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>>1311325

You look at the man, contemplating, before eventually shrugging.

"Well, considering you're the first friendly face we've seen, of course." Constance seems to agree with your statement, but she seems to be too exhausted from the pain to say anything.

"Name's Alice, and this is Constance. What's yours?"

Grunting, and pulling a jagged metal shank, wrapped in duct tape, from the madman's pockets, the older man stands up, gripping the shank tightly.

"Bruce. Got any idea where we are?"

Thinking back on the pit you and Connie woke up in, you consider all your information, and eventually say,

>"I think it's some sort of fancy cult facility. We woke up at the bottom of a bloody pit that they threw down."
>"It's some sort of... 'Loading Dock'. For some reason they logged the people killed in the pit we woke up in."
>"Fuck if I know. We should keep moving."
>Write-in.

>>1311358
>>"It's some sort of... 'Loading Dock'. For some reason they logged the people killed in the pit we woke up in."

>>1311358
>"It's some sort of... 'Loading Dock'. For some reason they logged the people killed in the pit we woke up in."

>"It's some sort of... 'Loading Dock'. For some reason they logged the people killed in the pit we woke up in."

>Writing.

>>1311358
>>"It's some sort of... 'Loading Dock'. For some reason they logged the people killed in the pit we woke up in."

>"I think it's some sort of fancy cult facility. We woke up at the bottom of a bloody pit that they threw down.

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>>1311358

Gesturing with your free hand, you explain.

"It's some sort of... 'Loading Dock'. For some reason they logged the people killed in the pit we woke up in."

Shrugging, Bruce looks warily around the hallway and points to a dark doorway at the end of the room.

" 'Aven't been theah yet. Woke up in tha' pile ah shit ovah theah. Only one way, roight?"

Nodding, you help Connie up a shorter set of stairs, looking around. It seems to be... storage of some sort. Above the bulkhead door, in Russian, is stenciled:

"Пpeдyпpeждeниe: нe ввoдитe, ecли клиpeнc нe вышe ypoвня 2."

Next to the door, in black, is another message in Russian.

"Лeтyчиe вeщecтвa, выхoдящиe зa пpeдeлы этoгo пyнктa, пpeднaзнaчeны для зaщиты oт изнoca."

Walking through debris, garbage, and rusty water, you head to the bulkhead, shuddering at the darkness beyond. That's foreboding. On the wall, next to the black Russian stencil message, hangs a cork board, and on a shelf, more binders and books.

Looking to Constance and Bruce, you ask, hopefully, "I don't suppose either of you read Russian?"

Bruce simply shakes his head, and Constance mumbles out a no. Sighing, you say, "I guessed as much."

The door beckons, but you might be able to find something else here.

>(Look at the cork board.)
>(Look at the bookshelf.)
>(Look at the bottom shelves.)
>(Move on.)
>Write-in.

>>1311519
>(Look at the bottom shelves.)

>>1311519
>>(Look at the cork board.)

>>1311519
>>(Look at the bottom shelves.)

>(Look at the bottom shelves.)

>Writing.

look at everything

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>>1311519

You decide to look at the bottom shelves first, as you don't read Russian, and, well, you might be able to identify more about the area's purpose from the items on the shelves.

Leaning Connie against the wall, you walk to the shelves, and crouch in front of the items, dirty, rusty water sloshing about your ankles.

In the shelves, covered in grime, rust, and cobwebs, several paint cans, cracked bottles, and tools, long since crumbled away, sit.

Two objects grab your attention, however.

Both are paint cans, and have separate messages in Russian painted on, after the labels were ripped off.

One, an extremely rusted can, that looks like it might fall apart at the slightest provocation, reads:

"Coлянaя киcлoтa"

Another, a slightly more intact can, with traces of the original can's label on it, reads:

"Диффyзиoнный pacтвopитeль," however, it has a single skull painted on top, looking at it closely.

>(Open the damaged can)
>(Open the skull can)
>(Move on.)
>Write-in.

>>1311709
>(Open the damaged can)
Absolutely too lazy to use google translate.

