>>5092900
>Mind control, for those who've read too much science fiction. With a combination of hallucinogenics, hypnosis, and torture methods, you played a vital part in researching targeted psychological manipulation. Operation MK-Ultra was officially declared to be "useless," but in truth you're research created the scalpel that allowed the surgical theater of Democracy to play.

MIND over matter!

>>5092900
>>Mind control, for those who've read too much science fiction. With a combination of hallucinogenics, hypnosis, and torture methods, you played a vital part in researching targeted psychological manipulation. Operation MK-Ultra was officially declared to be "useless," but in truth you're research created the scalpel that allowed the surgical theater of Democracy to play.
MKULTRA QUEST LETSSS GOOOOOOOOOO

>>5092900
>Twelve old men was all they could see through the crack in the door. There were a lot of thirteen's though, and you were one of them. It was never just about little green men either. The American public jumps in fear at boogeyman from the Vietcong to the Taliban, now imagine the collapse that would ensue if they knew about extra-dimensional possessions, or the shamans wearing their representative's skin.
Smells like Delta Green and all that style.

>>5092900
>Mind control, for those who've read too much science fiction. With a combination of hallucinogenics, hypnosis, and torture methods, you played a vital part in researching targeted psychological manipulation. Operation MK-Ultra was officially declared to be "useless," but in truth you're research created the scalpel that allowed the surgical theater of Democracy to play.
Oh yeah, this one's gonna be good

>>5092900
>>Proof that Nietzche was right about epochs and nations, and the reason the American Public hasn't strung their leaders up on a cross yet. Using the same tricks Goering and Stalin used to kill democracy, Operation Mockingbird kept it alive and shining bright by rewriting the newspapers, by turning a tragedy into a tall tale, and deciding which fellow American's it would be trendy to hate.

>>5092900
>Proof that Nietzche was right about epochs and nations, and the reason the American Public hasn't strung their leaders up on a cross yet. Using the same tricks Goering and Stalin used to kill democracy, Operation Mockingbird kept it alive and shining bright by rewriting the newspapers, by turning a tragedy into a tall tale, and deciding which fellow American's it would be trendy to hate.

File: glowieshit.jpg (38 KB, 427x256)

38 KB JPG

>>5092942
>>5092944
>>5092947
>>5092952
>>5093001
>>5093045
Gonna lock the vote, but am already almost done writing. MK-Ultra wins.

>>5092942
>>5092944
>>5092947
>>5092952
>>5093001
>>5093045
(1)
"Wha... what car?" You mutter, keeping your eyes on the door as the words escape your mouth with the voice of someone else. someone with a hangover. You already know this isn't something you're gonna talk your way out of, not even the other edge of the world. That doesn't mean you have to make it easy. They might know all of your tricks, but you invented their tricks. "I own my car man, the front desk gave you the wrong room."

You are the last living remnant of MK-Ultra's true scale. You're the only left who knows the manchurian code-words, or has laid eyes upon the lists of names you plaid puppet-master over, from homeless men camping in subways, to the chairs of every important seat in the United Nations, or who ever had the chemical formulas of experimental hallucinogens and psychotropics memorized. Hell, you even remember a few of the hookers that you hired to administer the stuff.

Fleeing the country was never going to save you. You knew because you've tracked paranoid men trying the same thing, only to crush their dreams by giving them a call in their motel room across the world, and reeling them back in around your intercontinental fingers.

They're not even gonna give you the courtesy of a phone call. The only reason they haven't shot you through the door yet is because they have to make it look like you killed yourself... hell they might not even do that for you. Out here in a motel in the ass end of the world, they might just dump you in a river and go back to burning whatever's left of you from history.

During your time in the CIA, you'd know that the two men at the door are just the front of the door. In the past, they would've had concentric rings of hitmen ready to add any witness to the body count in case things got messy, but these days? They've probably placed an anonymous drug tip with the local police, or paid the local mob to surround the place. Less agents involved the better really, and all those merchants of death and coke dealers provides a lot of opportunity to keep agents at a distance.

"Sir there's reason to believe that the vehicle was stolen by the people it was rented from." The men say from the other side of the door. Without a window, you can't even see if they've bothered to dress up as cops for this. "If you don't open the door you could be charged with harboring stolen goods."

There's no escaping this. Even if by the whim of an uncaring god you manage to escape this, they'll keep tracking you. This twenty year chase is coming to an end. If you, or your killers had an honest bone in your body, they might ask you a few questions, and you might answer them. What kind of person where you these last twenty years? Was it all worth it?

>>5093078
You ponder the question for a moment. These last twenty years have done as much to define you as your time in the CIA. It oughtta get you somewhere at the gates of hell.

(2)
>Considering that you never got your revenge, no, it wasn't worth it.
Not on the people who gave up MK-Ultra, but the people who threw you out like a dog once it went public. Sure, you always knew that was the game, but that's why since day one you've been worming your way back into the system, subtly building your own sleeper agents within the United States government, finding CIA agents out of country, kidnapping them and making them yours. You've spent so much time and life on trying to turn the american enterprise into a time-bomb, that it's a damn shame you'll never get to see the fireworks.

>You're not sure you even know anymore.
For a while after you ran away you started to actually feel satisfied with life, in a way that not even power can make you feel. You found a woman, became a father, and almost forgot who you were... until one day you remembered, and realized that the relationship you had with this woman was a lie you had built. You weren't as direct and intrusive as you were before leaving the CIA, but you manipulated that woman, and it was so subtle that you didn't realize what you had done until after you had done it, and it began to drive you insane.

>You're god damn right it was.
The last twenty years you might've been running for your life, but it turns out that you lose everything, you gain the one thing no man, no country, not even god himself can grant you: freedom. Twenty years of bouncing between tropical islands, conning drug dealers into practically paying you for you to have their finest product, usually snorted off the backside of the world's finest women, and all of it came without any obligation, any debt or duty. They can kill you now for all you care, you've lived.

>Write in how you've spent the last twenty years since being officially declared dead.

>>5093083
>Considering that you never got your revenge, no, it wasn't worth it.

>>5093083
>You're not sure you even know anymore.
Just wanted to settle down, man. Didn't want her to get caught up in all of this either, but maybe our son could be better than we are.

>>5093083
>>Considering that you never got your revenge, no, it wasn't worth it.

Best laid plans, and all that...

File: 74887101_1232901986901350(...).png (679 KB, 612x919)

679 KB PNG

>>5093083
>You're god damn right it was.
WHOOO, GETTING HIGH ON YOUR OWN SUPPLY. You helped build this batshit world, for all you care it's pretty much yours!

A life of excess, crime, cons, drugs, girls, guns, gold, and GLORY. Hail to the king baby!

You can enter bat country your HEART STAYS FOREVER

>>5093083
>You're not sure you know anymore. Twenty years in entire webs of conspiracies, seeing firsthand the incompetence and immorality at the helm, drowning in a sea of self-centered agendas, political cronies, fuckheads. You knew from the start that there wasn't going to be a rainbow bridge at the end of it all; there's blood on your hands and nightmares behind your eyes. Whatever it was that you've been doing or trying to do, for the love of God, let it be the right thing.
Maybe a little too heroic for a custom background...

Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>5093083
Damn every single one of these options has me torn. Gonna just roll for it

>>5093083
>You're not sure you even know anymore.

I’m gonna leave the vote open overnight. If I haven’t been given the one-two Gary Webb treatment I should pick back up sometime in the afternoon, unless I have a slow hour or two at work. If the tie hasn’t been broken by then I’ll do a roll.

>>5093083
>>You're not sure you even know anymore.

>>5093083
>You're god damn right it was
Regret is for pussies, we lived a good damn life

>>5093083
>You're not sure you even know anymore
Just gonna break the tie

>>5093083
>You're god damn right it was.

>>5093083
>You're not sure you even know anymore.

>>5093108
>>5093148
>>5093240
>>5093760
>>5093793
>your not sure

>>5093113
>>5093141
>>5093533
>>5093789
>your god damn right

>>5093105
>>5093109
>no

>>5093113
>write in

Locking the vote here so I can get to writing, the federal family man wins out.

>>5093845
*you're
**you're

Sorry for the time it took to write this one, the feds cut my internet so I had to encode the data packets manually on a ham radio.
(1)
You thought it was worth it, most of the time. You were never a good man, you don't think you were ever supposed to be. Someone had to drop the bombs on japan, and all the same, you were the person who filled MK-Ultra's niche. It was a niche filled well, a niche filled so well that you're sure to this day there are still man who are only a code-phrase away from bombing their local library, you fit that niche so well that you managed to avoid your "punishment" for twenty years.

"Sir, multiple people who told us you fit the description of the individual we're looking for. ." The Agents shout.

"Whose description... the car thief?" You respond, still sticking to your guns of playing dumb. It won't throw them off their trail, but even the CIA gets bad data from time to time, a double take might just give you that extra second. "Look are you guys with the Cartels? Cause if you really want money I'll just slide it under the door... I got money. Money enough I don't need a fuckin' rental..."

But it doesn't matter if you're a good person,anymore than a person's rights matter.. at least to the rest of the world. It almost didn't matter for you for a while, but when you started to realize your own history was catching up on you, reality began to hit you in the face, and with how few people get to see the world as it actually is, you couldn't bring yourself to ignore it for much longer.

When you first left the country, you decided you needed some sort of insurance. People around you who thought you were a good person and wouldn't be bought into shutting up if you disappeared. You found this beautiful lady from one of the Condor Countries. Long ago you had written down what women like her enjoy into a literal equation. It wasn't long before she was wrapped around your finger, then from there it wasn't long until she would've died for you. You never went as far as you did in your old life, you didn't need to, you chose her for her foolishness as much as for her looks.

You were alive, even if all official documentation back in the states said otherwise, and eventually the family you started became more than an element of your sociopathic plans. You loved waking up to her making Arepas in the morning, and eventually you loved teaching your son American sports, much to his uncle's annoyance.

They didn't love you however. They loved the linguist renaissance man that wore your face. You're a sociopath, and you don't feel any shame in saying that. Hell, maybe if you had felt some shame it wouldn't feel so fake. You might've been able to tell yourself that the relationship became real, but you don't regret what you did during MK-Ultra, not even the torture. You'd do it all again.

>>5093965
(2)
Really, you just wish they didn't have to be involved in it. They go to church, they make their family smile. Hell, your boy just got accepted into an Ivy League in Britain, and it's only partially because you strung the acceptance committee up like a bunch of puppets.

You picked your wife because she would be stubborn enough to make some noise about your death. Hey, no one shouts louder than an angry Hispanic woman. No you just hope that when you die, she shuts the hell up.

Right now, she doesn't know where you are. It's about six AM at the moment, so she's probably just started cooking breakfast, and is assuming you've run off to the store early, you made sure to empty out all the jars of milk in the house for that purpose. Apart of you knew this was coming, so at least finances are squared away, a few sleeper agents in the cartels has that as a certainty.

"Sir, don't make this harder than it has to be, just open the door." The agents respond. You aren't afraid of what they'll do to you. You've done things to people that are a lot worse than death, and because of that you accepted it a long time ago.

That doesn't mean you have to play by their rules. Fuck! You invented them. How do you wanna go out?

>>5093966

(3)
>"Look if you come in here pal, you're messing with an American diplomat... you think the Americans are afraid of you cartel guys cause you got skulls on your guns?"

>Now to really fuck with their heads. Jeep them going for just long enough, then burst the door open, and start pretending to be an agent of the DEA, placing them under arrest for cartel connections. No one has more cartel connections than the CIA.

>"Hold on guys, I'll come out, I'll come out, but I'm an American, so no fucking around otherwise this'll be nationwide news. Lemme just call my lawyer first and chat with him." Instead of calling your lawyer, call those sleeper friends in the Cartels, then stall at the door until they get here. Those guys aren't even fighting for a country but you've seen them do things you wouldn't even do to the Kennedy family.

>Their almost as good with psychology as you are, so change the rules of the game. . Judging from the sound, and what you remember from CIA training, you can roughly judge where they're standing. Blow some .45 through the wall where they're likely standing.

>Why should they get the satisfaction of making you disappear? If this has gotta be the end, who says you can't do it yourself. Stop listening to them, and give the wife a quick call to tell her you love her.

>Write in.

>>5093969
>"Hold on guys, I'll come out, I'll come out, but I'm an American, so no fucking around otherwise this'll be nationwide news. Lemme just call my lawyer first and chat with him." Instead of calling your lawyer, call those sleeper friends in the Cartels, then stall at the door until they get here. Those guys aren't even fighting for a country but you've seen them do things you wouldn't even do to the Kennedy family.

>>5093969
>"Hold on guys, I'll come out, I'll come out, but I'm an American, so no fucking around otherwise this'll be nationwide news. Lemme just call my lawyer first and chat with him." Instead of calling your lawyer, call those sleeper friends in the Cartels, then stall at the door until they get here. Those guys aren't even fighting for a country but you've seen them do things you wouldn't even do to the Kennedy family.

Sounds like it would end in either a bloodbath or with us just getring shot but it's worth a try.

