Curiosity, the eternal enemy of small felines, gets the better of you. Differing in that your back is considerably less hairy and your arsenal is considerably heavier as well, you draw your pistol and walk slowly towards the door. It was most likely closed in a rush, as you are spared having to fiddle with the passcode interface by virtue of the lock system not having triggered. A suitable metal screech accompanies your handling of the old and possibly forsaken up until recently door.

You enter a small corridor of old, rusty and forgotten pipes and walkways. A few steps into it and you're bathed by the morose orange light bulbs implanted on the walls. It doesn't help matters that the blood trail is growing thinner with every other step. It dissappears as you reach the end of the walkway; a rusty metal door in a large, delerict control room, which by the looks of it has only had you and whomever you're following for companionship in a long while. There are thrashed consoles and terminals strewn about the place, and you can even spot the yellowed skeleton of a small, strange, alien creature lingering in a corner. Every now and again, a rattling sound comes out from one of the ventilation shafts, possibly companions of the seal-ish buck-teethed skeleton.

The eeriness of this place is far from lost on you. Having no easy access to whatever's behind the door, you begin to rummage through the ruined control room. Whomever worked here made sure to eliminate any digital traces back to them; the machine's data banks were excised from the machine, and its processing cores were shot by a high-caliber firearm. Even if you had the brouzouf for a cyberbrain implant, you'd be unable to take anything out of these broken pieces of machinery.

That said, with all "their" thorough dismantling, "they" forgot to file away the manufacturer code off of the cores. Perhaps your friend Muut might know something about it. You manage to yank out a plate with the name "Croon Sidetech". You're vaguely aware of their existance; they tend to fund their obscure research through top of the line weaponry and spaceship deals.

The rattle of whatever is inside that shaft is starting to get on your nerves. Content with what you've found thus far, and with your mind back on the track of learning what exactly crawled bleeding into this place, you go to the most obvious next entry point. It is a fairly large thing, and you can crawl inside somewhat easily.

There is no apparent source of noise, from an immediate glance. The lighting budget hasn't extended to the ventilation paths either. You can smell that something is definitely rotting somewhere inside.

>Draw your gun and do a bit of industrial spelunking
>Look elsewhere

Dude, you earlly need to consider the timeframe of your quest.

I like it, but I'm only one guy.

>>32630307
People don't tell me when they'd like to play... Want to vote to get this thing rolling, dearest?

>>32630328
>People don't tell me when they'd like to play...
I would ask /qtg/. They know when most people are awake.

Anyway, I vote to go down the ventilation path.
Draw the gun and look for loot. We might have a concussion, which would justify this behavior.

>>32630343
>/qtg/ died as I was pitching my ultra-awesome concept...

A thought most treacherous makes itself manifest in your conscient. Maybe you took one too many blows to the head, or maybe you're just an inordinately greedy individual. What if there's something valuable down the shaft? Maybe a dying looter with his loot, who crawled in and couldn't crawl back out. Hardly a far-fetched idea to be honest. And such an eerie place must have something of value it can lose. You draw your pistol, and crawl like an overgrown cockroach towards the bowels of the room.

The tunnel is a bit too cramped for your tastes. The darkness and the smell of rotting something does nothing to ease your sense of foreboding either. Still, you soldier on, spurred by the prospect of intergalactic pirate treasure to be had. Your exertions are making no small amout of rattling either.

After a few small twists and turns, you reach a fork in the passage. A sharp twist right and downwards, from where you can hear the faint sounds of water falling. Or straight ahead, from where the smell of rot emanates all the strongest. As you pause, you can hear something rattling, but somehow you can't make out the direction it's coming from.. Perhaps it's an echo?

>Investigate the shaft heading downwards.
>Straight ahead to the possible looter pirate corpse.
>Attempt to confront the source of the noise (1d20 DC 14)

>Gaining
>Not Gainening

I'm disappointed, OP.

>>32630658
Straight ahead to the possible corpses!

