The Human Game: A Shrine for a Fake God

> "I would kick her butt and tell her to get her act together. Nobody's allowed to do that to MY life"

> Come up with some ludicrous sci-fi-esque solution that makes no practical sense.

>Check the print dates on the books. Are they old or new? You can make a rough estimation when this facility was stocked from them.

PLEASE BE WARNED OF A POTENTIALLY DISTURBING GIF IN THIS UPDATE

>Kate: Kick the imposter's ass. No one can beat the original.

KATE: I would totally beat her up.
KATE: Like, I would just find her and punch her in the face because, like, who even does such a thing?
KATE: I’m not going to just let her do that to me, you know?
KATE: Anyone like that deserves a good punch.
KATE: And I would also…erm….
KATE: Hm.

>Kate: He's obviously asking for advice for a real situation, and, barring an evil twin, there isn't a clone of him running around. Joe or someone Joe knows probably has some sort of mental issue. Sudden mood swings maybe?



…Actually, why IS he asking this? You sort of realize a little too late that there might be more to this than you thought. You took his question a bit literally, but maybe it’s supposed to be metaphorical? Like…maybe he THINKS there’s a doppelganger, but there actually isn’t one. Or he’s kind of looking from the outside in and seeing himself ruining his own life?

You don’t even know. You can’t say you’re some psychology expert, but now that you think about it, maybe telling him “I’ll beat my clone up” isn’t the way to go. You’d beat up a real clone, not some kind of metaphor clone. That sounded better in your head.

KATE: Actually, uh, nevermind.

>I'd probably try to find out why this person is trying to ruin my life. It really depends on who it is.

KATE: ...I’d totally try to talk to them.
KATE: Like, they had to have had a reason to take over my life, right?
KATE: I mean, I’d like to know how they could turn into me in the first place.
KATE: But I’d just like to discuss things out, y’know, Kate to Kate.
KATE: Yeah.

There’s a pause. And then Joe just lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

JOE: Goodness, Kate, it’s alright. You don’t need to backtrack on your answer.
JOE: I understand how strange the question is, so I do apologize for putting you on the spot.
JOE: But anyways, I did ask it because…well, let me actually tell you a story, first.

JOE: When I was a boy, I often got very sick. I was bedridden quite a lot.
JOE: Which wasn’t bad, really, but during the nighttime…
JOE: Well, I often had bouts of sleep paralysis.
KATE: What’s that?
JOE: Hm, how do I explain…
JOE: It’s like you’re awake, but you’re not really awake.
JOE: You see everything, hear everything, but every single muscle in your body is frozen.
JOE: You can’t move, essentially. It’s like you’re…dead. A corpse.
JOE: Which is morbid, yes, but that’s the most accurate description I can really come up with at the moment.
JOE: …
JOE: Anyways, Kate, you do know what a doppelganger is, right?
KATE: Yeah? That’s like your double or your clone or something.
JOE: Yes, something like that. A copy of you in every way.
JOE: I might have seen a doppelganger, once…

JOE: I remember one night, as a child, I woke up to find I couldn’t move.
JOE: Which was already becoming quite the terrible and familiar circumstance, but there was something especially strange that night.
JOE: I wasn’t alone.
JOE: There was a figure standing at the side of my bed.
JOE: It wasn’t my mother or my father, that I knew for sure.
JOE: And it was strange, I couldn’t see it’s face…
JOE: But it just stood there, and all I could do was stare because my muscles were wound as tight as a string.
JOE: …
JOE: …You know how sometimes, thoughts enter your mind, and they don’t make sense? They don’t make any logical sense at all.
JOE: Like you’re having a lurid fever dream, and your brain somehow convinces itself of truths you’ve never heard before.
JOE: In that moment, staring at that figure, I suddenly got such a strange feeling.
JOE: The feeling that that figure was…me.
KATE: What?
JOE: I know, I know, it’s odd, how could I have been so sure of that? Even I don’t know.
JOE: But that wasn’t even the strangest thing.
JOE: What was even stranger was that I was convinced that this figure, whatever it was, was the true, original Joe Verger.
JOE: I was the copy. I was the clone, the duplicate, the doppelganger.
JOE: And in that moment, I couldn’t help but understand that this original Joe was…disappointed in me.
JOE: He didn’t hate me. He didn’t really love me, either. He was just…upset. Sad. Like I was squandering whatever life I had stolen from him.

