NUMBER 0: Okay. Lord. One character prologue is out of the way. What do the rest of you say we keep moving forward?
NUMBER 4: I think that would be cool.
NUMBER 2: Sure thing.
NUMBER 3: Yeah!
NUMBER 1: When is Brad’s cliffhanger getting resolved?
NUMBER 0: Never. Brad is never coming back.
NUMBER 1: Aw.
NUMBER 0: Anyways. We have three more introductions to go. So let’s… go?
NUMBER 2: Who is it?
NUMBER 3: Is it me yet? Am I going to the party next?
NUMBER 0: No. Number 4—
NUMBER 4: Hi.
NUMBER 3: Rats.
NUMBER 0: You woke up and hit your head.
NUMBER 4: Yowie.
NUMBER 0: You think you woke up in some kind of cell. But too much isn’t adding up.
NUMBER 4: Oh.
NUMBER 0: You could have hit your head on a wall. Maybe it was something on the wall. You can’t say. All you know is that it hurts.
Number 4 nods in agreement.
NUMBER 0: You did not know anything when you woke up. There was nothing you could remember that would explain how you ended up in there or why. The entire path of life behind you has been wiped clean. At least for you. You wanted to panic, but didn’t know why you should. Was it really worth it?
NUMBER 4: Panicking is always a surefire means of getting what you want. Of course it’s worth it when you’re in a cell.
NUMBER 2: Damn.
NUMBER 1: Word.
NUMBER 0: Okay. So, you knew that you needed out, now. You think you screamed out for help, but you didn’t know how to say it. You couldn’t hear, but hoped that the world could.
NUMBER 4: Why is this all in past-tense? Where am I currently?
NUMBER 0: You don’t remember anything that you saw in there. But you do remember a vague feeling of the cold ground beneath you, numbing your legs. It might have been wet, but you couldn’t tell. Something—or… someone?—made some kind of noise outside of where you were. It felt like multiple noises at once. The memory stops there… but the aching from a light hitting your face still resonates.
NUMBER 4: Whoa. All of our brains are getting fucked with right now.
NUMBER 0: Your visual memory has stopped. But… you started hearing people talking. You heard you talking. You think you were with those people. Judging by the silence that had just taken hold and the obscure feeling in your spine like a spotlight was just turned on you, they must have just asked you something.
NUMBER 4: Uh… fuck. Sh—D—Um… I cough a little bit and go, “Release me. Nobody imprisons Zone Mary.”
Number 3 cracks up.
NUMBER 3: I’m just thinking of how ridiculous that name sounds when it’s spoken so seriously. “My name is Zone Mary, fear me!”
NUMBER 0: A feminine-sounding voice said, “Her brain is cooked. She was probably in there a long time.”
NUMBER 4: Who the hell are these guys? Wait—Clears throat—“Who the hell are you guys?”
NUMBER 0: You… do not remember any response to that. You don’t know if anyone even responded.
NUMBER 4: Curse this memory of mine.
NUMBER 0: The nearest discernable dialogue you can pull is a more gruff feminine voice close to your ear: “Got a name on ya, dickchease?”
NUMBER 4: “It’s… Yeah, it’s Zone Mary.”
NUMBER 0: A masculine voice with an accent you don't remember replied, “Wait, really? Like, first name Zone, last name Mary? What terrible comedian came up with that shit?”
NUMBER 4: Fuck you.
NUMBER 2: So, is she writing her own memories right now?
NUMBER 0: Who knows? Are these being relived? Are they being rewritten? Zone Mary is in kind of a daze. I don’t know how you’d be able to tell.
NUMBER 2: So is the past currently being written? Can I just say whatever stupid shit I want and that is literally what happened? Or am I just hallucinating? Actually, better question: in this heavily distilled memory, am I operating under full consciousness, or am I like Brad was and completely out of it?
NUMBER 0: Yooouuu don’t remember.