Keep weapon at ready. It might get nasty.

>>32630658
You're not alone, Cap!

>>32630727
Seconding this guy.

Should we check our equipment first?

>>32631076
Sure, right after we get to safety.

A cursory reminder of what we've got would be nice, though.

>>32631088
Seconding

>>32630727
>>32630856

You turn your head towards the one source of fresh air in this dark and cramped stinky passage, and take a deep breath. The tantalizing smell of spring water tempts you to reconsider your path. But to be honest, your lust for brouzouf beats your love for nature by a very large margin. And so you head off towards the stinking bowels of this place.

The tunnel branches out to very narrow passages, which you'd be able to comfortably fit your arm through. These seem not so much built, as they have been corroded by something. Pipes don't shoot back. You'll be fine. At least that's what you tell yourself to ease the evergrowing discomfort plaguing your mind. The rattling you heard earlier quiets down. A good sign, you suppose.

Your hand touches something humid and squishy. For a moment, you're glad you spent the better part of the day unclogging pipes, because otherwise the contact with the rotting corpse of an alien seal would make you retch. You shove its mangled form into a hole and out of the way, and proceed... Only to run into another such carcass, albeit considerably older. What is this place, an elephant graveyard for buckteethed alien vermin?

As you pause, the rattling resumes. Louder.

>Muscle through.
>Make ready for a comfrontation. Roll 1d20 for preparation.
>Other

>>32631088
>>32631105
>You have a GCTG 222 +2 clips, Facere Mortis daisho, forbidden book of thaumaturgy for dummies, Croon Sidetech plate. The GCTG 222 has an in-built scope functioning in 0-light conditions.

Rolled 1

>>32631150
>Make ready for a comfrontation. Roll 1d20 for preparation.
Let's fucking do this!

>>32631164
>The GCTG 222 has an in-built scope functioning in 0-light conditions.
Good to know.

>>32631171
>1

Uh.

>>32631171
>Guys, I linked the wikia and posted the current equipment on the opening post... I'm not updating at an exactly breakneck pace either, so you have ample time to read on what is what if you're having doubts about specific objects.

Rolled 16

>>32631150
Prepare for confrontation.

Also, summon a clone.

Rolled 1

>>32631171
>>32631243
>1 critical fail, 1 success. Writan

>>32631390
The apprehension you felt since entering this place spikes into a full-fledged fight-or-flight reaction. Hastily, you shift yourself in the pipe, attempting to face the incoming noise source. Or at least you try to, it's kinda hard with the echo and the claustrophobia and the noise you're making yourself to tell for sure...

You twist your free thumb painfully, signalling your subconscious trigger to cast your polycloning spell. Immediatelly you feel a stinging pain inside your skull. Something must've went wrong... And indeed, the skill would normally create three clones. One such individual appears instead, holding... a shotgun of some sort, you can't tell in the dark. It fires at something, a chittering monstrosity snapping it's jaw. In the flash, you get a glimpse of it... It's mostly jaw, with a snake-like body and stubby arms. It nimbly darts off towards one of the holes, escaping the shelling with but a few wounds.

The rattling is still going on. Whatever it is, it has dug a truly tortuous set of tunnels inside this place, as the echoes of its movement ressonate throughout the place, branching out every which way. You're vaguely aware of your heartbeat, as you try to identify where it might-

SNAP.

You howl in pain as its jaws clamp down on your weapon bearing limb. Its head emerged from a hole you were too distracted to notice. Ravenously single-minded, the creature's saw-like jaws mangle your arm in a rythmic motion.

>Fight back somehow. How? Your clone is positioned close to your feet and in your hurry you're laying on your back

>>32631861
Position your arm away from your body and have your clone shoot it.

You'll get patched up later.

>>32632291
>Gimme a 1d100

Rolled 66

>>32632318
You got it, mate.

Rolled 73

>>32632291
I hope we get the medkit later on.

Also rolling.