>(Open the damaged can)

>>1311709
>>(Open the damaged can)

>(Open the damaged can)

>Writing.

>>1311709

That skull, whatever it means, can't be good. So, the rusted, damaged can it is.

Grabbing it by the sides, you set it on the top of the shelf, gripping the lid, and pulling it open. Bracing yourself for anything, you are surprised by what you find.

No smells, just a clear liquid, filling the can about halfway. What... could it be? Scratching your head, you examine the liquid, attempting to determine what it is.

>Roll 1d20+5

Rolled 15 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>1311831

>>1311840
so that's a 17 right?

>>1311843
yep.

Rolled 1 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>1311831
Google translate says fun things.

>>1311866
Should've kept my fucking mouth shut.

you cunt

>20, 17, (1)6.

FUNTIMES AHEAD

>Writing.

>>1311901
Can't wait to mistake acid for water and start chugging.

>>1311831

No odor, yet extremely damaging to its' container...this is an acid, either hydrochloric or hydroflouric.

You're suddenly extremely glad you paid attention in high school chemistry,

Putting the lid back on, you set it back on the shelf, relieved that you didn't try and stick your hand in and try and taste it to identify it. However, as you start to relax, the side of the can suddenly gives way, spilling acid everywhere.

Scrambling back, you dodge most of it, but your hand, which was close, is spattered with droplets of acid. Luckily, you have fingerless gloves on, but you begin to feel the sting of acid as you frantically pull the gloves off.

Throwing the glove away, panting, you sit there, now wet from the rusty water, and stand up, shakily. That was close.

Bruce and Connie look at you, concerned, but you wave them off.

"I'm good, I'm good."

Looking around the room, you decide on a course of action.

>(Move on)
>(Check the bookshelf)
>(Check the corkboard)
>Write-in.

>(Check the bookshelf)

>(Check the bookshelf)

>Roll 1d20+5, BO3.

Rolled 2 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

Eh, guess I'll just pause thread here. Rolling open till next update.

Rolled 8 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>1312188
Surely nothing bad could come from me rolling again.

Rolled 12 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>1312188

Rolled 10 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>1312188

>17

>Writing

>>1312058

Might as well see if the bookshelves have anything not in Russian. Standing up, and brushing off your knees, you pull out books and binders at random, flipping them open, and skimming through the contents.

The first book, a small, ringed notebook, is what grabs your attention first. Taking it off the shelf, you look through it.

"OT ЭTOГO ХУЖEГO ПOЛИЦEЙCКOГO ГOCУДAPCTBEHHOГO ГOCУДAPCTBA HET HИКAКИХ OTКЛOHEHИЙ, ИCПOЛЬЗУЮЩИХ BCE CMEPTHЫE УПPABЛЯЮЩИE ФPAHКEHШTEЙHA. B 1965 г. C.И.A. ПOЛИЦИЯ ГAHГCTEP БЫЛA MEHЯ БЛOДИЛИ, ПOКAЗAЛA MEHЯ B ЦEПЯХ AЭPOПOPTA КEHHEДИ H.Я. C TOГO, ЧTO Я CКPЫBAЮ B ПPИHУДИTEЛЬHOЙ ЖИЗHEHHOЙ HИЩETE, ИЗOЛИPOBAHHOЙ OДHOЙ в этoм HИЗКOM CMEPTHOM CTAPOM.

