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NOW INTERNALIZING ELYSIAN BLOOD
INTERNALIZATION EFFECTS:
+3 INLAND EMPIRE (THE MYSTERIES OF BLOOD MUST BE UNRAVELED)
-1 SAVOIR FAIRE (UP IN YOUR MIND)
-2 VISUAL CALCULUS (CAN’T FOCUS)
COMPLETION TIME: ???
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YOU – ...So, what now?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – The bar is right over there. Just saying…
ENDURANCE – It hasn’t even been a full minute since you had a stroke and split your head open on a table. Mind you, this all occurring after you lost literally all of your memories. You are not going to drown your brain cells in alcohol on top of everything else.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – But alcohol isn’t bad! It’s practically a natural remedy.
RHETORIC – For which ailments?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Depression, social anxiety, impotence – all sorts of things! It is a fact that sixty-three percent of people across Upper Thespir were conceived under the influence.
VOLITION – None of that relates to the current situation in any way.
CONCEPTUALIZATION – Oh I very much disagree.
NARRATOR – D30-26-19221991 lets out a buzzing, crackling noise behind you – almost like a man clearing his throat into a frayed comm system. Curious, and desperate to find something distracting, you turn around.
YOU – “Yes?”
NARRATOR – The android takes a step closer, standing at attention before you. “If I may ask, Detective, who is currently on your list of suspects? As you know, enemies of the Neralian people are ever-scheming. Thus, it is vital to solve every investigation as fast as possible. It would be most optimum to begin interrogations at once – assuming you have not already.”
COMPOSURE (SKILL CHECK 5/8: 2 = PASSED) – Okay, it’s asking for what work you’ve completed.
You haven’t done anything.
If you have, then you can’t remember, so it’s a moot point anyways.
Do not panic, it will only cause you to make mistakes. Don’t lie either, or else you’ll look even more suspicious when the truth inevitably comes out. Just be honest – you’ve accomplished nothing.
YOU – “I don’t… actually… have anyone on the suspect list.”
NARRATOR – The Android tilts its head to the side.
INTERFACING – Likely a pre-programmed response to visually indicate confusion – compensating for its lack of expressive features.
NARRATOR – “No one? Have there been difficulties in examining the evidence, Detective?”
YOU – “…Yes. Major difficulties.”
NARRATOR – D30-26-19221991 nods once. “Understood, Detective. If I may ask, what issues specifically have you been encountering? The information will improve my ability to assist your work.”
SAVOIR FAIRE – Hmm. What do you think the chances are of you being fired if your superiors discover that you spent two weeks binge drinking on the job and then became an amnesiac?
LOGIC – High.
SUGGESTION – Extremely high…
YOU – But do I even want this job? I mean, I don’t know anything about being a ‘detective’ and I’m fairly certain that I have severe brain damage. Shouldn’t I spend at least a few months in rehabilitation or… something?
VOLITION – Well, it is a source of income. That would be vital in preventing you from becoming a vagrant – likely of the variety that people avoid at all costs for fear of being stabbed.
INLAND EMPIRE – Some kind of… Hobocop…
RHETORIC – It could also be argued that you’d be equally inexperienced in any other field.
SAVOIR FAIRE – Plus this detective profession, from what that Bartender guy told you, seems like the type of career where ‘retirement’ is code for euthanasia. Can’t have you blabbering about state secrets after all.
YOU – I’ve already lost all my memories though. I can’t tell anyone anything.
SUGGESTION – Do you really think that they would believe that?
NARRATOR – You focus back on the android.
YOU – “I’m afraid I can’t speak of the… specific troubles I’ve been facing. It’s a secret that must be kept out of the public’s hands; it is on an absolute need-to-know basis.”
DRAMA – An impressive misdirection, sire! At least, for an actor playing his very first role. You disregarded the question and shut down further inquiry without stating a single outright lie or ruffling any feathers. Next time, however, keep a tighter rein on your expression and tone-of-voice.
COMPOSURE – I’m doing the best I can here!
NARRATOR – D30-26-19221991 nods again. “Understood, Detective. Where would you have me assist you, then?”
YOU – “Uhhhh…”
ESPRIT DE CORPS – Solving a murder typically begins with examining the corpse.
LOGIC – And it is most likely that you haven’t even done that yet.
YOU – Wait, shouldn’t I be going to a hospital first? Again, I have a lot of brain damage.