While you let the clone shoot, try to grab a rock and punch the thing. Try to use psychokinesis to grab the stone if it's out of reach.

>>32632352
>>32632528
>2 successes, writan

>>32632606
There's one thing good about having malware-riddled cybereyes that short out every morning. You're very, very used to pain. To a degree, desensitized even. As such, it's relatively easy for you to remain sane as a monstruous jaw thing from the dark gnaws at your limbs in a claustrophobic tunnel. Or at least not freeze as you're bleeding out.

With nimbleness born out of necessity, you kick at the ground and drag yourself back, bringing the monster's body out of the hole. "Kill it!" You command your thaumaturgic thrall. You'd pray to whatever is the flavor of the month thing to pray to that you won't get hit by friendly fire, but you can't be bothered to do so right now. The staccato of the shotgun echoes through the tunnels, accompanied by the sound of carapace being torn and flesh being rent. The beast chitters its last breath, and gives away on top of you. You shove it away.

You are grateful for the adrenaline surge numbing your mangled arm. It's obviously going to be another source of pain to awaken you in the morning. You tear out what remains of your sleeve, making a tourniquet of sorts. You don't need to bleed out like the looter dude that may or may not be here at all.

>This is more trouble than its worth. Head back out.
>Return after all this trouble? No way! Straight ahead!

>Do you want to take the monster's head and research about it later?

>>32633268
>This is more trouble than its worth. Head back out.

I've played E.Y.E. before and one brush against death is one too many.

Fuck yes take the monster's head. Give it to your thrall while you hold the weapon, just in case it's not quite so dead.

Will switch to SP/nonsamefagmode in 10 minutes if visibility bump worketh not.

>>32633268
>This is more trouble than its worth. Head back out.
And keep the head. Why not.

>SP mode it is. Freaking E.Y.E multiplayer is abandoned as fuck....

You've had enough of this place. Looter pirate treasure, what the hell were you thinking...? Gingerly, you shift yourself around and begin the long crawl back from whence you came. But not before you draw your wakizashi and saw off the beast's head. Thought it would kill you, did it? You cannot shake off the feeling that you're commiting some form of cannibalism, for some reason... Shaking off that feeling, you throw the head at your clone. "Hang on to this, and move ahead. Straight line!" That's all you'd need, your one prize going down whatever it is that twist on the tunnel leads to. Even if there's something about its head that

You backtrack without further troubles to the abandoned control room. It's a roomy, comfy place compared to the hole you came out of. You stare at the door for a moment, wonder what exactly was behind it. What could be worth all this trouble from Croon, and what was the beast's connection with it. Alas, what you're truly concerned about right now is not pass out from bloodloss in an abandoned place.

You make your way back to the metro tunnel. And stop. The darkness is currently home to a lot more lights in the distance than you remember. In fact, you remember red flickering lights. Not a mish mash of pale yellow and blue lights, paired up as eyeballs or something. Your eyes drift towards the head currently on your clone's free hand. You seem to have run into a lair of alien beasts of some description, a fact someone took care to suppress a long time ago.

>Scope out your targets with the GCTG.
>Get your prize back from your clone and let him handle it while you run off into the dark.
>Other.

>Roll 1d100

Rolled 49

>>32634349
>Get your prize back from your clone and let him handle it while you run off into the dark.
Dying does not gain brouzouf

Rolled 52

>>32634349
>>Get your prize back from your clone and let him handle it while you run off into the dark.
We have no resurrectors. Gotta be safe.
Our first upgrade will definitely be cyber legs.

>>32634467
Nah, man, we need some new fucking eyes.

>>32634502
But legs make you mad stealthy and fast.
Perfect for running away from horrors.

>>32634701
And eyes make you not have to watch ads every time you gain consciousness . Perfect for not watching ads everytime you gain consciousness.

>>32634420
>>32634467
>Unremarkable rolls, nothing too good or bad. Writan.