Number 4 slams the table.
NUMBER 4: Fuck!
NUMBER 1: Get fucking played.
NUMBER 4: Okay. So this guy I was allegedly chatting with just made fun of my name. Let’s say that I remember telling him, “It’s the only name I remember. Leave it alone.”
NUMBER 0: You remember the guy started to reply, “Oh, well that’s a shame. Did you—” And then he gets cut off by another, more masculine voice. “Carson, we need to go. We can bring her along with.” And the other guy, who might be Carson, shouts back, “‘Bring her alo—’ no, fuck that, we’re not adding this twee to the bloody crew!”
NUMBER 4: Is this guy British?
NUMBER 1: You got called “twee” by a fucking Brit. You should be pissed out of your gourd right now.
NUMBER 4: I would if there was a “right now.” I can’t be pissed off ex post facto.
NUMBER 1: But you’re writing your memory right now!
NUMBER 0: So! The guys are still talking. Or, you remember them still talking. The deeper-voiced guy said, “We don’t have to. We can take her to Lyman and leave her with border security to handle. It’s on our way anyway.” The maybe-Carson guy said, “Lyman? Well, fuck.” You heard some kind of movement from him, and could hear his breath right up close to you. Right into your ear, he said, “You ever heard of Lyman, dipnuts?”
NUMBER 3: These guys are good at their insults.
NUMBER 1: Yeah, where the hell did you come up with this shit, Grand Master?
NUMBER 0: I didn’t, these guys did.
NUMBER 2: How can Zone Mary recall every word of conversation here pitch-perfect, but has absolutely no memory of where she is physically?
NUMBER 0: You guys are all hounding me with questions like I’m supposed to have any answers for you. I know just as much as you guys.
NUMBER 1: Fuck outta here, you shitbiscuit! You know every goddamn thing about what’s happening to us!
NUMBER 2: What if he doesn’t, and all of this is just being made up on the spot?
NUMBER 3: Grand Master, what’s your improvisation score?
Number 4 cackles.
NUMBER 0: Only God has my personal stat sheet. You’ll have to ask Him.
NUMBER 2: Phoning up God right now. Excuse me.
Number 2 dials 463 in his calculator app and holds the phone to his ear.
NUMBER 4: So what just happened? These guys said something about “Lyman.”
NUMBER 0: Yes, they did. Do you know what Lyman is?
NUMBER 4: Can't say I do.—Clears throat—“I, uh… No, I don’t… I haven’t heard of that.”
NUMBER 0: “Of you course you bloody haven’t, you fucking creamsicle. Alright, let’s get this dope out of here.”
NUMBER 1: Creamsicle?!
NUMBER 2: I just got off the phone with God. He says he doesn’t know you.
NUMBER 4: Okay, so these guys broke me out of my cell?
NUMBER 0: I don’t think you remember.
NUMBER 4: Useless!
NUMBER 0: But… wait…
Number 0 waits.
NUMBER 4: I’m waiting.
NUMBER 0: You... begin to open your eyes.
NUMBER 4: “Begin”? In present tense? Are we in the present now!
NUMBER 0: But… all you can see is this blurry splash of dark color. You’re unable to make out any objects around you.
NUMBER 4: Oh, great, am I in a different cell now? Or—Gasp—was it all a dream?! Did I never leave that cell to begin with?!
NUMBER 1: Zone Mary’s tweakin’.
NUMBER 0: It’s not the numbingly cold surface from before that you’re laying on anymore. This one is slightly warmer, more cushiony… and kind of vibrating.
NUMBER 4: It’s a car. I’m in a car. They put me in a car. Am I in the trunk or in a seat? Oh god, they put me in the trunk, didn’t they? That’s why everything is dark.
NUMBER 0: Mm, the air doesn’t really seem humid enough for a tightly confined trunk. You can still move your limbs around, you aren’t curled in a ball.