SUGGESTION – If you go to see a doctor then it’s only a matter of time before your amnesia comes up. Then, you’re fired. Just keep to ‘the case’ for now – I’m sure your issues will clear up naturally! And you’re supposed to stay occupied when you have concussions… I think…
YOU – “I could use some help examining The Victim’s… um… cadaver.” That’s a word, right?
ENCYCLOPEDIA – Yes.
NARRATOR – The android gives yet another nod. “Noted, Detective. Are you aware of the victim’s current location?”
YOU – “No.” How do I find it?
LOGIC – Just ask The Bartender to lead you there.
SUGGESTION – Oh joy, more interaction with our dearest friend.
RHETORIC – You say that ironically, but he is actually the only person we can remember interacting with for more than three minutes. We’re practically old chums at this point.
EMPATHY – Let’s hope he feels the same way…
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NARRATOR – Seven minutes and one very awkward conversation later, you find yourself in the hotel’s dark, musty backrooms. The Bartender, walking in front, leads you and your cybernetic companion through the confusing maze of storage crates and staff bedrooms.
RHETORIC – ‘Seven minutes later’? Seven minutes after what?
NARRATOR – Since we decided to ask The Bartender to lead us to the corpse. You remember that, right?
YOU – Yeah but… why did you feel the need to randomly talk about it like that? You kind of interrupted the flow of conversation there…
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
NARRATOR – …N-no I didn’t.
PERCEPTION – I was just in the middle of describing the vague, yet near-overwhelming, citrusy smell of these rooms.
NARRATOR – Well um, uh, a-as you walk, you cannot help but ponder over the crime scene’s location. Apparently, the victim was hung outside Thespir’s walls. Why anyone would willingly step onto rickety-
RHETORIC – Hey hey hey! you can’t just avoid the question like that. Why did you make that comment?
NARRATOR – …I felt it was important to the narrative. I am The Narrator after all – good narratives are my thing.
INLAND EMPIRE – Narrative? What are you talking about?
NARRATOR – The narrative of our adventure!
DRAMA – …Now while I am one for theatrics, I’d hardly call what we’ve been doing an ‘adventure’. The beginnings of a buddy-cop drama or a psychological thriller, sure, but not an adventure.
NARRATOR – You can’t blame me for trying to inject some interesting story structure after you all have just been going on endlessly about air fresheners for who-knows-how-long!
VISUAL CALCULUS – Three minutes, forty-six seconds. I count.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – …I still think the scent is from a citrus juice of some kind.
PERCEPTION – It’s not at all! Can’t you tell how artificial it smells?!
NARRATOR – Oh my goodness…
YOU – Okay, enough! No more arguing for at least an hour! You’re all on time out.
Narrator-guy, continue with whatever you were saying.
NARRATOR – …What was that again?
ENCYCLOPEDIA – Something about the killers stepping onto a rickety thing.
NARRATOR – Right! Um, why anyone would willingly step outside onto rickety platforms suspended twenty kilometers above solid ground is beyond your understanding, but people did it all the time. According to your surly guide, at least.
HALF LIGHT – For that matter, why in the world would anyone build this stupid tower-city in the first place? There’s probably plenty of free land on this planet just waiting for someone to develop it! But nooo, we need to build a massive deathtrap with a disproportionately high probability of people falling to their deaths. Ridiculous.
SAVOIR FAIRE – There’s plenty of motivations for someone construct a starscraper of this scale. Even aside from the lucrative voidports, I imagine it would bring in astronomical amounts of money from tourism. Wouldn’t you want to spend a vacation here, just to say that you’ve done it? Quite a bit of novelty in a locale such as this. Plus, imagine how much the guy that built this place made from selling property lots…
ENCYCLOPEDIA – The Walestrom Clan did become the ‘royal family’ of Thespir during its first few decades of existence. A purely ceremonial position, sure, but it represented the amount of wealth, power, and prestige they gained from the project.
SAVOIR FAIRE – And he gets to go down in history as the crazy bastard that made the largest building ever.
…Is this the largest building ever?
NARRATOR – Disregarding that thought, you direct your attention to the automaton marching behind you in a disconcertingly perfect gait. The constant whir of D30-26-19221991’s mechanical joints are quiet, though in this oppressive silence, the noise is practically deafening.