>You'll have to "unlock" implants besides eyes by meeting someone willing to cater to a below-looter btw

>>32634836
So we need to find a street doc.

I think our next augment should be looted from a looter. Or one of the Rastafarians.

>>32634836

You snatch the head from your clone, who takes aim with his shotgun without dropping a beat. At least they're smart in the things that matter. "Go! Hunt!" You order it. Like a knight charging at a dragon, the thrall runs at the four-armed monstrosities with oddly mismatching skin tones. You are quite sure its shotgun is a gallant deliverer of justice in an unfair world screaming for vindication, but you're too busy legging it to make sure.

The heroic swan song of your clone is cut short by a blast. You look behind you, and notice several more of the creatures' spare hands have started glowing. And.. Igniting. One of the beasts throws a fireball in your general direction. Luckily for you, their aim is as poor as you were this morning. Not so luckily for you, there's no light at the end of the tunnel that is a clear indicator of finality.

And so you run, cursing the moment you set foot on the late night metro. And before that, the moment you took this job. And all the way to that one time you shot that fellow because of your shitty trigger discipline while you were mugging him. Every so often, you jump out of the way. The blasts are getting more precise, the beasts are learning how to aim. And your body is starting to feel the effects of exhaustion.

>Keep running. 1d20, DC 12 for fatigue
>Try to shoot the nearest monster. 1d6
>Other.

>You're mentally and physically exhausted. Psi techniques can be very dangerous to cast right now.

Rolled 20

>>32635357
Why not both?
> Get off a few quick shots then leg it.

Rolled 4

>>32635524
And another roll for shooting if you need it.

>>32635357
>>Keep running. 1d20, DC 12 for fatigue
Luck be a lady.

Rolled 6

>>32635556
Forgot my roll.
But it's not looking like it'll be needed.

>>32635524
>Well well.. Since you had such a nice roll, I'll even not apply a discount on the shooting. Quick dinner pause, then back to writan

>>32635357
>>You're mentally and physically exhausted. Psi techniques can be very dangerous to cast right now.
So we'll have the sanity effects?
Let's hope we won't get PTSD mode, where phantom explosions go off everywhere around us.

>>32635894
I remember the first time I got into that state. I ran into a turret and saw it launch a rocket at me. Figured eh, just my mind playing tricks on me. Then I learned, the turrets can launch rockets as well. Fun fun.

Fortunately or not, I'm not constrained by code with what I can throw at your PTSD-riddled derriéres. But back to writan.

>>32635663
You are at the peak of exhaustion. It takes you a conscientious effort to not trip on your own feet right now, and even more of an effort to stumble out of the way of the fireballs as your feel them coming. A few narrow escapes have already scorched your back. Still, you press on. You're going to get new eyes. You'll discover what the hell it is that Croon was doing there. Heck, you might even go back to the High Town and take care of that chink girl's looter problem and eat free sushi for life! You can do this!

And suddenly, you feel great. The industrial amounts of endorphine your brain has been pumping out lull your battered system into the Runner's High. In this moment, you are euphoric. Not because of some flavor of the month ideology, but because of your blood swollen with natural chemicals. You flip on your feet in midstride, letting out a hail of bullets and knocking 4 of the beasts to the ground. Their death groans feel like the sweetest of salves to your mistreated psyche.

Not missing a beat, you continue running. And in fact, you are starting to outrun the things. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, maybe you're not as clear-minded as you think you are. But you see a light at the end of the tunnel. You keep running, and running.

>>32636541
Looks like our training in magic caused funky results with adrenalin.

>>32636541
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myAkUCX1dkQ

You see something flicker in the corner of your eyes. A prompt. Oh boy. You're vaguely aware of a pain in the back of your head, that familiar stinging feeling you experience every night.

