Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round One: The "Denny's"]
05-29-2011, 01:50 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by veerserif.
Running up and down corridors was a good workout. At the very least, it might help him thi-
Oh.
oh.
Oh crap.
Etiyr.
Gabe groaned and hit his head with a satisfying thunk against the wall. It stung a little. "Christ! He's a bloody typewriter, how hard is it to keep track of an inanimate object?" The shout echoed through the corridor.
He'd lost track of which direction he was going. The corridors might have been identical mirror images for all he could tell; damned secret military complexes and their prefabricated parts. Shrugging, he went for the closest door. It had a jaunty sign reading "BREAK ROOM" in a hideous shade of cyan. Presumably the boss thought it would raise morale.
Just as he reached for the doorknob, the door opened violently from the inside. Though he managed to step back in time, Gabe saw a giant centipede, a girl, the boy with the blotchy red face and a floating ball of metal file out of the room. Though the others seemed not to have noticed him, one of the cameras swiveled in his direction. He ducked.
Slipping inside, the first things he noticed were the two crushed remains of a couple of robot pitbulls. A layer of thick black fluid coated some of the twisted metal, and there was a smell of burnt plastic. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Gabe turned to inspect the room. There was a small table with two chairs (Ikea), a little wall clock (definitely Ikea) and a small bookshelf (radiating Ikea vibes). There was the mandatory water cooler and accompanying rubber plant, which against all odds managed to look as if it were wilting. The fluorescent light overhead flickered a little; once again it was green. Gabe took a moment to briefly ponder who the hell thought it was a good idea to make everything look faintly sick, before inspecting the bookshelf. One title in particular stood out: Navajo Skinwalkers: A Survival Guide. Perhaps it might have something to do with the insane burned man? Picking it up, Gabe flicked through briefly.
'Skinwalkers are not simply mad but deliberately and consciously evil.' Well that was good to know. '...they will no doubt pretend to transform into an animal and tear out your intestines.' That. That was not good. He'd been spooked before but Gabe only now realised just how much danger he had been in. 'One of their favourite techniques is to throw poisonous dust... it either paralyzes the victim physically or drives them completely insane.'
This book was just plain depressing. And not very helpful. Granted, the author did seem to know his subject, which was a little lighthouse of hope amongst a dark, rolling sea of trouble, populated by the jagged rocks of despair and the haze of pre-coffee bleariness. Gabe put the book back in the shelf and inspected the other exits.
There were three doors, not counting the one he'd just walked in. One had a dark red pool of - who was he kidding, it certainly wasn't Kool-Aid. It didn't look fresh, at least. Very carefully, Gabe eased open the door.
The trail of blood led to the corpse of a very dead man, his skin a pallid grey. He had been disemboweled, shirt torn open and insides bared to the world, brown and purple and a dark rusty red. Slivers of ivory bone were visible. Gabe turned aside, and tried not to throw up.
Though he wasn't usually one for sentimental acts, it felt wrong to leave the corpse there. He went back into the break room and grabbed a copy of Instrumental Engineering, moved the corpse into something resembling a sleeping position, and lay the magazine open over the wound. Gabe then shut its eyes. He now looked like he had fallen asleep after reading a magazine, if you were willing to ignore the bloodstained shirt and the trail of blood and the frankly appalling smell. Alright, so it didn't fool a soul, but it was the thought that mattered. Gabe thought about rifling through the dead man's pockets but it just seemed wrong. The break room wasn't a bad place to rest a little, anyway.
Running up and down corridors was a good workout. At the very least, it might help him thi-
Oh.
oh.
Oh crap.
Etiyr.
Gabe groaned and hit his head with a satisfying thunk against the wall. It stung a little. "Christ! He's a bloody typewriter, how hard is it to keep track of an inanimate object?" The shout echoed through the corridor.
He'd lost track of which direction he was going. The corridors might have been identical mirror images for all he could tell; damned secret military complexes and their prefabricated parts. Shrugging, he went for the closest door. It had a jaunty sign reading "BREAK ROOM" in a hideous shade of cyan. Presumably the boss thought it would raise morale.
Just as he reached for the doorknob, the door opened violently from the inside. Though he managed to step back in time, Gabe saw a giant centipede, a girl, the boy with the blotchy red face and a floating ball of metal file out of the room. Though the others seemed not to have noticed him, one of the cameras swiveled in his direction. He ducked.
Slipping inside, the first things he noticed were the two crushed remains of a couple of robot pitbulls. A layer of thick black fluid coated some of the twisted metal, and there was a smell of burnt plastic. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Gabe turned to inspect the room. There was a small table with two chairs (Ikea), a little wall clock (definitely Ikea) and a small bookshelf (radiating Ikea vibes). There was the mandatory water cooler and accompanying rubber plant, which against all odds managed to look as if it were wilting. The fluorescent light overhead flickered a little; once again it was green. Gabe took a moment to briefly ponder who the hell thought it was a good idea to make everything look faintly sick, before inspecting the bookshelf. One title in particular stood out: Navajo Skinwalkers: A Survival Guide. Perhaps it might have something to do with the insane burned man? Picking it up, Gabe flicked through briefly.
'Skinwalkers are not simply mad but deliberately and consciously evil.' Well that was good to know. '...they will no doubt pretend to transform into an animal and tear out your intestines.' That. That was not good. He'd been spooked before but Gabe only now realised just how much danger he had been in. 'One of their favourite techniques is to throw poisonous dust... it either paralyzes the victim physically or drives them completely insane.'
This book was just plain depressing. And not very helpful. Granted, the author did seem to know his subject, which was a little lighthouse of hope amongst a dark, rolling sea of trouble, populated by the jagged rocks of despair and the haze of pre-coffee bleariness. Gabe put the book back in the shelf and inspected the other exits.
There were three doors, not counting the one he'd just walked in. One had a dark red pool of - who was he kidding, it certainly wasn't Kool-Aid. It didn't look fresh, at least. Very carefully, Gabe eased open the door.
The trail of blood led to the corpse of a very dead man, his skin a pallid grey. He had been disemboweled, shirt torn open and insides bared to the world, brown and purple and a dark rusty red. Slivers of ivory bone were visible. Gabe turned aside, and tried not to throw up.
Though he wasn't usually one for sentimental acts, it felt wrong to leave the corpse there. He went back into the break room and grabbed a copy of Instrumental Engineering, moved the corpse into something resembling a sleeping position, and lay the magazine open over the wound. Gabe then shut its eyes. He now looked like he had fallen asleep after reading a magazine, if you were willing to ignore the bloodstained shirt and the trail of blood and the frankly appalling smell. Alright, so it didn't fool a soul, but it was the thought that mattered. Gabe thought about rifling through the dead man's pockets but it just seemed wrong. The break room wasn't a bad place to rest a little, anyway.