>>5093969
>>5093972
Maybe keep them occupied some how while we wait for sleepers to get here, tell em a story make up some bullshit, hey if it works for the lady at the DMV counter surely it'll work for these government spooks.

File: tegaki.png (6 KB, 400x400)

6 KB PNG

Hodor

>>5093969
>>Their almost as good with psychology as you are, so change the rules of the game. . Judging from the sound, and what you remember from CIA training, you can roughly judge where they're standing. Blow some .45 through the wall where they're likely standing.
BLAZE OF GLORY!

>>5093969
>"Hold on guys, I'll come out, I'll come out, but I'm an American, so no fucking around otherwise this'll be nationwide news. Lemme just call my lawyer first and chat with him." Instead of calling your lawyer, call those sleeper friends in the Cartels, then stall at the door until they get here. Those guys aren't even fighting for a country but you've seen them do things you wouldn't even do to the Kennedy family.

>>5093969

>"Hold on guys, I'll come out, I'll come out, but I'm an American, so no fucking around otherwise this'll be nationwide news. Lemme just call my lawyer first and chat with him." Instead of calling your lawyer, call those sleeper friends in the Cartels, then stall at the door until they get here. Those guys aren't even fighting for a country but you've seen them do things you wouldn't even do to the Kennedy family.

Blaze of glory sounded nice but it does warm the dead soul of a spook to make use of assets and try to live

>>5093969

>Now to really fuck with their heads. Jeep them going for just long enough, then burst the door open, and start pretending to be an agent of the DEA, placing them under arrest for cartel connections. No one has more cartel connections than the CIA.
No YOU'RE under arrest!
This looks fun time to join in.

>>5093969
>>Their almost as good with psychology as you are, so change the rules of the game. . Judging from the sound, and what you remember from CIA training, you can roughly judge where they're standing. Blow some .45 through the wall where they're likely standing
>Scream "I GOT HIM I GOT HIM in Spanish
We must sow confusion and discord. Also Corn.

>>5093966
>Now to really fuck with their heads. Jeep them going for just long enough, then burst the door open, and start pretending to be an agent of the DEA, placing them under arrest for cartel connections. No one has more cartel connections than the CIA
>Call the Cartels

>>5093969
>"Hold on guys, I'll come out, I'll come out, but I'm an American, so no fucking around otherwise this'll be nationwide news. Lemme just call my lawyer first and chat with him." Instead of calling your lawyer, call those sleeper friends in the Cartels, then stall at the door until they get here. Those guys aren't even fighting for a country but you've seen them do things you wouldn't even do to the Kennedy family.

>>5093969
>Now to really fuck with their heads. Jeep them going for just long enough, then burst the door open, and start pretending to be an agent of the DEA, placing them under arrest for cartel connections. No one has more cartel connections than the CIA.

>>5093969
>Now to really fuck with their heads. Jeep them going for just long enough, then burst the door open, and start pretending to be an agent of the DEA, placing them under arrest for cartel connections. No one has more cartel connections than the CIA.
Seems like the funniest option lmao. Also I get the feeling that they will just burst in if we tell them we are gonna call our lawyer.

>>5093969

>Now to really fuck with their heads. Jeep them going for just long enough, then burst the door open, and start pretending to be an agent of the DEA, placing them under arrest for cartel connections. No one has more cartel connections than the CIA
>Call the Cartels

>>5093969
>>"Hold on guys, I'll come out, I'll come out, but I'm an American, so no fucking around otherwise this'll be nationwide news. Lemme just call my lawyer first and chat with him." Instead of calling your lawyer, call those sleeper friends in the Cartels, then stall at the door until they get here. Those guys aren't even fighting for a country but you've seen them do things you wouldn't even do to the Kennedy family.

>>5093969
>DEA pretending/cartel calling combo that some of the other anons are voting for

>>5093969
Wheres the ISEKAI?

>>5094694
Coming up as soon as these guys kill so we can reincarnate

File: YouCanSeeEmWhenYoureDrivin.jpg (65 KB, 700x1050)

65 KB JPG

>5 to the calling the cartel,

>3 to impersonating the dea,

>3 to both

I was kinda torn wondering if it would be better representative of the whole majority to go with both because of the split, but I'm just gonna keep democracy simple and go with straight cartels. Locking and writing.

>>5094694
As >>5094778 said, not long now. I just wanted to give you guys some options to sketch out a character before jumping into interdimensional glowie action. It took a little longer than expected though because of christmas time, I've been spending most of my freetime with family.

(1)
“Augghh…” You groan through the door. “This is fucking cartel business isn’t it?” You add, trying to sound like you think they can’t hear you. “Look, hold on a minute guys, I’ll come out, I’ll come out, I’ll come out. I’m an American though, so no fucking around you hear? Try anything and it’ll be national news, fuck I got friends on BBC too.”

Even knowing that they’ve been trained to call your bluff, and to ignore danger, threats like that ought to at least shake them. The only parts of the CIA that can be touched are the parts the CIA wants dead, and you know damn well nothing makes an agent more suicidal than publicity. So long as the CIA still employs human beings, then you’re convinced that the men on the other side of that door have just been reminded of what fear feels like. “Now before I say anything I just want to speak to my lawyer for this country. Understand?”

“Sir, as I said, we just need to ask you some questions, you’re not being detained, and you’re not in trouble. We just can’t let you leave with that vehicle.” They shout as you begin walking towards the phone. “We can provide you with new transportation if you answer our questions in a timely manner.”

You ignore them, because they aren’t even talking to you, who would talk to a dead person? They’re talking to prying ears, trying to sound like the average South American cop in league with the cartel. With zero expectations, you pick up the phone and immediately hear the dull humm of a dead line.They’re CIA, of course they prepared for you calling outside help, but you’re also CIA, and there’s no way in hell you’re gonna rely on phones that are likely wiretapped anyway.

Instead, you kneel under your bed, reaching for a suitcase full of unmarked hundred hundreds not spent since the Federal Reserve spit them out, a disassembled soviet sidearm, and finally a military grade radio small enough to fit in your hands.


You flick the radio on, and into the receiver mutter, “Banner, Reliability, Swine Flu, Psychoactive,” adding your current address and room number to the seemingly meaningless message. If anyone’s listening in, they already know that last part, and by the time they can decode the first half, you’ll probably be dead, and the message will have done its job.

“Sir, please just open the door.” You hear, as you quickly set the message to repeat, ensuring as many as you Manchurian allies hear it as possible. “Sir, if you don’t open the door, we are authorized to force entry.”

You place the radio down, and immediately make for the door, you know because you didn’t pay a dime for this motel room, your room key was your wife’s hair pin, and it didn’t take much deduction to know that would work.

>>5095179
(2)
You don’t have a lot of time before they break in here. “No, you are not authorized to force entry! Didn’t you hear me a minute ago? Do you think I’m some average schmuck? If I’m not at the embassy by monday this whole countries gonna burn down! You know what we did back in nam! There won’t be a single fucking coke-runner left in this country, and you’re fucking names are gonna be the new Ho-Chi-Minh, you hear that? I got BBC connections motherfucker!”

“I… doubt that sir.” You hear the agent say after a quiet murmur. You steel yourself as you hold the door-handle, jiggling it regularly to throw off the torque applied by any would be lockpickers, but you’ve grown old, and a younger agent is holding it firmly from the other side. “Sir, step away from the door! Step away from the door!”

“If you open this door you will cause a firestorm you cannot believe pal. You think I’m lying? You really think what you're here for is worth it? I just talked to my lawyer. I know my rights, so if you enter this goddamn room, you’ll end up in the same room as me pal.”

“Sir…” You thought you were fighting a lockpick, but then suddenly you here the authoritative sound of a shotgun being pumped . “I don’t think you understand.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you step away from the door. Those cartels better be moving fast. “What do you mean I don’t understand? I know my law in this country so who the hell are you working for? You cartels, you wanna goddamn bribe? Cause I think I understand just right!” Standing to the side of the door, you flick off the safety for your pistol just in case.

“This is Policía Nacional del Perú, ordering you to open this door on account of suspicion in aiding and abetting criminals involved in human trafficking, car-jacking, and cocaine distribution!”

“Like I said pal,” you say quietly enough that the Agents know you’re talking to no one but them, “if you wanna be in this room yourself, just like me, than all you gotta do is step in, but only dead men ever step in a room like this. You’re saying I don’t understand, but I know you don’t understand. If you step in here though, I can’t guarantee it will stay like that. Twenty years is a long time for a guy like me. Once your foot in the door, it doesn’t close again. Once the door is open, everyone on the other side needs to disappear. Which side do you wanna be on?”

For a moment, you think you actually hear hesitation. The CIA must’ve gotten soft since your time. Kids these days with their security cameras just don’t understand the importance of hiring hookers to spike people’s drinks with LSD. Quiet, unintelligible murmuring breaks through the darkness, before you suddenly hear the voice of the other agent, speaking for the first time.

>>5095182
(3)
“Neither of you understand.” He says quietly enough that only you can hear, before blasting the shotgun into the door hinge. “BREACHING!”


The door is open, and when the door opens, it can’t be shut again. This room can’t be allowed to exist much longer.

You’re smart, you played smart, but frankly you were dead from the beginning, and nowhere was that more obvious than when two young agents dressed in body armor went up against an old agent who hadn’t been in a real gunfight for over twenty years.

The first officer you shoot gets knocked to the floor. His “partner” comes in right behind him, with the same weapon that blew the hinges off your doors now chambered with bird-shot. You can tell it isn’t bird-shot, because after the report of the gun blew out your ear-drums, and the blast of it knocked you off your feet and into the dry-wall, you were still alive. Maybe twenty years ago, the version of you that was young and doing as much coke as ten new-yorkers might’ve been able to get back up and put a bullet ina skull or two, but the you that has greying hair and a kid also now has a shattered sternum and a punctured lung.

You can’t hear what the two agents are saying, the only sound that still seems to exist is a loud ringing… and you swear you hear this odd sound like gears grinding in your head. You put that all aside, and struggle to read the officers lips.

The first one, the one you shot, says something about backup, then says something about dead, probably a question. Is he asking if you’re dead? Calling for backup.

No, is the response from the agent with the shotgun. He stares directly into your eyes, and on his lips, you read the word “Matryoshka.”

The other agent turns towards him confused, and the agent with the shotgun shoots him.

This round was not loaded with birdshot, nor was it aimed at a bulletproof vest. In fact, it blew the man’s skull clean open. Before the world turns black, you realize the agent was right, you didn’t understand. You thought you were down the rabbit-hole, you thought you were the rabbit hole. Your last few moments of consciousness are spent in utter confusion.

Well, they would’ve been, had you not been woken up a few moments later, by a local man wearing a camo bandana and a cheap bulletproof vest. By the movement in his chest, you can see he’s shouting at you, but you still can’t hear a sound.

What you can see however, is a sight that would make the pope question his own faith. Another cartel man is behind the one shouting at you, firmly grasping the golden cross that he wore around his neck, pointing it at the various symbols painted in blood, brain matter, and sinew. In fact you would say that the writer of this gruesome essay wasted no parts of the dead agent. Your brain is racked trying to imagine what the hell you’re looking at.

>>5095184
This whole update ended up a lot longer than I intended it to.
Also, even though this is an Isekai, I will say that things that happen on earth, even after death will affect you, just out of fear of certain choices feeling meaningless to you guys.
(4)
https://youtu.be/eduwBgDcMwY
Maybe it’s just the pain of a dying body, but even as an agent of the CIA knowing over fifty world languages, you don’t understand a word of it, beyond knowing it’s some sort of hieroglyphic. You’ve never been a religious man, a religious man wouldn’t have been able to live the life you did- but that doesn’t stop this from scaring you.

For the last twenty years of being officially dead, you’ve felt a lot of things, but you haven’t felt fear until now. Fear comes from the unknown, and for even longer than twenty years, you’ve been the unknown. To a foolish man, the CIA always looks insane, but to a wiser man like you, the CIA’s madness has an important method. The last few things you’ve seen look like the work of a serial killer. Was that their plan? It couldn’t be. Serial killers are on the front page of every newspaper, and on every morning news segment, and because of that, the worst type of cover up.

Muddled with pain and blood loss, you give up on an explanation. You don’t need an explanation, you’re dead. That fucking grinding noise isn’t the last sound you wanted to hear, but who cares at this point?

You worked for MK-ultra though, you oughta use all your resources to your disposal though, even until the end. You grab the cartel man by his shirt, and open your mouth, and point to the briefcase of money, and a gun. Even as the world grows dimmer and dimmer, it seems that your manchurian ally isn’t getting any further away, as if death itself is waiting for you to answer. What’s your last wish?

>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”
>”Tell the whole damn world what happened here. Make sure nothing like it happens again. ”
>”Wipe all of this away, get rid of any evidence. Then find out who did this.”
>”Make the people who did this, the CIA, maybe even the whole world, regret this.”

>>5095187
>”Tell the whole damn world what happened here. Make sure nothing like it happens again.”
This plot is getting pretty JUICY.

>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”

Well, we're dead... but our family ain't. They should have the have the opportunity to live at least.

>>5095187
>”Tell the whole damn world what happened here. Make sure nothing like it happens again.”
I'm really enjoying the setup to this quest.

