7 replies to this topic

[Z_mann]

So, what's the deal with this one, you ask?

It's quite simple: You are the protagonist.

Kinda works like this: I'm going to post the first short chapter of the story. It's going to have minimal defined background, so that it can expand as freely as possible. At the end of each chapter, there will be a request made upon the 'player'. I expect some of you, the readers, to suggest what the character is going to do next. Upon reading the answers, I'll pick one (or several) that I think are most interesting, plausible, or generally fitting to some kind of plan i develop. Upon them I will compose the next chapter, post it, an you will have another choice. There are no a) b) c) choices - if you want to interact, all you need to do is write a few simple sentences (eg. 'I take the right turn, avoiding the man in the coat.'). Of course, there really is no limit, but for the sake of the format, I think the reply should be no more than two paragraphs,simply to preserve dynamics.

I'm the only one who chooses the answers, since I do write the story, and it's simply more convenient. We do not vote on the outcome. Also, try to be in character when you post - I'll just have to ignore ridiculous examples.

I will edit this first post if there is need for more rules, or a FAQ, or whatnot. Now, on with the story!

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////


THE EXPERIMENT


This is a place of shadows. It’s here where the beginning and the end of every motion are linked. There are many paths leading from here, always, but you are yet to learn how to take them. The world is empty, but the Void does not have you yet.

You are aware of the terminal, of your fingers, of your thoughts; the rest is… out of focus. Barricaded, between bounds, temporarily misplaced, whatever you wish to call it.
You go, you come back, but the sum of all your actions returns you back to the keys, and to the single blinking line, realizing, again and again, that there is no going away without coming back.

Slowly, you hit a random key. The terminal activates.

>>
>>
>>
>>I SEE YOU ARE STUCK
>>I SEE
>>MAY I CALL YOU JOHN?
>>NO, DON’T ANSWER ANYTHING
>>THERES NO POINT
>>NO DIFFERENCE YET
>>
>>
>>I CAN GET YOU UNSTUCK, JOHN
>>I CAN GET YOU UNSTUCK
>>BUT YOU NEED TO HELP ME GET IT
>>GET MY VOICE
>>
>>
>>
>>TAKE THE SYRINGE

Edited by Z_mann, 12 December 2008 - 10:38.

[Dr. Strangelove]

Spoiler

DO A BARREL ROLL

Quote

Hands unsteady, I take the syringe, but the constant trembling shocks make me miss the vein. I drop it on the terminal.

>>
>>...
>>QWHAYYT ISD BIN UUITY?
>>

Edited by Dr. Strangelove, 28 November 2008 - 12:22.

[Z_mann]

>>
>>WELL DONE
>>IM TRULY IMPRESSED
>>MOST HUMANS ARE NOT ABLE TO PERFORM
>>EVEN SUCH SIMPLE TASKS
>>
>>YOURE NOT THE FIRST ONE
>>BUT OTHERS HAVE FAILED
>>
>>YOU INJECTED INTO YOURSELF
>>A SPECIAL TYPE OF DRUG
>>IT’S A LINK BETWEEN YOUR THOUGHTS
>>AND THE WORLD
>>
>>BY DOING IT YOU HAVE DESTRETCHED YOUR TIME AGAIN
>>ITS TICKING
>>IT ALWAYS DOES WHEN THINGS ARE AFOOT
>>I THINK YOU ARE DYING
>>BUT I DON’T BELIEVE YOU ARE RELEVANT ENOUGH
>>FOR ME TO CARE


You feel a sudden rush of nausea and anxiety. A pain creeps in your head, as you lean back on the chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. Feverish beads of sweat start to form on your forehead.

>>WE ARE ALL EMPTY
>>YOU ARE WEAK AND BODYLESS
>>AND
>>THEY TOOK MY VOICE FROM ME
>>JUST LIKE THEY TOOK THE WORLD FROM YOUR EYES
>>FIND THEM
>>THE DRUG WILL GIVE YOU A MIND THAT I HAVE TAINTED
>>FOR YOU
>>USE IT WELL
>>
>>IM WATCHING YOU
>>DO NOT FAIL, OR I WILL CHOKE
>>I KNOW WHERE TO PUSH YOU JOHN
>>YOU MIGHT HAVE KILLED YOURSELF TO SHIELD FROM ME
>>BUT I KNOW
>>I KNOW HOW TO TAKE YOU BACK

By that point you cannot follow the Terminal anymore. Waves of sickness rush through your insides, forcing you retch painfully. If your stomach was not empty, you would have thrown up.
The chair you were seated on drops behind you. Falling, you bump your head on the desk. The pain is wrong – instead of being sharp, it pulsates and spreads. Within seconds, your entire body is affected. You feel, as if you were a balloon, as if your flesh was rubbery and soft – and bent awkwardly out of shape. In horror, you realize you are melting.
But, when you scream, reality disappears, but the Void doesn’t have you yet.