NUMBER 2: What if they strapped you to the hood?
NUMBER 0: There is no wind blowing on you. Except for what seems to be a little A/C vent you can feel.
NUMBER 4: Car! I was right! There’s car infrastructure on this lookalike Earth too. That’s crazy.
NUMBER 3: Nothing will ever take away car culture from humanity. Not even mysteriously teleporting to a new planet.
NUMBER 0: Well, there’s indisputably cars. But the extent that there’s infrastructure remains to be seen. Because again, you’re in close to pitch darkness. The car’s moving, but you’re not passing any street lights or anything.
NUMBER 4: Interesting… Can I try sitting up to look out the window?
NUMBER 0: Hm. Roll for body stability, why don’t you.
NUMBER 4: Whoa, my first one. Gimme that dice, Number 1.
Number 1 flicks over the D10. Number 4 thoroughly shakes it in her hands.
NUMBER 4: Alright. I need… a 4 or higher.
Number 4 drops the D10 to get a 2.
NUMBER 4: Come on! That was supposed to be easy!
NUMBER 0: Yeah, you’re still feeling far too weak to sit up. You try to push yourself up, but your arms crumble and you fall back in your seat. You just keep lying where you are, comfortable and exhausted.
NUMBER 1: You get to lie in a nice comfy car seat and sleep all your problems away, while I got stuck in party full of zombies and got fucking stabbed by a burning fork in my neck. Absolute bullshit, this is.
NUMBER 4: Alright, fine. I don’t need to see outside anyway.
NUMBER 0: Yeah. So over the next few minutes as you’re chilling there, your eyes begin to adjust to the dark, and put shapes to the rorschach-like splotches around you. A little more sharpness to the image. It’s still terribly dark, but there’s still enough light coming from some source nearby, dimly reflecting off of however many surfaces around you, to clear things up.
NUMBER 4: My eyes also glow.
NUMBER 0: Your eyes do faintly glow, although it mostly just lights up your body.
NUMBER 4: What else am I looking at?
NUMBER 0: Well, you’re… looking at the inside of a car.
NUMBER 3: No way.
NUMBER 0: Like, you don’t have any memory of being in a car before, but this feels like a normal experience. The seat fabric feels normal, the bumpiness feels normal—comfortable, even. And you’re also lying down on the backseats. The space around you is a little crammed, between the doors and front seats, but you’re a woman so it’s not like you’re too tall or bulky to be comfortable.
NUMBER 4: Hey!
NUMBER 1: Short person joke. Get owned.
NUMBER 4: Middleburg Nickelfuck is the only one with a higher muscle mass than me, I don’t want to fucking hear it.
NUMBER 2: It’s Nickelhead. And you’re still, what, a 3?
NUMBER 0: Anyways, up in the front seats, you can make out two figures, the glow from the car headlights seemingly reflecting to illuminate their faces. Or at least the one face that’s visible from the angle you’re lying down at, because one is still obscured behind their seat.
NUMBER 1: Wait! Important question: which side is the driver’s seat on?
NUMBER 0: The left.
NUMBER 1: Thank the lord. The Europeans haven’t taken over completely.
NUMBER 2: Not all European driver’s seats on the right side.
NUMBER 1: All Europeans are bunch of sock-brained pissbaby contrarians who think they score points being cool and unique by doing everything different from Americans. “Oh, they have their driver’s seats on the left side? We’ll put ours on the left! Ha! Americans use the imperial system with wider arrays of numbers that actually mean precise things? That’s too much to comprehend for us fucking simpletons, let’s go metric and make everything measured 1 to 100 because we can’t process the world in any other way. Americans use fahrenheit, something literally nobody has ever been confused by? Naaaah, we can’t just be expected to remember the numbers 32 and 212, celcius is where it’s at! Americans drive on the right side of the road, matching the general human instinct to be right-handed?” Hey, Grand Master, what side of the road are these people driving on?
