NARRATOR – It is only a short stroll between you and the elevator, and, luckily, someone else steps off just as you arrive. A short, raven-bearded man who skirts around your stench as he walks to his room.
SUGGESTION – This whole looking-slash-smelling like a corpse thing seems to really be sabotaging your social interactions.
SAVOIR FAIRE – I wonder why.
COMPOSURE – Agreed, you need to get a change of clothes and shower as soon as possible. Maybe use two coatings of shampoo as well… or, three. You’ll be a new man.
TASK GAINED – SHOWER
NARRATOR – The strange sensation of importance pulses through your nervous system once more, though this time, the signal feels somewhat weaker.
At last, you step into the elevator. Its interior is decorated exactly the same as the hallways – they probably had some leftover wallpaper. There is an array of buttons to your side bearing various symbols. Three roman numerals, a bell, one with arrows pointing inwards, another possessing outward-pointing arrows, and one colored a mildly-alarming red.
Looking up, you see a small screen affixed above the sliding doors, displaying two white lines on a blue background – the second floor.
You press the button to the first floor, and the doors slide shut. A brief sensation of weightlessness overtakes you as the elevator descends. It brings with it, an unbidden memory.
YOU – “I always loved that feeling. Ever since I was a kid. Felt like I was a drop marine…”
NARRATOR – Mouth finally clean, you pop the last ice cube, enjoying as it melt on your tongue.
The elevator stops with a ding, and the doors open, revealing to you a cross between a hotel lobby, and a restaurant.
Several tables – about a dozen in all – are arranged in a loose, though ordered sprawl. Some are empty, but the majority are occupied by various people enjoying what is presumably breakfast.
EMPATHY – ‘Enjoying’, I would say, is a highly inaccurate term. None of these people seem happy at all. Indeed, many are actively shooting baleful glances in your direction.
PERCEPTION – But Sir, as your gaze passes over them, their attention can suddenly be found everywhere except you.
RHETORIC – How do we even know this is breakfast? Could just as easily be lunch or perhaps even dinner – depending on the day/night cycle of this planet.
LOGIC – Because it’s clearly not Earth. Whatever it is.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – yeah, and I’d wager this isn’t a restaurant at all. No one’s eating anything, they’re just drinking. I think it’s a pub.
Awfully convenient for some hair of the dog that bit us, wouldn’t you say?
NARRATOR – As I was saying, inside of the room filled with people having a miserable time drinking during any possible meal of the standard Terran day, are several red and yellow posters plastered randomly across the walls and support beams. Alongside these are the occasional potted plant or hung photograph, and on the right of the elevator is a bar. At the bar is a bartender. Past the tables is a curtain wall, though it seems to be covered in a layer of filth, which stops you from seeing clearly any further, though there are numerous bright yellow shapes beyond them.
SUGGESTION – Okay, okay, we get the message; you’re the description guy…
RHETORIC – …We were right though…
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Just looking at all those reds and yellows makes you hungry. It’s a rather complicated neurochemical response, so I won’t burden you with it. Hopefully they do serve food here.
Go walk up to The Bartender and ask for a menu. Better get a frinale as well.
ENCYCLOPEDIA (SKILL CHECK 6/9: 5 = PASSED) – Frinale, or frinbrew, is an alcoholic beverage distilled from the bodies of frinoaks – a species of medium-sized trees known for their large leaves and sweet bark.
The plant and its usage for liquor were both discovered by Michael Frin on an unfortunately vague date sometime in the early 4780s. All that is known is that Frin and his father discovered the first of the species a few years prior to the devastating Smokestack wildfire of 88-90. When he was a young boy.
The frin plant would soon be noticed to possess properties which assisted in recovery for lung cancer victims. This would cause Frin’s extremely illegal distillery to skyrocket in popularity and allowed for him to become a major magnate of the era after his industry was legalized by popular demand. Frin’s rise would only end with his untimely death in ‘04 as a result of the Second Smokestack and temporary collapse of the Uffernolorrét.
Nevertheless, frinale has, in the centuries since, become a traditional beverage of this region’s culture – even after Frin’s various businesses were dissolved in ‘43. In fact, the drink has such popularity that it is imbibed across the entirety of the tower.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Well yeah, I could have told you that.
NARRATOR – History lesson aside, The Bartender will likely know quite a bit about this odd structure you find yourself in. At the very least he’ll know more than you.
