The Courier
- Thread starter Powerofmind
- Start date
- Original
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Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
Exhausting weekend, will have a thing soon.
Incidental
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
You read carefully...
This is not a dream or hallucination, Abigail. Everything you read here is an absolute fact.
I find excesses of legalease to be incredibly irritating(it comes from millennia of dealing with dying lawyers), so this is going to be short and sweet.
1. You hereby agree not to disclose any information about your experiences beginning with the point at which you died, thirty-two minutes ago, under pain of spontaneous removal of your soul from your body for processing.
2. You hereby agree to act as necessary to perform your new job, which will be the collection of human souls who have illegally extended their lives in the general vicinity of the area known as Providence, Illinois, and other areas as required of you. Transportation and other expenses will not be provided, and must be exchanged through our internal credit system if required.
3. Your new aide, Coincidence, will act as necessary to assist you in the performance of your new job, as part of mandated punishment for the accidental death it incurred to your person.
4. Upon the completion of the required work period which will last no less than one hundred days, you will be free to terminate your contract with us at any time. If you wish to seek further employment, you will not be allowed to accept more than two hundred and sixty-five additional days. Upon termination of your contract, you will have your memories and personal belongings altered - in order to scrub the concepts you will be introduced to over the course of employment - from your consciousness. This is for your own good, trust me.
5. As compensation for the duress caused by pain of death and the assorted injuries and damages that will be caused by employment to me, you will receive three years to be added to your expiration date upon completion of your employment period.
Please Sign Below.
You blink a few times, and finding that the document still makes some amount of sense, even if it's done in the most informal way possible, you conclude that you are actually experiencing this. You are actually dead, or were dead, will be dead? And now, in order to stay alive, you've been forced to act as... Death's personal courier? "What if I don't want to sign, lady?"
The woman, whose name you never caught, huffs and crosses her arms. "You can call me The Assistant, or AT for short. And if you don't wanna sign, Miss Taggart, then we'll just end your life right now. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a person in your state and we have no problem letting you pass on right now."
You wince. With the main problems mostly answered for you, you figure you have no other choice than to sign it(hey, when you're finished, you get to live three years longer than... whatever you were going to live before!). When you finish, you hold it away from yourself, half expecting it to burst into flames or something equally weird, before AT takes it from you, rolling her eyes as she turns to leave. "Hey, wait! You haven't told me anything yet!"
She waves off your concerns as she heads out into the... warehouse, and to your right appears a mass of shadow and, dare you think the ridiculous thought, condensed bad luck. Hello, Abigail. I am Coincidence. You had questions before we got started? I'd like to get this over with right away...
[ ] ... I need a few days of heavy drinking, actually.
Just... I need some time to sort this nonsense out.
[ ] Yeah, I do have some questions...
-[ ] What are they?
[ ] Uh, no, I'm good.
This isn't happening. This isn't happening. I'm just going insane, yeah! Totally nuts!
This is not a dream or hallucination, Abigail. Everything you read here is an absolute fact.
I find excesses of legalease to be incredibly irritating(it comes from millennia of dealing with dying lawyers), so this is going to be short and sweet.
1. You hereby agree not to disclose any information about your experiences beginning with the point at which you died, thirty-two minutes ago, under pain of spontaneous removal of your soul from your body for processing.
2. You hereby agree to act as necessary to perform your new job, which will be the collection of human souls who have illegally extended their lives in the general vicinity of the area known as Providence, Illinois, and other areas as required of you. Transportation and other expenses will not be provided, and must be exchanged through our internal credit system if required.
3. Your new aide, Coincidence, will act as necessary to assist you in the performance of your new job, as part of mandated punishment for the accidental death it incurred to your person.
4. Upon the completion of the required work period which will last no less than one hundred days, you will be free to terminate your contract with us at any time. If you wish to seek further employment, you will not be allowed to accept more than two hundred and sixty-five additional days. Upon termination of your contract, you will have your memories and personal belongings altered - in order to scrub the concepts you will be introduced to over the course of employment - from your consciousness. This is for your own good, trust me.
5. As compensation for the duress caused by pain of death and the assorted injuries and damages that will be caused by employment to me, you will receive three years to be added to your expiration date upon completion of your employment period.
Please Sign Below.
You blink a few times, and finding that the document still makes some amount of sense, even if it's done in the most informal way possible, you conclude that you are actually experiencing this. You are actually dead, or were dead, will be dead? And now, in order to stay alive, you've been forced to act as... Death's personal courier? "What if I don't want to sign, lady?"
The woman, whose name you never caught, huffs and crosses her arms. "You can call me The Assistant, or AT for short. And if you don't wanna sign, Miss Taggart, then we'll just end your life right now. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a person in your state and we have no problem letting you pass on right now."