>>5095187
>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”
It's the most we could ask for

>>5095187
can we expect another update today

>>5095187
>”Tell the whole damn world what happened here. Make sure nothing like it happens again. ”
Revenge

>>5095187
>>”Tell the whole damn world what happened here. Make sure nothing like it happens again. ”

>5095187
>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”

This is some good shit OP. Can't wait to play as fantasy Glowie.

>>5095195
>>5095222
>>5095271
I'm glad you guys are enjoying, and I really hope you guys have fun with what I got coming up for you! Giving you guys a good read always puts a smile on my face.
>>5095247
Unfortunately not. Friends & family come first, and it's christmas time, so I'm spending most of my free time with them.

>>5095187
>"Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”
A father before a company man.

>>5095187
>>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”
And hey, maybe if they've gotten softer, maybe the CIA's gotten less shit!

aw, who am I kidding, they just got shitter at being shit

>>5095187
>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”

>>5095187
>”Tell the whole damn world what happened here. Make sure nothing like it happens again. ”

>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”

>>5095187

>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”

>>5095187
>”Tell the whole damn world what happened here. Make sure nothing like it happens again. ”

>>5095187
>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”

>>5095187
>“Get my wife and kids out of this country. Kill countries if you need to to keep them safe.”
Our life is loss, but theirs doesn't have to be.

>>5092900
Damn, this is good shit, QM. Are we getting the Taured treatment?

File: speesus.jpg (94 KB, 1242x645)

94 KB JPG

>>5095195
>>5095222
>>5095254
>>5095268
>>5095511
>5 for tell the world
>>5095208
>>5095231
>>5095271
>>5095368
>>5095398
>>5095405
>>5095469
>>5095499
>>5095548
>>5095564
>10 for save the family.
Save the family will be your last wish, writing.
>>5095720
Oh you'll get some type of treatment.

>>5095887
>>5095433
Oops, missed one vote for tell the world, putting it at 6, save the family still wins of course.

>>5095887
Based and Catholic/Christian pilled

File: suitdevilmonarch.jpg (154 KB, 1200x630)

154 KB JPG

(1)
With the last of your strength on the cartel member’s collar, catching a glimpse at the golden cross around his neck, you begin to groan out words, hoping that it’s at all audible. “Get…” your words are suddenly broken by a cough, splattering blood onto the man’s bandana. “Get my family out of here…” what little of the world isn’t already dark around you grows even darker for a moment, and you have to pause to choke on another breath, ”-get them out of the continent… nothing stops you you here? Countries can die if that’s w-wha-huuuugh…” You struggle to take another breath, but as though they had just ran for weeks straight, your lungs simply refuse to obey, and the last bit of color in the world fades out, growing darker, and darker, your thoughts growing quieter and quieter, getting drowned out by the sound of metal grinding against metal, rust being peeled off opposing gears.

A mind that once raced constantly with calculations about the men and women around him is absolutely silent. You hear the metallic groaning and scraping wanes and waxes with the rhythmic continuity of the ticking hands of a clock. For billions of years, that’s all there is…

Then when you open your eyes again, you feel as if you’ve only dozed off for a second. In an instant, your lungs work again, and color returns to the world. One color, that is. An oppressive red-orange, like the various shades of rust. In the red light that shines through closed plastic window blinds, even your own skin looks the same color of the decrepit wood.

Looking over yourself, your injuries are now longer present, and in place of the button up shirt and jeans you were wearing before, whoever’s captured you has re-dressed you in a three piece suit. You recognize this suit though. It was issued to you as a federal agent. Not the same designer, no, the same exact suit, the frayed pieces of fabric, the resown branches, and the knife cuts all matching your younger years in the Central Intelligence Agency.

You burned this suit, when you officially died, twenty years ago.

Finally looking up from your own lap, you’re immediately struck by the sight before you. A man in a suit not unlike your own is sitting behind a grand wooden desk, yet where on most men in expensive suits sits a well groomed and polite face, you instead see the decayed skull of a ram. For a brief moment, the unnatural sight sparks fear in even your own conditioned mind, before the more cold and rational agent you’ve been for the last twenty years takes over. He’s wearing a mask. It must be a mask. You’ve seen the tactic in the CIA a hundred times, remove a face, separate the human from interrogation. That’s what it has to be. Whoever’s got you, they can’t have you putting a face to what they’re about to put you through. That gives you someone to blame, that gives you a narrative, something to fight for. Without it, your torture will just be a force of nature after some time, and without a face, anything they suggest will seem like their own idea.

Surely.

Like a statue, the figure doesn’t move as you acknowledge its presence. Perhaps he is a statue, you think for a moment, you don’t even see him breathing, though the holes in the skull do seem to be staring directly into your eyes. You know the human mind has a tendency to recognize animacy in even inanimate things, especially when looking for eyes, the first thing early humans would spot as they’re stalked by tigers. You pull your eyes away from the masked man, statue, or demon, and glance over his desk. It’s a grand an ornate desk, though it’s venerable appearance is changed somewhat by the presence of a few desk nick nacks, and neatly cut letter paper, all of which you can’t see in much detail from this far away.

Surely.

To the left of the room is the blinded windows, from where the only light source originates, occasionally eclipsed by some movement outside. Clouds? No, that color of light is unnatural. People, maybe, though the shadows don’t reveal the shapes of people. To the right however is a television, the gray light of its colorless screen not illuminating enough to counteract the red light that paints everything in here like rust. The television itself is on mute, but in it’s old and wobbly screen you can see a news report, showing a helicopter view of the motel where you died again, captioned with, “Gruesome Cartel Executions in Lima Motel, Two Officers and Father dead, Woman and Child missing.”

>>5096069
Maybe this time you’re really dead. If your theory about the mask is right, you kind of hope this is hell. Closer to you than the bookshelf is a small pendulum clock hanging from the wall. You lose yourself staring at it for a moment. Despite having no hands, the open pendulum still swings in perfect time with the waxing and waning of the ear-bleeding sound of metal and machinery grinding against itself. The sound however is far too deep, far too encompassing to just be coming from that small clock.

As you look away from the clock however, you realize that any chance of the figure in here with you being a statue is impossible, as while you weren’t looking, it moved.

In its gaunt hand is a Matryoshka doll, or a Russian Nesting Doll for Western Spies like yourself. Furthermore, when it moved its arm, the creature moved its head ever so slightly as well, and you also notice behind it, a featureless wooden door. The only door in this room. It locks from the inside. The creature moves again, while holding the Matryoshka doll from the bottom with one hand, he moves his other hand to hold the top, as if getting ready to open it, but staying there for a moment.

>Play along with the well dressed being, walk up to him slowly, with your hands clearly visible, then open the Matryoshka doll yourself.
> They wouldn’t leave the outside of this room visible unless they wanted you to know, but you can’t fight that unless you know what they want you to know. Look through the blinds, out the window.
>That damn grinding noise is stopping you from focusing, and that’s what someone wants. Investigate the clock, see if you can pull it open.
>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.
>Time to get your foot in one hell of a door. Walk past the creature's desk, and see what happens if you try to just open the door, and walk away.
>Write in.

>>5096071
>They wouldn’t leave the outside of this room visible unless they wanted you to know, but you can’t fight that unless you know what they want you to know. Look through the blinds, out the window.

>>5096071
>Play along with the well dressed being, walk up to him slowly, with your hands clearly visible, then open the Matryoshka doll yourself.

>>5096071
>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.

>>5096071
>>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.

>>5096071
>>Play along with the well dressed being, walk up to him slowly, with your hands clearly visible, then open the Matryoshka doll yourself.

>>5092900
>the nuke goes off. killing everyone instantly. There are no survivors and the moon crashes into the earth as it was a giant space ship knocked out of orbit.

>>5096071

>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.

>>5096071
>Play along with the well dressed being, walk up to him slowly, with your hands clearly visible, then open the Matryoshka doll yourself.

>>5096071
>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.
We were part of MKUltra. Might as well give it a shot

>>5096071
>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.

>Look through the blinders.

>>5096071
>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.

>>5096071
>Time to get your foot in one hell of a door. Walk past the creature's desk, and see what happens if you try to just open the door, and walk away.

Our wish was to walk away from being chased.
Walking out here might be worth it.

>>5096071
>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.
Intelligence gathering 101.

>>5096071
>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.

>>5096071
>Play along with the well dressed being, walk up to him slowly, with your hands clearly visible, then open the Matryoshka doll yourself.

File: bigsanta.jpg (45 KB, 926x900)

45 KB JPG

Merry Christmas guys! Sorry I couldn't have an update out today, spent the whole day with my family. There's good odds there won't be one tomorrow as well, but if I do find the time I might shoot for it. I know it's an awkward time to have such a pause, but family has to come first on Christmas.

>>5097180
>You need to get into this person or creature’s head, so start by getting a closer look. Take a seat across the desk, examine the items on the desk, and look for any evidence of humanity.

no worrys man take all the time you need its so far been a good quest worth waiting for

>>5097180
What, taking time off on Christmas?!?! Who even does that.

>>5097180
>I know it's an awkward time to have such a pause, but family has to come first on Christmas.
Yes, yes indeed. The pause doesn't matter, merry christmas QM!

>>5096111
>>5096120
>>5096136
>>5096168
>>5096376
>>5096552
>>5096656
>>5097269
>look for any evidence of humanity.

>>5096108
>>5096127
>>5096154
>>5097116
>Open the doll.

>>5096091
>Look Through the window

>>5096566
>Open the door.

Locking and writing.

>>5097269
>>5097317
>>5097947
Appreciate the patience guys! Hope everyone had a great christmas.

Wrote this one on two hours of sleep, so sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.
(1)
You’re a psychologist, not a detective, but even if you were sherlock holmes, it wouldn’t be a good idea to look at this room any longer than you had to. If it is the CIA holding you right now, or if the devil is at all competent in interrogations, then you can be sure that every aspect of this room has been designed with meticulous intent, any thing you can see, they want you to see. From where you’re sitting, you can only see one crack in the door, and it’s behind the desk. Even well trained human beings are the most common source of failure in any machine of governance- especially when you know exactly how they’ve been trained, or failing that how they think- and you happen to know how everyone thinks.

You just need to figure out who they are first.

You take a quick, unnoticeable breath, and ask, “Where am I?” as you stand up. “Hell?” You don’t care about the answer, but you need him to think you do. A mind focused on something other than you is sus. Pushing yourself to your feet, you at first use your whole body, expecting the pains of middle-age to slow you, but you find your normal composure shaken a little bit when you feel none of it, accidentally shooting yourself out of the chair. You dust your old suit jacket off a moment, muttering “Am I free to go then?” after the masked being doesn’t answer your question. You quickly point to the door. “It’s unlocked.”

He, or it, doesn’t look back. They must be well trained.

You keep a close eye on the face while maintaining an undisturbed appearance as you approach. Every inkling of fear you show will be used against you, you know that damn well. If this is hell, then perhaps even the fear that you don’t show will be used all the same. As you approach, you scans the face for the real eyeholes, noting that the side facing eyes of the ram -skull mask wouldn’t allow the creature to see you all too well where you’re standing, yet even as you approach, you don’t see them.

Deciding you want to look into the eye of the creature, you divert your attention to the TV screen. It now shoes a women talking on a news set. “Who am I kidding though.” You say, walking closer to the television with the intent of being to the right of the creature. “After that gruesome show back there I’m not running. You look at the TV up close for a moment, before turning back to the creature with your hands still in your pockets. At first, all you see in the creature’s eyes is darkness. Your mind’s first thought is fabric, preventing you from seeing the side of the man’s face, but then you notice a hint of reflection. Glass. Your eyes begin to adjust, seeing how the TV’s light reflects on a fish-eye of glass… then underneath, you begin to see beneath the glass is not black cloth at all. In fact, it’s staring right at you, and you recognize it.

>>5098882
(2)
In your younger days as a cog in America’s hidden gearbox, you’ve seen many American weapons, and there was always one that stuck out to you. The monocular eye of a Sidewinder Missile is never not looking for a target, even when stored in a warehouse or in the belly of an air-craft carrier. Many a-times you have walked through the upper layers of Homey Airport, walking past racks of these things, a wall of eyes following you. Two of these eyes seem to have been pulled from their homes, and placed in the eye-socket of the creature, and they’re now watching you.

Like everything in this room, nothing on it’s own is alien to you, but the collage together almost feels nonsensical. Why would anyone put the eye of an AIM-9X a mask? Are they just trying to confuse you? Is the creature an animatronic?

You don’t think about it much longer, that’s probably exactly what they want. The CIA knows you’re one of them, that you know their tricks, how they think, and their first step in breaking you down must be to make your question your own goddamn existence, to confuse you until your guard is down.

Surely

Instead of staring at it, you just walk closer to the desk, not acknowledging as the eye tracks you. Instead, you look down at the creature’s desk. Scattered haphazardly atop papers and documents are a few knick knacks and objects, with no immediate connection between any of them. None of the documents are written in english, however there are a few of them who, while you cannot read them, you recognize the formatting. It’s strikingly similar to how agents within the CIA or other alphabet soup organizations tend to format highly classified documents. Others however, are not. Some seem written on parchment, and there’s even a stone tablet, though none of them show a hint of age. Despite the wide variety of documents, each of them is marked with the same symbol, a scratchy, upside down star. Someone really wants you to think you’re in hell.