Joe pauses, and that gives you a moment to mentally step back and reassess what in the world he just told you. He got visited by some weird hallucination that was…him? When he was a kid? And what, the thing he saw was the actual Joe Verger? This is all really confusing. What in the world is making him thinking of such a weird story?

But before you can think more on it, Joe speaks up again. He starts flipping through the book of poetry as he speaks – is he trying to find his own poems?

JOE: Anyways, Kate, the reason why I shared that story is because I’ve been thinking about the nature of those masks.
JOE: You do remember how Seth’s mask talked, didn’t you?
KATE: Uh…it talked like a big super evil monster? Like a jerk?
JOE: No, no. Well, okay, it talked like that too, but I was referring to something else.
JOE: The mask never referred to itself as a separate entity.
JOE: Don’t you remember? We called that thing Seth and it believed it was, indeed, Seth. It never corrected us.
JOE: Didn’t you find that strange?

You think back, and now that you think about it…Joe’s right. That thing never talked like it was something else. It talked like it had been Seth all along, from the very beginning.

JOE: I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m slowly coming up with a theory.
JOE: What if those masks ARE us?
JOE: I don’t even know…I don’t have any evidence for that.
JOE: But I’m getting the same feeling that I did those many years ago…
JOE: That somehow, those masks aren’t just random monsters crawling about.
JOE: They’re…us, in some fashion. Doppelgangers. Why else would that mask think it’s Seth?

JOE: The reason I asked you that question, Kate, was to try to understand how those masks might feel.
JOE: If we assume they are part of us, copies of us…then maybe they see us as invaders, of sorts.
JOE: And your first answer worries me, because that’s possibly the knee-jerk reaction to seeing a copy of yourself going around.
JOE: Is that why they want to destroy us from the inside out…?

Okay, okay, you’re going to put your foot down. This is getting way too weird and convoluted to be comfortable.

KATE: Whoah, whoah, Joe, you’re like…going way too far with this theory of yours.
KATE: What the hell, we don’t know jack about those things!
KATE: That mask could’ve just been saying that Seth stuff to be super creepy! You don’t know!
KATE: Like, even if they were copies, why would that mean that they would try to kill us, huh?
KATE: Uh, maybe there are really peaceful clones out there, you can’t guarantee that they’re all bad, if they really did exist.
KATE: Your imaginary doppelganger self didn’t try to kill you all those years ago, right?
JOE: …
JOE: Didn’t it…?

You barely have time to react, because suddenly, Joe lets out a very offended gasp as he flips a page over in his book, his eyes widening in surprise.

JOE: Oh, hold on now, what’s THIS nonsense?
JOE: Who…who in the world would do such a thing?!
KATE: What? What is it?
JOE: Take a look! This is just…ugh, what a travesty!

He turns the book towards you, and you instantly recognize the title. Ash Hearts. But this isn’t a clean page at all – the poem is covered with all sorts of dark scribbles, words circled or crossed out, little sketches of things dotted all over.

At the very bottom is an inscription of some kind:

THIS REMINDS ME OF YOU
-A

Author’s Note:

Show Content

SpoilerJOE: haha so I used to see my original self in a weird messed up jacob’s-ladder-like hallucination when I went to sleep as a kid, what a normal thing to have happen, right
KATE: what the frickity frack paddy whack cracker jack bio feedback quarterback slack mack backtrack tic-tac

Joe’s SOCIAL LINK TIME will be finished next update, and Connor’s SOCIAL LINK TIME will start! Feel free to suggest questions to ask Connor when we talk with him!

Also, it’s good you selected Joe – the inscriptions in the book wouldn’t have been seen if he was not selected. ;)

Also also...how fitting :)

> Who is "A"?
> Kate: I'm going to punch my shadow in the face.