You wince. With the main problems mostly answered for you, you figure you have no other choice than to sign it(hey, when you're finished, you get to live three years longer than... whatever you were going to live before!). When you finish, you hold it away from yourself, half expecting it to burst into flames or something equally weird, before AT takes it from you, rolling her eyes as she turns to leave. "Hey, wait! You haven't told me anything yet!"
She waves off your concerns as she heads out into the... warehouse, and to your right appears a mass of shadow and, dare you think the ridiculous thought, condensed bad luck. Hello, Abigail. I am Coincidence. You had questions before we got started? I'd like to get this over with right away...
[ ] ... I need a few days of heavy drinking, actually.
Just... I need some time to sort this nonsense out.
[ ] Yeah, I do have some questions...
-[ ] What are they?
[ ] Uh, no, I'm good.
This isn't happening. This isn't happening. I'm just going insane, yeah! Totally nuts!
Job Training
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
(A/N: Behold, the amazing power of necrooooo. Originally, I was just waiting for a tiebreaker, then it turned into... whatever happened here, for whatever reason it happened, and for that I feel rather embarrassed. I am a super lazy and will neither deny nor refute this, I need to be poked at to do stuff. So I figured I'd do the questions option with a little extra thrown in, for that ever-necessary exposition, now that my will to continue has finally won out over massive embarrassment at stopping for so long.)
"Yeah," you say, "I have questions, alright. Am I just supposed to go around killing anyone you want me to? Are there seriously just... zombies running around or something, and nobody ever noticed?" The... Coincidence, you guess, shifts a little. You get the impression she's rolling her eyes at you, despite the fact that it neither has a particularly feminine voice nor a face. Well... yeah. I mean, if they're cheating Death then obviously you're supposed to make them dead so the big boss can finally get his due out of it. Some of the really stubborn spirits might not even want to leave the corpse so you have to drag them all the way here, to Limbo, so AT can transfer them out. And they're not zombies, that would be silly. They're just people who were supposed to be dead, but aren't.
That's... not particularly pleasant, but what needs be, and all. You consider a few other questions before you head out, and speak up again. "So what's this internal credit system that disclaimer was going on about?" Coincidence seems a bit impatient, but the answer doesn't seem rushed or anything. If you had to guess, you'd think this thing was you, just before a test. Pissed, bored, and really in the mood to be productive rather than socializing. The internal credit is like a tab. You can't have less than a hundred days, or more than a year, but depending on the kind of help you ask for and how much work you put in, you might run up an extra debt on your end, or ours. That's basically what the internal credit represents, how much time you still owe. You can buy, well, pretty much anything, but no selling unless you've got to make ends meet after a full year's up. I've seen a guy buy canned IQ for ten points, and I've seen someone buy a portal to Australia from Canada for a hundred. Some idiot even bought a lifetime's supply of Snickers, once.
You're trying to figure out how, metaphysically, you can just suddenly have more natural intelligence, when the PA system blares overhead. Attention, attention, it sounds like one of those really stereotypical nasally secretaries, you realize, Miss Taggart, please report to the briefing room. It's time to go. You groan, thinking about the problem presented before you as you head out of the office. 'Well where is the briefing room, then. It's not like I can just open the door and-' Your thoughts halt, as you look out of the little pocket office into what looks like a private board room for the FBI or a fortune 500 company. There's even a skyline out the window. You lean back into the corner office and look out it's windows, and sure enough, the factory is still there. Accepting that you have lost your mind completely, you take a seat in the board room, shutting the door behind you. The Assistant opens it a few moments later, nearly stumbling in the heels she's now wearing. That's not the only change, as she's traded the workman's uniform for a high-powered businesswoman's suit and skirt, still in an overly-bright, eye-catching red, complete with a short, neck-length ponytail of hair.
Despite the change of appearance, she's still as cheerleader-peppy as before. "Good, you're here! Okay, so the boss has an assignment for you to handle, nothing big, he doesn't have nearly enough people in Providence to cover all the small issues that seem to be cropping up around it, so it's perfect for getting your feet wet!" She hands you a file, though it seems unnecessary given the contents are a single sheet of paper, with a photo clipped to it. The guy's name was Peter Kaufman, and he was apparently supposed to have died from complications following a cardiac arrest. It even had an address and occupation address to make it easier to find him.