Or maybe you’re just really dead this time.

Either way, without any way to read these documents, or even any assurance that they have meaning, it’s not much use investigating them any longer, so instead you take a look at the The first you notice is a monarch-butterfly, preserved in sealed plastic. Not far from that is a compass, whose needle is shaking, as if this room is surrounded by conflicting magnets, though it does seem to be tending towards the room’s only door.

>>5098886
(3)
Also on the desk is a lighter, which is right next to a small figurine of a bride, like one that would top wedding cakes, but with the head missing.

A laser-pointer, the kind that every office worker might carry in his pocket for when he needs to make a presentation, marked with a blue strip, to indicate the color of its beam.

Finally, a paperclip, though it seems it’s been there so long, that it's actually become rusted.

Looking back at your interrogator, you see that like a statue, he hasn’t moved since he put his hand over the Matryoshka doll.

You really hope it’s not an animatronic. If this is some insane interrogation tactic, maybe you ought to feign cooperation, then get an actual grasp on what they want from you, though you suppose if what they want is eternal suffering as payment for your sins, you ought to not make it easy.

“You know, you people really had me convinced I was dead back in that hotel room? And since I’m not… I’m guessing you’re russian right? That’s what the doll is about?” You press your fingers to the bridge of your nose for a second, miming a headache before saying, “Look, I gotta wife and kids in Peru, I can’t play the super-spy game anymore I’m… I’m not… Fuck! I have a therapist, and I have to lie to him, otherwise… best case scenario he thinks on a lunatic, worst case the CIA finds me. Can you imagine how that feels? I can’t do it anymore. If you want American secrets, I’ll give em to you… It’ll probably help me these days just… could you get my family out of Peru? After that… I don’t care, I’ll tell you everything. I know how this works, I know what the masks… the room… the TV, I know what it’s all for… and it’s not necessary, I’m not the person you think I am anymore.”

The being before you is silent… but the television is no longer.

You quickly turn to see the agent who shot you, still dressed as an officer Peruvian National Police, making a press statement. “If you know anything about-” He’s interrupted by a moment of static, then replaced by a televangelist, screaming “FIRE AND BRIMSTONE-” who then is swapped out for an infomercial, “Receive this beautiful russian nesting doll along with everything else for only-” with a flash of static, the TV returns to the preacher, “YOUR ETERNAL SOUL SHALL BE REBORN IN THE KINGDOM OF GOD” and with a last flash of static, a documentary about snakes comes on, you hear “-sssssss,” before the TV returns to being muted.

The creature is still silent, though the Matryoshka doll has moved closer to you.

>>5098888
(4)
If this room is not your personal hell, then it is your hell on earth. It seems this room has been meticulously designed to give you only the barest hint of the human element, to provide you with the hope that there was something you could hook your tendrils on. It’s almost a shame you recognize the strategy, because if you didn’t, hell might’ve driven you insane, and then you wouldn’t have to worry anymore… though you don’t know why you shouldn’t think you’re insane right now.


>They want you to take the doll, and frankly you don’t feel like being waterboarded today, so take the Matryoshka doll and open it.
>Keep up the broken super-spy act, so you can try and figure out who the hell you're working with. ”Please, who is this? Who am I talking to?”
>” What do you mean kingdom of god, fire and brimstone? What do you want from me? Information? Do you need my skills?”
>”This is insane.” Stand up, and act fed up with the whole process. “Look, I don’t know if you were paying attention to the news, but I have a family to find, so I’m leaving.” Head for the door, and hope that they might fear losing their compliant subject and explain things more for you.
>Ask the question bluntly and plainly, “Am I in hell, if this is a demon I’m talking to, show me some proof of it, then we can talk about a deal.
>Write in.

>>5098891
>Yeet yourself out of the window.

Why are we even trying to engage on this thing's terms? We need to take charge, and flip the script on this. Only way to do that is by doing the unthinkable, the unpredictable.

>>5098891
>They want you to take the doll, and frankly you don’t feel like being waterboarded today, so take the Matryoshka doll and open it.

>>5098891

>They want you to take the doll, and frankly you don’t feel like being waterboarded today, so take the Matryoshka doll and open it.

>>5098891
>They want you to take the doll, and frankly you don’t feel like being waterboarded today, so take the Matryoshka doll and open it.

>>5098891
>>”This is insane.” Stand up, and act fed up with the whole process. “Look, I don’t know if you were paying attention to the news, but I have a family to find, so I’m leaving.” Head for the door, and hope that they might fear losing their compliant subject and explain things more for you.
Interested in what’s behind the door

>>5098891
>Yeet yourself out of the window.
Yeah, this I wanna see.

>>5098891
>They want you to take the doll, and frankly you don’t feel like being waterboarded today, so take the Matryoshka doll and open it.
Fuckit let's see what game they're playing

>>5098891
>Yeet yourself out of the window.

>>5098899
>>5099086
>>5099125
also in favor of
>Yeet yourself out of the window.

>Yeet yourself out of the window.
sounds good to me.

>>5098891
Supporting
>Yeet yourself right out the window
It's all calculated. See how much the other side cares about you. See what kind of things they can do if they do, and if they don't care, perhaps an escape.
Just hope the view outside is just some sort of A/V psychotheatrics set instead of leading to a real tumble.

>>5098891
>They want you to take the doll, and frankly you don’t feel like being waterboarded today, so take the Matryoshka doll and open it.

>>5099298
I'm personally just an agent of chaos. Wanna leisurely walk around the room, curiously glance at the window, maybe raise an eyebrow, maybe not, jump the fuck out like it's a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

File: pavelitsrealeasy.jpg (68 KB, 569x797)

68 KB JPG

Sorry guys, no update today, I barely slept as well last night, and now that my shifts over I'm too out of it to write anything that won't suck, so I'm gonna put quality over quantity.
>>5099298
>>5099417
I like the way you guys think though.

>>5099520
alls good glow boy irl comes first and all that

>>5099417
lmao if I vote for that, can we take the doll toy with us?

This yeet shit is retarded and in no way will end up well for us. At least QM seems like a good writer so it should at least be interesting.

>>5099920
When in Rome, act as the Romans do.
When in a strange situation, act strangely.

File: 1640683967909.jpg (183 KB, 721x720)

183 KB JPG

>>5099920
Yeah sure, cause taking the matrioshka and talking to what seems like the devil went down to the holy land is gonna end up well for us. Like anything we did before we ended up here was gonna end up well for us.
Let us have some fun, anon.

>>5098891
>Yeet yourself out of the window.
APPLY PICK TO EYE

>>5100138
>APPLY PICK TO EYE
A man of wealth and taste

>>5099530
You can try to, but you don't know if anything will happen when you take the doll.

>>5100299
I say fuck the doll, and fuck this Betzefer reject.

I reminded of the first episode of Better Call Saul. Wherein Jimmy is presented with a check, but he rejects it outright as not doing that could be construed consent to be bound by a contract. I think if we touch that doll, we're bound to whatever this thing wants. Classic devil business.

>>5098899
>>5099086
>>5099125
>>5099239
>>5099267
>>5099298
>>5099417
>>5100138
>>5100478
>Escape through the window.
>>5098904
>>5098910
>>5099024
>>5099088
>Take the doll
>>5099062
>Make for the door.

Operation Defenestration is a go. Locking and writing.

File: 1587497140119.png (320 KB, 476x795)

320 KB PNG

>>5100561
lets go fuck boys

(1)
Despite your instincts, you take a long look at that Matryoshka doll, fighting the urge to open it. Whoever’s got you here, wether it’s the Devil or Santa Claus, they know you. They know you’re curious, like any agent of the CIA ought to be. Like an astronomer stumbling into alien life, you want to figure these things out, but that’s not gonna tempt you, you know your own head too well for that. Besides, you’re not as interested in what the devil wants as much as what will let you control him.

You doubt that opening the doll would just reveal a smaller doll within, but you can’t help but wonder what this creature’s game is, if it even is this creature’s game, or if you're speaking to a machine operated by someone higher ranking. Whatever’s actually in the doll, it’s made it very clear it wants you to see it. Everything in this room you can see is done by intention, and every door you can open is left unlocked for a purpose. That egg is what will let him control you.

You stare silently at the television, sighing to yourself as if still considering it. “I need some air.” You mutter, standing up. “I don’t have that privilege though, right?”

The TV is silent, and the ram-masked being doesn’t move.

You start walking towards the window, pulling up the blinds, only to get blinded by a glaring red light, like a roaring forest fire, though after your eyes adjust to your light, you’re greated by glaring red spotlights shining into this room, mounted somewhere in a cluster of dark rusted pipes and wires. At first, you think the window is fake, and that might have been the intention, but what you notice is that the machinery is not just pipes running in between studs and dry-wall, but a whole extra section of this building, and while it’s clearly not meant for human travel, there’s definitely space out there… especially down.

As your eyes adjust, you hold your head once again, feigning a headache so you can lean up close to the glass, which is smooth, with no visible scores or scratches. To someone not given the best SERE training in the living world, that might look like a bad thing- the sign of a strong window from a good window. In truth, it’s a sign that this glass isn’t tempered. Better yet, the window was never meant to be opened, and even if you could, they know you’re not the gymnasts donned in skin-tight bodysuits from the movies, you’re an aging psychologist.

They intended for you to look out this window. They never intended for you to crawl through it.

>>5100830
(2)
You turn around, deliberately giving it an accidental bump with your elbow so you can listen to the sound it makes. Not bulletproof either. You give out a long sigh once again, groaning, “I… if you want me to work for you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it again. I get I don’t have a choice, but you need to understand that you’re not working with the same person as twenty years ago.” You don’t meet eyes with the machine-creature behind the desk, nor do you look at the TV. Instead, your eyes glaze across the bookshelf with a sunken expression. All but one of these books aren’t written in any language you recognize, which is rather impressive considering how many languages you can at least identify, let alone read, though the book whose language you actually do recognize holds no meaning to you… other than seeming particularly heavy. “L'avenir de l'homme,” the title reads. Never seen it before, you’ve never been one for philosophy, natural or theological. Still, you pick it up.

“Shoulda knew the devil was a frenchie.” You joke, as you skim through the pages. “My wife’s uncle was a pastor. Recommended this to me a while ago, and said he thought I was going through a crisis of faith, and it cold help. Told me that I shouldn’t be so reserved around him, that I could tell him anything. Could you imagine if he knew a thing about me?” You flip to the early pages, walking towards the right light through the spotlights. “I picked it up after he passed, but I never got far through it. Guess he was right, must be why I’m down here. Was one line that stuck with me though.” You slow your flicking through the pages as you approach some arbitrary, imaginary line.

Suddenly behind you, the sound on the television returns, tuned to an interview, with whom the caption describes as a historian. “Well bob, I’ve always held that if you could understand the past you could understand-” the channel changes with a flick of static the channel changes to MTV, playing the music video with a slow, melodic tune, “-the maaaachiiiiiiine,” then muting itself again.

You don’t give it any head. It’s a genius strategy really. The TV gives them a way to mess with you, to probe and poke at you, without letting you do the same to your captors. Talking to the TV is what they want. Walking through the door is what they want. Reading this book is probably what they want. There are a million false avenues for rebellion in this room, and you won’t find a real one, you’re gonna have to risk some broken bones. You’re days as a field agent are over, but if you were afraid of blood, you wouldn’t have spent years torturing people for a living. “That wasn’t the quote I was thinking of,” is the last thing you say in this room.

>>5100831
(3)
Holding both covers of the book closed, you slam it spine first into the glass. Before the book even meets the glass, the creature behind the desk stands in one quick trained motion, like a soldier in a parade, but by the time it takes it’s first marching step towards you, the glass is shattering around your arm, shards slicing open your wrist and forearm. With an adrenaline rush you haven’t felt in twenty years, you waste no time throwing your legs over the windowsill, clinging on the best you can.

Though when you’ve lived so long as an aging father, your body’s best has gone down quite a lot. Glass cuts into your hands as you swing for a foothold on the pipes, and not even the disappearance of the pains of middle age is enough to give you the grip strength to hold on in the face of your palms being cut open by shards of glass heated by the spotlights.

You slip, and fall like a ragdoll, smacking against wires, pipes, and struts all the way down, so by the time you hit the ground, crashing into a grated metal floor almost doesn’t seem too bad. Your head is spinning, your stomach is ready to empty itself, and for a moment you simply lie there on the floor, trying to figure out where the hell you are.

You’ve fallen into a corridor, or at least a catwalk that’s become a corridor as it was surrounded by so much machinery that it closer resembles a cave. Pulling yourself up on a wire, you can feel broken ribs in your chest scream in pain as your head pounds, while your grip leaves bloody handprints.

If this place isn’t literal hell, it’s your personal hell. They know you here, they know your skills, and they anticipated it. What you did was not the actions of a psychologist, had you the skills, they would’ve been the actions of a gymnast, but you don’t have those skills. They planned for your skills, and that means not being their pawn requires skills you don’t have.

