The clock strikes twelve. The gong of the grandfather clock in the foyer tolls out the time in slightly unnecessarily obnoxious loud noises. The ambiance of this old mansion demands respect, care, awe --
Okay, no, wait, why are you even in this stupid dusty house?
No reasons are forthcoming, because everyone knows that people just end up in places like this sometimes. That's just how the narrative device works. The hows and the whys don't matter -- all that matters is that you're all here, so you'd better get cracking and start exploring, because it's not like you can leave yet.
Or ever, maybe.
 Good day, sirs and madams. Might I interest you in a nice glass of blood...y mary?
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PHASE I [ 02 15 ] All you see is white. The crash of thunder hits your ears next, punctuated by the piercing pitch of white noise in the background. After a few blinks, your vision comes back to you. Oh good, glad that you’ve joined us in the land of the living. Unlike the nondescript corpse at your feet – it looks like… a butler? Oh dear. You’ve already killed Murder Suspect Number One in most situations. How terribly ironic.
After all, who could’ve killed him but you? You might not remember, but there is definitely a murder weapon in your hand. It’s probably a knife or a poisoned glass of wine or-
Wait, is that a toaster? A full on toaster? Or maybe it’s a taser. Maybe you bludgeoned this poor guy with an entire encyclopedia. Either way, it looks like your murder weapon is a little unconventional, whether it’s a stranger’s pair of underwear or a hair curler. Are you really supposed to believe you committed a murder with these? (Yes.)
That said in the next second the double doors will be opening up. It’s pretty clear you’re not alone. Think quick!
PHASE II [ 0600 ] Exploring more around the compound, you’ll find plenty of those tall, oil portraits of people hung around the walls. When you start walking, they’re all strangers. However by the time that you feel like you’re wandering around for an hour, two hours, they might start looking a little bit more… familiar? Mom? Is that you?
You don’t have time to think about that, though. You were clearly framed! You don't’ have a motive for killing some random NPC –
“Or do you?” a portrait will ask.
Oh. Holy shit. Well it’d just be rude to leave, right? Whether you stick around for conversation or not, you’ll find that was just the beginning. The portraits are going to start grilling you. Welcome to CERES Central’s Roast of You. What was your motive? Don’t you know you should respect the servants? How would you feel if you were caught like that? Careful turning your back on them though, because if you ignore them for too long, the subjects in the portraits may just reach out and snatch you to join them in their portrait world.
At that point, the only way to get out is to swap places with some other poor, unsuspecting soul wandering around.
PHASE III [ 1045 ] You know what makes me hungry? Murder.
What’s the point of making a mansion this big anyway? Who’s even here? Either way, whether you’re looking for the kitchen to make a fine post-homicide sandwich or just trying to escape, you’ll eventually make it to a stairwell. The most finicky stairwell ever. Is that a trail of bloody footprints leading up the steps? What? No. Stop it, just climb.
Or well – don’t climb too quickly now. The staircases apparently have a mind of their own, swapping from one doorway to another. You definitely haven’t seen this before. It would seem that these stairs might even be interested in keeping you in a circle forever, no concern for whether or not you’re hungry or, god forbid, need to use the restroom.
However the portraits in the stairwell will provide a little tip: “The stairs are gossips, you know. Why don’t you tell us a little something about yourself? Make it good!”
Weirdly enough, sound advice – that is, if you’re interested in shouting out your most embarrassing secrets into the void so a mansion can keep talking shit about you. Oh well. Your alternative is just being a stair golem. There are worse fates.
PHASE IV [ 1430 ] This hall is oddly quiet.
Well, until you hear it – the soft sniffles coming from down the hall, the broken sobs. It sounds like someone’s crying. For one reason or another, your footsteps take you forward – there’s really no point in going back now after all, right? Yet as you continue to walk… walk… walk… the crying becomes louder and louder. More desperate, more despaired. In time, it’s clear that this person is wailing, screaming, “How could this happen?!”
Within the span of a breath, all the lights in the hallway go out, leaving you in pitch black.
It occurs to you then that you hear a second set of steps. When did you stop walking? A cold chill runs down your spine and you find yourself running then, despite the fact that it feels like this pitch black hallway goes on forever. The other footsteps pick up, remind you that you’re not alone. No, certainly not.
Best hope that you find some assistance soon – otherwise it looks like the Butler Association is going to ignite some righteous vigilante justice on your ass.
BONUS [ why o'clock ] You’re in the grand ballroom now, ready to present your case. Armed with a cob pipe (don’t smoke inside, it’s rude), a detective hat, and a single spotlight aimed right at you, you now have to explain how you came to the conclusion about the True Killer that is Obviously Not You. Rather, it’ll just be the character of whoever tags into this prompt – yes, you are suddenly so very sure that they’re the ones who are the ultimate mastermind of this entire game and… you’re just going to have to bullshit the reason why even if you know virtually nothing about them. It’s a dog eat dog world out there, you know?