You close the file and toss it on the desk, still a little queasy about the idea of just killing people, and AT gives you a key. "Here you go, Miss Taggart! This is your skeleton key. We've got a lot of locations internationally, and this is how you get in. Just put it in any old lock, and if nobody's looking, the door it opens will lead right back here, to Limbo." She drops what little professionalism she's pretending to have, and the begging is almost tangible in her voice, "please don't lose it, it's super hard to replace, plus we have to find the old one..." And, doing another emotional one-eighty, she power-walks to the door and practically skips out. "Sorry, I've got another meeting, you can show yourself out!" The door shuts behind her.
Well, guess it's time to figure out what to do next.
[ ] Spend credit? You can spend all you want, as long as you're able to pay it all back when you 'leave the business'.
-[ ] On what? Afraid you can't spend it all in one place, Abby. Two purchases per successful delivery, them's the breaks! I'll give you one right off, because I'm so generous... (basically anything under the sun is a legal purchase, so long as you don't mind a little debt; from permanent skills to physical conditioning to physical objects - incremental only for abstract improvements - mundane or arcane in nature, and though there's limits on how wacky a thing can be and still exist in the physical world, you'll have to find those limits yourself.)
Why do I know that a day is ten credits?
[ ] Why is the amorphous blob of bad luck still following you around?
So creepy. Wait a minute, didn't she kill me?!
[ ] Just... get it over with. Sorry Peter, it's not your lucky day.
I already signed... And I don't think something like Death is going to let me renege on a contract.
[ ] Write-in?
"Yeah," you say, "I have questions, alright. Am I just supposed to go around killing anyone you want me to? Are there seriously just... zombies running around or something, and nobody ever noticed?" The... Coincidence, you guess, shifts a little. You get the impression she's rolling her eyes at you, despite the fact that it neither has a particularly feminine voice nor a face. Well... yeah. I mean, if they're cheating Death then obviously you're supposed to make them dead so the big boss can finally get his due out of it. Some of the really stubborn spirits might not even want to leave the corpse so you have to drag them all the way here, to Limbo, so AT can transfer them out. And they're not zombies, that would be silly. They're just people who were supposed to be dead, but aren't.
That's... not particularly pleasant, but what needs be, and all. You consider a few other questions before you head out, and speak up again. "So what's this internal credit system that disclaimer was going on about?" Coincidence seems a bit impatient, but the answer doesn't seem rushed or anything. If you had to guess, you'd think this thing was you, just before a test. Pissed, bored, and really in the mood to be productive rather than socializing. The internal credit is like a tab. You can't have less than a hundred days, or more than a year, but depending on the kind of help you ask for and how much work you put in, you might run up an extra debt on your end, or ours. That's basically what the internal credit represents, how much time you still owe. You can buy, well, pretty much anything, but no selling unless you've got to make ends meet after a full year's up. I've seen a guy buy canned IQ for ten points, and I've seen someone buy a portal to Australia from Canada for a hundred. Some idiot even bought a lifetime's supply of Snickers, once.
You're trying to figure out how, metaphysically, you can just suddenly have more natural intelligence, when the PA system blares overhead. Attention, attention, it sounds like one of those really stereotypical nasally secretaries, you realize, Miss Taggart, please report to the briefing room. It's time to go. You groan, thinking about the problem presented before you as you head out of the office. 'Well where is the briefing room, then. It's not like I can just open the door and-' Your thoughts halt, as you look out of the little pocket office into what looks like a private board room for the FBI or a fortune 500 company. There's even a skyline out the window. You lean back into the corner office and look out it's windows, and sure enough, the factory is still there. Accepting that you have lost your mind completely, you take a seat in the board room, shutting the door behind you. The Assistant opens it a few moments later, nearly stumbling in the heels she's now wearing. That's not the only change, as she's traded the workman's uniform for a high-powered businesswoman's suit and skirt, still in an overly-bright, eye-catching red, complete with a short, neck-length ponytail of hair.
Despite the change of appearance, she's still as cheerleader-peppy as before. "Good, you're here! Okay, so the boss has an assignment for you to handle, nothing big, he doesn't have nearly enough people in Providence to cover all the small issues that seem to be cropping up around it, so it's perfect for getting your feet wet!" She hands you a file, though it seems unnecessary given the contents are a single sheet of paper, with a photo clipped to it. The guy's name was Peter Kaufman, and he was apparently supposed to have died from complications following a cardiac arrest. It even had an address and occupation address to make it easier to find him.
You close the file and toss it on the desk, still a little queasy about the idea of just killing people, and AT gives you a key. "Here you go, Miss Taggart! This is your skeleton key. We've got a lot of locations internationally, and this is how you get in. Just put it in any old lock, and if nobody's looking, the door it opens will lead right back here, to Limbo." She drops what little professionalism she's pretending to have, and the begging is almost tangible in her voice, "please don't lose it, it's super hard to replace, plus we have to find the old one..." And, doing another emotional one-eighty, she power-walks to the door and practically skips out. "Sorry, I've got another meeting, you can show yourself out!" The door shuts behind her.