As your recollect yourself, your sense start returning to you. In the distance, you can hear human screaming. Even from here you can tell there’s an odd layer of confusion to it. A scream of terror from someone caught in the middle of a bank-robbery is different from the scream of someone breaking their leg. This is a scream of someone who doesn’t understand, like a person in Guantanamo Bay who knows nothing, but is still being beaten into giving a confession irregardless. Despite the familiarity in that confused tone of screaming, you know damn well you’re not in Guantanamo, once upon you practically ran that place. It was the closest you could get to hell without leaving earth, but it was organized. Glazing your eyes across these wires, cogs, and pipes curling and scraping against each other, you can’t imagine there’s any organization to any of this. You can taste blood in your mouth, as well as a few loose teeth. If it weren’t for adrenaline you might be unconscious.

>>5100834
(4)
You wipe the thought aside, and look around. On the catwalk floor is the book, accompanied by a rusted pipe your ribcage dislodged. You pick up the both of them. Above you, the machine-ram creature has poked its head out of the window, and is watching you with its head turned to the side, so you can see its digital eye reflecting the red light. You limp away, stepping somewhere the machine can’t see you. The catwalk goes in only two directions from where you’re standing, closer towards the screaming, or further away from it.

On one hand, screaming means people, and people are what you’re good with, and without people to help you, you’re gonna have to keep using skills you don’t have. On the other hand, screaming means someone or something’s hurting those people, odds are good they’ll wanna do the same to you if you don’t talk them out of it.

>Head towards the screaming, look for prisoners. You’re skills are with people, and if you have access to people, you might not have to throw yourself out of the window.
>Head away from the screaming, try to get out of here alone. The quicker you move, the less likely you are to be tracked down in time for you to be found.
>Don’t go anywhere just yet. Take the risk of staying put so you can tear off some of your suit jacket and bandages your cuts.
>Write in.

>>5100838
>Head towards the screaming, look for prisoners. You’re skills are with people, and if you have access to people, you might not have to throw yourself out of the window.

>>5100834
>Head towards the screaming, look for prisoners. You’re skills are with people, and if you have access to people, you might not have to throw yourself out of the window.
People means answers. And even if we bleed out, we can't really die if we're already dead.

>>5100838
>>Head towards the screaming, look for prisoners. You’re skills are with people, and if you have access to people, you might not have to throw yourself out of the window.

>>5100838
>Head away from the screaming, try to get out of here alone. The quicker you move, the less likely you are to be tracked down in time for you to be found.
We're not the only ones getting interogated by whoever running this thing. With our condition, it's best to hide first and lick our wounds.

>>5100838
>Head away from the screaming, try to get out of here alone. The quicker you move, the less likely you are to be tracked down in time for you to be found.
our only weapon is a rusty pipe, we are injured and we don't know who or what the hell (heh) is out there.

>>5100838
>Don’t go anywhere just yet. Take the risk of staying put so you can tear off some of your suit jacket and bandages your cuts.

>>5100838
>>Head towards the screaming, look for prisoners. You’re skills are with people, and if you have access to people, you might not have to throw yourself out of the window.

>>5100838
This scream might just be another tactic to go where they want us to go, but its a risk I'm willing to take to get answers from somebody,
>Head towards the screaming, look for prisoners. You’re skills are with people, and if you have access to people, you might not have to throw yourself out of the window.

>>5100838
>Head away from the screaming, try to get out of here alone. The quicker you move, the less likely you are to be tracked down in time for you to be found.
Our skills are with torture and psychology so they want us to follow the sounds of tortured individual that reminds us of our past, no?

This update is proof that even the devil can be caught off-guard by a raging schizophrenic.

>>5100838
>Head away from the screaming, try to get out of here alone. The quicker you move, the less likely you are to be tracked down in time for you to be found.

>>5100838
>Head away from the screaming, try to get out of here alone. The quicker you move, the less likely you are to be tracked down in time for you to be found.

There's a chance there might not be an update again today, sorry guys, I've been stuck with an extended shift at work.
>>5101141
Well so long as the devil can't build a compiler then we know schizos are his match.

>>5100838
>Head away from the screaming, try to get out of here alone. The quicker you move, the less likely you are to be tracked down in time for you to be found.

>>5100838
>>Head away from the screaming, try to get out of here alone. The quicker you move, the less likely you are to be tracked down in time for you to be found.

>>5100918
>>5100919
>>5101141
>>5101142
>>5101173
>>5102212
>>5102262
>Head away
>>5100843
>>5100866
>>5100870
>>5101005
>>5101026
>Head towards.
Locking and writing.

(1)
Your first instinct tells you to move towards the screaming, while most would see it as a hint of danger, you know well the opportunity chaos and confusion can provide for someone seeking to slip away from a pursuer, and that’s exactly why you don’t go that way. In that room, they knew you well enough to remove every single trace of humanity from it beyond a few inconsequential objects. If they were smart enough to do that, then they’re smart enough to trace you that way. You can’t think like yourself down here, because whoever runs this place knows how you think.

With every step forwards another spike of pain in your ribcage, you begin slowly but surely making your way through the claustrophobic tunnels, staring at every inch of impossibly complex machinery. Through the cracks, you can see movement of other pieces of the machine, pistons pulling on wires, gears grinding against each other, all of it in time with that same grinding metallic noise that pierces your ears no matter where you run, not muffling as you run through a pack of tight wires, nor does it grow louder during a spot where the tunnel opens up, as if the sound itself was disconnected from the air and allowed to flow freely through aether.

Any attempt to understand these things is going to drive you insane, you’re sure it was designed to, but no being is perfect, and besides, with the slow speed you move to prevent a rib from puncturing your own lung, you have plenty of time to look at the machinery. You’re no expert in technology, but you’re observant enough to detect patterns… and detect when there is none.

Many of the machine parts are marked with identifying engravings. Just as many aren’t. The ones that are engraved however are no more help, with a very few being identifiable by American, Soviet, and even a few in North Korean standards, but a million more for each being marked with latin, egyptian hieroglyphs, and a billion more markings you don’t even recognize, as if it were written in a country that never existed.

If you aren’t in actual hell, then this colossal set was designed meticulously, and by someone who doesn’t worry about things like borders and politics, and even for the CIA that would be a difficult task. If they just wanted to throw you off any country’s scent, surely they could’ve just scratched the engravings off.

What you wouldn’t give to work for the Pentagon right now, you’re too damn inquisitive for this place, it was designed to drive you crazy. Had you been a Marine, your thick skull would’ve taken the earlier blows and you’d be marching right into your eternal damnation convinced you were just lost in detroit, but as a middle aged sociopath, you can’t help but wonder if there’s no way out of this, if you might really be dead, that this place is your perfect, personally designed torture.

>>5102974
(2)
As you move, slowly but surely, you begin to notice though that with every hunk of machinery you have to haul your own body up, or every staircase you suffer through, you begin to hear sounds separate from the usual grinding of metal and buzzing of wires, you begin to hear marching methodical footsteps, alongside heavy chains and hydraulic pistons. The pathway merges with other tunnels and catwalks, and from some of them, you can hear those marching footsteps coming up from behind you, though without the speed or intention you would expect from a pursuer, and considering how much a mess this… factory or… machine facility really is, you wouldn’t be surprised if they haven’t had the time to organize a full search, but its clear that this place was designed to allow for some sort of foot-traffic.

You keep moving, forwards and forwards, pushing against your own bodies objections so you can stay ahead of the traffic behind you, until eventually your injuries force you to stop, crawl into the nearest gap in the machinery, closing your eyes and focusing on controlling your strained, heavy breathing as you hear the footsteps, accompanied by a cart they roll past you. Despite them clearly not searching for you, they don’t chat, in fact they don’t communicate at all, just like your possibly robotic companion back in the devil’s office. It’s enough to make you curious, and after a close call, the next passing group of workers you see, you open your eyes to observe them.

These ones don’t wear masks, and below that, and without the ram-mask on you saw earlier, you can tell that they aren’t machines underneath… at least not visibly. They march like automatons, but they have gaunt, skinny faces like human beings, albeit their eyes and ears are most certainly not human, covered instead with strips of metal. With their senses covered, a sane world would have them blind and deaf, but they don’t move like the blind, or the deaf, especially as you would figure out during one close call during your painful trek upwards when your rusty pipe bumped up against a locked up gearwheel, and the beings stopped in their place, and began “looking” around, though thankfully deciding quickly to ignore the sound.

Even in hell, “people” ignore signs around them, the same way most people will happily ignore a suspicious individual if interfering would get between them and their daily routine. As you observe the workers pacing through the halls, you begin to notice that there seem to be a few separate work routines, each traveling in their own rough direction.

>>5102977
(3)
Some are dragging bound, gagged, and blindfolded prisoners back the way you came, most of them unconscious, and either in their 70s or 80s, and almost all looking on death's door, even the young prisoners. Otherwise, you don’t see any common thread that could indicate anything, they’re importing every race, every nationality, even religious figures, nuns, monks, and rabbis.If this is hell, and there is a way to avoid being stuck here, you might be the first to find it.

Others are hauling crates of digging equipment, though for all the impossibly complex machinery this place is made up of, none of that includes power tools, like jackhammers or hydraulic picks, instead they all seem satisfied by pickaxes and shovels, and rather than heading down with those, they’re going up. Either they’re storing them, or they’re digging up, for some reason.

Then every so often, you see one or two of the beings holding papers, books, documents, hell you even spot one hauling a hard-drive through on a hand-truck. Information moved like that means administration, which means some sort of central planning, which is almost contradictory. The machinery around you is built with so little efficiency, and so much complexity, that it more looks as if it arose naturally, as if these beings were ants, rather than guided by a central vision.

Rarer still seems to be some sort of paramedic, as though the devil keeps doctors around, though whether or not the wounded are treated in hell is yet to be proven, but you do see the silent, bloody bodies of the almost automated beings being brought through the machinery on stretchers, though strangely enough some of them are wearing… scabbards, as if they had been pulled out of a warzone from the 10th century, and they’re often being brought the opposite direction of the tools.

Finally, and worryingly, as you navigate through the underbelly of this infernal machine, you begin to see armed beings, these ones all carrying more modern weapons, rifles, shotguns, hell even strange fire-arms you don’t recognize, and as is common with this place, there’s no pattern connecting these weapons to any country, company, or army, from Kalashnikovs, to FALs, to M16s, though none of them have been maintained with any sort of care, often broken, dirty, or some combination of the few.

As you continue blindly through the depths of, what you’re starting to believe might just simply be hell, you quickly catch on to the fact that there’s no way you’re going to get anywhere in this place without following someone there, or having someone to bring you there, you severely doubt a map even exists, even could exist for this place.

>>5102978
(4)
>Follow the workers towards wherever they’re bringing their tools, whether they’re digging or storing them, it could provide a place to hide or a place to escape.
>Follow the administrative “staff,” whatever central authority runs this place is probably incomprehensible, but maybe there's some sort of information.
>Follow the paramedics, you can’t imagine hell has the hippocratic oath, but if they want to preserve their slaves, they probably have at least something.
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.
>Write in.

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.

That sounds ill though out enough to fit MC's "go against my usual way of thinking" mentality

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.
With our injuries, ambushing a guard seems illogical. But, we are trying to "not think like ourselves."

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.
With our condition we need a stimpak and/or something with little to no recoil.
Aim for lonely, sci-fi looking target with light armor, if any. Remember everything we know about weakspots and physics and use that to take them out.

Wonder what would happen if we were to pry those metal covers from their heads.

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.
TIME FOR GUN.

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.
Gun is always the correct choice

>>5103232
I would "kill", for a stimpak. Ah? Get it? Kill? Because we'll probably kill the guards?

This excites me. I wonder if we can actually overthrow hell.

>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.

fuck this is interesting so far

>>5103308
Woah, anon! Calm your bloodthirst.
Nothing a partial paralysis won't solve.

So is hell the isekai? Or are we about to get clapped by satan?

>>5103421
It was a psychological trick all along to attract weebs and autists for the maximum collective schizophrenia possible.

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.
Maybe also try to ambush a medic, they'd be likely to have drugs on them, but we need to upgrade our rusty pipe to rusty AK first.

>>5103421
We were going to be isekai'd, but we noped out of the window.

No regerts.

>>5103449
But if we're in hell right now... aren't we already isekai'd?

If we stayed in that room and played along, all that would have happened is that we go from this isekai (hell) to another isekai.

File: Spoiler Image (1.79 MB, 498x280)

1.79 MB GIF

>>5103465
Be careful anon.

>>5103483
Inb4 Matryoshka shell-game, we're the ball and this 'hell' is one of the shells
We've just entered the rabbit hole now, friends

>>5103501
Next isekai CIA schizo man goes to gongalla gaol and addicts the goblins to crack before peacing out

>>5102981
>Write in.
>Find out where the wounded are coming from. Wherever they're getting hurt is an opportunity for us.

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though.
This is a russian Isakei quest right?