RHETORIC – That’s something of a mouthful, isn’t it? ‘D30-26-19221991’?
YOU – Well… yeah.
SUGGESTION – I certainly don’t want to say that whole spiel every time I refer to it, and ‘the android’ gets stale after a while…
CONCEPTUALIZATION – Then we must give it a title! A monicker! A nickname! But what? Worry not my compatriots, for I have already formulated the supremist possible alias: ‘Raphael Ambrosius Cousteau’.
NARRATOR – The three of you stop before a heavy metal door. Discolored, though kept largely free of rust and decay. The Bartender immediately sets to work opening it – fiddling with a control panel off to the side.
The man appears irritated as his spidery fingers dance across the cracked touchscreen and faulty buttons. He cannot help but mutter harshly to himself, as error messages light up the display. “Did Mielle download more malware?! That’s it; she’s banned from the system… and she’s getting her pay docked for a year…”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Folen pornography is a hotbed for nasty viruses. In many more ways than one…
NARRATOR – Content in The Bartender’s ability to handle his predicament, you turn to The Android With The Too-Long-Name.
YOU – “Hey, buddy. Do you have any designation other than D30-26-uh, the-the one you told me about?”
NARRATOR – The android gives a stiff shake of its head, using only the barest minimum of movement. “Negative. D30-26-19221991 is my only designation. Apologies, Detective. Do you believe that your investigative capacity would be improved if I possessed a different designation?”
Ahead of you, The Bartender curses and pries opens a hatch to the side of the control panel, revealing a jumbled mess of wires. He starts to unplug and rearrange them, seemingly, at random.
YOU – “Yes! Yes um, do you have any preference on what you’re called? A particular name you’d like?”
NARRATOR – “Negative.”
YOU – “Okay. Then how about I call you…”
INLAND EMPIRE – ‘Three-Bells-Ring-In-Silence’.
SUGGESTION – Rolls off the tongue…
ENCYCLOPEDIA – ‘George Devol’. He invented the first automatous robots. Seems fitting.
CONCEPTUALIZATION – We’ve already been over this, guys. Raphael Ambrosius Cousteau.
HALF LIGHT – ‘Murder Machine’. No one would mess with you if you had a robot bodyguard named ‘Murder Machine’.
INTERFACING – There’s no need to overthink this. Just call it D30. Or maybe… Deethirt? Is that good? Deethirt?
RHETORIC – Sounds like you’re trying to say ‘desert’ with a lisp.
YOU – “…D30 works fine, I think. Do you like it?”
NARRATOR – The android stands stock-still. “If that is what you wish to call me, Detective, then yes; I ‘like’ it.”
EMPATHY – That’s probably the best you’ll get.
YOU – “Okay, D30 it is!”
NARRATOR – Finally, the airlock begins sliding open – the characteristic screech of poorly-maintained motors and rusted mechanisms echoing endlessly in the poorly-lit room. The doors move at almost a snail’s space, and you even see a few sparks fly as they scrape against the floor, but they open without any critical failure. Well, one opens; the left door gets stuck halfway closed.
The Bartender steps aside and gestures towards the dim, off-colored chamber. “After you, gentlemen.”
HALF LIGHT – It looks like a metal tomb…
YOU – “What’s with the ‘serial killer basement’ aesthetic?”
NARRATOR – The man rolls his eyes. “Ha ha. How funny. I suppose that I’ll go first...” He steps into the airlock, grabbing one of several bulky rectangular boxes hooked to the wall before he pauses and turns back to you, confusion seizing his features. “What’s a ‘basement’? Actually, never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Reluctantly, you enter the deathtrap – D30 following closely behind. The Bartender glances in your direction as he checks over his odd rectangle-thing. “Get your mask on. Remember – not enough air out there, Mister Detective…”
Trying not to reveal your gratitude for the reminder, you unclip your respirator and strap it to your face. The Bartender does the same with a mask connected to his slab of metal by three long, flexible tubes.
Looking closer at the rectangle, you realize that it must hold similar mechanisms to your own rebreather mask – simply on a much larger scale.
INTERFACING (SKILL CHECK 4/6: 4 = PASSED) – The Civ-Grade Respirator is ‘economy’ personified – using only the cheapest, most easily-replaceable parts on offer, and designed so that even a toddler could repair it. The modular frame also makes adding personalized modifications laughably simple. Many across Upper Thespir owe their lives to its designer, who, sadly, was lost to the annals of history long ago.