Show Content

SpoilerOh my gosh, Friday. Oh my gosh. Just... brilliant. And horrifying. My mind has shivers in it now.

Kind of suprised that you know of this trick from jacob's ladder instead of silent hill 2. That said, is repeating commands a legal play?

>Hey Connor, uh... good thing you did there.
>Connor: When did you hear that voice...? Did one of your coworkers sound like that?
>Connor: Maybe someone else could recognise the voice, it did sound distinctive...

>Well, get about transcribing the creepy book.

> Who is this A? Sounds like an Asshole.

> Who is "A"?

KATE: A…?
KATE: Who the heck is that?
JOE: You’re asking me?
JOE: All I know of this A is that they have absolutely no shame for defacing a book such as this!
JOE: No shame at all!
JOE: Why, I never…
JOE: I hardly am the type to unleash some kind of judgement on anyone…
JOE: But oh, if I met this A, I’d give them a piece of my mind! Many pieces, in fact!

Joe lets out a frustrated sigh and folds his arms – he almost sounds like he’s personally offended by the whole thing, like this “A” specially chose him out of all the rest to play some kind of weird “your poetry sucks and I don’t like you” prank.

As you take from the book from Joe to peer at the marked-up page, you can’t help but wonder a few things. First of all, is this the only page that’s marked like this? You quickly leaf through the book, and…actually, it isn’t the only page, but Ash Hearts is the only one with a message, as far as you can tell. Some of the rest just have the weird underlines and jotted symbols and doodles. This poem, for some reason, was chosen for this message. What does the message mean? Who is the message for? And now that you think of it, maybe these marks aren’t necessarily a bad sign – maybe this “A” really liked the poem, and was trying to show it to someone else…?

But you don’t really know. You have little to nothing to go on, besides the fact that the way the lines are drawn eerily remind you of all the wonderful graffiti decorating the place. Maybe it’s the same person?

KATE: Maybe A did the drawings around the place too…
JOE: Huh? What?
KATE: Don’t the scribbles look similar?
JOE: Maybe! Maybe. Anyways, I’m not looking at that anymore, so I can’t really tell you.
JOE:Put the poor maligned book back, it’s obvious there’s nothing of worth to find in there.

He’s right. There’s nothing else in there. No medallions stuffed between the pages, or anything. You put it back on the shelf, deciding that this is a good time to end the conversation to go talk with someone else.

But as you turn to go, a thought occurs to you, and you pause to speak up to the poet again:

KATE: Hey…Joe?
JOE: Yes?

He turns, his expression worried, like he’s half expecting you to chew him out again.

KATE: I, uh, just wanted to say…
KATE: Um. It isn’t your fault. Don’t think that.
KATE: I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone.
KATE: Just…stick in there, alright? Don’t let things get you down.
KATE: Don’t beat yourself up over it.
KATE: You don’t deserve that.

Wow, that sounded lame. Good going, you. Way to be awkward.




But, even as awkward as those words are, Joe Verger smiles. It’s strange, you think, how bright that smile is, and yet how empty his eyes seem. They’re almost blank, glassy, and momentarily he almost gives off the impression that he is a doll, far too complacent with being kept in a glass cage.

But his voice is surprisingly warm. Sincere.

JOE: Oh, well…
JOE:Thank you kindly.
JOE:I certainly won’t do that. Don’t worry about me.
JOE: I’ll be just fine, Kate.

And he turns back to the bookshelf, face hidden from view.

You really hope he’ll be alright. He may be a stranger, he may be weird, he may have almost led some of you to your deaths…but all in all, it’s hard to think that there’s any ounce of ill will in his heart.

He’s not a bad person. He just seems…broken.

>Connor: When did you hear that voice...? Did one of your coworkers sound like that?

You are suddenly CONNOR CAVANAGH, and you are far too distracted. Not by anything that’s going around you, no, but by the fact that you can’t get a good grip on your thoughts. You’ve been racking your mind for goodness knows how long, trying to come up with a reason as to why that voice from before sounded familiar. You started, and now you can’t stop.