Sorry about that.
Should you actually provide enough of a compelling case or they take pity on you, having a villainous breakdown for the sake of the plot, you’ll be awarded with a coupon that’ll give you three free scoops at your local ice cream parlor! (Note: you must buy the first two scoops in order to qualify.) Of course, if you’re not able to nail them down as the killer, you are obviously the killer yourself (citation needed).
From there, you’ll be dragged off to face your punishment: for six grueling hours you will be tickled mercilessly.
[ Remember to apply proper warnings on threads with sensitive or inappropriate material and do let a mod know if your thread careens off into maiming or canoodling so we can lock the log. ] |
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no subject
[She would take a seat but, instead, she rips a curtain off the wall to cover the body. With that trial taken care of, the does sit down, leaning forward in her own chair. The mechanical wings on her suit weren't exactly comfortable to lean back on.]
You could say that yes, we are kidnapped. However, believing the information they feed us would be a mistake.
[She felt the chair before looking around the room once. No, she definitely didn't get behind that story in the slightest.]
This could be a simulation or computer program. There are ways to make them seem rather real. But data? [No, she laughs lightly.] As much research as I've done, I can safely say there is no way to turn a human being into lines of code. So let's look at things in a more realistic fashion.
The universe is still existing, we are functioning human beings, and we have simply been kidnapped by an organization or power that has other ideas for us.
no subject
Well, obviously. [Added swiftly, as if he hadn't just been talking about universes and whatnot being destroyed like he actually believed it.
But no, she's right. And, paranoid as he is, Pritchard has no trouble believing that someone out there has a reason to kidnap him and use him for God-knows-what; honestly, the more relevant question is who out of his long list of likely candidates has actually gone and done it now.]
Though they picked a hell of a time to do it, didn't they? [Of course she knows what he's talking about. Clearly she's augmented (he notes, casting a glance over those wings of hers) though he can't say he's seen those particular designs before. But – whether or not she'd been unfortunate enough to get the new biochip – if she's a doctor, one way or another she's had to deal with the massacre the news stations are already starting to call the "Aug Incident."
Miraculously, not having a corpse in open display a few feet away does do his nerves some good, and by now Pritchard sounds almost rational. He leans forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together in lieu of anything else to do.] You're with WHO then, I assume? Or maybe from LIMB? What could these people possibly want with a physician and a cybersecurity specialist that they couldn't just tell us about, without all the theatrics?
no subject
[She honestly doesn't but, then again, the power structure in her world is also starting to fall apart. A few more incidents and who knows how society would end up collapsing...once again.]
WHO? No, not at all. Though I have never heard of LIMB. There are reasons people would want me, as a former member of Overwatch, but I was working in Iraq before this. The 'theatrics', as you say, do make little sense.
no subject
He leans back far in his seat, idly running a hand back through his hair – just something he tends to do when presented with a puzzle like this one.]
Well, I've never heard of an "Overwatch." Are we talking special forces, or something? [Like, should he not know what Overwatch is? Does she have to kill him now that she's mentioned it?]
no subject
[Which leads her to thinking. But outside of medical science, she doesn't have too much she can apply to the problem.]
According to your expression, I should know of this organization. To me, if you have not heard of Overwatch, you would have had to been out of touch with society for over a decade. It's a long story but yes, you could consider them a type of international special forces.
no subject
A sudden, overwhelming need to just get up and do something grabs hold of him, and he gets up out of his seat and paces restlessly over to one of the picture windows. It's pitch black out there– an unnatural night, like the world just suddenly ends once he tries and looks out further than a few dozen yards. He immediately regrets trying at all.
Unnerved, he looks back around at Ziegler.] Like you said, a simulation. More advanced than any I've ever seen, but I suppose it's not totally beyond the realm of the possible. [Pritchard motions at her, wings and all.] You're augmented, aren't you? They must be interfering with our biochips somehow, overstimulating the parts of our brains responsible for memory, which could explain…
[He throws up his hands, suddenly frustrated. Is it obvious he's spitballing?] I don't know! I'm not a neuroscientist.
no subject
[It's a good guess though. But Angela has created and given people augmentations plenty of times in her life for missing limbs and the like.]
This is my Valkyrie suit. I made it to be able to fly to those who need assistance and help generate the nanomachines I use to assist in supporting others.
[That throws out the biochip option though. Not that she's heard of one but she can definitely make the intelligent guess about them.]
My personal theory right now is that our bodies are being held somewhere and we've been directly plugged into a machine that's generating a simulation.
no subject
[And while he'd be lying if he said eight year-old him didn't think being Neo would've been as cool as all get-out, the thought's far less attractive right here and now. Something she said bothered him, though– and before she has the chance to further extrapolate on her simulation theory, he holds up a hand and interrupts her.]