LOGIC – Though that is not a very high rung.
NARRATOR – Walking over to the bar, you briefly ponder over ordering a meal as well, but you decide against it. Your stomach seems a bit weak after the repeated bouts of vomiting prior. Maybe you’ll feel up to it in an hour or so. Though you should still get something to drink soon.
As you draw closer, your attention is drawn to The Bartender – currently busying himself wiping a mug with a small washcloth. He is a pallid man, much like yourself, though his skin has a slightly grayish quality in comparison to yours. Light stubble covers his face, failing to conceal a weak jawline. His greasy, dark hair has been combed back into a buoyant slick.
SUGGESTION – He’s not naturally a looker or anything, but he does put quite a bit of care into his appearance. You should take notes.
NARRATOR – Over the man’s slim frame is a black waistcoat, red tie, and grey dress shirt, its sleeves bunched up at his elbows. On these clothes are similar shapes and symbols to the wallpaper in the upstairs hallway. Evidently whoever owns this place quite likes the style.
CONCEPTUALIZATION – That attire is a statement. You should get yourself some clothing like that – then everyone will know how unique and original you are!
NARRATOR – The Bartender notices your approaching footsteps and glances up from his mug, grimacing as he lays sight upon you. “Ah, Detective, to what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice practically drips with a sort of resigned condescension.
EMPATHY – He does not seem very pleasured to be seeing you.
NARRATOR – The man’s sparkling-clean cup and its accompanying washcloth are both set down beneath the bar, allowing his hands to settle on the countertop. “So, have you finally cracked the case? Can this whole [Belgium]ing ordeal be over with already?” He looks over your disheveled form as you arrive before him. Taking a semi-discreet sniff at the air, his frown deepens into an almost physically pained expression.
REACTION SPEED – Case? Ordeal? What’s he on about?
YOU – “Uhrruh- no. I haven’t done that. I was actually wondering um… where exactly am I currently?”
NARRATOR – The Bartender rolls his eyes. “This? Again?” He pushes away from the counter to idly inspect the rows of fancy liquor bottles behind him, posture carrying a noticeable slump “You, Detective, are currently residing in The Drop Off Hotel; my hotel. And, as is becoming increasingly evident, my eventual tomb…”
AUTHORITY (SKILL CHECK 4/6: 2 = PASSED) – I don’t like this pissant’s tone. Arrest him.
YOU – Wait, what? How would I do that?
ENCYCLOPEDIA – Miniscule fragments of memories tug and pull at the corners of your psyche – each attempting to catch your attention. But, as you attempt to focus on any one of them, they simply dance away – just out of your reach. It’s giving you a headache.
REACTION SPEED – Detectives can arrest people, and they’ve all been calling you one. So it stands to reason that either you actually are a Detective…
SAVOIR FAIRE – Or you were pulling off an immeasurably difficult con before you drank literally all your memories away. If that’s the case, I’d suggest you get to running before they find out.
RHETORIC – But what charges would you even be able to put on The Bartender – assuming we can actually do that in the first place.
AUTHORITY – Intentional Obstruction of Justice Personnel.
RHETORIC – …You could actually pin him with that, yes. If you wanted to.
NARRATOR – A moment passes, as you mull these thoughts over. Focusing back on The Bartender, you realize that you’ve just been silently staring at him for a while. He glares at you with barely concealed annoyance and contempt.
EMPATHY (SKILL CHECK 1/4: 1 = PASSED) – He wants to say things he knows he shouldn’t.
NARRATOR – Finally, he decides to intercede upon your silence. “Is there anything else, Detective.” The sentence, though framed as a question, seems much more like a statement to you.
ENDURANCE – The apparently tainted water.
ENCYCLOPEDIA – The fact that you literally don’t remember anything.
REACTION SPEED – He still hasn’t told you what the ever-burning [Belgium] this tower-thing is.
INLAND EMPIRE – Icagamor!
VOLITION – There is that vomit pile in front of the normal ice machine.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – ALCOHOL.
INTERFACING – The hole in your window.
YOU – “There was a- uh… a hole in my window. I almost suffocated.”
NARRATOR – The bartender, having turned his back to you once more during your silence, whirls around, eyes wide. “What are you talking about? That’s not possible, the windows are all bulletproof. Unless… did you- did you shoot that [Belgium]ing Klauv in there?!”