Well, guess it's time to figure out what to do next.
[ ] Spend credit? You can spend all you want, as long as you're able to pay it all back when you 'leave the business'.
-[ ] On what? Afraid you can't spend it all in one place, Abby. Two purchases per successful delivery, them's the breaks! I'll give you one right off, because I'm so generous... (basically anything under the sun is a legal purchase, so long as you don't mind a little debt; from permanent skills to physical conditioning to physical objects - incremental only for abstract improvements - mundane or arcane in nature, and though there's limits on how wacky a thing can be and still exist in the physical world, you'll have to find those limits yourself.)
Why do I know that a day is ten credits?
[ ] Why is the amorphous blob of bad luck still following you around?
So creepy. Wait a minute, didn't she kill me?!
[ ] Just... get it over with. Sorry Peter, it's not your lucky day.
I already signed... And I don't think something like Death is going to let me renege on a contract.
[ ] Write-in?
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
Is it wrong that I feel it's safe to close a vote with two people?
One more round of exposition, but you've traded away your purchase for it, and something else... It'll be waiting for you when you get back, but the time you've spent talking is gone forever.
One more round of exposition, but you've traded away your purchase for it, and something else... It'll be waiting for you when you get back, but the time you've spent talking is gone forever.
Mission Start
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
You're about to make to leave before you realize the blob is still following you around. It's kind of creepy, notwithstanding the fact that, according to that NDA, she killed you less than an hour ago and working with you is punishment. For that matter, what does she even do for you? "Hey, we have to work together, right?" She does something and you almost recognize it as resignation, and it's damn weird that a featureless blob is so capable of projecting something you recognize as body language. Yes we do, Abigail.
You continue, "Okay then, so... what exactly are you going to do to help me? Are other people going to be able to see you or..." She huffs, like she's dealing with some annoying kid, but she answers anyway. Nobody outside of you or people that otherwise cheated death can see me, but I'm kind of stuck with you. She pauses, and you get the distinct sense that she's embarrassed, before you think of a followup. "Wait, so you're going to be following me around all the time?" She shudders. I hope you're not to worried about personal privacy... She changes the subject rather quickly, and you're as glad for it as she seems to be. I help you by doing my thing, making accidents happen, generally ones that benefit you. We're not allowed to go around killing random people, though, so most of the things I can do will be more distractions than anything else, and the cheaters can see me, so it's really difficult to kill them myself. That's pretty much where you come in. Stab em, shoot em, drown em... Anything you can do to kill them works. It's exhausting to cause too many 'accidents' in a row, though, so be quick about your work.
That seems pretty useful, having the secondhand power of cheesing physics and probability. You were kind of hoping she'd handle the killing for you, though. You're still considering what to do next when she motions at the door, seeming more impatient than she was a moment ago. We're on assignment, you know. If you can't finish the deed by the time you're off the clock, you'll get written up. Three strikes and you're, well, terminated. That catches your attention. "Wait, I'm on the clock? How long do I have?!" You get up and head to the door as she answers. Oh, eight hours for a given assignment. You've already lost an hour asking questions, and it looks really bad on me if you get reprimanded on day one.
Well damn. You quickly yank open the door and step out, before groaning in annoyance. What was the fetish with the twilight zone doors about? You find yourself in the middle of an office, having opened the door from a bathroom. It couldn't have even been the women's bathroom? Really? You've only just stepped out before you hear some kind of commotion nearby, sounding a bit like a birthday party. You're stuck in Providence, so of course you check for cameras, heaving a sigh of relief when you find none in the bathroom alcove.
[ ] First thing's first. You're stuck doing the killing, so you've got to find something to do it with.
My fists are not deadly weapons, and if that Peter guy's face is anything to go by I might not even be able to fit an entire arm around his fat neck to strangle him.
[ ] You need to get your bearings.
Where am I in Providence? Where's this guy Peter? Where could I reasonably retreat to if those enforcer cops find me?
[ ] Write-in?
You continue, "Okay then, so... what exactly are you going to do to help me? Are other people going to be able to see you or..." She huffs, like she's dealing with some annoying kid, but she answers anyway. Nobody outside of you or people that otherwise cheated death can see me, but I'm kind of stuck with you. She pauses, and you get the distinct sense that she's embarrassed, before you think of a followup. "Wait, so you're going to be following me around all the time?" She shudders. I hope you're not to worried about personal privacy... She changes the subject rather quickly, and you're as glad for it as she seems to be. I help you by doing my thing, making accidents happen, generally ones that benefit you. We're not allowed to go around killing random people, though, so most of the things I can do will be more distractions than anything else, and the cheaters can see me, so it's really difficult to kill them myself. That's pretty much where you come in. Stab em, shoot em, drown em... Anything you can do to kill them works. It's exhausting to cause too many 'accidents' in a row, though, so be quick about your work.
