FEBRUARY 2021 EVENT: PART TWO

[robbies]

 

CHAPTER TWO, PART 2: THE LIVING ISLAND

Everything you never wanted to see.

YOU CAN’T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T DO ENOUGH | JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY | DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH | YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH | COME AND PLAY WITH ME

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YOU CAN'T DO A LITTLE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T DO ENOUGH

Perhaps you’ve been on tenterhooks since you woke up to find that your friends, your family, your neighbors somehow went missing in the night. Perhaps you’ve been hitting the pavement and knocking on doors trying to find them. So far, your efforts have been for naught. There’s been neither hide nor hair of the missing, and every attempt to find them has met with a dead end.

Until February 13.

In the afternoon, a strange, unsigned message goes live on the network. What is the meaning of “Living Island”? Does it have anything to do with what’s going on? There’s no elaboration… until midnight, when every neighbor’s television set turns on at full volume, hissing static and garbled noise as the dials turn and adjust. Several disjointed clips follow, ending on a mural that depicts the same words from the post.

“Living Island.”

The following morning, you’ll find that stranger things are beginning to happen. Some of you will be woken up to the blankets and sheets being yanked off your sleeping bodies by a powerful force. Others will find that when they step out of their morning shower, a message has been written in the steam on their medicine cabinet's mirror. Depending on how quickly you shower, you may only be able to see part of the message — but running the hot water longer and allowing the steam to fill the room will reveal it in its entirety:

“LIVING ISLAND.”

As time passes, you’ll find that the same message shows up every time the bathroom steams up, whether you’re in the shower or not. The same force that turned your TV on seems to insist that you pay attention to what it’s trying to show you, and its behavior escalates the longer you refuse. Characters will find that books go flying off of bookshelves, drawers are yanked out of dressers and desks, and breakable objects are smashed. Trying to prevent the spirit from destruction won’t go your way: If you try to catch or grab something that’s about to be thrown, you’ll find it ripped out of your hands anew and smashed anyways. If you tried to take all of your chairs down from where they’ve been stacked on top of the dining room table, you’ll find they’re back atop it the instant you look away.

All that’s to say nothing of the rumbling. It doesn’t start until the end of the first day, but from time to time you’ll feel the house beginning to shake on its foundations, a dull groan as it struggles to keep itself from collapsing in under its own weight. As time goes on, this will get louder and louder until the house seems to roar of its own accord, an unyielding shriek that can’t be stopped until the force causing it backs down.

Attempts to make contact with the spirit will never go well. It does not seem to be able or willing to communicate with you beyond its own tantrums, and characters who try may find that the attempt rapidly goes out of control. Candles flare up and burn wildly, Ouija boards are ripped into pieces and planchettes go flying, offerings of food are knocked over or thrown, and the lights flicker manically in turns. While you may be able to get some sleep at night if you’re lucky, the only thing that will reduce the poltergeist activity is to pay attention to the message it’s sending you and figure out what it means.

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JUST A DREAM FROM YESTERDAY

Living Island. If ever there were a first step to stopping this madness, it’s figuring out what those words mean. But starting is always the hardest part, and with nothing else to go by than two seemingly unrelated, nonsensical words left behind by a force you can’t see much less communicate with, an already arduous task seems even more impossible. This is furthered by the reactions you get when you hit the street and start asking people if they know anything about Living Island. Most of them can only look back at you blankly, as if waiting for a punchline that never comes. Others actually take you seriously enough to consider the question, and to their credit, they do take their time racking their brains to remember where they’ve heard that name before, why it sounds so familiar. But the most you’ll get back from them is a sheepish shrug of the shoulders and a reply that it sounds like something from TV. It gets to the point where their answers blend together, each one more unremarkable than the last. Save for the one you get from the last person you haven’t asked. Living Island. I’m sorry, what was that? What the fuck did you just say? Dale Harding and Rosemary Craven might be as far away from each other as possible, doing things around town that couldn’t be more different, but their reactions are the same. When they overhear you asking what feels like the hundredth person you’ve seen that day about Living Island, they look your way — Harding in the middle of his patrol or lunch break, Rosemary in the middle of grocery shopping. Harding looks honest-to-God surprised. Rosemary simply looks confused, even somewhat concerned. That's such a... strange name. Where did you hear that from? When they hear your explanation, they go quiet, mulling it over. Rosemary’s expression turns thoughtful. Harding’s, suspicious. If I remember correctly, that was a clubhouse the children around town used to play in. I haven’t heard about it in… goodness, I can’t even remember. Years, perhaps. It’s a play on “safety island” — another name for a bomb shelter — and the name of this… stupid kids show that used to be popular. I guess they thought it was cute, calling a place like that something fun. But where is it? Well, most of the shelters in town are still in use, and children aren’t allowed in them unless there’s an emergency. The only place I can think of is… The grade school. Administration ran out of funding before they could finish it, so they just scrapped it. Closed it off and just hoped for the best. Didn’t stop people from sneaking in. I used to bust them for playing down there all the time, the little shits. Harding’s mouth twists into a sneer that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are soft and miserable, while Rosemary waits patiently for any other questions and, when you have no others, excuses herself to go back to her groceries. Now you have something even better than an explanation: you have a destination.