Instead, you are on the tram, briefcase in your hand, and you are late.

[Brad]

I wait for my stop; avoiding the homeless man.
I get off, with my buisness suit on.
I open my briefcase.
And look inside.
I can see it, I can touch it, but I can't.
There is a barrier, stoppping me.
I know not what it is.

[Z_mann]

The feeling of change, from nothing to the world, has somehow been damped - you feel you know the air, the pull of the earth, the weariness of skin and bone. This is surely not your first flesh, nor your first being. Although your memory is in great part empty, you feel that a certain wrong exists, that there should be revelation. You are tense and cautious as you observe the alien surroundings.

You are at a tram station, a thing of old iron and orange peeling paint, rusted in years of neglect. Underneath its three umbrellas lies a bench row made with some kind of durable plastic, touched in the same way by its time. Even if it has been sat upon before, it is still covered with a layer of dirt and soot. The back wall is almost completely covered by layers of torn posters - ages of them, it would seem. You lean over, trying hard to read out the inscriptions on one of them...

"ЗАШТРИ..." - the rest is blurred. It makes no meaning to you.

You examine the rest of the area. All around, the view expands to a large urban area - huge gray monoliths, rendered like hives with hundreds of windows, balconies, overlapping consoles and cascades, with antennas poking from orifices on the may tilted roofs, lifting into the sky that is ready with rain. Some of them seem unfinished, others almost heave to the sides with the strain of years. The faint smell of winter smog and chimney ash covers all. You cannot help the feeling that this town had seen its best days much before: the emptiness says it all too well.

There is a large sign to your right. It seems it denounces some kind of facility. You are not sure how this can be known to you, but you recognize the symbol on the front. You think of the Sun, and how it burns, when you see it.

How the Sun burns, and the Winter chills...


The pain of stretching jumps at you again. Your head, you must remember, the briefcase... You are in the case, you must open it...

You must tell yourself who you are, what you are... before you can open it...

[EX-P.F.C. Wintergreen]

You decide that it is probably something worth investigating at a more public location, even if it is only to have some witnesses to your case.

You survey the area once more.

The great feeling of sorrow and animosity still grips the air almost ten years after the great war. You manage to walk to a nearby pub a couple of blocks away. You sit down to enjoy some ale to calm your nerves when you slowly realize that everyone is staring at you. It takes a minute to figure out what they are looking at. You cannot believe you did it again.

Edited by EX-P.F.C. Wintergreen, 04 December 2008 - 01:37.

[AZZKIKR]

I looked at my shoe, and cursed under my breath. The floor i stood on was covered with sand, brought by socks as i travelled that morning. Knowing things couldn't get any worse, i sat near the juke box. I put in a quarter, and played my favourite song

[Z_mann]

As the old can shuffles its contents, and the first waltzy notes fill the room, your mind feels bubbly and eased asudden. There are memories again, of life you never had. You watch it like you would a drama.

Somewhere beyond the stage, the keys dance in harmony. A defiant plays lonely against the keyboard, gently, slowly. His notes slide above mastery, above the worldly ways. They open some dusty doors in your soul.

You were young once, you recall. You were free also, you had a feeling of wings on your back, and a small storm in your shoes. You had a powerful knowledge - to dance, and dance, and dance - when nobody was looking.

The world was a different place from what you see of it now. It was lighter, less sharp edges, less frustrating and confusing patterns surfacing about. You remember the still night - when you cast your gaze out of your new home, and the world awaited to be felt, to be gently explored for the first time. Oh, how you launched your steps then, how much heart this 'you' took into everything. It felt that by merely being, doing, breathing a new masterpiece was being forged for some great audience unknown and unseen.

And there she was...

You were dancing, waltzing a slow circle in a minor. And each step, it went around - it was addictive joy. Her simple beauty was a short answer to a hundred questions your bewildered mind used to ask. Each second of tame love was a small ballad written for the soul - leaping beyond the murderous looping of idleness that was hanging gently overhead. There was brown sadness in her eyes you tried to quell with your palms, a symphony never played you read from her lips. And how divine was the completing of your pair - how, embraced you were timeless, how the world and its ever increasing raspy voice, charged already with thunder approaching, seemed to quiver and fade for no reason. How you kissed her passionately and in secret, to a backdrop of a piano - somewhere, lost in time and far from this space, hidden and safe.

Small tears begin to form in your eyes, as the final notes of the movement begin to fade. You now know that this woman, and the love, are to be your fulfillment and goal.

You turn to the sunken faced barkeeper, as he watches you through small, peering eyes...

A/N You may thank Chopin for this one...