That seems pretty useful, having the secondhand power of cheesing physics and probability. You were kind of hoping she'd handle the killing for you, though. You're still considering what to do next when she motions at the door, seeming more impatient than she was a moment ago. We're on assignment, you know. If you can't finish the deed by the time you're off the clock, you'll get written up. Three strikes and you're, well, terminated. That catches your attention. "Wait, I'm on the clock? How long do I have?!" You get up and head to the door as she answers. Oh, eight hours for a given assignment. You've already lost an hour asking questions, and it looks really bad on me if you get reprimanded on day one.
Well damn. You quickly yank open the door and step out, before groaning in annoyance. What was the fetish with the twilight zone doors about? You find yourself in the middle of an office, having opened the door from a bathroom. It couldn't have even been the women's bathroom? Really? You've only just stepped out before you hear some kind of commotion nearby, sounding a bit like a birthday party. You're stuck in Providence, so of course you check for cameras, heaving a sigh of relief when you find none in the bathroom alcove.
[ ] First thing's first. You're stuck doing the killing, so you've got to find something to do it with.
My fists are not deadly weapons, and if that Peter guy's face is anything to go by I might not even be able to fit an entire arm around his fat neck to strangle him.
[ ] You need to get your bearings.
Where am I in Providence? Where's this guy Peter? Where could I reasonably retreat to if those enforcer cops find me?
[ ] Write-in?
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
Should take a look at the character sheet, by the by. It's been updated.
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
Guess I'll roll dice again tomorrow morning?
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
Unless someone feels like playing tiebreaker I'll be rolling off in an hour.
First Time
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
Right. First thing's first, where did you end up, and where is this guy Peter?
... Well damn. You... have no idea how to go about doing that without appearing on camera, and if this place is half the police state it seems to be, asking a person might be even worse. But you suck it up. You'll probably have to go tunnel crawling to lose them, again, but knowing where you're going is worth it.
Fortunately the building is organized very well, and you have no problem finding your way to the office directory near an elevator. Electronic again, perfect. Sifting through the menus, you discover you're already at the address Peter works at, though you don't know what floor he's on. It's when you start to look into the floor plan for the place that the terminal locks down, the directory replaced with big blinking letters that advise you to stay where you are and wait for law enforcement to arrive.
You curse under your breath, as you quickly get away from the place before anyone can spot you personally. After a moment's indecision, you head towards the cubicles, a floundering hope of a plan forming in your head. Maybe someone will freak out from seeing Coincidence, since that would be enough to identify the guy for you. She seems to think it's as good as anything, and floats around ahead of you. You wince as you consider how the hell you're going to actually kill him, though. Maybe you can shove him out the window? Almost absently you grab a pen from someone's empty desk. Maybe if you jam that in his eye it'll work well enough.
You move casually through the place, occasionally going on tip toes or hopping to get a better look at the heads poking over the low walls. You get plenty of weird looks, but almost everyone seems to be content to let you have your way. They must not have even alerted the workers or anything that you were here, or at least not yet. You're interrupted from your search when you hear a loud clatter behind you, just after you'd passed by some manager's suite. You spin, and before you is the face on the picture, Peter Kaufman. He's shorter than you thought, but he's still stocky and overweight, enough that it'd probably take two of you to even roll him over. "Wha-what's that thing?!"
People are staring now, and you're a little at a loss on what to do before you remember what you're supposed to do, for your continued life. It's you or me, Pete. Sorry. Your grip tightens on the pen in your hand, and you lunge. The distance is big enough that he can react, at least a little, and he brings up his hands, shuffling backwards. Your arm jars against his, and it feels a little painful as you pull back for another go, rattling your arm again as he flails, only getting you a scratch on his forearm for the trouble. Your third stab has better luck, and you flinch as he cries out in pain.
It floats around in your head that what you're doing is completely insane. You've only gotten him in the shoulder, and even with your hand obscuring the sight, you're still morbidly fascinated at the sight of a pen stuck somewhere it doesn't make much sense to see.
[ ] Just finish it already.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's you or me. You've gotta die so I can get my fair shot, so I can get out of this hellhole city. Just please stop screaming.
[ ] Go lower.
... I wonder if arterial spray looks like it does on TV?
[ ] Kill him.