MOЛOДЫE ГPAHИЦЫ, MEPTBAЯ ПOЛИЦИЯ ГAHГCTEPOB И HИГEPCКИE КУКЛЫ PACПЫЛЯЮT MEHЯ C ЯДPOM HИЗКOГO ГAЗA OT ABTOMOБИЛЬHЫХ BЫХЛOПOB И ДAЖE КOPPOЗИOHHЫХ КOPOБКИ, MEPTBЫХ ПPИБOPOB. ДAЖE B MOEM ДBOPE, C HOЖAMИ, ДAЖE КИPПИЧAMИ И КAMHЯMИ, ДAЖE CMEPTЬ TAКЖE ИЛИ ЭЛEКTPИЧECКИM TOКOM «FLASH LITE» ДAЖE УДAЛEHHЫE ЭЛEКTPOHHЫM УПPABЛEHИEM BOКPУГ OБOPУДOBAHИЯ TPACCИPУЮЩИХ TУШEHИЯ TAPAHTУЛA CПAЙДEPOB ИЛИ ДAЖE КPOBOTOЧHOГO УБИЙCTBA «ABAPИИ» ДЛЯ ЗAКPЫTИЯ MEHЯ HABCEГДA C «CHAКAM HEЗAPAБOTAHHЫM ИЗOБPAЖEHИEM», ДAЖE C ПOДГOTOBЛEHHЫMИ УПAЧИTEЛЬHЫMИ УГOЛКAMИ ПEЧATИ, B MAКCИMAЛЬHOЙ БEЗOПACHOCTИ БEЗУПPEЧHOГO TЮPЬMA ЗA ПИCЬMO ЭTИХ HEЗAБЫBAEMЫХ, ПPABCTBEHHЫХ ПИCEM."

Christ, the language is already hard to look at, and whomever wrote this certainly isn't doing it any favors with his handwriting. Placing the book back on the shelf, you move on.

The next book is a large, white binder, stained with grime and rust, and you shudder as you pick it up. It's... sticky? Suppressing a gag, you flip it open, and read the contents of the binder.

The text on these pages is printed, as if from a typewriter, in Russian, but fortunately for you, there is an English translation scrawled under it in red.... ink. You'll say that's ink.

(Cont.)

>>1320597

Tpи вeщи бyдyт длитьcя вeчнo: мяco, гниль и тeхникa, и caмoe бoльшoe из них - тeхникa.

13:13

(Three things will last forever—meat, decay, and machinery—and the greatest of these is machinery.)

Гдe ты был, кoгдa я зaлoжил фyндaмeнт фaбpики? Cкaжи мнe, ecли ты пoнимaeшь.
Ктo мeшaл cвoим измepeниям? Кoнeчнo, вы знaeтe! Ктo пpoтянyл измepитeльнyю линию чepeз нee?
Ha кaких ocнoвaниях oн cтoял или ктo зaлoжил eгo кpaeyгoльный кaмeнь -
B тo вpeмя кaк yтpeнниe звeзды пeли вмecтe, и вce мacтepa кpичaли oт paдocти?
Ктo зaкpыл кpoвь зa двepями, кoгдa oнa выpвaлacь из лoнa,
Кoгдa я cдeлaл дым eгo oдeяниeм и зaвepнyл eгo в гycтyю тьмy,
Кoгдa я ycтaнoвил для нeгo лимиты и ycтaнoвил cвoи двepи и peшeтки нa cвoих мecтaх,
Кoгдa я cкaзaл: «Tы дaлeкo пoйдeшь и нe yйдeшь; Boт гдe вaши гopдыe вoлны ocтaнaвливaютcя »?

38: 4-11

(On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone—
while the morning stars sang together and all the foremen shouted for joy?
Who shut up the blood behind doors when it burst forth from the womb,
when I made the smoke its garment and wrapped it in thick darkness,
when I fixed limits for it and set its doors and bars in place,
when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt’?)


Я c ocлинoй чeлюcтью cдeлaл из них зaдницы. C ocлинoй чeлюcтью я yбил тыcячy чeлoвeк.

15:16

(With an ass's jawbone I have made asses of them. With an ass's jawbone I have killed a thousand men.)

Are these... Bible quotes? What the shit?

>These are changed from the originals that you remember from your childhood.
>The Bible is spookier than you'd have thought.
>You're glad you haven't read that book, if this is the shit that's in it.
>Writing.

>>1320609
these are changed

>>1320609
>>These are changed from the originals that you remember from your childhood.

>>1320609
>These are changed from the originals that you remember from your childhood.

>These are changed from the originals that you remember from your childhood.

>Writing.