Number 2 is reading the data on his phone.
NUMBER 2: The only European countries with left-handed traffic are the UK, a few of their self-governing islands, Malta, and Cyprus. I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of Australia.
NUMBER 1: The Australians are just as bad as the Europeans. I don’t care. My points remains.
NUMBER 2: I wouldn’t dare ask what you think about the Balkans.
NUMBER 3: Yeah, damn. I can see why you’re not an avid D&D player. Everybody’s British in that.
NUMBER 1: Grand Master, you make a single NPC have a British accent, and I'm killing them on the spot.
NUMBER 4: Hey, how’s Zone Mary doing? Why don’t we check on her?
NUMBER 0: Yeah, you fucking dopes keep shooting us off course. I know this is a squad full of professional derailers, but try to keep your derailing limited to when you’re active in the game.
NUMBER 1: Yes, Grand Master.
NUMBER 2: Yes, Grand Master.
NUMBER 3: I’m just quietly watchin’, man. I’m chillin’.
NUMBER 0: Sweet! So, Zone Mary, you see the two people in the front of the car. They aren’t talking, just silently watching the road ahead. They don’t seem to know you’re awake yet.
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NUMBER 4: I’m gonna murmur at them. Wait—actually, which side of the car am I lying down on?
NUMBER 0: Your head is resting on the right seat.
NUMBER 4: I’m gonna kick the driver’s seat.
NUMBER 2: And then the car crashes.
NUMBER 0: The driver notices and glances back at you. It is… a woman. “Good morning, sunshine.” The guy in the passenger seat says—in Australian accent—“It’s 2 AM.” The woman replies, “That’s still morning, right?”
NUMBER 1: Is that guy a fucking Aussie? That’s a step up from Britbonger, but still.
NUMBER 2: I’m sensing a butter-knife tension should this guy and Brad ever collide.
NUMBER 1: Brad is gritting his teeth just knowing that these people exist.
NUMBER 3: At least he’s not German.
NUMBER 1: If some fucking peppy German bitch walks up to me going—in cartoonish accent—“Hello there villager, ya want to buy some pumpkins?”, that is an instant hate crime.
NUMBER 4: So I’m gonna mutter, “—Groans—Where… am I going?”
NUMBER 0: “—As Australian—Far enough away that you can be someone else’s problem.”
NUMBER 4: “Whose problem was I before?”
NUMBER 0: The two of them glance at each other. “—As woman—You don’t know where you were?”
NUMBER 4: “No.”
NUMBER 0: “So who put you in that cell?”
NUMBER 4: “I don’t know.”
NUMBER 0: “You don’t need to know names or anything, just any general description would help.”
NUMBER 4: “I told you, I don’t know. I don’t remember anything. What are you after?”
NUMBER 0: “—As Australian—For your own good out there, don't think about it. Now is there a single thing that you can tell us about that place you were in?”
NUMBER 4: “There’s nothing. I remember nothing.”
NUMBER 0: “I can’t tell if you’re covering up or not, and you’re not helping your case.” The woman whispers to him, “Her brain has been wiped clean. We’ve seen this before.”
NUMBER 4: “What did they do to me? Do you know what happened?”
NUMBER 0: “—As Australian—There wasn’t shit to say what happened to you. Whoever ran that place fucked right out of it a while ago, but left you in for some reason.”
NUMBER 4: “Why? What was that place? Why were you there?”
NUMBER 0: “I already warned you not to think about it. Some business just isn’t yours. Accept this ride as favor from random bystanders, and nothing else.”
NUMBER 4: Hang on. “Um… What is Lyman?”
NUMBER 0: “About 15 minutes out. You’re gonna be staying there. It’s a good place, relatively. They’ll provide you a house, food, water, a job if you want one, all without costing you a dollar. You’ll live your life there, forget you ever saw any of us, and this chapter will end.”
NUMBER 4: Interesting.