Hang on a moment– nanomachines? What the hell do you mean, "nanomachines?" Unless you're right about me living under a rock ["which you absolutely aren't," his tone implies] we're... Well obviously I can't say for sure, but we must be decades away – at least – from that sort of technology.
[If nano-augmentation ever gets off the ground at all, now that the industry's ground to an indefinite halt. Pritchard folds his arms and looks at Ziegler with open, unguarded suspicion now; she doesn't need to be a mind reader to see the questions on the tip of his tongue. What exactly is Overwatch? What sort of group has access to tech the most cutting-edge biotech companies around only dream of?
Frankly, the whole "universes being destroyed" thing is becoming a lot easier to believe than... Whatever this is that's happening right now. At least they had the courtesy to give him a powerpoint presentation.]
no subject
[They made her head of medical research for Overwatch for a reason.]
But please, I did not mean my statement as an insult. Far from it. I do think that perhaps we are not from the same place, even though there are things in common, such as the WHO.
no subject
But seriously– you're alright with believing in the idea of multiple universes, but you'd draw the line at the possibility of them being destroyed? Or us merely being representations of human beings, in code? [Well, string theory's a theory for a reason, he supposes. He's joking, though, if the not-quite-a-smile smirk on his face means anything. Mostly joking.]
no subject
[Which would take some amazing scientific advances. But coming from a world that had mastered hard light, healing with sound, or other nearly magical concepts, it shouldn't be too far off. Though she takes the hint that he's not quite serious. It's just better to be clear than misunderstood.]
Perhaps I am underestimating the power one organization can have but universal destruction and codified humans that are not just AIs would take an calculable amount of that very same power.
no subject
He may be a skeptic, but "wait and see" isn't really an option when the mansion's not exactly being forthcoming with further information about their situation – if they want to actually learn anything, they'll need to be proactive. Or as good ol' Jensen would do: punch a hole in the wall, or kick down a door, or something similarly unsubtle and meat-headed.
But… Subtle or not, maybe he'd be onto something with that. Pritchard starts up his restless pacing again, thinking aloud:]
Assuming we're in a simulation– what's the most basic way to break a program? [No need to respond, Angela, because he's immediately answering his own question:] Exceptions. Unforeseen events that the people who wrote the code never anticipated or tried to account for.
If we could find or do something that this simulation isn't prepared to handle, then... [A vague gesture.] Well, it should kick us out out of the program. And if your theory is true, then we'll probably wake up in our pods, "safe and sound" in the Machines' power plants.
[He really can't let go of The Matrix.]
no subject
I take it that you are into the computer sciences then?
[Yep, he certainly talked like it.]
But what type of...exception would, as you might say, crash the system?
no subject
[It's an unusually coy answer to that question, for him– normally he'd be all about showing off exactly how knowledgeable he is about his field, but... It's kind of been a crazy past few weeks, and he's not sure he can keep "head of cybersecurity at one of the world's leading augmentation manufacturers" on his list of credentials anymore.]
But to answer your question– it's hard to say. It really all depends on how good this simulation's programmers are and, to be honest with you, I've never had to break one while inside it before.
[It's safe for him to call this a "crisis," and he feels practically naked during any of those if he doesn't have a computer in hand. A basic command-line interface is all he's asking for, honestly. Trying to do it this way sort of feels like the problem-solving equivalent of a monkey banging on the bars of its cage until something happens.
A few moments pass in silence before he glances up at her, brow knit in thought.] Your nanomachines– how exactly do you "generate" them? Is there a limit to how many you can have active at once?
no subject
[She rubs her chin slowly, wondering where he's going with this. Without her staff, usage was going to be generally limited but there was a couple things that could be done.]
Once I reach max capacity, I have enough to...hmm...
[She was aware what came next could be mildly disturbing to most. She had to think of how to approach it delicately.]
...to put it simply, to bring a person who was killed back to life. Though this only works in the first few moments after a person dies.
no subject
In the end, he settles for "needs more information." It's hard not to think about it in terms of his experience, where anything involving health and technology is bound to be fraught with controversy. Doesn't seem to be the case for her. He can't help but wonder what sort of bizarro universe this woman lives in (or if maybe his is the bizarro universe) – but that can wait for later, once they're out of this mess. A good, long chat is clearly in order.]
Well, I suppose he's [jerking his head in the direction of the covered body] a little too far gone for that. Now– does your limit happen to be in the range of... Er, four trillion nanomachines, or so?
[The question trails off somewhat lamely. It's certainly a bit of a stretch, but he honestly has no idea what to expect from her world's technology anymore. If she's actually capable of raising the dead like she says, he can't imagine what (if anything) she can't do.]