>>5102981
>Stay still, sneak into some sort of nook, and wait for an opportunity to ambush one of the armed guards. You’ll need to think up some sort of strategy though

File: kitchengung.jpg (92 KB, 1280x720)

92 KB JPG

>>5103011
>>5103067
>>5103085
>>5103232
>>5103248
>>5103297
>>5103315
>>5103449
>>5104375
>>5105001
>Ambush
>>5103745
>Look for source of wounded.

Locking and writing. Happy new year everyone!

>>5104375
I can't really say much more for fear of spoilers, so I'll just say that it's going to have a variety of cultural inspirations.

>>5105178
Happy new year, OPI!
>a variety of cultural inspirations.
What about those alien pipe scribblings? Will we encounter alien cultures?

(1)
As time passes, and the pain in your chest grows, getting more exhausting with every step, you realize you aren’t going to be able to survive with nothing but your wits and a blunt object. While you're not one of the guys who shot JFK, that doesn’t mean you’re a terrible shot, and in these tight corridors, a smart gun-man could hold-out for days with nothing but a decent fire-arm, and with hostages you’d have the leverage to start moving around. One of the Kalashnikovs, or a shotgun might do the trick. Not only do they fit the environment, but they’re the only weapons reliable enough to trust your life with down here, considering that the guards you saw carried weapons that look they’ve just been pried from the cold dead hands of an african child soldier, and you don’t expect the ammunition they’re using to be much better than black-powder fueled paper cartridges cleverly disguised in a brass casing.

Your earlier wish was to suddenly be replaced by a brain-dead soldier, but you doubt the devil would grant you that, and even if he had you probably would’ve just died in blissful ignorance of the impossibility of this place. Injured and barely armed is one thing, but it’s often not as deadly as being armed without intelligence, so maybe instead you ought to show the devil what real subterfuge looks like. You took the bastards by surprise once by very deliberately acting like an enraged asylum patient hopped up on enough coke to forget what pain feels like, so now it’s time to show the CIA hasn’t forgotten how to perform Military Intelligence in the haze of LSD and strobe lights that you remember from the Cold War.

Once you find a spot to hide- an unnoteworthy position in the eyes of a civilian, but to a guerilla combatant, a spot along the catwalk with ample opportunity. Surrounded on all sides, even the top and bottom, by wires loose enough to be pushed aside to make room for a waiting predator, but tangled enough to be impossible to see through. At the same time, the wires and the transformers not far away- still accompanied by that ever present metallic grinding noise, mask the sounds of your pained breathing.

Ideally, you’d avoid swinging your pipe at the first armed guard that walks past, knowing that if you did, odds are good you would’ve simply been shot by his pal. With the closest to a good hiding spot you’re gonna get, you let the first few guards pass, watching the way they observe the area around them closely, searching for any hints of fear… only for them to find a hint of you.

>>5105396
(2)
With all the adrenaline running through your system, you’ve almost forgot that your hand and head has been bleeding since you jumped out the window, and you never stopped to patch it up. Now, you see one of two machine men hold up a hand signaling stop, and with a flashlight attached to the end of his rifle, points at the fresh blood that you left the cat-walk railing, and the wires. They say nothing, but for a moment they stare directly at you through the wires. The first thing you notice as they shoulder their rifles is that while they marched through the catwalks like trained soldiers on parade, the moment they spotted blood, the confidence with which they held their guns did drop. One of them holds an aged M14 that might be better placed in a Vietnam Memorial than this man’s shaky hands, and an over under shotgun better built for sport. Shaky fingers immediately hopped onto their triggers, and as they scan the area their barrels often glaze across each-other.

Regardless, with these beings only a few feet away from you, even inexperienced soldiers could still kill you in a second, you haven’t been a field agent in a very-long time, even more so with all your wounds. You clutch your pipe carefully, with these metal-faced men on your trail, it’s only a matter of time until they find you, leaving you with no other option but to attack. You're outnumbered, and you’re wounded… but despite the machine parts drilled into their skulls, these beings still have something human within them… and the way their hands shake, the way their “eyes” dart across the room without the careful deliberation of a trained soldier, the psychologist in you knows what fear looks like. The CIA knew war a was fought in the mind well before any shots were fired, so if you can figure out a way to mess with their heads, your odds will increase exponentially.

>Three players roll a d100. Because of the dangerous circumstances of this ambush, I’ll be taking the lowest roll, but you guys can change that. If you write in a plan of attack (Especially one that appeals to the skillset of Mr. CLASSIFIED, I may take the median or highest roll instead depending on how good the strategy(s) are. Bad ideas won’t hinder you in any way, so don’t be afraid to be creative. If the roll I take is a 50 or above, the roll succeeds.

Let me know how you guys feel about this, since I’m experimenting a bit here. I like the idea of giving you guys some control over rolls, but not totally taking out any randomness. I don't intend rolling to be super common either.

File: Spoiler Image (29 KB, 600x441)

29 KB JPG

>>5105272

Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>5105398
Move the wires in such a way that it seems to them as though you're attempting to walk away, but actually position yourself to attack one or both of them when they come to check the wires for your body.

Rolled 91 (1d100)

>>5105398
Okay so we take the guy with the M14 from behind, while they're muzzling the other guy. Pipe around the throat. Wait for the shotgun guy to fire. Buckshot is pretty shit at penetrating flesh, well not like that, but its not likely to over penetrate a human shield is what I'm getting at. Guy's so twichy he'll pop both barrels before Mr M14 drops. Shove the corpse onto Mr shotgun before he reloads. Bash his head in with the pipe. Easy peasy.

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>5105398
Grab a thin but strong length of metal cable, a garrote wire, and use it to choke out the closest guard so w can use him as a meat shield. If it's thin and strong enough it will dig into his neck, making it hard or impossible to grasp. While he's panics and reaches for his neck, if his gun had a sling on it, finger the guard and shoot his friend, or reach for his sidearm to shoot his buddy.

I will also add for the sake of clarity that write ins here don't have to be tied to a roll, you can still propose ideas even if all three rolls have been done.

>>5105456
So what exactly does the scene look like? Are we just on a catwalk surrounded by a drop on both sides or is there a wall on one side? Are the soldiers in front of us, or to the side? Are we to the side, or somewhere else?

>>5105500
The main "hallway" looks like it was, at one point, a catwalk that might've been suspended, but the wires have become such a mess around it that they've completely entangled it. You've snuck into the side, and are currently looking at the soldiers, one of them is looking around in your general direction, but is also very twitchy so he's not keeping in one exact position, the other is watching his back, and is similarly nervous.

File: tegaki.png (11 KB, 400x400)

11 KB PNG

>>5105620
So something like this?

>>5105623
Yup, that's roughly it, though the spaces here are tight, so they're very close to you, within reaching distance.

>>5105424
>>5105426
>>5105430
Since I like some of these plans, I'll take the best of three here, making the roll a success. Locking and writing.

(1)
Controlling your breath, you raise your lead pipe to your right, and with a tense, deliberate precision start tapping bundles of wires. At first, you push out the wires near you, practically right next to you, then a moment later you push the lead pipe out further, then a little bit further, and with each movement, a small niggling part of your brain expects to hear a bang before a bullet pulls through your chest.

Peaking through the small knots in the tangled up cables, staring at the machine-men dirtied by oil and grease for only a second, suddenly blinded by a flashlight, a moment of panic needing to be held back by an iron composure as you realize this means the M14 is scanning across your face, the barrel only inches away from your nose. While your eyes are still reeling from the beam of light, you’re suddenly deafened by .308 being fired not even a foot away, the rounds tearing through the bundles of wires easily.

For a moment, you fully expect to feel the round blow your chest open by the bullet, only to feel one of the rounds ricochet off your pipe, knocking it out of your hands and sending it flying back into the wire. Acting quickly off a sudden shock of adrenaline, you yank one of the many cables and wires down immediately, the aged, poorly maintained cables giving way at electrical junctions and mounting points to let you quickly reach out from the bundles of wires, shoving them all aside so you can catch a glimpse of the armed guard firing into an empty spot in cable nests. As you sling the wire over his head and around his neck, you catch a short glimpse of his rusted metal face swiveling towards you. While his face no longer has the capacity to show any expression, his shoulders tense up the moment the wire tightens around his neck, and immediately he drops the rifle so he can struggle against the wire.

The insulation on all these wires makes them far too thick for any decent garotte, the guard quickly gripping underneath it, but it turns out you don’t need that to kill him. In all the noise, the shotgun wielding guard and his unrestrained trigger finger twitches around to see your face, while the metal face of his colleague in the dark blends into the hive of machinery that surrounds you. The guard panics, and immediately pulls both triggers. Aimed center mass, the two shells of buckshot blows open the guard’s gut, shredding his innards in a gruesome way that confirms that this being was at one point fully human.

>>5106913
(2)
Frantically, the shotgun wielding guard fumbles with the break of his shotgun, but before he can reach for new shells, you push the dying rifleman towards him. Muffled retching is one of the first sounds you hear from the guard’s throat as he stumbles towards his ally, though without any escape due to his mechanical mask, he just begins to choke, grabbing onto his ally for a moment, before fainting from the pain. By then, you’ve grabbed the M14 off the ground, and are pointing it at the shotgun wielding guard shouting “Drop it! Drop the gun and get on the fucking ground!”

The tricks to taking hostages wasn’t something the CIA invented, but just like MK Ultra turned manipulation from an art into a science, US military intelligence turned intimidation into something that can be studied. The key is to appear as untouchable and uncaring, but not unreasoning. Put someone into a situation where the only escape seems to be resistance and they will resist, but compliance looks like the path of least resistance, almost everyone will comply. Like a hiker trying to ward off a mountain lion, you stand as large as you can, not even looking through the sights of your rifle so you can keep your neck straight. When the still-living guard takes his hand off the grip, you repeat yourself once again, “Drop the shotgun!” adding “You don’t have to end up like that guy! Don’t make his mistakes! Drop the gun and put your hands behind your head.”

Before he can actually drop it, with one hand still on your rifle you yank it out of the guards hand, and sling it over your shoulder, though he quickly complies with your order to put his hands behind his head, letting you search him for more shells before you point your gun at him, and start making your real demands. You’d love to start questioning him about anything, but considering the poor discipline, you doubt that he knows much more than he sees.

>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”
>Stay very, very still, otherwise I’m gonna stop being so damn friendly.” While the guard is subdued, study his physiology, and see if its possible to remove the metallic pieces from his face.
>”You have leaders right? Officers? Who makes decisions around here? Can you take me to them? How about where I can find some documents, some information?”
>”Why don’t you tell me where I can find some medicine. They have doctors in hell right? Sure if I looked around I’d find Josef Mengele won’t I? Take me to someone who can patch me up.”
>”I saw wounded earlier, some of them looked like they were armed. Were these soldiers? What were they fighting? I also saw people with digging equipment going the opposite direction, what did they need that for?”
>Write in.

>>5106914
>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”
Probably best to get the fuck out of here as fast as possible, we cant afford the luxury of knowing what's going on right now, we can do that after we escape from this facility.

>>5106914
>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”

>>5106914
>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”

>>5106914
>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”
GUN ACQUIRED, TIME TO GTFO.

>>5106914
>”I saw wounded earlier, some of them looked like they were armed. Were these soldiers? What were they fighting? I also saw people with digging equipment going the opposite direction, what did they need that for?”

>>5106914
>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”
>While the guard is subdued, study his physiology.
Won't hurt to take a look at least.

>>5106914
>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”
I don't think any of our wounds are immediately life threatening, so yeah let's get on to leaving. First though, make our hostage dump the dead guy into the nook we were hiding in.

>>5106914
>”Why don’t you tell me where I can find some medicine. They have doctors in hell right? Sure if I looked around I’d find Josef Mengele won’t I? Take me to someone who can patch me up.”
Even if we find an exit, we're still injured

>>5106914
This is fucking incredible so far. Keep up the amazing work OP. Also
>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”

>>5106914
>”You’re gonna take me to an exit. You’re gonna do it without drawing any more attention, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you.”

>>5106914
”Why don’t you tell me where I can find some medicine. They have doctors in hell right? Sure if I looked around I’d find Josef Mengele won’t I? Take me to someone who can patch me up.”
feel like we're gonna die immediately after we get to the exit, so might as well get the medicine first.

>>5106918
>>5107026
>>5107027
>>5107048
>>5107243
>>5107451
>>5108368
>>5108397
>Take me to an exit.
>>5107492
>>5108586
>Take me to a doctor.
>>5107052
>What's with the wounded and the shovels?

Locking and Writing.

>>5108368
Thanks man, I'm glad you're enjoying!

“You’re gonna take me to an exit,” You demand, swinging your shotgun around your shoulder, slipping two of your commandeered shells into the barrels of your gun. “You’re not gonna make a sound while you do either, because if anyone shoots me, I’m shooting you. Don’t draw any attention to yourself, don’t try to run, and don’t even think about reaching for a weapon.” You wrestle the action closed, then glance towards the dead body. “You already tested this on your friend for me, so think about him before you try anything.” You poke the shaking guard with your gunbarrel, and shout, “Let’s go! Now!”

Immediately, with his shoulders tensing up, the guard begins to walk forwards, moving quick enough that you have to mutter, “Slowly. Quiet footsteps.”