REACTION SPEED (SKILL CHECK 4/9: 3 = PASSED) – Bulletproof? That glass cracked just from a bottle haphazardly thrown by a drunk!
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LOGIC – Maybe the hole weakened its structural integrity?
SUGGESTION – Or, somewhere along the line, someone’s been massively scammed with those windows.
ENCYCLPEDIA (SKILL CHECK 6/8: 5 = PASSED) – Klauvenichia X12 Series, oftentimes referred to simply as ‘Klauvs’, are a popular brand of high-powered rifles designed to pierce through thick armor plating. Such as, for example, that found on mechanized heavy infantry or low-altitude ASCs – those being Aerial Support Cruisers. Klauvenichia as a corporation is known for producing weapons of generally poor quality, though its wares are quite cheap. Even still, the X12 series is considered to be out of the price range of all but the most elite sniper teams.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION – Because it’s the only model where the engineers weren’t actively suffering a stroke as it was designed.
REACTION SPEED – Wait, if the corporation is called Klauvenichia, then why are only the X12 Series rifles called Klauvs?
ENCYCLOPEDIA – The X12 Series is the only product of the corporation imported to this region, thus, not many here are aware of the wider Klauvenichia brand – and even fewer care.
YOU – “…Well, I don’t know how it happened. I just woke up and there was a hole in the window. I couldn’t breathe either.”
NARRATOR – The Bartender scoffs. “Of course you couldn’t breathe. Do you know how high we are? Actually, now that I say that, you probably don’t.”
YOU – “Uh, we’re a few kilometers up I think…”
NARRATOR – “Exactly!” He rubs his eyes with a hand, sighing. “Now I have to get new windows as well… and they’re all sold in bulk…”
YOU – “I may also have uh, trashed my room.”
NARRATOR – The Bartender glares at you. “Well, wasn’t that obvious enough! Everyone in the hotel could hear you in there, Detective.” Then, a glint of anxiety flashes in his eyes, and he looks down to pick up another glass, shoulders slumped. “Is there anything else?” He begins wiping the mug with his washcloth.
YOU – “There’s also… a pretty big pile of vomit in front of the ice machine upstairs.”
INLAND EMPIRE – I think you meant to say Icagamor.
NARRATOR – The glare returns, though decidedly muted in ferocity. It doesn’t however linger as The Bartender turns away from you. “Mault!”
Two seats down to your right a man jolts awake from his position slumbering atop the counter. You hadn’t even noticed him before, likely on account of his slight frame and the baggy grey jumpsuit over it – of course your persistent disorientation did not help either.
He turns to The Bartender, revealing to you a haggard, ash-white face bearing a raggedy beard, and framed by scraps of blue hair peeking out beneath his beret. “What? I-I’m up!” The man’s voice bears an extremely thick accent. Thinking back, the scar-faced man in the hallway had a similar sharp timbre to his voice, though far less prominently.
COMPOSURE (SKILL CHECK 5/8: 4 = PASSED) – The accent carries with it various connotations. ‘Rotmen’, ‘Assassins’, ‘Down South’, ‘Fol’. But they are without any form of context, and simply bounce about within your mind, half-formed.
HALF LIGHT – Just don’t walk into a crowd of them and you’ll be fine.
NARRATOR – The Bartender wastes no time for the Rotman to orient himself. “There’s some upchuck on the second floor – in front of the ice machine. Courtesy of our special guest. Go on and take care of that before it stains the carpet!”
The janitor groans as he sits up, mumbling scornfully of shag on his march to the elevator.
PERCEPTION (SKILL CHECK 4/6: 5 = FAILED) – …Hm? Oh, my dearest apologies for interrupting, Sir. I have nothing to report.
YOU – …Okay…
NARRATOR – The Bartender turns back to you once more. “Anything else?” He very purposefully glares not at you, but instead into the cup in his hands as he wipes it.
RHETORIC – Correct me if I’m wrong, but this Bartender appears to be fairly mad at you. Why is that?
EMPATHY (SKILL CHECK 1/6: 2 = FAILED) – Haven’t a clue. Maybe you should ask.
SUGGESTION – No! NO!
NARRATOR – Every logical ounce of your brain tells you that it is a truly awful idea. That this sentence is one of the worst things you could possibly say outside of ‘I am actually not a Detective’ or screaming at the top of your lungs. And you fully agree.