NARRATOR – As The Bartender picks up the metal slab by a handle on its side – holding it like a briefcase – he notices your curious gaze. “What? We can’t all have the weight of the entire Neralexecomu behind us… All set?”
You nod, hesitantly, prompting The Bartender to turn around and slide the clear plastic case off of a large red button embedded in the wall. With the protective cover off, he pushes the button twice in quick succession.
A klaxon alarm rings out. Motors wind to life all around you. Slowly, then quickly, the air is sucked out of the room – your ears popping as the pressure falls. Then, the outer doors begin to open.
PERCEPTION – Gaaahhhh!
NARRATOR – An intense brightness shines through the widening gap between the airlock’s doors – rendering you blinded.
Your hand slaps against the mask’s visor, then your other, but still you find yourself completely overwhelmed by the light. It feels like someone is driving hot spikes through your eyes.
You decide that you do not like the sun.
REACTION SPEED – Look away! Now! This is too much for you to handle!
PAIN THRESHOLD (SKILL CHECK 2/10: 1 = PASSED) – NO. This is far from too much. Far from enough. You can withstand more than this – [Belgium], you have withstood more than this.
If such a pitiable light thinks it can force you to avert your gaze; to cast aside your integrity, then it has another thing coming. Subjugate this star to your will.
NARRATOR – Voices (of reason) cry out in your mind, claiming that ‘it would make no sense’ and ‘the last time you did this it caused a stroke’. But these petty concerns are beneath you, The Starmaster.
With a sudden burst of movement, you throw your arms aside and gaze into the radiance – eyes as wide as physically possible.
PERCEPTION – Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!
NARRATOR – A relentless torrent of ultraviolet radiation pierces your corneas, setting your mind alight in burning agony. Tears well at the corners of your bloodshot eyes, but not one falls past your cheeks. You are stronger than that.
PAIN THRESHOLD – Yessss! Show the world your indomitable human spirit! Let the cosmos weep before your majesty!
NARRATOR – A growl wells up in your throat, primal and defiant. Your lips part in a snarl. Your hands curl into fists…
INLAND EMPIRE – The light shudders and quakes around your mighty form. Is this… fear?
YOU – “The Starmaster reigns supreme!”
NARRATOR – The Bartender pauses in the middle of stepping out the airlock. “What?”
PAIN THRESHOLD – Even he, Steward of The Bar, cannot comprehend your might!
NARRATOR – You raise your fists to the ceiling, roaring to the galaxy your dominance over all stellar masses.
YOU – “GRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
PAIN INSTRUMENT – The Starmaster has conquered yet another celestial object. Simply one of many to come…
NARRATOR – You feel D30 place a hand on your shoulder, but you do not dare take your eyes away from the light – it has not yet learned its place. “Are you alright, Detective?”
For a moment, you are silent. Then, a laugh rolls out from your gut – unbidden and unrestrained. It begins as a mere chuckle, then quickly descends into pure, maddened cackling.
“Understood, Detective. Though if you are experiencing any discomfort from this light, then I would suggest that you tint your visor.”
Your laughter ends.
YOU – …I can do that?
INTERFACING – Uhh… yes! It says right here that there are a number of settings and options installed into the respirator’s hardware. These include specialized microchips in the visor’s glass that control how much light can go through at any given moment. Awfully convenient.
YOU – Okay, how do I adjust it? Is there a button or slider on the side of the mask?
INTERFACING – No, it’s controlled by a… connected comtab.
YOU – And comtabs are?
ENCYCLOPEDIA – A small communication tool primarily consisting of a touchscreen. They vary in size, though the majority can fit comfortably in the palm of your hand.
SHIVERS – You don’t have one of those on you; your pockets are all empty.
NARRATOR – Well, it doesn’t matter anyways – your eyes are quite well adjusted to the brightness at this point. You shouldn’t need any fancy tinting features.
A buzzing noise emanates from your left. “Do you feel well, Detective? You seem to be crying.”
YOU – “Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to wait here a couple seconds… until I can see again…”
NARRATOR – At least two full minutes of blurry, pained silence later, your vision clears to the point where you can make out The Bartender on the walkway outside. He busies himself idly tearing small vines and leaves from the railing as he waits for you to calm down from whatever the [Belgium] happened this time.
YOU – Okay uh- wait… vines?”