NUMBER 1: What’s about to derail this car? I’m not buying Lyman.
NUMBER 2: You didn’t make a group of people this interesting just to ditch them at Lyman.
NUMBER 0: Now hold on, whoever said they were being ditched at Lyman? I’m just the storyteller, guys. Merely relaying information and events as they appear in this world.
NUMBER 2: So they’re coming back.
NUMBER 4: Okay. Okay. What other information could I probe from these guys? They’re not being terribly cooperative.
NUMBER 1: It’s the goddamn Aussie that’s stumping you. Ask the chick about stuff.
NUMBER 3: What are their names?
NUMBER 4: Oh, yeah. I’m gonna ask that. “Hey, what are your names.”
NUMBER 0: “—As Australian—You’re not getting our bloody names.” The woman looks at him. “—As woman—Why not?” And he whispers back, “We can’t trust her yet.” And she whispers back, “What’s she going to do with our names, bro? Nobody in Lyman knows us.” She turns her head to you and says, “My name’s Robin.”
NUMBER 4: “Th—Thanks.”
NUMBER 3: Focus on the road, Robin!
Number 0 stares at Number 3.
NUMBER 3: Don’t crash that car.
NUMBER 1: If he wants to crash that car, he’s going to crash that car. You can’t stop it.
NUMBER 0: And what if I don’t?
NUMBER 1: Fucking bet.
NUMBER 0: Alright.
NUMBER 4: Shh. Wait. “I think I remember someone saying ‘Carson’ earlier.”
NUMBER 0: The Australian guy sighs. The woman says to him, “See? Your cover’s already blown. Get over it.”
NUMBER 1: Not only is this guy an Aussie, his name is Carson? Pray to God I never cross this motherfucker.
NUMBER 0: After a moment of silence, Carson peaks over his seat so you can finally see his face. “And you weren’t hallucinating back there? The only name you can remember is seriously ‘Zone Mary’?”
NUMBER 4: “I think it’s a codename. But yeah.”
NUMBER 0: He leans back. “What, are you part of a superhero guild or something?”
Number 2 sighs.
NUMBER 4: “I mean… not yet.”
NUMBER 2: No.
NUMBER 4: “I had this idea, though…”
NUMBER 3: Human porcupine?
NUMBER 2: No.
NUMBER 4: “That maybe I could find this Human Porcupine guy…”
NUMBER 1: This is only a thing because you don’t want it to be.
NUMBER 4: “Like a guy with quills in his skin, and a pokey skeleton…”
NUMBER 2: This is not actual dialogue.
NUMBER 4: “And I think if I found a guy like that, we could really fuck some shit up as a team.”
NUMBER 0: “That’s a really weird fucking idea.”
Number 4 breaks down in laughter.
NUMBER 2: I haven’t even been introduced yet. You will be dropping this as soon as our characters meet up.
NUMBER 3: Don’t you know how this works, man? It ain’t ever going away.
NUMBER 4: What else should I ask them! We don’t have forever!
NUMBER 3: Uh…! Tell Robin to pay close attention to the road in case a zombie jumps out to kill them!
NUMBER 0: This world is not experiencing a zombie apocalypse.
NUMBER 3: I’ll believe it when I see it.
NUMBER 0: When you… see zombies—what?
NUMBER 1: Yeah, that made no sense, partner.
NUMBER 3: I mean, this is a fantasy world, right? There are zombies in D&D, just saying.
NUMBER 0: There will not be experiments with necrotic magic in the near future.
NUMBER 3: Not the near future, but what the not near future?
NUMBER 0: You mean six months from now when this story has taken turns and whiplashes that you can’t even comprehend yet? Yeah, sure, maybe zombies will somehow find their way in when we’re a hundred sessions into this. For now, chill.
NUMBER 4: I’m gonna nudge at Robin’s seat. “Zombies aren’t a thing out there, are they?”