Hammond, Hammond…the worst thing is, you feel like you’re so close, that’s the frustrating part! You have the answer right there, it’s right under your nose, and yet…it all slips through your mental hands the moment you think you’re close. It’s like a mirage mocking you as it stands on the horizon, unattainable. A face appears, shadowy, a friendly voice speaks in your ear with a pleasant, cheerful, tone-

“Oh, Mr. Cavanagh, how are the kids…?”

But no, no, there it goes again! It’s gone. What’s wrong with your memories? It’s clear that they’re there, you know they are, and yet…why can’t you recall any of them? A sudden chill runs down your back.

….Maybe, just maybe, someone’s tampered with them? No. That’s absurd. But what if?

What if…?




You’re KATE GREENWOOD again, and you’re eager to lighten your mood a little and chat up someone else. Now, who to talk to next? You glance over and see the big bulk of a man that Connor is standing not too far away, and make a beeline to him.




He said some interesting things before, so maybe it’s time to get the scoop from him as far as what he thinks is going on with, well, everything.

>Hey Connor, uh... good thing you did there.

You step up to Connor, who suddenly frowns, averting his gaze. Uh. Okay.

KATE: Hey, Connor. Just wanted to see how you were doing.
CONNOR:I’m doing fine.
KATE:No medallions yet?
CONNOR: …I, uh, haven’t started looking yet.

Oh. Huh. Maybe he’s still shook up by the whole Seth thing? You wouldn’t blame him. If it weren’t for that robot thing…you don’t want to think about it. He and Camilla really put their lives on the line for you all. Would’ve you been able to do the same thing yourself? You don’t know.

KATE: …Connor. You did a good job back there.
KATE:I mean, at the doors. With Seth.
KATE: If it weren’t for you…
KATE: Well, you really saved us, in a way.
KATE: So…thanks.
CONNOR: …

He shifts in place, uncomfortable.

CONNOR: …
CONNOR: Can’t say I’ve honestly heard that said to me before, but…
CONNOR: It’s nothing.
CONNOR: Glad it turned out better than you all expected.
KATE: Are you okay?
CONNOR: I’m fine.

He’s…really obviously not fine.

KATE: So, um, what about that robot? The one you mentioned before.
KATE: Have you come up with any ideas about what it was about?
CONNOR: I don’t know.
CONNOR: Uh…no ideas, really.

You can’t help but frown now, too. Connor really seems to be beating the bush around something, but you’re not sure what. It’s like he wants to say something, but he’s far too reluctant to begin to do so.

Should you try to pry? Push him a little to open up? Or should you leave well enough alone and let the man be?

Author's Note:

Show Content

Spoiler
That awkward moment when you start updating every few days again and then suddenly 3 months have gone by

Thanks for being patient and sticking with me, everyone! I'm already starting to work on the basic framework of the next update. This is how it’s gonna work, kids. Next update will be finishing up Connor and checking out that note (tucked in the angel statue) and then update after that…THINGS WILL START HAPPENING.

SUFFERING THINGS.

Show Content

One of the frames. The one with the code.

>Kate: Notice his ring.
(gently prodding without a leading topic seems... unwise)

(Oh hey, nice to see this adventure has raised from it's cocoon/grave again like a pretty monsterzombie butterfly)

Joe's glitching. This is clearly a good thing and not at all trouble.

> Definitely try to push him a little to open up.

> Kate: Try to find a lead-in topic that may get him to open up about what's up. He seems preoccupied.

> Discuss the last things you both remember before being abducted, maybe?

>Don't pry for now, but do take note

huh. it seems that friday forgot about her shirt shop

huh. it seems that friday forgot about her shirt shop

She sells shirt shops on the shirt shore.
The shirts she shops are t-shirts, I'm sure.

>Kate: Notice his ring.

You awkwardly clear your throat, glancing down at his hand momentarily, and…wait, you really hadn’t noticed it before, but he’s wearing a ring. Which means:

KATE: Oh, Connor, you’re married?

He blinks in surprise at the change in topic, drawing up his hand to his chest.

