CHIRAL: SIDE Y

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Privatelog (zildch)
Coolzack
Mmm.
Can't say I'm entirely happy with your choice.
The residents are, in a sense, us "Zack's" wards after all.
I suppose it is true that it would technically fulfill the letter of our assigned task.
But the spirit of our task was to rescue and recover the inhabitants of this particular session.
Not just the next one.
Funny how that works.
Now, I've been offering you your pick of several quality carrots.
Rather than take one, you opt to continue hunting the residents.
The remaining residents are still alive, and as long as that continues so will my offers.
But, if so much as one of the remaining residents dies, I will not be amused.
In fact, I will be very unhappy.
I trust you will make the right choice.

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Orderlog
Coolzack
>Hmm.
>You know, I don't believe the roof of the building has been checked.
>Not impossible that another resident lives up there.
>Don't suppose someone has a ladder to check?
>Already have a pickaxe to break through ceiling.

You get to work once again.

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Orderlog
Coolzack: Hmm.
Coolzack: You know, I don't believe the roof of the building has been checked.
Coolzack: Not impossible that another resident lives up there.
tiptopGipgop: This isn’t really the time.
EXA: get new!friend
EXA: sure okay why not
EXA: zzz
Coolzack: Don't suppose someone has a ladder to check?
Coolzack: Already have a pickaxe to break through ceiling.
YUPPERS: MAYBE.
YUPPERS: maybe.
Hunk Chudfest: itds dudck fi you ahdt to tbe on top all thrt rimte
Hunk Chudfest: hey i catnt see anythigng down the pit itsss so deep
: Why don’t we come to a compromise?
: You’ll be able to ascend… say, fifty two inhabitants.
: Plus the ten you’ve got right now. Like I said.
: Nine spare.
: Some of the ones you ascend… they’re clearly not important to you.
: You’ve not met them yet.
: Just reserve them for me.
: And you’ll inevitably screw up in other ways, you’ll lose some more.
: Let Queue do it, let me do it using him.
: With the first one you let me take, I might just tell you something helpful.
: ...For now, since you’re so convincing...
tiptopGipgop: No!
tiptopGipgop: No to all of that! You can’t have any of what you’re asking for, you son of a bitch.
tiptopGipgop: You’re not killing a single inhabitant, and that’s final.
tiptopGipgop: You can hide in your pit, you can even have whatever CZ gives you, if it's ONLY for you. But I’m not letting you hurt a single person.
tiptopGipgop: And I’m especially not going to let you screw with Queue’s head for a minute longer.
Tars Mossburg: “Woah, ah… er… Tipsy…”
Tars Mossburg: “Could ya please give it a minute? Negotiation is a real good thing. Nothing good ever came without a li’l negotiation.”
: Why must it always be my least favorite to come to my ‘rescue’?
: Like that god-like liar, I quite enjoy this snippy slut pretending she has any power.
: Liar, perhaps you should ORDER them to stop reading our messages.
: Or ORDER them to tell you everything they know. All of their secrets.
: Then, to avoid moral reprehensibility, since you seem to care…
: ORDER them to forget.
: Perhaps like you have before.
EXA: what
EXA: what
EXA: what
1234567890: h35 8u115h1771n6 90u
1234567890: 175 4 fuck1n6 13v9975 pr4nk
Tars Mossburg: “I-I’m not sure what this… order, thing, is all about? What’s that mean?”
tiptopGipgop: Please tell us this isn’t happening, Zack.
tiptopGipgop: ...please, God. The fact that we’re programming is bad enough, but…
cripesalmighty: This is awesome!
cripesalmighty: Your existence is so, so, so, so bad, huh???
Hunk Chudfest: queues sscreaming now
EXA: :f
Levyyts: …

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Privatelog (zildch)
Coolzack: Mmm.
Coolzack: Can't say I'm entirely happy with your choice.
Coolzack: The residents are, in a sense, us "Zack's" wards after all.
Coolzack: I suppose it is true that it would technically fulfill the letter of our assigned task.
Coolzack: But the spirit of our task was to rescue and recover the inhabitants of this particular session.
Coolzack: Not just the next one.
Coolzack: Funny how that works.
Coolzack: Now, I've been offering you your pick of several quality carrots.
Coolzack: Rather than take one, you opt to continue hunting the residents.
Coolzack: The remaining residents are still alive, and as long as that continues so will my offers.
Coolzack: But, if so much as one of the remaining residents dies, I will not be amused.
Coolzack: In fact, I will be very unhappy.
Coolzack: I trust you will make the right choice.

Mulligan
>The second letter is not a letter at all but a page from a once beloved book of knighthood and chivalry.
>The third is a personal invitation detailing the terms of your knighthood, sent to you by your queen herself.

You splay the three things out on your... table, thing, and begin reading each one with immense attention.

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Letter from Oats
Hey, Mull.

It’s been three months since everyone died and we got put in here unawares. Ninety or so days since you murdered people and became inconsolable.

The loneliness of everything hurts. I don’t feel like I’m welcome anywhere, not ever. I mean, that’s a really selfish, pathetic thing for me to be saying, because at least I’m alive, and at least we’re here alive… and someday we’ll arrive at some bubble, and at least we made it away from the MOCHA ENDING. But compared to the life we had all together before, this is…

It just feels like hell, Mull.

I miss you. You that isn’t terrifying. I keep thinking maybe one day you’ll come to your senses, that it’s some horrible consequence of the vessel we’re in, that it’ll fade. Even if it did, I don’t know if I could feel anything for you again, it’s been so long.

This is such a stupid letter. Sorry.