>Connection to server restored

You are treated to your usual share of pornographical marketing, the usual offers of trash food coupons per whore bought, and the other way around as well. As you reach the station labelled "Moonshine Avenue", the hilarity of it all hits you. You slow down your run to a halt, and jump into the sidepaths as to not attract attention. Oh, who are you kidding. Your charred, bloodied, half-crazed visage has just set the token Fed guard on edge, who apparently has brought a few friends with him. Right now you don't care. You pause close to a chair, slump down, and throw your head back, laughing and crying as you watch the last ads, to the detriment of your optic nerve.

>>32636809
>You gain +1 Karma

>>32636643
>Runner's high is a well-documented phenomenon, and you did roll a 20

>>32636881
Yes, but still. We kinda had bloodloss and insanity and were hurt and had those weird cyber eyes and we do have PSY training, which is partially related to sanity.

>>32636831
Suffering earns us karma. Great!

>>32637009
Suffering purges the unclean.

So, OP, did you forget to give us a prompt or are you still writing?
Maybe you should add a "continued" or something at the end of multi-part posts.

>>32637009
>Although it's said suffering builds character, that's not quite why you're earning karma.

>>32637062
>Still writan, yeah. And probably.

>>32637109
Add [1/X] or [1/?] at the end of multi-parters. It doesn't even matter if you go [1/2] then [2/3], we just need to know.

>>32637109
It's cause we murdered the things, isn't it?
I've always said that murder is good for your karma.

>>32636809
"You think that's funny, asshole?" Suddenly, you feel watched. And for once, you're not being paranoid. A trio of trench coat wearing, helmeted Feds are staring daggers at you. Out of reflex, you list the things that might be damning you as a possible suspect. Unlicenced looted firearm, extensive wounds, ownership of what might be proscribed literature, murdering a CEO, the skull of a strange creature, a manufacturing plate from a secret lab... What else.

"Were you laughing when you blew up that train as well, you piece of shit?" Oh yeah. Close proximity to a crime scene. The excessively familiar feel of a rifle stock colliding against your skull beats whatever humor you had left in you towards parts unknown. As you focus back on your predicament, you notice two of the Feds, the ones you can actually see, are pointing their shotguns at you. Never unarmed, are they?

"Start talking, scumbag!" They seem to be focusing on that bit in particular. It's hard to tell whether they're on to the rest of your misdeeds or not, their helmets make them look like perpetual balls of hatred for the common man. You wonder if you still remember how to talk.

>Tell them as it is. The truth, and nothing but the truth.
>Concoct a story of urban terror, heroism and futility. 1d20, DC 17
>Other

Rolled 18

>>32637377
I know this is failbait, but
>Concoct a story of urban terror, heroism and futility. 1d20, DC 17

>>32637415
>Failbait, you said?

Rolled 6

>>32637435
The dice gods are incredibly based tonight.

>>32637473
>What a quaint and superstitious way to say "RNG" you fellows have. I'll return to writan right after my nightly ablutions.

Rolled 5

>>32637377
>>Concoct a story of urban terror, heroism and futility. 1d20, DC 17
Only escape route.
If it doesn't work, we'll let the clone distract them.

>>32637510
When you've had to suffer as much as we have at the hands of fickle fate, you'll grow superstitious, too.

Clinging to baseless, irrational hope is the only thing keeping us sane in this... this... QUEST.

>>32637510
Don't you know? TTRPG players are more superstitious than sports fans, and that's who these types of things tend to draw.

>>32637528
>I think no one will be offended if I overlook this critfail. Writtan. Might take a bit longer than usual as I come up with an actual plausible story.

>>32637415
Telling how you survived a trainwreck that left everyone else a mangled mess is just idiotically suspicious. Going into detail about the forgotten laboratory thing in a monster's nest of some sort is outright laughing in their face. As much as it pains you, the truth will not set you free this time.

So you lie.