NUMBER 0: Robin chuckles at that suggestion. “The hell gave you that idea? Humanity’s come a long way since Earth, but we’re not that far yet.”
NUMBER 3: I ain’t letting this go. There’s gonna be egg on all o’ your faces when the first zombies arrive down the line.
NUMBER 1: First, you need to keep Pastamoose alive long enough to see it.
NUMBER 2: Wait… what if Rob is the first zombie?
NUMBER 3: No. Oooh no no no. Please don’t do that.
Number 0 ominously types something in his laptop.
NUMBER 3: Erase that! You bitch! Backspace!
NUMBER 0: So, Mary… you feel the car start to slow down a little, curve upwards, then start turning to the right. And it keeps on turning for… more than it would take to do a normal right turn on a road.
NUMBER 3: Grand Master.
NUMBER 0: You keep turning right, you keep going up. Almost as if you’re driving on a ramp, in circles. And as the car starts easing out and becomes level again, you’re suddenly shocked with light through the windows. You can see this vast amalgam of stars in the sky, and all kinds of trees blocking them.
NUMBER 4: Wait, now I’m outside?
NUMBER 0: That’s right. That whole time, you were driving through a pitch-dark underground tunnel. And now you are above ground.
NUMBER 3: A tunnel woulda been the perfect spot for a bunch of zombies to jump out!
NUMBER 1: Can you just make zombies jump out to shut this guy up? They don’t even gotta be scary, just make one guy that you can run over and be done with.
NUMBER 0: There aren’t zombies on the side of the road, but there is something else. Robin looks at that something as she drives past it. “Who the hell hit a doke out here?”
NUMBER 1: “Doke”? The fuck is a doke?
NUMBER 2: Is that this world’s version of a deer?
NUMBER 0: In a way. A doke is like a more awkward and slightly feathered version of a deer. In the prehistory of this planet, the animal kingdom was predominantly feathered creatures, and right now is kind of at the awkward spot in evolution where all kinds of species are becoming land animals and very, very slowly adapting all the traits that come with, chiefly losing the feathers. Dokes are poster children of that. They’ve got the fat and bulky bodies of deer, but random inconsistent blotches of feathers all over and on their head, no feathers on their neck for some reason, very scrawny and feathery front legs, and an almost dog-shaped face with beak lips. Like, shaped like deer lips, but they’re beaks. These animals are fucking weird, and they’re everywhere. They’re dokes.
NUMBER 2: That’s one letter away from “dopes.” I think that fits.
NUMBER 0: Thank you, I think it does too.
NUMBER 2: Are these like ostrich necks or regular deer necks?
NUMBER 0: Oh, a 13-year-old could probably break a doke’s neck. They are still patiently waiting for evolution to upgrade those. Like how us humans are waiting for evolution to give us stronger balls.
NUMBER 2: We’ll get there. So will the dokes.
NUMBER 4: So why is one dead on the side of the road?
NUMBER 0: Ah. Well, Carson says, “It was probably idiot hunters who couldn’t fit the body in their car.”
NUMBER 4: Can I try sitting up now?
NUMBER 0: I suppose, it’s been a few. Roll body stability again.
NUMBER 4: 4 or higher. 4 or higher.
Number 4 grabs the D10 again and drops it on the table. She gets 2 again.
NUMBER 0: That is another 2.
NUMBER 4: Really? I can’t just fucking sit up in this car?
NUMBER 1: Zone Mary stacking up the L’s.
NUMBER 4: I don’t want to hear it. What if I like… use my magical right foot to maneuver around and try to push my body up against the door?
NUMBER 0: What would that even look like?
NUMBER 4: Like, I can stretch my leg out and then use my foot to push my ass back.
NUMBER 0: I mean… theoretically that’d work. That’s gonna strain your leg though.
NUMBER 4: I’m not stopping until I’m sitting up in this car.
NUMBER 0: I feel like a check for your powers would be a check for mental stability.