But alas, by the time you even realize anything is happening, the words have already forced themselves from your mouth.
YOU – “Why are you so mad at me?”
NARRATOR – Suddenly the glare is upon you once more, giving relief to the poor innocent cup. “Oh, I don’t know, really. Between the corpse rotting out back, me and everyone in here being trapped until you get off your lazy ass, and how you’ve just been drinking and trashing my hotel for thirteen days straight, it’s awful hard to decide!” The Bartender is left panting after his rant. You stand silent.
Dim awareness sprouts in the back of your mind of the worried gazes sent by the hotel’s patrons in your direction.
EMPATHY – They are not, however, for you.
NARRATOR – Even The Bartender, rageful as he is, slowly takes on a fearful expression. He knows he has crossed a line.
But in your psyche, there is not a single thought of retribution or reprisal. Instead, the contents of his impassioned rant flood your neurons with frantic debate.
REACTION SPEED – There is a lot to unpack in that statement…
YOU – Nobody can leave? What does that mean?
COMPOSURE – You’ve been here for thirteen days drinking and drugging?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Sounds awesome! But let’s make it fourteen at least – can’t stop so close to the two-week mark.
VOLITION – Did he just say there’s a corpse rotting out back?
YOU – “…I’m sorry, did you just say that there is currently a corpse behind this hotel?”
NARRATOR – The tension within The Bartender fades as he realizes you are not offended – though there is still a fear within him. He returns to wiping the cup, making sure to keep his eyes averted from yours. “Y-yes. The-the corpse…” His tone is soft and filled with stutters; he is wary of angering you. “You were sent here to investigate the murder almost two weeks ago.”
AUTHORITY – He’s remembered his place. Good.
YOU – “Investigate?”
NARRATOR – The Bartender sighs, almost involuntarily. “Yes, investigate. That is your job…”
YOU – “…And my job is…?”
NARRATOR – “Do I really have to spell it out for you?!” The Bartender’s fury returns, full force. “Yes, there is a corpse out back. The very same corpse that Garald Markinsian, in his infinite wisdom, sent you to investigate it. Because you are a detective – apparently! You work for the Pedef-Thien, and that means that it is your job to investigate murder. Have you seriously forgotten all of this again?!”
The Bartender points to the liquor shelves behind him, presumably referring to whatever is beyond the wall. “A man was hung here fourteen days ago, you were dispatched thirteen days ago. Since then, all you’ve done is exactly nothing. And until you close the case, the local Pelaenco won’t let anyone leave or enter my hotel! So please, please, please, please finish this!”
ESPRIT DE CORPS – Pedef-Thein? Pelaenco? Those words they… they call out to something within you.
YOU – “Um, okay, I’ll get right one that… What’s uh, what are Pedef-Thein and Pelaenco exactly?”
NARRATOR – The Bartender stares at you, blankly. Then, he sighs and resumes work polishing the cups. “You’ve really forgotten a lot this time, haven’t you? …I’m never getting out of here… Well, the Pelaenco are law enforcement across Thespir. Y’know, If you got mugged or stabbed or whatever, they’re the guys you go to.” He sets down his glass, and begins polishing another.
“Pedef-Thien, however, is the serious [Belgium]. They’re everything and nothing. Investigations, undercover work, spycraft stuff, like-like, movie-stuff. That’s what they do. Or, maybe that is actually just movie stuff. I certainly haven’t gotten quite the same impression from you as I get from Minaedalioner Faje…”
ENCYCLOPEDIA – Pelaenco. Pedef-Thien. Originally, both were simple Initialisms, then they transitioned into portmanteaus. But now, they have existed for so long as to become actual words within the local language.
YOU – Wait, so I’m a spy?
ENCYCLOPEDIA – Apparently.
DRAMA – It makes perfect sense, Sire! You’ve always felt like a spy.
YOU – No I haven’t.
DRAMA – Well that doesn’t matter! You are a spy – no denying it. Oh, I can only imagine the daring exploits you’ve accomplished…
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – You know what this is? This spy thing? It’s a panty-dropper. Just flash your spy card or whatever it is you’ve got, and the women will be gushing…
VOLITION – Is everything about sex with you? This is serious!
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – No, it’s not all about sex with me. I also quite enjoy drugs – for your information.
