If we have the gun, we want gun range time to be kept, and you never want to lose First Aid Training, especially if uh... the entire city is exploding around us it seems.
Enough mystery that we're curious with every new bit of info (People have been turned into statues? Mysterious research group? Super amnesia?), but early enough that we're waiting for more data to go on.
I'm new here, for invited by Scorpio. Right now I'm trying to figure out how screwed on a scale of 1 (just the city/just a simulation) to 10 (we're all gonna die) the world is. Currently hovering around a 6, especially since we're without reflection and shadow.
It's nice. We've met with a terrible fate, but luckily we're still alive to figure things out.
If we're theorizing, people getting turned into sculptures reminds me of biblical stories, people turning into salt. Impact makes me thing something is going to fall through a portal in the sky - I wonder if we can take a plane and fly upwards into another dimension? Convergence of Spheres going on here.
This is...probably going to crack the lock open, unless it's somehow actively weird and thus metaphysically locked in some way, beyond just merely the physical. Not...out of the question, considering the whole...shadiness of this place, and the fact that the company's called Threshold Innovations so it probably has something to do with gateways and doors. That said, even if that's not the case, wasting a bullet on a locked door is somewhat imprudent - we have 10 shots in total, and no way of knowing how we can get more. Let's be conservative with it.
If we are unlucky, will probably collapse on us. And even if it doesn't, that's a tight space with one exit - not taking my chances with that.
As such...
[X] Take Nicole's keycard
Sorry, Nicole. You may be dead now, and unlikely to be properly mourned for some time, but we will try to keep you in our minds and hearts. For as long as we can. Which might not be very long honestly, it's an apocalypse out there, but still-
This is not exactly vital for our survival. But the fact that we are an addict without her vice and without much of a tether to the real world does make me concerned. We need something to control ourselves, to ensure we still have an outlet to allow us to continue functioning and persisting - and art is a healthy, reasonable choice for that. Who knows how long until we get some cigs, and who knows what else is contained in this lab. Having something to do that can ground us is better for the sanity, at least.
Which leaves...
[X] First aid training
Not sure basic healing is going to do much against...being turned into a glass statue. Or whatever the "Impact" is. Not being able to deal with our wounds is still a concern, though, so...not feeling great about this. But some things have to go.
[X] Tinkering
No crafting or making stuff. No fixing stuff, either. Tinkering is effective where it is effective, but it's too limited in scope - we can probably still survive if our tools break or jam, if not in a completely intact or ready state.
Loving seeing the thought processes & discussion. Warms my cold dead heart.
I may, MAY, have the will to live necessary to call & write before bed; we'll see. If not, same deal as last time - once when I get up, then again before work. There's so much more left to lose.
Pick 3
[ ] Your right eye
[ ] Your left arm
[ ] Your identity
[ ] Your privacy
[ ] Your voice
[ ] Your reflection
[ ] Your shadow
-Right Eye would have cost us depth perception, probably making us a worse shot.
-Left Arm would have made us not be able to do anything that requires two hands.
-Voice would have made communicating with others harder, as we resort to sign language or writing or something.
-Privacy... we would have always been followed by... whatever monster shit is probably going on?
Reflection cost us our ability to see what we look like, identity was amnesia, shadow remains to be seen.
Pick 3
[ ] Your right eye
[ ] Your left arm
[ ] Your identity
[ ] Your privacy
[ ] Your voice
[ ] Your reflection
[ ] Your shadow
-Right Eye would have cost us depth perception, probably making us a worse shot.
-Left Arm would have made us not be able to do anything that requires two hands.
-Voice would have made communicating with others harder, as we resort to sign language or writing or something.
-Privacy... we would have always been followed by... whatever monster shit is probably going on?
Reflection cost us our ability to see what we look like, identity was amnesia, shadow remains to be seen.
- Right eye will likely also narrow our field of view as well, increasing the number of blind spots. It wouldn't be much of a weakness in usual contexts, but when there's who-knows-what at large and the possibility of lethal combat in the air, it's gonna be quite a bit more impactful.
- Reflection 100% is having some metaphysical effect we aren't privy to, yet. The mirror, in some cultures or some occultic traditions, is considered a gateway, a Threshold, into mystical realms or other worlds. Mostly, though, I doubt reflection would simply end at us not being able to see our face - it's annoying, sure, but way less significant of a penalty than losing a body part or more or less every memory about ourselves.