CONNOR: Yes! Yes, I am.
KATE: How long have you been married?
CONNOR: Oh, well over ten years, now. We have two boys, Liam and Thomas.
CONNOR: They’re quite the rambunctious duo.
KATE: How old are they?
CONNOR: Twelve years old. Can’t believe it, though, seemed like yesterday they were only three…

There’s a change in Connor’s face. For the first time since you’ve met him, there’s a genuine smile on his face. This is certainly a loving father who really cares about his family.

A weird constricting feeling passes through your chest, and you ignore it. This isn’t the time to think about that.

KATE: You must really miss them.
CONNOR: Oh, certainly, but I wouldn’t want them to be here.
CONNOR: Anything but that…
CONNOR: Though I just want to see them again, you know?
CONNOR: I want to know they’re alright.
CONNOR: If they’ve been caught up in this terrible game like I have…
KATE: …
CONNOR: I…don’t want to think about that.
CONNOR: …
CONNOR: Well, the sooner we get out of here, the better.

You can definitely agree with that.

> Discuss the last things you both remember before being abducted, maybe?



It seems that Connor is more willing to talk, now – his discomfort seems to have passed for the moment, so this is the prime time to ask him some questions.

KATE: Hey, Connor, I was thinking…do you remember anything strange before you woke up here?
KATE: Like…anything that could be related to whatever brought us to this place?

Connor is silent for a moment, and he frowns.

CONNOR: You know…honestly, I don’t remember that much.
CONNOR: I was…
CONNOR: Leaving work? Maybe?
KATE: Where do you work?
CONNOR: A…laboratory.

You lift an eyebrow.

KATE: Do you, uh, know where you work, Connor?
KATE: Cause you kind of hesitated there.
CONNOR: I do know where I work! Don’t think I don’t!
CONNOR: What do you take me for, some kind of amnesiac?
KATE: Well we HAVE kind of lost our memories of how we got here…
CONNOR: Ugh, that’s not what I’m saying.
CONNOR: It’s just…
CONNOR: …

He glances to the side. His expression suddenly nervous. He bends forward, voice lowering into something slightly louder than a whisper.

CONNOR: Honestly, Kate, can I tell you something?
CONNOR: Please don’t laugh. I mean, it will sound ridiculous…
KATE: What is it?
CONNOR: …
CONNOR: I have a feeling that we’re missing more memories than we think we are.
KATE: What?
KATE: Like, yeah, we all don’t remember how we got here…
CONNOR: No, no, that’s not what I mean.
CONNOR: Of course, we don’t remember how we got here, but…
CONNOR: There are things that we should remember, but we don’t.

You don’t get it. You stare at him, perplexed.

CONNOR: Look, I don’t know how to explain it, alright?
CONNOR: But it feels someone has messed with my head more than just taking out a few memories.
CONNOR: I’m missing much more time…
CONNOR: I’m trying to remember something important, something I KNOW happened, but it’s not coming to me.
CONNOR: …
CONNOR: God, what did Cancel do to us?
CONNOR: What did he do to our memories…?
KATE: Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight.
KATE: You’re saying that Cancel may have done more than erased our memories?
CONNOR: Well, I’m saying that he or someone else might have erased a lot but…
CONNOR: …
CONNOR: God, now that you say that…
CONNOR: Maybe there’s also the possibility that our memories are not entirely our own.

No.

No, no, no, that can’t be true. Look, the doppelganger-being-masks theory thing, you can get that. But the idea that your own memories are unreliable? You have an eidetic memory. Your memories are nothing BUT reliable. There’s no way that they could ever lie to you. Manufactured memories, that’s nothing but science fiction. Amnesia is realistic, that’s a thing, yeah, sure! Going into someone’s head and just playing around with memories like they’re nothing but Lego pieces? That’s impossible.

It HAS to be impossible. If you can’t rely on your own memories…

KATE: No…

You feel very faint, all of a sudden.

CONNOR: Kate? Are you okay?
KATE: I…
KATE: Uh. Sorry, Connor. I just…
KATE: I need to think for a moment.

