MARTYRS

[Hecatoncheires]

THE FIRST ROUND
"The infliction of cruelty with a good conscience is a delight to moralists. That is why they invented Hell."
- Bertrand Russell​

[bg=black]It's the sound of dripping water that awakens you, rousing you from your blissful stupor and into a nightmare.

Repetitive tapping on something hard and wooden, echoing through the space around you. Metronome-like in its consistency, there's something almost soothing about the frequency of it. As your senses slowly rise to wakefulness with you, it's the smell that hits you next. Damp rot, potent enough that you can almost taste it: the smell of decay and neglect, old wood that hasn't seen the light of day in decades. Mould and what could quite possibly be hints of asbestos mingling together to assault your nostrils. Where they not still shut, it would be enough to make your eyes water.

Daring finally to crack open your eyes, the glare of something luridly fluorescent hits you like someone catching you across the jaw. You have to fight the urge to snap your head back and twist it away, but as you narrow your eyes to the assault you spy the powerful blast of a set of floodlights tucked into the corner of a decrepit, battered old room. The decor might once have been fine, impressive even, but age and neglect have rotten away the art nouveau aesthetics: nothing but the carcass remains, the bones from which to interpret past glories. The wood panelling is seeping with damp and mildew, the wallpaper eroded into an incoherent and peeling mess. As you finally give in and move your head down to try and avoid the piercing glare of the floodlights, you can see rickety old floorboards and rotten carpets beneath the battered old chair you're seated on.

The chair is a stark contrast to the corrupted finery around you: like the floodlights it is a new edition to an ancient and forgotten scene, stainless steel in its construction. As your eyes adjust enough to the glare to properly take in your surroundings, you can see other figures seated around you in similar circumstances. Each of them has been placed in a chair like yours, the seating forming a large circle around the centre of the room. Strangers all, all of you bleary eyed and with that same look of palpable confusion written across your face.

For this place is alien to you, so much so that it might as well be on a different planet. The mouldy old drapes are still thick, and they have been pulled over the few windows to prevent you from even getting the faintest of hints as to where you might be. The floodlights remain your only source of illumination: where their gaze ends, there is nothing but a looming, oppressive darkness.

As your brain begins to fire on all cylinders again, so too do the survival instincts. That ancient relic of the lizard brain, dating back to when your species wasn't the highest on the food chain.

And those survival instincts?

They're screaming.

They're screaming for you to get out of there now.[/bg]

 

[Kitti]

The rush of adrenaline was an old friend of Angel, who knew it well and had channeled it before. Like a bucket of ice being dumped over her head, she felt alert at once, almost hyper-alert with her wide hazel eyes darting to and fro over the room and the other chairs. Before she had even realized that she had stood, she was on her feet, a cornered cat with panicked thoughts who looked ready to claw the eyes of the first person to come close to her.

Her initial thoughts were a disjointed flurry of hazy accusations and ill-formed suspicions. They leapt from roofies and daterape to some kind of crazy cult and back again, trying to make sense of all the details. There were too many people for roofies. Unless they were going to be trafficked and everyone was going to become a sex slave. But no, these people didn't really fit the "sex slave" aesthetic. Crazy cult? Why would...

Taking a deep breath, Angel tried to calm down and think a little more rationally. She hadn't really even given the room a close look, although her initial glances had made her sure that it was a room that she had never seen before. She searched her memories but it was as though there was some kind of barrier preventing her from reaching back just a day or two. She couldn't remember how she got here or anything leading up to this. The last thing that she remembered was getting off of work and waiting for the bus home. Was it evening now, or had she been passed out longer than that? She couldn't tell at all from the tightly closed-off room and painfully bright artificial lighting.

A dull throb in her temple, likely the result the whole bright and confusing mess, signaled the beginning of a headache. At once, as the adrenaline subsided ever so slightly, she realized that her whole body was sore. What Angel wanted was out of this stupid room and she wanted it now. She cast another look over the other people present but given that they all looked as miserable and confused as she did, she assumed that their situations were probably similar to hers. No help from them, then.

Unsteadily, her legs feeling as stiff as though she'd been sitting uncomfortably in that chair for weeks, Angel wobbled in the direction of one of the walls. If she could just find a window or something, maybe that would tell her where they were. She caught the chair for balance as she swayed, her legs making the attempt a painful and slow one. She turned her face away from the circle, hoping to hell that nobody saw her and thought that she looked like a good candidate for freaking out on about the whole thing. She was scared and sure as shit didn't have any answers. Some pansy bawling to her about how they want their mommy or something would only make this worse.

 

[Greenie]

Waking up to the sound of dripping water was not something unfamiliar for Kamala. Her room, for the last couple of years, had been right across the bathroom, and even at her age, she wasn't allowed to sleep with the door shut closed. So, nearly every morning, she would hear the same drip drip sound, due to her brothers not tightening the sink's handles after their ablutions for morning prayers. She might have found the normally annoying sound comforting and sleep inducing, were it not for the smell. Her mother was a neatness freak, playfully labeled by her elder sister. There was no way on Earth that any smell this foul would be allowed to remain.

Her eyes cracked open; almost immediately she shut them. The light was way too harsh after just waking up! She brought her hands up to her face, using the back of the left one to press against her nose whilst her right hand rubbed her now aching eyes. What the... A groan escaped her as she felt the strain in both her neck and her back. Why had she fallen asleep in such a weird position? She was not that sort of person; sleep was the one thing she enjoyed; she wanted to enjoy it in a nice, comfy bed. No one bossed her around in her dreams or made a big fuss about things. Well, it's done... but what is with this nasty smell?