I have a lot of trouble writing like this now. It feels more comfortable to use a typing quirk on our chat program, I guess. Maybe it’s because people just read my words less. They think whatever they think of me, and I get to nitch out my own little corner of the chat room without bothering anyone. And if I’m bothering someone, I just slink further into the corner.

I think Tipsy hates me now. or at least feels just pity instead of friendship. Queue is helpful but he doesn’t really tune into anything, he just ‘listens’. Mostly Gene gets mad at me. Dink is too drunk all the time to talk to. Yuptam and I communicate, halfway, kind of, and it’s mostly a joke to him. Eva doesn’t…

You get the idea, Mull. It’s just not been any good. It’s been the worst. Every morning I pass by your cell and hope you’re going to say my name instead of just staring, but you don’t. I’ve got to stop eventually.

How much longer are we supposed to last like this?

Maybe you’ll find this letter when you come to yourself, maybe, or somebody will find it and make fun of me for it. I guess I don’t care. It just feels better to be talking to you, even if it’s a one-way conversation on paper.

Sorry.

- Oats

You can't help but tear up a little bit. If that was six months ago, what must his psyche be like now? You can only hope he found comfort somewhere. You love the l'il guy so much, but he can really hurt himself when he gets wrapped up in a bad idea. He might need additional hugs in the near future.

You read the rightmost paper next-- a ripped, worn page from a book, with additional writing at the bottom.

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Torn Page
The knight raised her arms up, sword tightly held between two white-carapaced hands-- and she brought it down besides the Derse paladin’s head, burying it in stone and intentionally missing him.

He was at a loss for words! “Why,” he stammered, “have you spared me, Prospitian?”

“Because you could never do the same.” The knight took the blade from the ground, slowly placed her sword within her sheath, and offered the evil paladin a hand.

--

The chapter ends there.

I know this kind of fiction was your favorite back when. I managed to get one of the machines to dispense some of it, and some part of me thought this cheesy little excerpt was worth putting in your room. Maybe somehow the words will fit into your head. Everything about this compound is cryptic and indecipherable, and the connection with our preset rooms is, so I expect, part of that cryptic understanding.

It’s just a hope, though, not a dream.

This entire story is compelling, if incredibly clichéd. It’s a no-names arc involving a noble Prospitian knight and a conniving Dersite paladin, as you may have guessed. Where most stories usually tend to have the main character’s primary conflict resolve at the very end, the pair have many encounters through the first and second acts-- interpersonally becoming involved as their rivalry gives way for a mutual adoration. The third act is spent tackling a greater threat, a threat that is inherent to their past as much as it is an actual physical manifestation of evil.

It’s an important book, Mulligan McKenzie, because it’s indicative of the times. The times that you ushered in-- not on your own, of course, but you were one of the biggest conduits. The dichotomy between our warring planets was once similar to that of the humans and krokians, but since we had entered peacetime, I’m sure the heroes hoped to resolve their war, as well.

That’s why they opened a way back home. That’s why they accidentally let the MOCHA ENDING through.

Sometimes the universe likes to play cruel tricks on good intentions. Sometimes the universe likes to corrupt what used to be good in this world. You were me and Gene’s closest friend, and you led us to meeting everyone else-- especially the other Prospitians. Without you, there would be no peacetime. And yet you were made into a brainless being, and yet you killed dozens of us without any sense.

It’s just… screwed up.

I hope if you ever come to, this story means something to you, Mulligan, and I hope I can give you the rest of the book in person.

- Tipsy

Encouraging. It's encouraging, and you make a mental note to ask Tipsy for details on the book later. You've always quite liked the optimistic fiction written after the two moons reached peacetime, written by a variety of Carapacian authors of various allegiances. The heroes were big fans, too.

It's best you don't think about what she said-- that you killed all those people. It wasn't you. It wasn't... you. Your hands, your arms, your tactical mind...

But it wasn't you. It couldn't have been.

You shudder and move on to the last letter.

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Folded Letter
Shanks.

As you know. Was the Queen’s Advisor. That means her thoughts on you were understood. Transcripted her letters. Wrote her letters on occasion. Adopted writing style. Not most flattering of occasion, but suitable for somebody well-spoken. At least, capable of imitation.

To-the-point. Simple. Direct.

Times have been most troubling. No end in sight to it. Hope: lost. Hope: hard to see existing. Would have kept longer if you kept safety of mind. Some suspicion on demonic possession. The Queen would have seen some other way.

She would offer you another chance.

If new Mulligan is this way, then there are other purposes for you. There are other values in a killer. The Queen saw this. She awarded you for manipulating others, not uniting them. Seems an award better awarded to Queue C. Coffee instead. She saw you as a pawn.

Has been eight months since this beginning. Suspicion builds.

Are you a pawn?

Game sort. In games. Controlled by something.

Would not drop the intuition on anybody else. Revelation that nobody would like to hear. But have begun digging, and found some things of interest. A pair of souls above us, still living. Controlling us, or exempting control.

Recall the letter she sent you, the Queen. You are a knight. You obey. When necessary, you disobey, to make others obey. Managed to gather me and fifty others under your thumb. Now, controlled by another King and Queen in a session above us.

Simply find it sad.

When you’re free, read this letter. Will find a way eventually. May take several months. But may benefit our collective morale if you live. Regain free will. Break the Queen’s expectations of you.

Soon enough.

- T

This one's an oddity. It's... chilling, at the least, and you have trouble telling until the very end if the intent is malicious. In addition, some of the things written don't seem to line up with what you thought the timeline was.

With all three read, now, you don't feel much better... in fact, you only feel more compelled to stop messing around. But where do you start?