Number 4 whips her character sheet to her face.
NUMBER 4: My mental stability is 4. I have a worse chance of making that than I did for body stability.
NUMBER 0: It’s worth a try though, right? There’s always the chance for unexpected events to take place.
NUMBER 4: Fuck it.
Number 4 rolls the D10 once more. It lands on 4.
NUMBER 4: Or not.
Number 1 starts snickering.
NUMBER 0: That is a 4. Maybe you just don’t find the room to bend your leg the right way, maybe your magic right foot just doesn’t cooperate with your brain signals, but your third attempt to sit up fails.
NUMBER 4: This is such bullshit. If I was rolling body stability again, that 4 would have worked.
NUMBER 0: Yeah, you’re not moving places right now. It’ll be a miracle if you can even walk when you’re out of the car.
NUMBER 4: Can I roll for muscle mass to try to just drag myself up by force?
NUMBER 0: I wouldn’t think you have good chances of succeeding that, lest you would have tried it earlier.
NUMBER 4: Yeah, my muscle mass is 3.
NUMBER 1: Dig your grave deeper! Dig! Dig!
NUMBER 4: Go fuck yourself. I’m gonna nail this. You watch.
Number 4 rolls the D10 a fourth time, and gets a 5.
NUMBER 4: I’m gonna fucking kill this thing!
Number 1 melts down in quiet laughter.
NUMBER 2: The struggle of Brad was breaking down a door. Zone Mary’s struggle is sitting up in a car.
NUMBER 4: This die is loaded, I swear to fucking god!
NUMBER 3: I think it’s just sexist.
NUMBER 4: I’m gonna roll it again, just to see if it’s possible to get high numbers with this.
Number 4 rolls a 10.
NUMBER 4: Really?!
NUMBER 2: No way.
NUMBER 3: This is hilarious.
NUMBER 0: I guess your body is just so comfortable lying down that it’s actively preventing you from changing positions.
NUMBER 4: I want to be able to control the fucking movements that I make!
NUMBER 1: Not right now, dipstick.
NUMBER 0: Okay. So you can’t sit up at all. But you can at least still see out of the window in front of you. You don’t have much of a view of the sky as it's blocked by the surrounding forest, but it’s something to admire for the time being.
NUMBER 4: That’s cool.
NUMBER 3: Wait, so are we still in the Milky Way? Are we gonna look at the sky at night and see Earth’s star?
NUMBER 2: Earth is not a star.
NUMBER 3: I meant our sun, obviously. Of course we ain’t seeing Earth.
NUMBER 0: Well, first humanity would have to know where Sol is in the sky. Maybe it’s out there. But there’s a lot of stars out in the galaxy.
NUMBER 2: Would we at least be able to pinpoint where we are in the galaxy based on star patterns we knew about on Earth?
NUMBER 0: Why don’t you ask those questions when you’re in a human society with answers?
NUMBER 3: I think it’d be cool if this whole story ended with us flying back to Earth.
NUMBER 0: It’s been hundreds of years. Earth will not be how you remember it.
NUMBER 1: We will be but a smoking husk full of cockroaches and ruins for the next spacefaring civilization to explore. We’ll be like Protheans in Mass Effect. Except the thing that made us go extinct was ourselves. Unless… humans created the Reapers? Are Reapers coming to this planet too?
NUMBER 0: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
NUMBER 1: That’s exactly what someone about to sick Reapers on us would say.
NUMBER 4: What are you guys yapping about?
NUMBER 0: So the car comes to a stop.
NUMBER 4: Goddammit. Look how much time you fucking idiots wasted.
NUMBER 0: But you’re still in the middle of the forest. You don’t see a city anywhere through the windshield.
NUMBER 3: Oh no. Oh dear.