Of course in truth, that’s not the only reason. You’re still wounded, and with each minute that passes, walking grows more painful. A small part of you wants him to take you to a doctor, but at the same time it’s risky. You’d have to set your weapons down, and you doubt the doctors who ended up in hell swear with any fealty to the hippocratic oath, and besides, it’d give your pursuers time to track you, to surround you, and then to kill you, if you really can be killed in hell. Maybe your eternal will becomes an eternal hostage situation, perpetually keeping them just at bay. You’re sure the devil invented torment, but mankind perfected it, and then you studied it, and then modeled its effects on the human mind like Kepler described the heavens, which is why you’re not going to let that happen. You’re going to get out of here.

The trek the guard takes you through is increasingly arduous with every nook you or having to send warning shots over, or sometimes into the heads of passing workers to scare them off, turning the next leg of your trip through this maze into an agonizing jog. With each time this happens, and each hour that passes down here, you slowly begin to feel woozy, seeing even in the dark light that your skin is becoming pale. Slowly, you begin to consider screaming at your guide, smacking him with the butt of your gun and accusing him of leading you into nowhere. As you walk in silence with him, you ask, “Where the hell are we going? Huh? Do you speak?”

The guard simply nods no.

You don’t respond, thinking for a moment before grabbing your hostage by the shoulder, keeping your shotgun under-arm, and signing Do you speak?

The hostage doesn’t respond, just stepping back nervously, then pointing down the hall.

“Far?” You shout, “Yes or no?”

The hostage nods no.

“You know exactly where it is?” You groan out, spitting out a small amount of blood as you talk. “Ten minutes away?”

No again.

(2)

>>5109470
(2)
“Twenty minutes?”

This time, the hostage shrugs.

“Alright, I’ll be keeping time, you got twenty minutes, if you go a second over I’m done with you.” In truth, you won’t be keeping time, but as far as you can tell the hostage has no watch himself. It’ll light a fire under his ass. “You know what I’m gonna do when I’m done with you?”

The hostage finally nods yes.

“Good. Move.” And move he does, and with your injuries you struggle to keep up with him, but when you’re this deep in the pits, time is the enemy's resource, not yours. You struggle through the pain, jogging alongside the scared guard as best you can. It isn’t until you realize you're walking past your own hostage that you see your destination; a barely noticeable bulkhead labeled with unreadable text. You catch yourself, hanging on a strut running in the machinery as you turn to face the guard, who’s currently turning a flywheel and frantically motioning for you to follow.

“This is an exit?” You ask.

Yes, the guard nods.

“Can I go home through here?”


The guard nods no.

You don’t respond, knowing damn well you don’t have the time to play a game of twenty questions with the guard. Instead, you just let him open the door, then say, “Go in first, slowly.”

You keep your rifle trained on the guard’s back, not just watching him enter, but watching how he enters, for fear of him leading you into a mine, or ambush. Once you’re confident that the room won’t kill you instantly, you cautiously step inside, seeing a colossal, dark warehouse with rows and rows of shelves. Like everywhere else in this infernal place, the ceiling, walls, and even the floors are scattered with pieces of machinery, yet you notice that unlike the claustrophobic pathways outside, there’s an almost reverent distance put between any machinery and the shelves, even the wires that hang between them having been carefully been placed as to not touch the shelves themselves. You begin walking past the many aisles, each of which seem almost endless, and every single one of them is lined with Matryoshka dolls.


“Are we much farther?” You ask.

The guard once again nods no, then points down to the floor.

“Let’s go.”

The guard holds his hands up, then once again points down.

“This is it?” You ask, as you continue to peer down the aisles. In all of them, Almost all of the Matryoshka dolls are labeled with unreadable text. The nesting dolls themselves are sitting in darkness, and bolts have been screwed in through their tops, permanently closing them shut, as well as destroying whatever might be inside.You reach the right most end, and peer down the near-endless row of dolls, only to see at the end of this aisle is a light, standing out in the darkness.

>>5109471
(3)
With your rifle at a low-ready, you decide to walk down the aisle, continuing to question your hostage.

“So how do I get out of here? Is there a door?”

The hostage mimes opening a small object, like a Matryoshka doll.

You mutter a swear, and continue moving. At the very farthest end of the farthest right aisle is the first Matryoshka doll you see with no bolt driven through it, though the label is just as illegible as any other, which you can tell easily, with the flickering torch above the doll. Alongside the label is a simple engraving of a snake.

“Should I open this one?” You ask. The guard shrugs. Wanting to get a full sweep of the place, you walk down the aisles towards the left, and at the far left end, closest to the entrance, is another set of illuminated Matryoshka dolls, though these ones sit underneath a small electric lamp, rather than a wood and oil torch. Walking towards them, you finally find some of them to be legible, and all of them can be opened.

The first reads “Moнapх,” Russian for “Monarch,”

One dead doll separates it from “Büroklammer,” which you believe is German for “paperclip."

After a few more dead dolls is the word “Nord Bosques,” your grasp on the nordic languages isn’t great but you can easily recognize “Nord” as north, and you’ve spent enough time in South America to recognize “Bosques'' as “Woods” in Spanish or Portuguese.

The last living Matryoshka doll is “Blue-Beam” labeled in plain english, though that’s not the last illuminated label.

With no Matryoshka doll, an empty spot on the shelf is illuminated with the label “Ultra,” which is also accompanied by a small engraving of an eagle. You glance towards your hostage, and he shrugs. “Is there any other way out?”

The hostage nods no, then mimes opening a doll.

>Open the doll labeled “Monarch” in Russian.
>Open the doll labeled “Paperclip” in German.
>Open the doll labeled “North Woods” in a combination of Nordic and South American.
>Open the doll labeled “Blue-Beam” in plain english.
>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving.
>Write in.

>>5109473
>Write in.
Tell our hostage to open one of the dolls.

>>5109486
Yeah, supporting that. I have a pretty good idea of what will happen, but you know canaries, and coal mines.

So I'm aware of Project Monarch, and Operation Paperclip. Our guy is from MK-Ultra, but what are the others? Blue Beam turns up NWO, antichrist type stuff on google. On second thought Project Monarch was american, and supposedly an offshoot of MK-Ultra. I'm not aware of anything russian by that name.

>>5109486
Supporting

>>5109473
>>5109486
Supporting this! What's the worst that can happen?

>>5109486
+1 to this, time to get the random hell being isekai'd.

>>5109486
+1

>>5109473
Let's see
Paperclip in German is pretty easy (operation paperclip at the end of WWII)

Blue-beam likely refers to the conspiracy theory about artificially creating a new Jesus

Operation Northwoods was a proposed false flag to justify attacking Cuba

The snake and its apparent age is maybe garden of eden?

Not sure what the Russian monarch refers to Anastasia maybe?


Anyway I propose we pull the tops off of two dolls simultaneously

>>5109473

The dolls are portals isn't it? I think if we open one we're going to be transported to a world with events that are similar to whatever the doll's name were based on.

Also +1 for this >5109486

>>5109486
+1 for making hostage open a random doll, maybe we should also grab a few dolls before we leave?

>>5109839
I really want to open the Ultra and see what point in time it leads us to and whether we can meet the past version of MC in there somewhere.
Think of the mindfuck it would cause to that version of us if we found him.

>>5109931
Given the empty spot I'm guessing that was the doll offered to us in the office

>>5109957
Oh fuck, my bad. I glanced over the text once I noticed it said Ultra.

(1)
“Alright.” You say, quickly pointing the barrel of your gun to the egg shaped dolls. “You first. Show me how it’s done.”

Pulling back for a moment, the guard anxiously mimes the opening of the doll.

“Well that’s the theory isn’t it?” You say, moving the iron sights over your head, and gently putting your finger over the trigger, being incredibly careful as to not accidentally pull, while still letting the guard see it. “But that doesn’t mean anything unless I can see it in practice.” You flick the barrel over towards the doll, and then say, “Go ahead. Open one. Take your pick.”

The guard sits silently for a second. You’re sure if he had eyes, they’d both be wide enough to illuminate the whole warehouse. With one hand still on the barrel of your shotgun, you grab the hostage, and with all the strength you can muster try to throw the bastard towards the dolls, only managing to push him towards them, where he stares at them with trembling hand, occasionally glancing towards you nervously as if checking if the gun is still pointed at him. He reaches towards the nearest one, the doll labeled “Blue-Beam,” his hand shaking. He grips the top, then slowly opens the outermost layer. Your eyes dart between him and the doll, both trying to analyze every twitch or errant jolt, while simultaneously studying the doll.

The pieces don’t resist, there’s no hidden wires stored underneath, nor is there any resistance or mechanical click. Like any Matryoshka doll, the top half separates from the bottom as two simple pieces of wood, revealing beneath the standard egg shaped woman, a smaller doll painted to look like a soldier in a blue uniform, with a long thin musket painted on its left arm, tipped with a bayonet.

At first, it looks like this part of the doll hasn’t been kept as clean at the outer parts, but then you realize that the soldier has been deliberately painted as to look covered in grease, and oil, on top of that he has a few tools, as well as a rammer, for cannons of his era. Had that been all, you would’ve been looking at a simple artillery man doll, but in the back of this inner shell, box with a little wooden antenna is carved, painted to look like metal. It reminds you of a radio, which you know was mostly past the time of musketmen and vibrant uniforms.

As you focus on the doll, you stop paying attention to your hostage holding the upper half of the outer shell until that shell suddenly bounces off the metal shelf, then rolls to the ground.

The person who opened the doll is simply gone. It made no noise, and in the corner of your eye you caught him simply disappear, there’s no trace, or side emission, no indication of a magicians tricks, unless if he was never really there in the first place, then that doll definitely did take him somewhere else.

>>5110498
(2)
>Open the doll labeled “Monarch” in Russian.
>Open the doll labeled “Paperclip” in German.
>Open the doll labeled “North Woods” in a combination of Nordic and South American.
>Open the doll labeled “Blue-Beam” in plain english, the same one the guard opened to reveal the soldier shell.
>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving.

>>5110499
>Open the doll labeled “Paperclip” in German.
You should get a trip QM, easier to tell when updates have been posted

>>5110499
>Open the doll labeled “Monarch” in Russian.
Lets go strangle communism in the cradle, assuming this is the russian revolution.

>>5110499
>Open the doll labeled “Monarch” in Russian.

>>5110499
>Open the doll labeled “Monarch” in Russian

>>5110499
>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving.

>>5110498
>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving.
Something really interesting about these choices is that they all seem to relate to a conspiracy or government operation of some type. They even have the corresponding languages connected to their labels.
But the snake engraving isn't labeled at all. My theory is that it is older than the others because it isn't connected to written language, or it is somehow different because there is no language to describe it aside from the symbol of a snake.
Either way, I like the odd ball option

>>5110499
>Open the doll labeled “Monarch” in Russian.
Should probably not go to the same place as the guard went, on another note, if we take some dolls with us when we open one would we keep them or would they be left behind here?

File: 1641459022510.jpg (134 KB, 952x364)

134 KB JPG

>>5110499
>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving.

>picrel
yeah no

>>5110499
>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving.

>>5110575
>on another note, if we take some dolls with us when we open one would we keep them or would they be left behind here?
Regardless of our choice I vote we try to take the extras with us

Also after seeing some of the arguments I think I'd like to support the snake one

>>5110623
I doubt it will work, but won't hurt to try.

>>5110498
>Open the doll labeled “Monarch” in Russian.
We should try to grab a few more dolls just incase

>>5109473
>Look for an Azorian among the dolls
If impossible or screwed shut,
>Nord Bosques

>>5110499
>>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving.

>>5110575
Changing to
>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving.

>>5110499
>Open the doll Illuminated by the torch, with the snake engraving

>>5110499
changing to
>Open the doll labeled “Monarch” in Russian.

>>5110499
>Open the doll labeled “Paperclip” in German.

>>5110499
>Open the doll labeled “Paperclip” in German.

>>5110984
>The Monarch mind control program works by inducing trauma on a subject to break down the psyche to the point that it can be reconstructed in a fashion suiting certain ends sought after by the programmers.

>This is accomplished through the use of what has become known as ‘Satanic Ritual Abuse’ (SRA).

>The reason it has been called ‘satanic’ is because of the imagery and methods that are closely tied to interpretations of what can be called satan-like.

>The deconstruction of the human psyche can be accomplished with the following methods, or many like them:
>1. Abuse and torture;
>2. Confinement in boxes, cages, coffins, etc, or burial (often with an opening or air-tube for oxygen);
>3. Restraint with ropes, chains, cuffs, etc.;
>4. Near-drowning;
>5. Extremes of heat and cold, including submersion in ice water and burning chemicals; 6. Skinning (only top layers of the skin are removed in victims intended to survive);
>7. Spinning;
>8. Blinding light;
>9. Electric shock;
>10. Forced ingestion of offensive body fluids and matter, such as blood, urine, feces, flesh, etc.; 11. Hung in painful positions or upside down; 12. Hunger and thirst;
>13. Sleep deprivation;
>14 Compression with weights and devices;
>15. Sensory deprivation;
There are other projects named Monarch, right?