"If you'll stop hitting me, I'll tell you. After all I've gone through, and you people are hitting me..." You don't have to fake your disgust. The lingering feelings of nausea from all the synaptic stress take care of that for you. "I've done your job for you. Are you listening to me? I picked up your slack because you weren't there!" You stare defiantly at the orange glowing eye lenses of one of the individuals with a shotgun aimed at your chest. It must've struck a chord, because you're not being abused by a stock or executed. "The looters were coming back from their raids by metro. It was a good raid I guess, since they felt cocky like that. And they had good reason to. One of them had a bomb, and like the shithead pothead he was, he was threatening to blow up the train if we didn't do as he liked."

"You're telling us their leader was stupid enough to-" The enraged tirade of one of the Feds is interrupted by the one who struck you earlier. Presumably his superior. "It happened in Aquitaine VI during the Wars of Warpdust on several occasions. That thing's a hell of a drug. Continue." You're nudged by the stock.

"So, they started abusing the passengers. One of the girls was dragged out and into the mob and.." With inspired ease, you fake losing your speech at the unspeakable acts perpetrated unto this fictional character. You try to not think of the sushi girl's face. "Then they got to me. They thought I was tough because of how I look. " Your aryan chiseled muscles and all. "So one of the pointed this at me." You hold the pistol on the tip of your fingers by the muzzle, lest they get trigger happy. [1/X]

>>32638611
"I yanked it out and shot him. I thought, what the hell, they're killing everyone anyway, so I might as well go down with my scrotum untouched. One of them had an attack beast or something." You pat at the jaws clamped on your belt. "It bit me, and I bit it back." You pat one of the swords.

"Where did you get those swords?" Shit! "I... I'm sorry, it's all a mess right now." You rub your eyes, hardly having to fake the need to do as such. "I got it from one of them. Brute with spectacles." The Feds grow oddly still. Probably another premium item in your hands. "So yeah, they weren't expecting someone to actually fight back, so I managed to kill a lot of them while they were busy raping and torturing and murdering. I thought I was going to save everyone. I was killing them left and right. Then their leader tossed the bomb under the rails before I could pull the trigger on him."

"And the bomb exploded. I blacked out when I was tossed around, and woke up to see my friend Peggingsworth impaled on a railway." Might as well mix a bit of truth in. "And so I made my way back here."

You grow silent. The Feds quiet staring is deafening. "What's your name, kid?" The gruff, paternal tone of voice from the Fed behind you reassures you somewhat.

Do you tell the truth now?

>Ivan Drago
>Rocky Balboa
>Apollo Creed
>Clubber Lang, your parents were looters alright?

>>32638897
Duke Nukem

>>32638986
And now I'm going to sleep.

OP, I hope someone else will post in my stead, but I won't be here.

>>32639052
>I might end the thread soon, worry not.

Rolled 29

>>32639052
I'll pick up your slack.

>Ivan Drago

Rolled 1

>>32638986
>>32639109
>Rollan and writan

Rolled 71

>>32639260
And so proceeds Brouzouf Quest - a place where silly names come together.

>>32639324
>Keeping it close to the source material.

>>32638897
"Duke Nukem." You have no idea where you come up with these names, but somehow it seemed fitting for the awesomefest of baddassery you lied through your teeth about just now. Whatever, it's still less retarded than any looter whose name you came to know.

"Alright then, Duke. We'll have to take those weapons into custody and trace them back to verify your story. I'll let you go, under one condition." He walks up to you, holding out a bracer. "You'll wear this tracking device on you, so we know you won't fuck off into some other planet if we need you to verify that tale of yours." It's a good trade-off, all things considered. You might as well lay low for awhile, considering your injuries. At least until you give Muut a call. About things. If you feel like dealing with his faggotry.

You hand over the weapons quietly. Not like you don't have other things. "Is that all sir?" You ask. You're shooed away, as they begin to fiddle with their comms devices. You're all too eager to fuck off, and fuck off you do. You march back to your flat in the rundown Moonshine Avenue with no lack of haste. Or do you? After all, you have a tracking device on you.

>Yes you do. There's no real way to verify your story either way. It will cause less suspicion.
>No. You put it in some wandering hobo's tip jar or something.
>You give Muut that call sooner than you thought. And hope he doesn't charge your new eyes' worth of hacking.