Finding Santa Rosita Elementary is as easy as a fifteen minute drive from North Santa Rosita to Shadyside. Getting in is a different story. By day, the school is open for business and humming with activity, so you can’t very well go barging in and not expect to be reprimanded for disrupting class. This leaves you with three options: go before it opens, wait until school is over, or come in the middle of the night. Each have their own pros and cons, but all of them will get you the same result.

After hours, the school is desolate and still. The wind, the occasional slap of a naked branch against a window, and the squeak of your footsteps on the shiny, clean floors are the only sounds you’ll hear as you navigate the empty hallways. Most of the classrooms are locked, and the ones that aren’t don’t have anything any more unique or worthwhile to them than the occasional lunchbox left behind by a student or the classroom frog croaking in its tank. In a way, this is a good thing — it doesn’t leave that many places to investigate and makes your path that much more linear as you finally, inevitably and silently make your way downstairs into the bowels of the school.

The long corridor that awaits you in the basement is, in theory, not very different from the hallways upstairs. There are lockers lining both sides, dented and darkened with age and dust. The tiles are cracked, dirt and pieces of stone kicked up from exposed areas of the floor. Seemingly, this appears to lead to a dead end. But look closely at the wall and you’ll see the impression of a door, painted to match the walls. The lock is flimsy — in fact, depending on when you find it, someone may have already broken it. All that’s left is to enter and descend down the tiny room’s only feature: a ladder under a rusty steel hatch door, stretching down into darkness.

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DARKNESS HELD ITS BREATH

CW: gore, surgery

Stepping into the old shelter, the first thing that hits you is the stale, uncomfortably moist air. This first room is cavernous and dark, and your footsteps and whispers echo in spite of how quiet you might try to be. There’s a faint smell in the air, a trace of copper and rubbing alcohol that might make your eyes water, making your mouth feel unpleasant as it hits your tongue. As you get your bearings and begin to pick your way through the dark, you’ll notice traces of another smell — something simultaneously spicy and cloyingly sweet, a scent that seems to assault your senses and leaves you with a headache pounding at the base of your skull. Thankfully, there isn’t enough to do more than make you nauseous, but the smells warn of what’s still yet to be found.

As you continue through the labyrinthine warren, you’ll begin to find signs of human presence — some of the trashed rooms may be fitted with tables and supplies one might expect to find in a laboratory, meticulously labeled with typewritten strips. Several of these boxes appear to be old, covered in grimy layers of dust, while others are fresh and clean. All of them contain medical supplies. Eagle-eyed investigators might note that the untouched supplies tend to be the type contained in first-aid kits — acetaminophen, antibiotic ointment, simple adhesive bandages — while the ones that have been opened are for heavy duty surgical work — coiled IV lines and tubing, empty syringes, surgical gloves. One room in particular seems to have been fitted out for someone’s personal use, boasting a stripped-down bed, a chair and desk, and a comfortable recliner.