It's just a job. Just another thing you have to deal with before you can have the life you wanted since you were a kid. Get it over with and move on.
... Well damn. You... have no idea how to go about doing that without appearing on camera, and if this place is half the police state it seems to be, asking a person might be even worse. But you suck it up. You'll probably have to go tunnel crawling to lose them, again, but knowing where you're going is worth it.
Fortunately the building is organized very well, and you have no problem finding your way to the office directory near an elevator. Electronic again, perfect. Sifting through the menus, you discover you're already at the address Peter works at, though you don't know what floor he's on. It's when you start to look into the floor plan for the place that the terminal locks down, the directory replaced with big blinking letters that advise you to stay where you are and wait for law enforcement to arrive.
You curse under your breath, as you quickly get away from the place before anyone can spot you personally. After a moment's indecision, you head towards the cubicles, a floundering hope of a plan forming in your head. Maybe someone will freak out from seeing Coincidence, since that would be enough to identify the guy for you. She seems to think it's as good as anything, and floats around ahead of you. You wince as you consider how the hell you're going to actually kill him, though. Maybe you can shove him out the window? Almost absently you grab a pen from someone's empty desk. Maybe if you jam that in his eye it'll work well enough.
You move casually through the place, occasionally going on tip toes or hopping to get a better look at the heads poking over the low walls. You get plenty of weird looks, but almost everyone seems to be content to let you have your way. They must not have even alerted the workers or anything that you were here, or at least not yet. You're interrupted from your search when you hear a loud clatter behind you, just after you'd passed by some manager's suite. You spin, and before you is the face on the picture, Peter Kaufman. He's shorter than you thought, but he's still stocky and overweight, enough that it'd probably take two of you to even roll him over. "Wha-what's that thing?!"
People are staring now, and you're a little at a loss on what to do before you remember what you're supposed to do, for your continued life. It's you or me, Pete. Sorry. Your grip tightens on the pen in your hand, and you lunge. The distance is big enough that he can react, at least a little, and he brings up his hands, shuffling backwards. Your arm jars against his, and it feels a little painful as you pull back for another go, rattling your arm again as he flails, only getting you a scratch on his forearm for the trouble. Your third stab has better luck, and you flinch as he cries out in pain.
It floats around in your head that what you're doing is completely insane. You've only gotten him in the shoulder, and even with your hand obscuring the sight, you're still morbidly fascinated at the sight of a pen stuck somewhere it doesn't make much sense to see.
[ ] Just finish it already.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's you or me. You've gotta die so I can get my fair shot, so I can get out of this hellhole city. Just please stop screaming.
[ ] Go lower.
... I wonder if arterial spray looks like it does on TV?
[ ] Kill him.
It's just a job. Just another thing you have to deal with before you can have the life you wanted since you were a kid. Get it over with and move on.
Last edited:
Mithrandir
Endurance and victory!
- Location
- Lighting the Blue Beacons.
[X] Just finish it already.
Just found this Quest. It's quite good so far, though I'm curious if the Prologue will ever actually happen.
Also, Typo:
Just found this Quest. It's quite good so far, though I'm curious if the Prologue will ever actually happen.
Also, Typo:
You're missing a space next after "irritating". Unless the contract was actually written that way?
Sendicard
Spreading Smiles
- Location
- New Mexico, USA
- Pronouns
- YouPick
Look what I found! Hahaha. (I have to wonder why this has so few voters. I think it's very well written. Hell, leagues better than RDQ was, and I had like 20 people back when I started.)
---
Of the three options I like approximately none of them.
Option A implies too much hesitance for someone who just lunged at him with a pen without any sort of thought. So voting on it is a good way to cause dissonance in our character mentality.
Option B implies a sadistic mood, which while amusing at first, is going to get old very quickly if this Quest is all about killing people.
Option C implies a colder mentality, one with a kill switch on emotion in our minds. I've never like those mental archtypes, because they mean more brutality, less thinking.
Regardless, I'm going to have to go with Option A, because while potential dissonance is a bad idea, sadism will get painful, and don't get me started on the kill-switch.
[X] Just finish it already.
---
Of the three options I like approximately none of them.
Option A implies too much hesitance for someone who just lunged at him with a pen without any sort of thought. So voting on it is a good way to cause dissonance in our character mentality.
Option B implies a sadistic mood, which while amusing at first, is going to get old very quickly if this Quest is all about killing people.
Option C implies a colder mentality, one with a kill switch on emotion in our minds. I've never like those mental archtypes, because they mean more brutality, less thinking.
Regardless, I'm going to have to go with Option A, because while potential dissonance is a bad idea, sadism will get painful, and don't get me started on the kill-switch.