- Identity seems to be more than normal amnesia, and has systematically prevented us from seeing or gleaming anything from anything that possibly identifies us, too. No names on any identifications, the stabbing migraines when trying to dig up our past correspondences...there's more than memory loss at play, here.
You are unaware that you have lost anything, as of yet. The current situation has not called for making or fixing anything, or given much rise to an artistic urge. But you'll feel the lack later. Something is missing that ought to be there. Something has died inside you. A castle made of clouds, perhaps.
But you've kept some practical skills, and maybe a bit of an impractical one. If you can't get back what was lost...well, there's always prose.
"Shh, shh it's okay," you try to tell the statue. Your voice is sorta like the statue's? And sorta like the soothing voice of that 'impact' announcement, light and kinda higher-pitched sorta? Yours is a little rougher than the statue's, but then, you coughed a bunch of shit out of your aching throat a couple minutes ago, so. There's that?
Don't, please, don't don't -
"I need access to the stairwell, I'll be careful not to knock you over," you whisper, way quieter than the statue is being - Nicole, if that is its name, is practically shrieking when it isn't sobbing in abject terror. You go to lift the lanyard, and stop when its voice screams; you reflexively pull back, raising your hands to protect yourself from blows that aren't coming. That alarm is still sounding, and between that and the voice the pain behind your eyes is only getting worse. Stay calm.
Stay calm. It's important, in an emergency, to stay calm. You drag your hands down your face, take a deep breath that hurts your throat even more, and grasp the lanyard in both hands.
And then 'Nicole' says something.
You're not sure what, because the very first thing the statue says in its sentence hurts like nothing else has in your three minutes of life. The sound Cannot Be, it is a jagged, sharp null pointer in your perceptions that slashes right into your mind. You cry out and pull away, and the little clip on the back of the lanyard, a tiny metal frog clip, it just comes undone exactly as it's designed to. The statue's voice shrieks in agony; it vibrates, and then shatters into thousands upon thousands of glass chunks, some of which spray onto you. You stare in disbelief, vision swimming with pain, for almost a minute.
In the end, it's the warm, wet feeling of blood seeping out of the glass that brings you back to yourself. You brush it off your labcoat in a panic, but you're far too late; the white coat is soaked through in red, clinging to your partially-shredded clothes, and you can feel the sticky iron taint of human(?) blood on your skin. The screaming has stopped, forever. The voice is gone.
You have taken your first life. You have lost something you have no name for. You are four minutes old.
Deep breaths. You have to stay calm. It's important, in an emergency, to stay calm. You stagger back, slowly, until your ass touches the cold metal of the stairwell door. You jolt in pure terror before you realize what you're touching, and with fumbling hands you swipe the keycard that says Nicole Bartman in the electronic lock; it flashes from red to green, and the door audibly unlocks. You yank it open with indecent speed and rush inside, taking the stairs down as fast as you dare. Even over the alarm (that damn alarm, your head hurts so much...) your heavy boots clomp and stomp and clatter on steel steps that have not been designed for comfort. Your aching knees and back do not appreciate this course of action at all.
One flight down. Two flights down. Three flights down before you encounter an obstacle; some kind of glass construct or maybe a growth, almost crystalline, blocks the stairwell. The glass itself is clearer than sweet water, just like the statues, but it is absolutely coated in a thin sheen of red liquid and tattered flesh; even as you start to process, as your mind unwillingly tries to determine just how many people would be needed to produce all that...waste...a spike of glass shudders and grows another four inches towards the door back into the offices. You swipe 'Nicole's' keycard to open the way out and stumble through the door and into some kind of food court. There are a pair of voices; one is deeper, with a pleasant bass rumble, or at least it would be pleasant if it wasn't sobbing. It belongs to a burly statue seated at one of the tables near the shattered windows, with an intricate beard of curly hair that goes down to its chest and glasses that have little cat paws on the rims. Across the table from that statue is another; its voice is more like yours or Nicole's, and it is attempting to be comforting, to shush its compatriot.
You try to focus. That shushing is terrified. What is it scared of?
