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]

... 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. ]

[leftthelighton]

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

[ Passepartout makes a face. ]

I do not look forward to this.

[losergod]

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

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

[leftthelighton]

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

[losergod]

... 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?

[leftthelighton]

Then to the kitchen we must go!

[ Passepartout considers how to get to this destination. ]

Lead the way?

[losergod]

[ ... 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? ]