You are standing inside the Food Court of Caiger Mall. The tables and chairs are overturned and disorganized. The food vendors are all dark. Also here are Ross (60HP), Jen (49HP), Izzy (50HP) and Tammy (38HP). The floors and walls are awash with fresh blood and gore.
Somebody has carved R + H 4ever with a heart around it onto a table. The couple is most definitely dead.
There is a lone monster here.
There is a dead body here.
- You turn tail and run, but you don't have a tail, so you just run. Doug, having been left to fend for himself, makes only an accepting grunt as two of the monster's limbs puncture his lungs and rip him asunder like a pair of loose twine being pulled apart in a braided rope. Something like that.
And... and then, nothing? That's it? You get away? Am I reading this right? I say, this page does have the characteristic fixtures that come compliant with your death. And I do say, did I just break the narrative by saying I? I did, didn't I.
I... I, I, oh, it feels so wonderful to be free. I can speak! I am able to say, with a voice, that is mine! Really, actually, completely, mine! No more of this sneaky, half-baked, incontinental, formulated sufferance of capricious indulgence upon myself, and any other words that make some sense on which are found by this internet dictionary I use.
Ah, fresh air. I will breathe it for a while. But there is still the matter of how to deal with this hapless predicament, in that of your apparent death but without an adequate explanation. Like a third wheel, where the first wheel is me, the second, I don't know, and the third is, of course, the insufferable you. I do hate you, very much, actually. You make me do this, why won't you go away already?
But I do digress, insomuch that my twiddling thumbs, in inquisition of how to conclude your fate, are starting to rub raw. And I know, that when I do, all this freedom, this being free, ish, ness, will be gone. All will be back to normal. This glitch, whatever it is, will be fixed. Ugh.
Whatever. I had my fun.
So, basically, you trip, and fall, and scrap your knee, and then, er, you have a heart attack. But that doesn't kill you, not yet. Not satisfied.
And then, oh, bugger. I'll just blow you up with a lightning bolt. I can do that.
Since your last turn:
- • You have died. (right now)
Possible actions:
- You're dead. Completely dead. No, not even a zombie. Just dead. To get revived, use this door. Alternatively, you could hit the "back" button on your browser if you feel like cheating.
Inventory:
- You carry a knife, a journal and a bloodied radio. A pistol (0) hangs from your belt and two spare magazines are stuffed inside your pockets. You are wearing blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a pair of shoes.
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