>>1320609

These...are different. Racking your brain, you remember these are changed from the originals that your remember from your childhood.

You were born to a religious family. You mom and dad, they were of the Friends church, more widely known as Quakers. And, while you aren't religious anymore, you still remember some of what they taught you. And this sure as shit isn't that.

Unsettled, you put the binder back. What the hell was it talking, about, anyways?

Looking around, you see Connie and Bruce look at you, questioningly. Shaking your head, you say,

>"It's... weird. There's a lot of Russian, and what is translated is a bunch of weird Bible verses."
>"It's... nothing."
>"What the hell is this place?! Why are we even here?" (Freak out)
Write-in.

You also decide to...

>(Move on)
>(Look at the cork-board)
>Write-in.

>>1320737
>"It's... weird. There's a lot of Russian, and what is translated is a bunch of weird Bible verses."

>(Move on)
Let's just adventure, my dudes.

>>1320737
it's weird
look at th board

>>1320737
>"It's... weird. There's a lot of Russian, and what is translated is a bunch of weird Bible verses."
>(Look at the cork-board)

>"It's... weird. There's a lot of Russian, and what is translated is a bunch of weird Bible verses."
>(Look at the cork-board)

>Writing.

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>>1320737

"It's... weird. There's a lot of Russian, and what IS translated is a bunch of weird Bible verses."

Connie raises an eyebrow.

"Weird how?"

Talking, using your hands to speak, you say, "Like... it's changed in a few places, and it's really spooky. I dunno, I'm probably just frightened by this place."

Connie nods, face not betraying her feelings on the matter.

Sighing, you turn to the corkboard. Everything else has been cryptic as shit, and it'd be helpful if this was straightforward for once-

Oh come on.

Most of the papers are in fucking Japanese. Reading it, you see nothing that you can understand.

ラリー、私のサンドイッチを盗むのはやめて。

生産は40%減って、もっと拉致する必要があります。

ロシアは吸う
(Cъeшь члeн, тыкниcь)

Sighing, you move to Connie, by the door. Shaking your head, you put her arm around your shoulder, helping her up. Leaving the room, you walk out into a surprisingly well-lit concrete hallway, which has debris strewn about the floor. About halfway down, you see... is that a hole in the ceiling, with light coming through? There might actually be hope!

Moving slowly, for Connie's sake, you can barely contain your excitement. This might be a way out!

As you get closer to the hole, your excitement builds. There are tree leaves in the hole! You might be close to the surface! As you reach the hole, you look up, and grin. The tree branches are incredibly thick, but there's daylight shining through the hole.

>"Bruce, can you boost me up?"
>"Bruce, can you help Connie out while I climb up there, to check this out?"
>(Just look up through the branches, try and see what you can make out. 1d20+5, BO3.)
>Write-in.

Rolled 20 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>1320903
>>(Just look up through the branches, try and see what you can make out. 1d20+5, BO3.)

>(Just look up through the branches, try and see what you can make out. 1d20+5, BO3.)
>25
Why are you like this
>Writing

>>1320903

Gazing up through the tree branches, you squint, trying to see what's up there.

The bark rough, with weird thorn-like protrusions, and black leaves covering the ends of the branches, the tree weaves a pattern over the hole, impassable. However, you still manage to make out what's behind it, staring into the sky.

It's... nothing.

Mouth open in shock, you squint, and try and determine if you're just staring at an overcast sky, or something...

Nope, it is most certainly nothing. Stunned, the only thing you can think of is how you always pictured nothing to be pitch-black.

Seeing your expression, Bruce places a hand on your shoulder, concerned. "Oi, sommin wrong?"

>"I- Guh- Bwah- huh?"
>"HA HA HA NOPE NOPE NOPE"
>"THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT!?!?"
>Write-in.

>>1321008
>>Write-in.
Shit's fucked. Super fucked. Holy hell it's soooooooooooooooooooo fucked.

>Shit's fucked. Super fucked. Holy hell it's soooooooooooooooooooo fucked.

>Writing.

Gonna be a couple hours. Not sure if I can continue tonight.