The answer click-clacks across the tile floor of this incongruously high-up cafeteria. You almost think it's a rat at first, but you're pretty sure rats aren't five feet high at the shoulder, don't have glass components in their flesh, and are supposed to have two or less eyes and not, as a random, nonspecific example, two or less eyes per square foot of visible fur. As the beast snuffles the ground, its whiskers chime beautifully with every downward motion, ringing out like pretty little bells whenever they touch the tile. Its face is already slick with blood.
You check your gun. Still loaded...but there could be more of these things, and the flight of stairs on the other side of the building is just across the room. Is this your problem?
As you LOSE, you can also gain. You've lost quite a lot already, and have up to two GIFTS available. When the option appears to gain a GIFT, you can cash it in and receive...something. Something useful to the situation at hand which will then stick around. It might not always be something that belongs here; perhaps you may even come to regret receiving it. But it will always be handy right now. These GIFTS are in addition to any potential advantages or backhanded powers you gain from your LOSSES such as, for instance, being able to sneak up on people who are looking at mirrors due to losing your reflection.
Action - Pick 1
[ ] Open fire; of course this is your problem, these people(?) are terrified!
[ ] Sneak past while the rat(?) feasts. You are not going to get a better chance, and that evacuation warning was very clear.
[ ] You've gained a GIFT, haven't you? (Cash in 1 GIFT)
And we lost our artistic talent and tinkering? That really, really hurts. Well, this new ego is only five minutes old, surely there's still time to gain a new direction in life! Sorry mates, we can move and you presumably can't. As much as I would like to know more about ourself, outside is calling me, so...
[] Sneak past while the rat(?) feasts. You are not going to get a better chance, and that evacuation warning was very clear.
Thought on it a little bit, and I decided I want to do this instead. Deus Ex Machina, go! 🙏
[X] You've gained a GIFT, haven't you? (Cash in 1 GIFT)
Hmm. Concerning manifestations here - the glass, whatever it even is, doesn't simply form statues of people - it is clearly reshaping and altering reality (or at least flesh) itself is someway, morphing the forms of things in addition to turning them into glass. Considering a large shard of glass is embedded into our chest, this is not great news for what we are. Then again, we already know we are or have became inhuman from the start of this whole thing, so not particularly revelatory...
Saving people. Murdering a monster. This would likely be better for morale. Still not sure if the glass statues are normal people, or a different consciousness entirely, or something entirely else, but presumably we'll get on their good side if we do this too.
That said, limited resource. And, sorry unknown persons, but we really don't want to dally here with that alarm still blaring and whatever-the-fuck-else on the loose. I do not want to stay here too long to see what else the glass can make, or do.
Very limited resource, at least for now. Also, unpredictable, though since the rat is an enemy we will probably get something combat-oriented, but that's still quite broad.
So. As much as this will probably kill our morale...
[X] Sneak past while the rat(?) feasts. You are not going to get a better chance, and that evacuation warning was very clear.
You're not sure what, because the very first thing the statue says in its sentence hurts like nothing else has in your three minutes of life. The sound Cannot Be, it is a jagged, sharp null pointer in your perceptions that slashes right into your mind. You cry out and pull away, and the little clip on the back of the lanyard, a tiny metal frog clip, it just comes undone exactly as it's designed to. The statue's voice shrieks in agony; it vibrates, and then shatters into thousands upon thousands of glass chunks, some of which spray onto you. You stare in disbelief, vision swimming with pain, for almost a minute.
In the end, it's the warm, wet feeling of blood seeping out of the glass that brings you back to yourself. You brush it off your labcoat in a panic, but you're far too late; the white coat is soaked through in red, clinging to your partially-shredded clothes, and you can feel the sticky iron taint of human(?) blood on your skin. The screaming has stopped, forever. The voice is gone.
You have taken your first life. You have lost something you have no name for. You are four minutes old.
Gods... I think be need to be exceptionally careful when touching anything on or closely around the Glassed People. Especially if its something with a name since uh... fuck, that might have been the last piece of HER left was her name. Though we still can't make any real assumptions on whats going on.
[x] Open Fire
We have the gun, we can somewhat hear that these are people, and we accidentally killed someone already. Until we know otherwise, we can at least try to take out a threat thats alone, if nothing else than for information on how tough a single foe is when we have a firearm. Because if this is a research facility, odds are there are dozens more out there, better we know NOW how tough they can be while saving 2 Glassed People