You can’t keep having this conversation. You step away, ignoring Connor’s concerned look. A part of you knows you should have stayed and tried to reassure Connor that he wasn’t right, but…honestly, now you can’t help but wonder if those ideas were true. Can you really trust yourself? Your memories? Did Cancel do something to them? It can’t be true, it isn’t true, it’s the furthest thing from the truth…



You make your way over to the statue in the middle of the room, happy to get any kind of distraction from the worried storm of thoughts you’re having. You had spotted something there earlier that had caught your eye, and sure enough, there’s a slip of paper tucked into one of the folds over the angel’s belt. Nobody seems to have touched it yet, and you look over your shoulder before reaching forward, plucking it and slowly unfolding it. Something round and smooth slips down into your hand from the inside of the paper.

It’s a medallion. The one that Cancel showed you all. It’s a bit surprising – you were thinking the thing would be smaller than it is. It bears that same star-like symbol you saw on the ceiling. Well, at least you passed Cancel’s little task. Now, onto the piece of paper.

It’s…a letter?

It’s written in neat handwriting, unlike the messy scrawls on the book you saw earlier.

My dearest A.

The days are long. And yet they seem so short, all the same. We haven’t seen sunlight, you and I, for quite a while. The light from the windows doesn’t count. These stone walls have been present in our lives for so long that it’s hard to imagine that there was anything else, before this. I know that even you are losing count of the amount of time we’ve been here. You haven’t updated your wall in quite a while, have you?

I’m tired, A. The monster outside is restless. Our captor is even more restless. I’m sure that they both want this over and done with. In their eyes, we’re wasting time. Delaying the inevitable. And now, I have to say that they might be right.

Could we survive for the rest of our lives like this? Possibly. I know you want to survive, beyond anything else. That’s what I like about you. I know you hate the term, but in the most positive way I can say it, you’re a weed. You persist, like a stain, impossible to remove. I know our captor hates that, but I feel quite the opposite.

I love you, you know.

But I’m sorry, A. I can’t do this anymore. This life is nothing but suffering. Some of these days, I think the monsters are more human than us. Did you know that I killed one of them, the other day? I thought that it was amazing that I only felt bad when I saw it lying there, twitching in its own black blood. It wanted to survive, too, just like you. It wanted to live.

But you want to live out of spite. The world has always told you that you shouldn’t exist, but you and your beautiful mind do, nevertheless. Do that for me, could you?

You do things I’d never dream of doing.

I’m sure you know what my monster looks like by now. You’ve seen it even before we saw it wandering the halls. Maybe I’ll say hello to your monster, that timid thing. I’m still shocked that it came from you. But you know yourself better than I ever will, even though we’ve known each other for a very, very long time.

You were so small back then. Even though you’ve grown, I still see that child in your eyes. We had each other, you and I. You’re probably angry at me. I don’t blame you. I’m angry, too. Angry that you had to be put in a situation like this. A hopeless chain of events. And I can’t help you, A. I’m tired, and I’m weak, and already I feel it growing inside of me. I don’t want you to see me like this. That’s the reason why I suggested we separate ways, you know. I didn’t want you to see that I was already succumbing to the thing in my chest.

Thank you for recommending the poetry to me, by the way. It was lovely, though I felt it reminded me of you more. I wonder what that poet was thinking, when he wrote it. I have a feeling he must have been a lot like you.

Anyways, my monster is already scratching at the door. I need to let it in.

-A

That’s…an interesting letter. It feels like a cool, dark stone has settled in the pit of your stomach. There were people like you and the rest, here. They also faced monsters.

And it seemed like most, if not all, lost against them.

What will happen to all of you, if you don’t make it out? Will you have to live the rest of your lives here, fighting monsters who used to be people, trying and failing to find a way out of this place? You feel so cold. You can’t imagine that. You think about Connor again, how he won’t see his family again, and you suddenly think of your sister and your mother. You’ll be here, forever, and they’ll be somewhere out there, not even knowing what had happened to you.

That is, if they haven’t been involved in this thing as well…

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye. You lift your head, seeing something vaguely human-shaped, white and grey and black, come into the room.

It’s a robot. It’s nothing like the minims- its tall, moves elegantly, seems much more refined in design and pose. But what draws your attention is its face. It’s a flat screen, and displayed on that screen, in all his smug golden glory, is none other than the masked man who trapped you all in this terrible game.