NARRATOR – The bartender grunts at your blank stare. “What? Do I need to give you a rundown of what Neralia is as well?”
ENCYCLOPEDIA (SKILL CHECK 6/10: 7 = FAILED) – …Yes please…
YOU – “Y-yes. Please.”
NARRATOR – Embarrassment floods your mind. You feel, more than anything, that you should know this at least.
-1 MORALE
NARRATOR – The Bartender takes on a completely mystified expression, blinking frantically as if it will wake him up from some delusional fever dream. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.
Whatever you said, was really stupid.
Finally, his voice returns. “Neralia is the planet we’re on right now. Y’know, where Thespir is? The place we’ve lived for our entire lives?”
ENCYCLOPEDIA (SKILL CHECK 6/10: 3 = PASSED) – Ah, I know this one!
Thespir is a gargantuan megastructure which began construction in 4598 under the supervision of highly-eccentric Quintillionaire Philanthropist Meilonn Walestrom. Technically construction of Thespir, due to its nature, has never quite ceased, but historians generally agree that it was finished in 4613. As of today, it stands proudly at two-hundred and fifty kilometers in height and five in width, far more than enough to reach past Neralia’s atmosphere.
Making use of this fact, Thespir would become a major voidport for the sector – with thousands of dedicated docks and an economy geared towards supplying and refueling voidships. Not to mention living space for tens of billions of people.
Though, this would not last forever.
YOU – Hm?
ENCYCLOPEDIA – As an aside, the megastructure was known after its completion as ‘The Meilonn Spire’, which would later become ‘The Spire’ before eventually drifting into ‘Thespir’. Current censuses also put its population at roughly thirteen billion.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Okay, this has been a real nice history lesson, but we are literally a meter away from gallons and gallons of liquor. Ask The Bartender for a drink already!
VOLITION – No, this is not the time to take leave of our senses – and alcohol will certainly push us in that direction.
EMPATHY – Just thank him for the information and move on. He’s been very patient with you, all things considered.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – That is cringe. Instead, assert dominance like the Sigma you are; challenge him to holmgang. For it is based.
YOU – What? No!
SUGGESTION – Just be honest with The Bartender. Tell him about your amnesia. There’s no point in dancing about the issue – you need to get to a hospital.
YOU – I do?
SUGGESTION – You woke up suffocating after multiple weeks of binge drinking and now you can’t even remember your own name. Of course you need to go to a hospital!
LOGIC – You do certainly have brain damage.
HALF LIGHT – But you can’t go to one of those worm-mongers, they’ll steal your kidneys!
NARRATOR – The Bartender is still staring at you, by the way. You have, once again, paused completely for several seconds.
Taking a glance about the lobby for any livilers who might be eavesdropping, you lean over the countertop, lowering your voice.
YOU – “Look, I don’t remember anything. And when I say I don’t remember anything, I mean that I don’t remember a single thing about my entire life. I don’t know my own name or even how many teeth I have-”
NARRATOR – At that thought your tongue flicks about your mouth, finding three empty gaps where teeth once resided. Two incisors and a molar.
YOU – “-I need help, basically. Can you call the paramedics? I think I’m having some kind of an extreme overdose from uh, something.”
ENCYCLOPEDIA (SKILL CHECK 7/10 (+1 Portmanteau): 7 = PASSED) – The paramedics, in this case, would be known as Peordokhela or peordok.
NARRATOR – The Bartender says nothing, only continuing to stare at you. It is rather off-putting.
EMPATHY (SKILL CHECK 1/4: 4 = FAILED) – Khm, maybe… keep talking to him?
YOU – “…And I want a new room. Mine’s a bit drafty right now.”
NARRATOR – “I know that!” The man turns around, marching towards a door next to the bar labeled ‘Manager’s Office – do not disturb!’. “Go ask that propaganda-spewing trashcan they sent you for an emergency call.” He waves his arm vaguely to your left. “I’ll be in the back writing my last will and testament.” With that, he enters the office, slamming the door behind him.
You glance over in the direction of The Bartender’s wild gestures, spotting a man near the entrance of the Hotel. He wears an odd suit of armor painted red, yellow and black.
…How did you not see him before?
PERCEPTION – Well, I can’t be expected to do literally everything for you people! I do my best besides.
NARRATOR – The man stands… perfectly still. Straight as a board. He is waiting for something – for someone.
INTERFACING – For you.