can't leave my people to suffer.

Are you all right?

[mementodagger]

[Creepy smile or not, Yurick doesn't much care as long as he can breathe freely. He takes several deep, gulping breaths before nodding, and though he doesn't smile there's gratitude on his face.]

I'm better than I was, at least. This... you called it a space suit? It's not exactly comfortable. I'd rather traipse about in my undergarments than this, but at least you got that glass bubble off my head. So... thank you.

[losergod]

I don't disagree. But space suits aren't designed to be comfortable, they're meant to allow you to survive inside the vacuum of space. You know, outside the Earth, where there's no air, thus the helmet.

[ He smiles easily, glad Yurick is breathing now. ]

... Essentially, what I am saying is, we probably can't escape this place. If we went outside, we'd likely die.

[mementodagger]

[Yurick just stares at the stranger. Earth? Vacuum of space? No air?]

... I'm sorry, what? None of that made any sense. What's "the vacuum of space?" And if by earth you mean the ground under our feet, then of course there's air outside of it. Otherwise we'd all die. If you're buried in the earth, you'll certainly smother to death.

[losergod]

... Oh, you're one of those kinds of characters.

[ He chuckles. Whoever wrote this one had a lot of fun with the whole "I don't know technology" bent, he thinks to himself. ]

... Don't worry about it. It'll probably be a bit more than you'll understand, I'm afraid.

[mementodagger]

[Yurick gives the other a pretty withering look now. Are you mocking him, sir? And Lowell and Syrenne are "characters," not him. They're the loud, annoying, crazy ones, he's just an antisocial nerd.]

Either you're poking fun at me or you're being deliberately vague. I don't like either option.

[losergod]

I'm not, I'm not. But we'd be here all day if I tried to explain the concept of space to you. Just know that exiting this place will likely kill us, and leave it there.

[ He smiles pleasantly. ]

Did you have any other issues with your suit, or was it just the helmet, Mister...?

[mementodagger]

Yurick. And I can't say I like it, but I suppose I might offend someone if I strip to my underclothes.

[Grumbling, he at least pulls off the gloves and tosses them aside.]

I'd like to know where my clothing is, along with my armor and weapon. Someone here had better have answers.

[losergod]

Mister Yurick, then. And I don't know, I don't think people will really care, given we were all sort of kidnapped.

[ He pauses to consider the second bit. ]

I... can't say, for that one. You'd have to ask whoever kidnapped us.

[mementodagger]

Just Yurick is fine.

[Well, maybe he'll stay in the suit until he finds his gear. Running around mostly naked means he'll be vulnerable, not that he's sure how much damage this odd suit can take.]

Wonderful. And I don't suppose they'll be very forthcoming with answers. We might not even see them.

[losergod]

I don't know, the cackling suggests otherwise. They're probably in the theater.

[ Just saying. ]

[mementodagger]

Glad they're so amused. They won't be, once we drag them out of that room and give them hell.

[Personally, he's going to give whoever it is the hotfoot of a lifetime.]

[losergod]

... What part of this is "we"?

[ Staaaaaaaring. ]

I read those rules. I'd rather not risk getting anyone else killed. This body doesn't really particularly matter, but...

[mementodagger]

... what rules?

[Yeah, someone was too distracted by panic and claustrophobia/cleithrophobia to notice what was on those monitor things.]

[losergod]

The ones posted in the rooms... do you need me to read them to you?

[ Just asking. ]

[mementodagger]

I can read, I simply didn't notice them at the time.

[You saw him freaking out, right? He's lucky he didn't run into anything with the inside of the helmet fogged up.]

[losergod]

... Well, I would implore you to read them, even if they're somewhat mind-bogglingly stupid in terms of writing execution.

[ Seriously, whoever wrote those rules probably talks like they write. ]

[mementodagger]

[Since he's just outside the room he woke up in, Yurick turns and marches back inside. So there really are words on that strange statue, glowing as if by magic. Somehow he can understand them, though they're not in the language of the Empire.

His eyes narrow when he reaches number 7, his fists clenching on top of the desk.]

... so that's what this is. Some noble's wretched idea of sport, with expendable common lives.

[losergod]

So it seems.

[ He sighs. ]

A bit unfair, isn't it?

[mementodagger]

When is life ever fair?

[Wow, that is a lot of bitterness suddenly. The temperature of the room practically drops from all that frost.]

I'm not about to let any of you lot kill me, you can be sure of that.

[losergod]

Well, if it's any consolation, I have little reason to be committing murder. It would be inefficient for me to return to my Heavenly Host that way.

[mementodagger]

Forgive me if I'm still skeptical. Trust in strangers tends to lead to knives buried in your back.

[losergod]

... I can understand the mentality, at least.

[ He looks down. There's a small, sad smile. ]

You never know who will hurt you. When you'll next be the person on the floor, bleeding, while everyone else watches and jeers. Humans are parasites.