[X] Just finish it already.
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
There's a fair amount of forward meaning this vote will have, and you got the gist of it. The first option frames your future job with a lot of sympathies for the people you're kind of screwing over, even if you'll keep doing it, B is pretty obvious, and C is actually the most similar to your character's baseline, a person who's gone through their entire life with a goal in mind, and if you have to walk over people, then so be it. You're still getting some world-building and character building out of these votes, despite the size of updates and length between them. Things get harder from here.
I can't wait for you guys to have to deal with what you could have been if Abby was a good girl for Big Brother.
Also, it is a complete coincidence that this quest is kind of similar to yours.
Sendicard
Spreading Smiles
- Location
- New Mexico, USA
- Pronouns
- YouPick
And you suddenly getting motivation to come out of your Haitus on February 11th, three days after I did, is also coincidence?Brother.
Also, it is a complete coincidence that this quest is kind of similar to yours.
--
Alright, well if choosing A will cause us to become a whiny bitch, I guess I'm stuck with C aren't I?
[X] Kill him.
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
Hmm, hmm. I suppose I'll roll soon enough. Four voters is such a crazy good turnout for me, I feel a little giddy!
But seriously, I'll probably roll and have something out sometime Tuesday night...
And 'just deal with it' mode it is.
But seriously, I'll probably roll and have something out sometime Tuesday night...
And 'just deal with it' mode it is.
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Job experience preferred, but not necessary
Powerofmind
In Madness Fallen
- Location
- United States
Kaufman's in something resembling shock, staring blankly at the pen in his arm. Swallowing down both bile and the disturbing sensation of giddiness, you yank it out, and make one last stab, aiming for the eye. You are, again, forced to hold back the urge to gag when you miss just enough to... No. No thinking about that. Just... just check his pulse and- Your thoughts are somewhat rudely interrupted, but not by the screaming from onlookers. That is unnecessary, Abigail. He is dead. It's a little strange that a pencil-pushing, spineless guy like this would have the strength of will to defy Death even once, though... You ignore her, knowing that you've got to book it away from the panicked crowd. You briefly thank your lucky stars that you'd gotten a good chunk of the floor plan before getting cut out of the system, as you happen to know just where to find the locked emergency stairs...
Unfortunately somebody had a freaking bottle of pepper spray on them and shot it right into your face, and it burns. You start to stumble and shout, the sensation far and above worse than the pain in your arms from your fight, when a somewhat incomprehensible jumble of images swirl in your blurry vision. Follow me, Abigail! You're about to shout, out loud, that she's an idiot and how can you possibly fucking see anything with the god damn spray in your eyes, when the weird images start to make a little more sense. Ah, must be one of her powers. You start moving through the blobs and geometric shapes, but being blind is no help even if you are getting freaky death-sight. You bumble around like a useless drunk, and more than once you see sounds and heat moving to trip up the big blobs you assume are people trying to tackle you to the ground, accompanied by a sense of knowing that Coincidence is really less than pleased with your incompetence. Well you suck, too.
The PA system blares suddenly, an artificial voice blaring over the pandemonium, and your heart drops to your stomach. Attention, attention, back away from the suspect. Authorities will arrive on this floor momentarily. The system goes static for a second, and continues with the same tone as before, but the content is freaky again. Abigail, please run straight forward at your top speed for exactly two seconds. Dammit that voice is starting to spook you the hell out. You comply anyway, counting to two-one thousand in your head at your best sprint. Miraculously, you don't barrel headfirst into anything before Coincidence picks up the slack. Right, right! You weave around a corner and your natural vision clears just enough to see a big red blot on the wall beside you. The emergency stairs. You hear a loud electrical pop behind you, but pay it no mind as you fumble desperately with the key in your hand. Thank god for manual locks in case of power outages. You forget to feel with your hand for the slot, and your first few attempts are embarrassing until you can hear the ding of the elevator, and adrenaline mixes with fear to produce the desired click of the lock as you all but throw yourself into the stairwell, falling flat on your face as the heavy door swings shut behind you.
Careful Abigail, I like to use the three strike system, and you've already spent two.
You scramble to your feet, unable to see, still, but Coincidence calms you. You made it. We're clear. Just rest for a second, okay? Your breaths are loud and heavy, and your heart rages against your ribs, but you're safe. The adrenaline and pain finally catches up with you as you empty your stomach, mostly water considering how little you've eaten today. So long as you keep reminding yourself it's just because your head is light, you can justify it.