>>32639664
>>Yes you do. There's no real way to verify your story either way. It will cause less suspicion.
There's a very good chance of getting busted by these Feds the next time we might meet them, but who the fuck will be able to confirm or deny our story?

Shit sorry, I thought it'd autopost.

>>32640036
You can't be arsed to act suspiciously for the sake of getting Feds off your back. You'll cross that bridge when you get there. For now, you'll get your self home, rest up, preferably not falling asleep before you get your eyes fixed, and never have to watch another porn ad again. Fucking Feds should criminalize ads straight into the cybereye.

Your walk back to your demesne is uneventful. Things are pretty much the same as when you left off, the difference being your "good shirt" is now one of the messiest. The relative comfort from home does a number on whatever was keeping you standing up. You all but collapse unto your futon. No, you cannot fall asleep. In fact, you're a bit too pained for that right now. And you did have some sleep before, even if it wasn't so restful.

You stare at the ceiling, reviewing the recent events. Monstruous creatures in a metro tunnel; an abandoned research facility. Somehow you wonder if there was any connection between the add you saw earlier for the "trial of fire" and whatever the corporations are up to. You take a look at the head of the shaft monster. It seems familiar, for some reason... In fact, you can't shake off the feeling you've seen those monsters before. Somewhere.

To be honest, you are already starting to forget what exactly the monsters looked like. Maybe it's a mental defence mechanism, maybe you're just in denial. The thought makes you.. Hungry. You haven't eaten in a while. Time to hit the fridge.

As you open the fridge, you realize another thing: you haven't done groceries in a week. Guess you'll eat another dish of scrambled eggs and half a glass' worth of rice again. As you prepare your meal, you ponder on what to do next.

>Try to give Muut a call, learn about Cron's activities.
>Search for a decent prosthetics doctor nearby to fit you with better eyes
>You have a feeling you've seen the monsters in a book somewhere..

>>32641293
>You have a feeling you've seen the monsters in a book somewhere..

knowledge is power my friend. lets check out our thaumaturgy for dummies

also, new guy. hope you don't mind if I join y'all

>>32641670
>Not at all, but I've been running this for over 12 hours now. It will probably end soon, or at the very least I'll resume it in the morning if it's still up.

The quickly fading memory of your encounter, which by all rights should've been something you'd remember fearfully for the rest of your life, is raising all sorts of alarms in your head. So much so that you forget to add some form of grease to your frying pan, and end up scooping out egg stuck to the metal. You still wolf down your meager meal.

A strange thought crosses your mind. What if your thaumaturgy book contains some nugget of information about your condition? Other than the blows to your head you received earlier, the synaptic programming you've inflicted on yourself is the prime suspect for such a selective and drastic memory loss. You grab the evermore wrinkled book, and flip through its index. For the first time, you take notice of the macabre illustrations in some pages. Pictures of four-armed monsters, creeping snake-like beings and even lupine humanoids...

A passage catches your eye. "The perigrum is said to represent the urge to pounce forward. This is perhaps the essence of thaumaturgy; heedless of the risks, leap forward for the sake of personal, societal and specieist progress. It is then no wonder the brain of the creature is saturated with PSI energy."

A creature strongly resembling the beast whose head you have taken illustrates that page. You continue to read. "Applying the Alchemical Octagram technique onto its brain may therefore increase the user's cognitive capacity in matters of thaumaturgy and indeed, all matters."

The fact that this book was written by an individual aware of what seems to be a classified matter worries you- almost as much as the fact you're considering the notion of applying that odd skill for the first time out of morbid curiosity.

>Take the brain's essence into yourself. Do it!
>Put the book down. You don't need to know.

>Alright, I have to sleep now... I'll be back in a few. Archiving just in case. Get harassed and virus-forwarded with me on twitter @CaptainBrouzouf just in case.