Cancel.

CANCEL: Achem. Hello hello hello!
CANCEL: It’s ever so lovely to see all my sweet little nothings once more.
CANCEL: Seems like a lifetime since I saw you last, honestly.

God, you wish he could just drop dead.

JOE: Y-you’re IN the robot?
CANCEL: Ah, certainly not, Mr. Verger.
CANCEL: I’m not inside the robot, I’m merely using it to project my image.
CANCEL: Not unlike a computer monitor, you know?
CANCEL: Anyways! Quite a lot has happened since last time I saw you.
THALIA: Weren’t you supposed to wait for us until we found the medallions and went back to the center?
CANCEL: Yes, indeed, but…well, I suppose I grew a bit impatient.
KATE: You were supposed to give us all the time we wanted. Didn’t you say that?
CANCEL: Hold on now, Ms. Greenwood, don’t give me that look!
CANCEL: I’m not trying to rush you, or send you to a new place.
CANCEL: I just want to check up on you.
KATE: Check up on us somewhere else, jerk.
CANCEL: Goodness! Tsk tsk, you remind me of my children. Always eager to fight…
KATE: What?
CANCEL: Hm? Anyways, I was here to tell you something. What was I here for…
CAMILLA: Say it and get it over with.
CANCEL: Hmm…oh, yes! Now I remember!

CANCEL: I am here to impart some good news to you all!
CANCEL: First of all, Seth Turner Sato has been eliminated from the game.
ABIGAIL: T-that’s not good news!
CANCEL: Oh, my dear Ms. Faust, but it is!
CANCEL: You see, this fact leads to another piece of good news.
CANCEL: You all had to get a medallion to pass onto the next part. That was my task.
CANCEL: But what I didn’t tell you was that only seven medallions were available in this room.
CANCEL: One of you would’ve been punished if you were the unlucky one that couldn’t find one.
CANCEL: So, you should all thank that man for becoming a monster when he did.
CANCEL: Because of him, I won’t punish a single one of you.
CANCEL: Aren’t you all so GRATEFUL?

Author's Note:

Show Content

Spoiler
It's been....84 years.........................

Anyways HERE'S THE UPDATE, now we can start to move out of the library and onto OTHER THINGS. POSSIBLY TRAUMATIC THINGS. WHO KNOWS. It might be time for SOME VAGUE EXPOSITION ABOUT THE NATURE OF MASKS. HOW EXCITING.

Also, there are quite a few lies in this update. Don't believe your eyes, don't believe what you read...

(Cancel's Line, though, is 1000% true.)

There's more than one of everything.

huh. it seems that friday forgot about her shirt shop

ALSO I KIND OF DID FORGET ABOUT THE SHOP thank you for reminding me, I need to put up the rest of the symbols up there!!

>eh. It's alright. Kinda neutral, a bit annoyed at you being callous over a life, you know, the usual.
>Rolls eyes, "So does that mean we can just skip to the next one, or do you still want us to get the tokens."

Press for more details on groups who were here prior to you.

> Oh come on! That's clichéd AND a dick move! This guy's the worst.

> Kate: "Yeah, I'm sure grateful your weird sludge creatures got one of us before you made us fight each other! Except, no???"

>Oh wow. So grateful for pretty much murdering one of the people stuck here by turning him into a creepmonster that's in eternal torment.
>Plus, y'know, it'd kill us too.

>Kate: I mean, yeah, Cancel is totally terrible
>If anyone deserves to be yelled at, it's him
>But do you really want to antagonize him?
>The dude who, while he pretends to play fair, could TOTALLY orchestrate events to have an excuse to give you another "punishment?"
>Control your temper for a second and ask a calm, reasonable question about say, your memories, or past groups

>Whatever you do, don't let him see that old note

> So is this one of those games where only one can get out in the end? No, wait, the one survivor gets to be the next Cancel, right? That's how these stories usually end.
> Come on, Cancel. Come up with a better reward than that or it's no fun. You're in this for fun, right? You don't want to be boring, do you?