The trickle of water can be heard in the depths of the shelter, and as you emerge from one corridor that filters into a large chamber, it becomes immediately obvious where you are: This is an operating theater, with a table stationed beneath all manner of lights that can be adjusted and moved. A faucet drips monotonously in the back of the room, over a sink stained with blood with bits of grey, pulpy matter stuck in the drain. A bucket filled with blood and viscera ferments on the ground beside it. There are smears of blood, both dried and fresh, on the cloudy tiles, and a cabinet full of surgical instruments is slightly ajar. Looking at the instruments, characters will find that a couple of scalpels and a pair of tongs have dotted blotches where the metal was cleaned with water; whoever used these tools last didn’t dry them before putting them away. A small table near the operating area has a turntable sitting atop it, with a record already set under the needle: a single of Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel.” There are a few other records sitting in the cabinet beneath it, including Big Mama Thornton’s “Hound Dog,” Frank Sinatra’s “Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely,” and James Brown and the Famous Flames’ “Think!”

In a separate area of this room, an oversized desk is piled with books and empty food containers that look as though they’ve been repurposed for one reason or another. These books are chiefly on anatomy and the medical sciences, though there are a number of books on psychology and how the brain functions. Though some of these books are water-spotted and dog-eared, there aren’t any notes written in the margins, nor are there any papers to be found. You can turn this area as much as you'd like, but all you’ll find is a couple empty cigarette boxes and some broken and bitten pens; the trash can next to the desk, filled with soggy ashes, seems to suggest that any papers that might have given you a lead were destroyed before you got here.

But the lab, with all its instruments, isn’t what you came here to find. There’s still at least one more room to be found…

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YOUR FRIENDS WHEN THINGS GET ROUGH

CW: gore, surgical trauma, amputation, lobotomy, brainwashing and interrogation, mouth trauma, eye trauma, ear trauma, body horror

The missing are being held in small, sturdy cages in a single room connected to the back of the operating room, dim and dank. The cages are placed equidistant around the room, ensuring that even if you try, you can’t reach out and make contact with your neighbors. The missing will find that they wake at approximately the same time, curled up on the ground in uncomfortable positions. Unlike your rescuers, your nightmare began far earlier than when you first awoke in this room, sore and disoriented. In fact, you could argue it started the moment you went to sleep on February 9th, leaving empty beds and concerned family members behind.

With no clocks or watches available to tell the time, you may not be able to tell how long you’ve been here. You sleep and wake, sometimes to a bowl of what looks like sticky rice lying in your cage that wasn’t there before. Sometimes, an overpowering smell will fill the room, faint at first; by the time you register it, it’s already overwhelmed you and sent you into a deep sleep. And when you wake, one cage will be empty. The inhabitant will be returned the next time you go to sleep and wake up, but not quite the same as they were before. They seem heavily drugged, discombobulated — or perhaps there's something visibly different about them. Whoever has taken you is doing a lot of work in their lab — and from the smell of things, meat work — and before long almost all of you will be sporting dressings of some type or other, fresh red seeping through the sterile cloth within a matter of hours.

Maybe you should try to keep each others’ spirits up. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, after all.

All of this goes on for a while — days, although it won’t be easy to count them given that there are no windows in the room. But nearly a week later… you wake to find that the front of your cage is unlocked. Unlatched. Open just an inch. Looking around the room, you’ll find that yours is not the only cage to have been opened — all of your cages have been unlocked.

Is it a mistake? Or are you really free?

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COME AND PLAY WITH ME

CW: blood and violence

Whether you’ve released yourself from your cage, or were discovered by a well-meaning friend before you could, or you’ve simply had your fill of exploring the shelter-turned-laboratory, the time has finally come to leave. Unfortunately, if things were that easy, you wouldn’t even be around by the time the scuttling sounds begin — somewhere down the hall, in the room behind you, fleeting and sly. It’s not an animal sound, a creature picking its way through the garbage and debris littered around the shelter. No, with the way it stops and starts every time you start and stop walking, this is a very deliberate, human sound. And if you don’t believe that, you’ll see soon enough when you see the naked, bone-white figure walk into view at the end of the hallway as casual as you please, their body smooth and sexless like a department store mannequin. They turn (your) their head and stare directly at you with (your) their wide, glassy eyes crinkled in thousand-yard delight. You hear your voice echoed back at you, airy and chirpy and so indescribably wrong it makes your blood run cold.

"Hi!"

