W̧E̷E̡̕K ͡3̴

[strangerpeople]

W̛E̷͞E̶̵K͏͘͠ 3̸̡

[You got a phone call that morning. It wasn't the realtor for the vineyard, like you had thought. Instead, it was a scientist.

She offered you something you hadn't ever expected: hope.

"I think I've pinpointed where this blight has come from, and how it became so virulent. You were among the first whose crop was infected-I wish to speak to you personally about it."

You meet in a car, and drive to an isolated road. She will not take any chance to speak publicly about it-not yet. She doesn't want to release the information until she is certain. But she felt honor-bound to explain to you, given your own importance in her research. You hadn't known she had sampled your dead and dying grapes, but she did.

"This blight..." She opens a folder, showing you the photos. "Started with a gopher, several years ago. I know, it sounds insane. This disease should only affect certain animal species. But one day, it jumped into vines...the original gopher died a long time ago. But not before it had eaten an entire cluster of grapes in one swallow. It ended up scratching itself on the trellis of the grapevine as it choked to death. Its blood, its body decayed, and helped to water and fertilize that strain of grapes the next year or so, and...well, the seeds from those buds that resulted were sent out to every farm in the area. Then, to every farm in the country, different regions..."

That sounded insane. This woman's theory sounded utterly bonkers. But you can't dismiss it out of hand-you have no better answer.

Before you can say anything more, the woman's phone rings. She answers, and you see her face turn white. You don't have to guess why.

Before, the theoretical gopher had infected the grapes with the blight.

Now, the blight had claimed its first human victim.


-


[The morning hurts. It hurts to know that, even dead, there was that final, terrible moment for the Embarrassing and the Nagging. It must hurt more to know that this will continue, and that there is something out there that is invested in ensuring each and every last one of the Strangers are, if not dead, than broken.

And then, there is IT. IT is the enemy, it seems. But...what is IT? Is IT the one truly responsible? How?

As you try to think on it, you remember your truths, and suddenly, you realize, another has changed:




[That you would. Can you? You know that, whatever your answer, you must find a way to the truth. The alternative is too horrible to even contemplate-if it is even possible to be comprehended. After all-if what you saw is what happens to the dead and condemned, what will become of the living at the hands of the terrible, unknown IT who is your jailer?

Hope that you do not have to find out. Hope there is an answer in the new floor that has opened up in the Building. Otherwise...otherwise you really are doomed.


There are 13 strangers in this place.]

Comments

[unwittingking]

…you...are human, right? Or some other species that looks incredibly similar to a human?

[Genuinely unsure, because he may have (seen one episode) of Doctor Who, but the odds of it are just very low in real life.]

[touchsensors]

It's humans who look similar to us-lun.

[The distinction here is a highly questionable one.]

[unwittingking]

…whatever. One side looks like the other either way.

[Neither side will admit which looks like the other, so he won't bother.]

So for your species, fourteen constitutes as an adult?

[touchsensors]

[Fine, she'll take it.]

We're adults when we're thirteen years old-lun. That's when Mother assigns us our jobs and when we can fly our own rockets-lun.

[unwittingking]

Part me thinks that’s terrifying, but another part knows that dogs age very differently from humans, so I’m just going to accept that.

[At least she knows how old she is. King just knows he’s an adult, age wise...]