Finally, you manage to see again, and stand, spinning as you hear the sound of heels on concrete behind you. You turn slowly, taking in the scenery, this time some kind of foundry or boiler room. You think you can feel it rocking, like a boat, and wonder if it's just you or someone has a cruel sense of humor for the recently-heaved. The Assistant whistles as you face her, this time wearing something you could swore you'd seen on television as a ship engineer's outfit, with her usual twist, red overalls on a cream-colored tee-shirt. "Yikes, Miss T.! You look terrible! I was gonna bring you another target, just in case you wanted it, but you might want to just head home for the day..."
Goodness, Abby, lady luck does not smile upon you, does she?. I'm tempted to let you guys roll on the site because I almost universally rolled like shit for you. I suppose I'll offer it if you're paying enough attention to this~
[ ] I'll punch out early, today. Thanks.
Uh... I might need some plastic surgery or something... Pretty sure I was on camera at least once for that stunt. Please tell me you guys have a lenient sleep-on-location policy.
[ ] Give me the damn file.
Nine-hundred and ninety points to go, Abby. Going for employee of the month? What the hell was that?
You also have some purchases to make. How lucky!
[ ] Yes, I'd like to buy...
-[ ] Discuss and select up to three items. Prices are provided freely when requested.
[ ] No, not right now...
Unfortunately somebody had a freaking bottle of pepper spray on them and shot it right into your face, and it burns. You start to stumble and shout, the sensation far and above worse than the pain in your arms from your fight, when a somewhat incomprehensible jumble of images swirl in your blurry vision. Follow me, Abigail! You're about to shout, out loud, that she's an idiot and how can you possibly fucking see anything with the god damn spray in your eyes, when the weird images start to make a little more sense. Ah, must be one of her powers. You start moving through the blobs and geometric shapes, but being blind is no help even if you are getting freaky death-sight. You bumble around like a useless drunk, and more than once you see sounds and heat moving to trip up the big blobs you assume are people trying to tackle you to the ground, accompanied by a sense of knowing that Coincidence is really less than pleased with your incompetence. Well you suck, too.
The PA system blares suddenly, an artificial voice blaring over the pandemonium, and your heart drops to your stomach. Attention, attention, back away from the suspect. Authorities will arrive on this floor momentarily. The system goes static for a second, and continues with the same tone as before, but the content is freaky again. Abigail, please run straight forward at your top speed for exactly two seconds. Dammit that voice is starting to spook you the hell out. You comply anyway, counting to two-one thousand in your head at your best sprint. Miraculously, you don't barrel headfirst into anything before Coincidence picks up the slack. Right, right! You weave around a corner and your natural vision clears just enough to see a big red blot on the wall beside you. The emergency stairs. You hear a loud electrical pop behind you, but pay it no mind as you fumble desperately with the key in your hand. Thank god for manual locks in case of power outages. You forget to feel with your hand for the slot, and your first few attempts are embarrassing until you can hear the ding of the elevator, and adrenaline mixes with fear to produce the desired click of the lock as you all but throw yourself into the stairwell, falling flat on your face as the heavy door swings shut behind you.
Careful Abigail, I like to use the three strike system, and you've already spent two.
You scramble to your feet, unable to see, still, but Coincidence calms you. You made it. We're clear. Just rest for a second, okay? Your breaths are loud and heavy, and your heart rages against your ribs, but you're safe. The adrenaline and pain finally catches up with you as you empty your stomach, mostly water considering how little you've eaten today. So long as you keep reminding yourself it's just because your head is light, you can justify it.
Finally, you manage to see again, and stand, spinning as you hear the sound of heels on concrete behind you. You turn slowly, taking in the scenery, this time some kind of foundry or boiler room. You think you can feel it rocking, like a boat, and wonder if it's just you or someone has a cruel sense of humor for the recently-heaved. The Assistant whistles as you face her, this time wearing something you could swore you'd seen on television as a ship engineer's outfit, with her usual twist, red overalls on a cream-colored tee-shirt. "Yikes, Miss T.! You look terrible! I was gonna bring you another target, just in case you wanted it, but you might want to just head home for the day..."
Goodness, Abby, lady luck does not smile upon you, does she?. I'm tempted to let you guys roll on the site because I almost universally rolled like shit for you. I suppose I'll offer it if you're paying enough attention to this~
[ ] I'll punch out early, today. Thanks.
Uh... I might need some plastic surgery or something... Pretty sure I was on camera at least once for that stunt. Please tell me you guys have a lenient sleep-on-location policy.
[ ] Give me the damn file.
Nine-hundred and ninety points to go, Abby. Going for employee of the month? What the hell was that?
You also have some purchases to make. How lucky!
[ ] Yes, I'd like to buy...
-[ ] Discuss and select up to three items. Prices are provided freely when requested.
[ ] No, not right now...
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