Much like the Doppelgangers you encountered in January, these ones look and move like dolls, their limbs connected with ball-joints. However, whereas those ones were near perfect imitations of you and your friends, these ones look like they just fell off the assembly line. Their faces are unnaturally flat and plastic, like all the imperfections have been ironed out of them, but they are unmistakably yours. And when they open their mouths to squeal at you before running with all the unnatural speed not having a pair of lungs affords them, you’ll find that even their voices are perfect imitations — and not necessarily of your own either.

There’s no way to tell how many of these Doppelgangers are down here with you, hiding in the dark. They’re stealthy and sneaky, only coming out to attack when they’re sure you’re alone. Even if you’re not, they’re intelligent enough to come up with ways to separate you from your group, calling to you from another part of the shelter, mimicking a voice from someone they know you’ll listen to. Even if there’s no possible way they could be in Santa Rosita.

"Help me!"

"Is that you...? Oh thank God, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Please, don't leave me!"

Other times, they’ll take a more aggressive approach, allowing their limbs to pop out of place so they can sprawl on the ground, imitating a heap of discarded doll parts. Once you get close enough or turn your back on them, they’ll pull themselves together and attack, speeding towards you on fours like a crab.

There are two ways out of the shelter. The first one is the hardest: go back the way you came. With the low visibility, the number of Doppelgangers, and the confusing layout of the area, you’re more likely to get turned around and go in circles than you are to find your way back to the ladder — a location made even more difficult to discern since the hatch door has been lowered, blotting out all light from the room above.

The second way is the longest but also the easiest: head deeper into the shelter, past the operating room, through the rooms filled with broken furniture and ruined floors that are very easy to trip on — especially when you’re in the middle of running away. Eventually, you’ll come to another ladder, this one leading to an open hatch that deposits you into a dark passageway. The air up here is more fresh, but not necessarily pleasant smelling. There’s only one way to go — forward.

After what feels like an hour of walking, you’ll see a light at the end of the passage. Follow it and you’ll find yourself exiting a storm drain that drops you into the heart of Old Growth, just outside of West Santa Rosita.

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OOC INFO

Welcome to the second part of February’s event! You can use this entry to top-level for the event, but feel free to utilize the log and network communities as well.

There will be a top-level posted for NPC interaction tied to the second prompt below, wherein you can request to play out your character’s interaction with Harding or Rosemary. If you would like to have your character interact with either one of them, comment to the top-level with the name of the NPC you would like to thread with. You may only thread with one NPC. The mods will respond to NPC tags until February 28th.

Any questions can go in our FAQ thread below. Try to check and see if your question has already been answered on the plotting thread first here.

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SETTING INFO	calendar | setting | housing | npcs | death and tranquilizing | the story so far | event suggestions/engagements

Comments

[righthandstand]

[Monika. That meant she wanted to me more familiar with him than most moms. That was weird. Most adults liked this level of respect. Mister Jotaro was in his 20's and Okuyasu and his friends still had to treat him as an adult. Unfortunately, he'd have to puzzle this out later when he wasn't about to die.

The hallway was so long. If he were with all of his body parts, he wouldn't be afraid of this dark spaces, but at the rate he was hobbling, he could never fight of any copy of Josuke or whoever else was there. He gripped onto Monika as if his life depended on it.

That was probably true, anyway.]

How far do we have to go? [They passed another junction and swerved his head down that pathway. Shit. You seen any more of those dolls on your way here?

[peninhand]

[ Monika checked back from times to times, worriedly so. Once Okuyasu out, she wanted to go back in to make sure Takame and Bruce are safe and escort them to safety... But she didn't know if she would be able to. She was on the brink of collapse. The game claimed she was "athletic," but the developer hadn't actually bothered with making her exceptional. She was fit and better than average, but that was it it. Just an informed trait that doesn't translate well to reality.

She walked at Okuyasu's pace though, never trying to hurry him along. ]

I think some others may have already cleared the way, so we'll be fine.

[ She had entrusted Sayori to Sans and didn't know what had happened since then. But she was fairly confident Sans could hold his own... If they'd gone forward, odds were they had defeated any such creatures on the way out. And Takame along with Bruce are holding the fort on the back. She smiles reassuringly at him. ]

We're nearly there... Soon it'll all be over.

