15strangers | Fighting For Your Life!

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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[ It takes no more than a mere moment for Passepartout to catch his bearings, and he smiles at the one who bumped into him. ]

I am alright. Are you?

[ He dusts off his coat, by mere habit, though it really isn't necessary. ]

I apologize as well. I was too wrapped up in this... strange invention.

That's a wristwatch. Or a communicator of some sort. I've seen them in SciFi movies and whatnot.

[ He, too, checks himself. ]

And I'm fine, don't worry about it. Did you wake up here like I did?

Ah. [ Passepartout nods as if he understands these words such as 'communicator', though he really does not. ] I did. I had a strange helmet on my head and I woke up in a strange room. I decided to investigate our premises and thus here we are.

But all I've really found is a strange cackling.... [ He shudders. ]

... It's horror movie-esque, practically. Some villain in the background playing a pipe organ as if to say, "I've kidnapped you here, and I'll beckon you to my spooky theatre."

[ He glances towards the direction of the cackling and said theatre. ]

I'M not falling for that, and I don't think you should, either. ... Do you think we'll be stuck here long? I imagine so, since we appear to be in space.

Space?!

[ Passepartout straightens up his spine even further, as if someone poked him with a large electric pin at this revelation. ]

As in, the moon?!

It... could be the moon? I don't know. But something like that. Why else would we have the space suits?

[ It's the only thing that makes sense, really. ]

This is true. [ Passepartout thinks about this for a long, long moment, then nods. ] This is quite true.

[ He looks a little down about this fact for a moment, actually, but then his face clears up. ]

We have not had introductions, I realize now. What is your name?

[ ... Well, the introduction thing makes him smile, at least. ]

There is no name that can define me, because I am the God of this world. But you can call me C. ... Well, what should be this world. I'm not sure if this particular area was cordoned off or not. I've no real way of knowing right now, unfortunately.

God of this world? [ Passepartout feels concern at this statement, but he tends to be rather good at a poker face. Is he successful at one now? It depends on how perceptive C is. ] I see. I suppose someone ought to be.

[ He is very perceptive, but he also knows it's better to simply continue forward regardless. He reassures himself of what he knows. He is the God of this world. There is no questioning that statement. ]

Of course. At present, though, my power is unfortunately rather limited, since I'm currently trapped in this vessel. So you'll have to forgive me for not being able to do more. I'm in a bit of a bind right now.

Ah? Our captors must be very powerful, then, if they were able to trap you in a vessel.

[ Passepartout taps his lips with a finger as he considers this may-or-may-not be true conundrum. ]

Do you know how they may have done it?

... Considering I was stuck in the House before I came here in this selfsame body, it's possible they simply took advantage of that. It's really very inconvenient.

[ And also a problem. ]

They seem to be expecting us to harm one another.

They are.

[ Passepartout didn't miss out on the rules, at least, he had caught a glimpse of them before he had become distracted. ]

I refuse to do such a thing. It's simply uncouth.

I don't want to kill anyone either, but if I could help someone get out of here, I wouldn't be opposed. It would help me leave back to my Heavenly Domain, too.

[ He looks so small and frail right now, he realizes. He hates it, so he tries to smile and look bigger than he is.

Deep down, this vessel is still afraid of dying. ]

I suppose a God would have to be willing to strike down heavenly wrath.

[ Passepartout realizes that C looks small and frail but he's not going to underestimate him. He's seen what small and frail can do, courtesy of people like Rose. All it takes is a little manipulation. ]

I don't want to do that, even if people are terrible, there's no need to hurt them. And I don't know the people here.

[ They don't act like awful nightmares, or remind him of parasites just yet, he thinks to himself. But time will tell whether or not they're bedfellows with disease, he thinks. ]

Surely we can find another way out for everyone...

Surely. We merely need to meet whoever has written these rules in the first place and see if we can figure out how they think.

Everyone has a price.

... I have a feeling discussing this and trying to get out is going to involve meeting our cackling friend.

[ He does not sound psyched about this. ]

....Yes, I get that feeling as well.

[ Passepartout makes a face. ]

I do not look forward to this.

... So what do we do? Do we confront it or ignore it?

[ YOU SEEM WISE, PASS. What do you suggest? ]

I believe we confront it, but we take a cautious road towards doing so. Are there any means of protection in this place?

... I don't know, but I think we could probably find some?

[ Wouldn't hurt to look, right? ]

I mean, a kitchen would be bound to have knives, right?

Then to the kitchen we must go!

[ Passepartout considers how to get to this destination. ]

Lead the way?

[ ... C shrugs. The blind leading the blind, why not? Off they go! He has no idea where they're going, but they have to find the kitchen eventually, right? ]

Fighting For Your Life!

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