NUMBER 0: Robin turns back to you. “Alright, this is as close as we can take you. If you just follow the ahead path west, in about half a mile you’ll see a beacon at the Lyman border. Make it there, and wait for security to come reach you. They deal with strandeds like you all the time. Just tell them you don’t know where you came from, and they’ll get you situated in no time.”
NUMBER 4: “You want me to just walk all the way?”
NUMBER 0: “Lyman doesn’t exactly have a road network outside of the city. The only way there is to walk. And you don’t need to worry about them questioning you; there are centuries-old remote microsocieties all over the continent that people flee from all the time. If they ask, say you’re from Wickenmor. They’ll know what that means and won’t ask further.”
NUMBER 4: “What is Wickenmor?”
NUMBER 0: Carson answers, “Not a good fucking place. Learn about it in town. Or spare yourself and don’t.”
NUMBER 4: “Where will you go?”
NUMBER 0: “Somewhere else. I already told you to drop it.”
NUMBER 4: Okay, now can I sit up?
NUMBER 0: You can… open the door try crawling out.
NUMBER 4: I swear to god.
NUMBER 1: Go ahead.
NUMBER 4: Alright. I’m gonna open the door.
NUMBER 0: You open the door.
NUMBER 4: I’m gonna drag my body across the seat.
NUMBER 0: Half of your body is now dangling outside. It’s quite cold out.
NUMBER 4: I’m gonna droop my legs over the side of my seat, and try to lob them out of the car.
NUMBER 0: So you’re holding your body up, and are attempting to land your feet steady so you can stand up?
NUMBER 4: Does every physical motion of mine have to be so heavily vetted by the system?
NUMBER 0: I mean, you’re not in good shape at the moment. You might have been in that cell for quite a while. Who knows when your last real meal was?
NUMBER 4: I do have a tiny stomach. Shit. So what am I rolling for here?
NUMBER 0: I’d say this is our first double-stat check. What is your combined muscle mass and body stability?
NUMBER 4: That would be 9.
Number 0 slides over the D20.
NUMBER 0: Roll for an 11 or higher.
Number 4 sighs and waits a second with her eyes closed before making the D20 roll. She calmly drops it, and gets an 11.
NUMBER 4: Lord almighty.
NUMBER 0: You did it! You stick the landing!
Number 3 applauds.
NUMBER 2: This is what we call character development.
NUMBER 0: You are now standing up, at last, outside. You feel like you’re being held together with scotch tape, but you are at least stable and feel like you can walk. You can see you’re at the end of a dirt road, and straight ahead illuminated by the headlights is a path clearing into the forest. You are now free.
NUMBER 4: Wow. I just… I’m speechless. I best get walking then.
NUMBER 0: As you start walking away, Carson opens his window and leans out. “You gonna shut the door?”
NUMBER 4: Oh. I walk back and push the door shut.
NUMBER 0: “Thanks. Just walk straight, don’t go veering into the bushes, and you'll be fine.” He rolls the window back up, and the car turns around and drives away, leaving you in the dark. The nature scene around you is only barely illuminated by the starry sky above you, speckled with millions of little bright dots like scattered grains of sand. It’s quite a sight.
NUMBER 4: Okay. Am I going to running through a bunch of hostile wildlife now? Am I gonna get mauled by bears?
NUMBER 0: You’re in the outskirts of Lyman, people go hunting out here all the time. It’s safe to say dangerous animals are in short supply, at least in this region.
NUMBER 4: Okay. Then I’d better get going.
NUMBER 0: So you do. And that… wraps up your prologue. Fuck.
NUMBER 1: It’s over? We’re finally done?
NUMBER 0: Yeah. You did it, Zone Mary. And that episode too lasted so much longer than I thought it would. We really are going to be here all day.
NUMBER 3: We’re halfway! That’s half the characters introduced!
NUMBER 2: Am I next?
NUMBER 0: Hush. All of your questions about what comes next will be answered… after this short break.
NUMBER 4: I need water.
NUMBER 1: I need viagra.
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