[the_caped_crusader]

[ meanwhile, bruce keeps himself busy fighting the swarm of doppelgangers, hitting them more lethally than he would ever consider with a living person. these are mindless husks, less wanting of the care he takes not to break and kill. the drugs still inhibit him, and the fresh pain of the stitches, close to tearing, keep him conscious, he's still able to put heads through walls. ]

We need to buy them more time! [ he announces through gritted teeth. ] But we're going to have to fall back!

[hoshikiri]

[From Takame there was no filter of non-lethality. There was less force required to break these things than there was break bones. Skulls specifically. Living or no, they were a threat and one Takame would dispatch with or without his blade, tearing and throwing the limbs from the one pinned under him and taking any other who would dare to approach and bashing its head into the walls.

Unlike Bruce he was in much better shape, what exhaustion he had before was replaced with adrenaline. And now the injuries were more noticeable.]

I know! [Had he been on his own, he would gladly eliminate he reinforcements. But he wasn't. He was on a rescue of three people in this fight, but.] You're hurt. Go ahead of me and I will watch your back.

[righthandstand]

[Okuyasu nodded; he had to save his breath for walking. He focused on the path before him and Monika beside him, refusing to ever turn his head at any noise. Any familiar voice was not to be trusted. None of his friends were here.

That was not enough to keep the doppelgangers from tailing them. As they turned the corner near the exit, another half-constructed doll, this one blond, stepped in the pathway before them.]

What... [There was no face on it, but he could recognize the hair anywhere.] Bro...?

[peninhand]

[ Oh no no no no. They're nearly out, not now. Bro? No. There was no way that puppet was anyone he knew. ]

No..! It's not your brother.

[ Goddammit, they're so close... Takame and Bruce are too far behind to help them. There's no choice any more, is there? If it's only one, she should be able to take care of it... She let go of Okuyasu's arm and helps him lean against a nearby wall, before grabbing her knife once more. ]

Please... Stay on the side, I'm taking care of this.

[righthandstand]

["Okuyasu...Okuyasu...I'm here..." The doll staggers closer to the two, reaching out to his little brother only for the knife to catch its attention. It now reaches out for Monika's weapon.]

You're dead! What the hell, is everyone in town a robot?! [Keicho is dead, he paid for his crimes and left with a final message for Okuyasu. Life went on, and now these sickos want to remind him of his old life? Are they trying to torture him?

Okuyasu looks around for a rock, a piece of metal, any kind of tool he can use to fight back. Now, all he has is just Monika.] We gotta run. We gotta head back!

[peninhand]

[ All he has is Monika. And thank goodness, all he needs is Monika. Bruce and Takame are too far behind, no one else is coming. So it's not like he got any choices, does he? Once she was sure he was safe, Monika ran at the creature before them.

Her strategy was simple yet effective: stab it till it's dead. And giving all the emotions she'd had to deal with this evening? It was the perfect outlet for her to give it her all.

Or rather, it would have been, had she had any energy left. For every stab she gave the creature, it hit her too. Of course, it couldn't grievously wound her. It had no weapons and it was already broken. But... By the time the creature fell motionless on the ground, Monika dropped on her knees. Even she had her limits. It wasn't like the game where she could get a night's sleep in a matter of seconds because the player sped the text up. ]

Urgh...

[ She slowly stood back up and came back to Okuyasu. She was bruised with a thin line of blood dripping from the corner of her lips, but otherwise she was physically unhurt. Mentally, this was another thing entirely. For all she'd done in the game, she had never actually directly hurt anyone or anything. She'd manipulated files, she'd deleted her friends, but actually causing harm with her very own hands...? That was something else. The hand holding the knife was trembling and this time she was unable to contain her tears any more. She was crying silently though, she wasn't going to complain and be selfish now of all times. She had promised she'd be better, right? ]

You okay...? [She coughed and leaned against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting.] The... The exit is right next corner... Can you go alone...? I... I need to recover a bit.