>>5111151
jesus fucking christ fuck this species

>>5111650
Mate this is just half the list I got from lurking /x/. There is a thread right now about the links between Operation Paperclip, the MKs, the hippy movement, the rise of serial killings, tabletop RPGs and other things.

>>5111702
what thread

>>5111778
This one
>>>/x/30687608
Have fun down the rabbit hole.

I'm gonna have to push the next update back to tomorrow, sorry for the slow speed of things guys. Been hunting for an internship recently so I haven't had as much free time as usual.
>>5110544
That's probably a good idea.

>>5111702
>>5111794
I hate it when people discount /x/ as a whole. They may be schizo but they can also be damn smart.

>>5110559
>>5110562
>>5110619
>>5110620
>>5110623
>>5110663
>>5110712
>>5110880
>Snake and Torch
>>5110548
>>5110553
>>5110557
>>5110634
>>5110928
>Monarch
>>5110544
>>5110977
>>5110984
>Paperclip
>>5110649
>Northwoods
Locking and Writing.

>>5113303
Out of curiosity can you let us know what all the ones we didn't pick referred to?

>>5113716
We might end up going through them as well. I figure if we die then we end up back in that room with another chance to take the Ultra doll, or escape. Though presumably much harder this time.

(1)
You limp down the aisles as quick as you can, moving closer towards the flickering light of the torch, noticing that its quite a bit dimmer than when you last saw it. If this torch is regularly replaced and relit, there’ll probably be someone in here soon for exactly that task, meaning you have very little time to leave, but that doesn’t stop you from hesitating for a moment. That guard simply disappeared when he opened the doll. The assumption is that he’s been sent somewhere else, the real world, another galaxy, heaven, but a small voice in the back of your mind reminds you of the possibility that he simply was removed from existence, and that if you open this you’ll go the same way.

You’ve been dead for twenty years now, you weren’t afraid of death in life, you’re not gonna be afraid of death in hell. Looking at the engraving of the snake under the light of the torch, you put your hand on the top shell of the Matryoshka doll. Slowly lifting it, you begin to reveal the next shell below, seeing an egg shaped figure painted with crimson red skin, with an almost cartoonishly sharp and toothy grin. At the same time, the underside of the shell has flames licking up the side, as if he were sitting in the center of a firepit. Finally, the carved horns are slowly touched by the flickering torch. You take one last glance towards the torch, watching as it suddenly becomes dim, and your consciousness slips away.

When you return to what can loosely be called “living,” the first thing you notice is a grotesque stench, though it's mostly carried away by a smoky smell. Heat wafts against you as you’re laid out against a rough ground of brush and stone, and a crackling fire fills your ears. The experience sparks a memory of a time in Peru, when you had headed out with a few “friends,” and your family to go camping, putting your SERE training to good use by cooking breakfast over a fire. Breaking your fantasy is the sound of a bird chirping, as if a squeaky wheel on a shopping cart could sing. After the unending sounds of metal grinding against metal, the smell of what you at first assume to be animal waste, and the calls of nature alongside the tickle of dead leaves and the sharpness of pebbles feel almost relaxing.

>>5113922
(2)
Then you open your eyes, and realize that the smell was not animal waste. All around you is a forest illuminated by a full moon, and small crackling flames, colored red and brown not only by the autumn leaves and earth, but also by the blood and decaying flesh of… were you about to say human beings, but you’re of that an account of the many metal implants that cover their faces, not unlike the guards of hell. All of them have been left mutilated, scarred, decapitated, burned or disemboweled. None of them seem to have been armed at the time of their death, and those of them that still have arms intact have tight bindings around their wrists. The most disturbing sight among all however is the source of the chirping you heard earlier. With a slow burning torch tied by twine and vine to their hand, a corpse has been similarly bound to the tree. With the skin of its gut cut open as if about to receive surgery, a scavenging eagle has taken the opportunity to pick at some of his internal organs, choking down chunks of liver… though occasionally something catches in its throat, and the poor creature hacks up small pieces of metal.

Looking between the trees, deep into the forest, you see another lit torch, attached to a body similar to the dead torchbearer nearby, then another beyond that, trailing into the woods… yet even from where you’re standing, the bodies further within the forest seem far more decomposed than the rest. Hell, even the torch-bearing body closest to you is a few days more rotten than the others. The other residents of this mass grave seem only just old enough to have grayed slightly, though without the skill in forensics that you have in psychology, it's just as possible that the unfortunate torchbearer was starved or diseased before death while the others weren’t to the same extent, though that doesn’t mean you can gleam no insight here.

That doesn’t mean you have infinite time to investigate, and you realize this as you look through an opening in the treeline, seeing the trail wind down the mountain. The tops of the dry fall trees are beginning to burn. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you can see distant figures racing along the trail. While they’re far enough that you can barely spot them, the speed they're moving at makes it clear they’re aided by some sort of vehicle. Further down the hill, past the incoming party, is a small web of lights, perhaps a small mountain town… and beyond that, where the mountain your on drops off to expand into hills, the terrain no longer looks natural, the distant ground’s many jagged edges twinkling in the moonlight.

>>5113924
(3)
Watching the fast moving group approach, you reach over your back for your rifle, only to realize there’s nothing there. In fact, while your wounds were removed, all your possessions were simply removed, and your dress is now a simple ruffed leather jacket, shirt, and trousers. You would be angry at the inventors of that portal for designing it to strip you of your possessions, but you’d have to bury or burn them all not long after your escape anyway.

Had you been another man, a better man perhaps, waking up from hell amongst a pile of bodies would have you shaking, vomiting, and begging god for the intervention of god. But you’re not a good man, and in this moment you’re grateful for it, because mass graves are the business of tyrants, and in life, you were an agent of tyrants. For that reason, you recognize that you need to get to work. It won’t be long until that group approaches this place, and you have no idea what will come of that, nor can you outrun them, but you do have time to investigate what happened here before they arrive, helping you make a decision on how to handle them.

>Further analyze the bodies all around you. You know tyranny well, and the contents of a mass grave can tell you a lot about the killers.
>Shoo the bird away, and look into the body of the torchbearer's corpse, specifically look for the source of the metal chunks that the bird is coughing up.
>Investigate further inside of the forest. Grab the torch off the dead body’s hand, and follow the trail of similar bodies to see where they take you.
>Actually, don’t bother searching for information. Focus on destroying it. Cover the corpses in leaves for kindling and throw the torch on top, then start running in the direction of the fast moving group.
>Write in.

>>5113925
>Shoo the bird away, and look into the body of the torchbearer's corpse, specifically look for the source of the metal chunks that the bird is coughing up.

>>5113925
>>Shoo the bird away, and look into the body of the torchbearer's corpse, specifically look for the source of the metal chunks that the bird is coughing up.

>>5113925
>>Shoo the bird away, and look into the body of the torchbearer's corpse, specifically look for the source of the metal chunks that the bird is coughing up.

>>5113925
>Further analyze the bodies all around you. You know tyranny well, and the contents of a mass grave can tell you a lot about the killers.

Maybe they have weapons?

>>5113925
>Further analyze the bodies all around you. You know tyranny well, and the contents of a mass grave can tell you a lot about the killers.

>>5113925
>Shoo the bird away, and look into the body of the torchbearer's corpse, specifically look for the source of the metal chunks that the bird is coughing up.
I want to know what the fuck is going on with these "cyborgs". First it was eyes and ears, which we could write off as cruel magical blinds or cybernetics, but the fact that the liver contains chunks of metal as well makes things complicated.

>>5113925
>Shoo the bird away, and look into the body of the torchbearer's corpse, specifically look for the source of the metal chunks that the bird is coughing up.

>>5113925
>>Shoo the bird away, and look into the body of the torchbearer's corpse, specifically look for the source of the metal chunks that the bird is coughing up.

>>5113925
>>Write in.
>examine self
Do we still have the M14?

>>5115717
Read post (3) again, anon.

>>5114056
>>5114197
>>5114224
>>5114600
>>5114924
>>5115604
>Look at the torchbearing corpse/
>>5114294
>>5114517
>Examine the body pile.
Locking and writing.

>>5115717
You don't have anything on you except the clothes on your back, which aren't even the same clothes you came in.

(1)
With the stench unbearable in all directions, you don’t hesitate to investigate the body of the torchbearer, knowing that if there is a possibility of infection, you’ve already lost your chance to leave this place healthily with how long you were unconscious on the blood stained ground. As you approach, the bald-eagle turns its crimson stained head towards you, making direct eye contact. You don’t flinch, continuing to walk towards the bird. The animal raises its wings, and in turn you raise your arms, then scream, your loud “Aaaahh!” sending the scavenger scrambling into the air, hoping for an easier meal elsewhere… probably one with less scraps of metal in it as well.

With little training in forensics or medicine, you can’t tell what shredded the organs of the torchbearer's gut. What does interest you however is the specific organs that were destroyed. A random act of violent sadism could easily leave one’s organs shredded, but when you look up, underneath the man’s rib cage, you notice that the lungs, right above where the liver sits, are practically untouched. The liver itself sits partially protected beneath the ribcage, so if this was the result of some random act of torture, there should either be some chunks of unbruised liver protected by the human skeleton, or the lungs would have suffered from the same damage. Instead, it almost seems like someone deliberately targeted the digestive tract.

Of course, maybe the killers only damaged the organs of the lower gut, and the eagle you scared away finished off the liver, though you can’t imagine why. You’re not an expert on birds, but you can’t imagine a scavenger would’ve ignored all the perfectly good muscle and skin tissue, or even the spilled guts, only so it can strain itself to yank out the liver unless if there was specifically something that made the liver more enticing than those easy targets, and you know of no natural reason it would seek out more liver meat.

>>5116593
(2)
And why didn’t the bird choose one of the fresher bodies? Many of them have more fat than this individual, and the bird wouldn’t need to have dirtied itself on this man’s stomach to eat their flesh. It seems the scavenger specifically had a taste for human livers, even those with small fragments of machinery left within. Picking up a handful of the metal shards, the first thing you notice is small plastic bladders, connected by various wires and electrodes, many of whom have been ripped apart. Some of the bladders have specific smells that you recognize, like the chemical smell of alcohol on one, while others most of them seem to have only ever housed colorless, odorless chemicals, the only exception being one bladder that not only stained itself a deep blue, but stained the flesh around it. Maybe if you had access to a fresher sample and a chemist, you might be able to figure out exactly what each chemical was, which would give you more insight into the machine, but those are resources afforded to the living, not those who officially died of a suicide years ago.

Looking at the other machine shards mixed into the flesh of the liver, there is one other piece that stands out. Rather than being housed in metal like the others, one chunk featured a plastic casing, making it easily cracked open by either the killers or the eagle and letting you look inside. Within is a small, but rather advanced computer chip connected to a coil of wire that immediately sets off old alarms drilled into your head by the CIA. Every good intelligence agent needs to be able to spot signs of sabotage or espionage on a moment’s notice, and as such you know damn well what a Radio Frequency Receiver looks like. Whatever was connected to this corpse’s liver, it was receiving an outside signal, a radio signal even. Finally, there’s a few polymer tubes running away from the liver, though with many of them dissolved by loose stomach acid, you can’t tell where they were meant to go.

Pocketing the radio receiver, as well as a few other fragments, you look elsewhere on the body, starting by prying the torch out of the dead-man’s hand,both to get a closer look, and to prevent an accidental forest fire catching on the leaves of the tree. The torch itself is similar to the one you saw lighting up the Matryoshka doll that brought you here, and it’s bound to his hands tightly enough that you had to struggle to pull it. Maybe it had some sort of symbolical or spiritual symbolism to the killers, or maybe it was simply meant as a makeshift time bomb, and the killers hoped it would eventually start a large forest fire, covering their tracks and burning the bodies.

>>5116594
(3)
Done with the corpse, you turn around to look at the incoming group of people. Much closer now, you can see clearly that they’re riding on horseback while wearing gas-masks, and large backpacks, though in spite of their modern chemical protection equipment, they’re only armed with simple spears. The gas-masks make it impossible to confirm whether or not these are more of the machine men you met in hell, but from here you see the leader using hand-signals to guide the pack. Back in hell, it seemed almost as if the machine men didn’t need any sort of language, verbal or physical, to communicate. At the same time, while they have a clear leader, they don’t seem to be particularly trained or professional riders. The clothes they wear aren’t uniforms, nor do they ride in any sort of formation any mounties or cavalrymen would move in.


They’re very clearly not any sort of military, but that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. What does provide some feeling of safety is that they’re not armed with any sort of firearm, meaning they’ll have to cover at least some distance before they attack, though they’ll be able to do it quickly on horseback if they’re skilled.

>Be the one to initiate first contact with the group, try to immediately show yourself as friendly, claim to be a lost hiker, distressed by what you’ve just seen.
>Play dead among the bodies, keeping yourself hidden, but close enough to spy on the incoming group.
>Don’t even let the riders get close. Throw the torch you got off the body into a pile of leaves, and start running from the imminent forest fire.
>Write in.

>>5116595
>Play dead among the bodies, keeping yourself hidden, but close enough to spy on the incoming group.