Gestalt: Echo's Gift (Text Adventure)
03-06-2019, 07:53 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-06-2019, 07:58 PM by periferal.)
Content Warnings: Medical stuff, dark themes. List to be added to as this goes on.
Time: 2026, January 1, 02:44
Place: Converted Office (Cell 4)
The light in your room cell is off.
A clock, old and mechanical, ticks. It is a dark brown, made out of a type of wood you are sure is fancy but cannot recognize. You have no idea why it's in here.
??: Ne worry pas.
???: Thanks. That’s very helpful.
You have been here since the day before Christmas; you explained to the guard who brings you food during the ‘day’ that your family never celebrated it.
She hadn’t said anything. The guards aren’t allowed to speak to you, only the researchers in their lab coats and and gloves and full face masks.
“Dangerous gifts,” one of the doctors, May, had said apologetically. “We know it’s better for your mental health to have as much non-problematic interaction as possible, but one of the last subjects had a behavioral control ability mediated through speech. Countermeasures exist, but their classified nature means we cannot outfit the guards with them.”
She had then jabbed you in the elbow with a long needle and took enough blood it left you light-headed. You got more food, that evening, than usual.
That was five days ago. You don’t try to talk to the guards anymore.
??: Ne worry pas.
You kick the floor.
???: Saying it over and over won’t make it happen.
??: N’ya rien a fair che wait. Ca va stoppez un jour, j’vous promete ca. Ca va stoppez; ton body est mon car, ca va pas creuvez.
This continues in this vein, a constant monologue that isn’t your own.
You used to joke that your obsessive-compulsive disorder (unusual, if not rare, presentation) was like an unhelpful roommate. Having a mental roommate insistently telling you not to worry is new.
The almost-French (you can’t even call it Chiac, exactly, the grammar is wrong) in your head is something you’ve gotten used to. You would understand it, you think, even if you didn’t speak French, but that helps.
It’s the middle of the night, but you’re not sleeping any time soon.
Who are you?
More importantly, what is the name you gave the ges living in your head?
All the question marks are very confusing.
Stay calm.
Stay calm.
Wait. I will not let you die. Any shape is preferable. Your body is my vehicle.
Time: 2026, January 1, 02:44
Place: Converted Office (Cell 4)
The light in your room cell is off.
A clock, old and mechanical, ticks. It is a dark brown, made out of a type of wood you are sure is fancy but cannot recognize. You have no idea why it's in here.
??: Ne worry pas.
???: Thanks. That’s very helpful.
You have been here since the day before Christmas; you explained to the guard who brings you food during the ‘day’ that your family never celebrated it.
She hadn’t said anything. The guards aren’t allowed to speak to you, only the researchers in their lab coats and and gloves and full face masks.
“Dangerous gifts,” one of the doctors, May, had said apologetically. “We know it’s better for your mental health to have as much non-problematic interaction as possible, but one of the last subjects had a behavioral control ability mediated through speech. Countermeasures exist, but their classified nature means we cannot outfit the guards with them.”
She had then jabbed you in the elbow with a long needle and took enough blood it left you light-headed. You got more food, that evening, than usual.
That was five days ago. You don’t try to talk to the guards anymore.
??: Ne worry pas.
You kick the floor.
???: Saying it over and over won’t make it happen.
??: N’ya rien a fair che wait. Ca va stoppez un jour, j’vous promete ca. Ca va stoppez; ton body est mon car, ca va pas creuvez.
This continues in this vein, a constant monologue that isn’t your own.
You used to joke that your obsessive-compulsive disorder (unusual, if not rare, presentation) was like an unhelpful roommate. Having a mental roommate insistently telling you not to worry is new.
The almost-French (you can’t even call it Chiac, exactly, the grammar is wrong) in your head is something you’ve gotten used to. You would understand it, you think, even if you didn’t speak French, but that helps.
It’s the middle of the night, but you’re not sleeping any time soon.
Who are you?
More importantly, what is the name you gave the ges living in your head?
All the question marks are very confusing.
Stay calm.
Stay calm.
Wait. I will not let you die. Any shape is preferable. Your body is my vehicle.