[ She rested her head atop her knees. She needed to rest for at least ten minutes or so. Enough that she could gather herself and pretend she's a fearless heroine once she's out. ]

[righthandstand]

[The lady did more well than Okuyasu feared. Then again, moms never backed down from a fight, and even if she didn't have kids back home, Miss Monika was an adult. He took her silent advice to stand back and wait. If push came to shove, he would add his fists, though an Okuyasu Punch would likely tire him quickly.

He couldn't run away. The doppelganger would go after him if he was alone, but if Monika died here, he would be screwed either way. With each stab, Keicho's facsimile slowed its attacked. His brother was a violent man, and if only he could have stopped him from killing all of those people...would he have been happier.

Okuyasu couldn't look anymore. He was a terrible man, but that was his big brother, his caretaker after dad was no longer human. His hands did not move from his ears until he no longer heard Monika's angry voice. He turned to her, laying against the wall.]

Hell no! More are gonna come back if I leave. C'mon, ma'am-- I mean, Monika. [He held out a hand.] I'm gonna be slow anyway. Can you at least lean on me?

[peninhand]

[ She sighed. If she leaned on him, in his current state he wouldn't last long. But if she did move now, in her state she wouldn't last long. There was no winning. ]

A-Alright...

[ She didn't take his hand though-- She couldn't tire him more.

Was that what being a good person was like? A part of her did feel good knowing she was helpful, knowing she was of use and able to help... It was nice, the feeling you contributed in a positive way. But another part of her hated it. She didn't want to abandon Okuyasu, no. But to sacrifice her own health...? She wanted for nothing more than to scream and have someone come help her. She wanted to be selfish, she wanted to be the one cared for rather than being the one caring for everyone. But she wouldn't. Now wasn't the time to give up. ]

I... [A pause.] I'll be fine.

[ She wiped the blood by her lips away with her sleeve and slowly started moving forward-- Refusing his help so he wouldn't exhaust his energy. ]

Just... Please don't speak about this to anyone...

[righthandstand]

[He held out an arm and waited for her to fall onto it. Carrying her was exhausting, but it didn't fatigue him as quickly as running. They would be safer together. That justification was possibly the only reason he wanted to help - Monika was a stranger, after all. She was a random woman who he barely knew, and his experience taught him that you couldn't trust just anyone you met.

But she was going to die if he left her. That was a level of suffering he couldn't inflict on anyone. If he decided her life was worth abandon, he would be no better than Keicho.]

I won't tell anyone about your fight. [It was a strange request, but she probably didn't want to worry anyone. Lots of people were going to come out of this with injuries, so leaving out the fact that she willingly joined the fight sounded easy.]

C'mon. It's not far.

[peninhand]

[ Even her vision was getting blurry now. She severely thought she would die, but pass out from exhaustion? Most certainly. And the night wasn't even over yet! She wanted to check on a few of the other captives whom she knew and see if the others who had explored this place had found anything of interest. Being a heroine sucked.

Regardless, after a little bit they finally reach it: the ladder. And they can hear the voices of those who have already manage to escape. ]

There...

[ She stops and leans back against the wall, allowing him to regain use of his arm. Taking a deep breath, she tries to sound as normal and reassuring as possible. ]

You-You go up first... The others are up there.

[ This way she'd be able to see if anyone came behind them. ]

[righthandstand]

[Okuyasu lets go of her, slowly, checking if she is able to continue standing or if she has to sit down. If she lives, he has to repay her for saving his life. This lady went out of her way to save a kid she barely knew.

He wonders if this is what his mom would have been like if she had lived.]

M-maybe we can take you to a hospital! Hold on. [Climbing a ladder is not difficult; he is shaking from recent events, but he ascends at a steady pace. Once he reaches the exit hatch, he shoves it over, revealing the sky.

It had been so long since he was outside.

He quickly pulls himself up and onto the ground, where he collapses and closes his eyes.]

[peninhand]

[ She didn't need hospital, thank goodness. She was just very, very tired.

She smiles when she sees the night sky's light peek through the hatch Okuyasu opened. He's safe. Probably her time to get out now.

Unfortunately...?

Before she can climb the ladder, she collapses onto the ground, unconscious. Now that she no longer had someone else to look after, it was as if her mind had lost what little energy had kept her going up until now. Whoever passes by next will probably wake her up. That certainly won't be Okuyasu seeing how he passed out as well. ]