Kamala let out a soft breath and opened her eyes once more, this time under the protection of her hand. She looked around at first, and as she did, her narrowed eyes widened, something akin to shock in them. This was no place she recognized. From the wooden panels to the carpet, even the chair she was sitting on...

It was only once she took note of the chairs that she finally seemed to realize she wasn't the only one in the room. This was when the fear started to creep up on her. Who were they? Why were they here? Did they know her? Her eyes darted from one person to the other, and even as they did, her shoulders slouched forward, as if she was trying to hide herself from sight.

She could already imagine what her parents would say. She got caught up with some strange crowd, they drugged her and dragged her off to some strange, rancid place, where she would stay until shipped off as a sex slave to some foreign land, perhaps back to her own country. Kamala's hands clenched, shaking. No, no way, that can't be it! Her hands tightened further and she forced herself to look at the people in the chairs once more. She noticed one of the persons, a female, was now standing.Well, if that could be call standing. Whoever that was looked like they would topple over in a moment's time.

Maybe I should do the same?... No... no. They'll see me and then... She didn't know what then. Or they. Was there even a they?​

 

[Wanderfool]

Uncomfortable polyester scratched at her skin, dryness clung to her tongue, and a pounding headache unlike any she had ever experienced woke Morgan from her sleep. Groaning pathetically, her hair fell over her shoulder as her head rolled to an upright position. Blue irises overtook her pupils as the blinding floodlights beamed into her pale face, she blinked several times as her senses came to her.

What is happening, what did you do this time?

slut.slut.slut.slut.

Father would never have let this happen if you just--

There were others in the room, not quite awake as they slept on in peaceful ignorance. Their breathing grated on her nerves. Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, she pushed herself out of her slouching position. Making a noise of disgust, she licked the blood from her teeth. Her posture could have been ruined with another hour of the sleeping stupor she had been put in. Darkness touched every area in which the floodlights did not, and the smell was enough to make her want to vomit but thanks to her excellently trained gag reflexes she was able to maintain some of her dignity. There was a noise from her left, someone else had come to as well.

What a shame they're not all dead.

Flinching she moved to fully sit up, adopting a doe-eyed look that wasn't too far fetched. "H-hello?" She said quietly, her sopranic voice shaking with very real fear and tension. There were plenty of chairs surrounding her, holding bodies belonging to unfamiliar faces, everything about the situation was completely out of her control. Chewing her bitten lip she tried to remember what had happened before the dilapidated parlor greeted her. Nothing out of the ordinary, she was walking back to her apartment after practice. In fact she had been in higher spirits that night; a phone call from her father telling her that he was excited to view the production was the cause. The last thing she remembered was putting her keys in the silver dish in her kitchen, then nothing. Total and utter blackness.

Another noise came from her left, looking to the source she could faintly make out the visage of a woman who seemed to have trouble standing.

bitch.bitch,bitch.

Suddenly, tears blurred Morgan's eyes and eventually spilled over her fair cheeks. "Oh God, what is happening." She sobbed violently, covering her face with shaking hands. "Please, please God do not forsake me this way." With one hand, she reached to her neck with needy fingers. Choking on a sob, she felt her fingers twitch as she grasped the collar of her dove-grey sweater. Panic stabbed into her heart as she began frantically patting her neck, her breathing ragged. "Where... where is it. I never take it off!" Then she felt it, the delicate silver chain under the fabric of her camisole. Morgan's head stopped spinning as she gripped the cross between her fingers, tears still staining her cheeks as a disconnected smile found her lips.

"Daddy..." She whispered softly, bowing her head as she continued to cry. Ashen blonde hair framing her face as she whimpered on.

Pathetic.

 

[CasmiRari]

It had been an awful long time since Rocco had blacked out. Sure the first time he'd gone through the whole "Oh, my God" "Never again" speil, but of course the cause was too great to abstain in fear of the effect and he'd managed to do so several more times. Still, that was a while ago. Feeling that old familiar body ache and uncomfortable position, he began to lean up- he'd been almost tossed across the back of a chair. Funny, he didn't remember owning any chairs this uncomfortable. Maybe he was over someone else's and they'd taken him home. Geez- that was a bit embarassing. Righting himself in the seat, he rubbed one of his eyes, it stung and he noticed his throat was irritated and his nose was stuffed up. He sniffed, and coughed, opening his eyes before groaning as though a cinderblock had been dropped in his lap and shutting them again, digging his fingers in over his eyeballs to try and ward off the growing wave of throbs. He was definately hung over.

How long had it been. Since before the girls for sure, but he knew his limit, how had this happened? Leaning forward and waiting for the sense of nausea that was supposed to be coming next he rested his elbows on his knees and wrapped his hand over his eyes, rubbing his face again. What had he been doing that got him this drunk? He was supposed to be going out with a couple of guys and their girlfriends that night since he was free for the evening. Where were they going to go? He found it unusually hard to grasp the information from his memories, and struggled to form anything concrete- words, names, faces, places, anything. Le Surge? Were they going to Le Surge? That's where they usually went, but he thought maybe that wasn't right. They spent a lot of time at that club and even a while back had been talking about finding a new spot now that it had become crowded. The Foundery? Yes, that must have been it, they were going to The Foundery- combination brew your own/share your own/drink your own microbrew and bar-club in the warehouse district. It was a sketchy area, but he had been told that's how it kept away barflies and club rats. Maybe this wasn't hung over. Oh, no- what time was it?

Ignoring the light, his eyes burst open and he reached for his left pocket. No, the right? Maybe he didn't check the left properly? Couldn't be the back? After he did the little dance a couple more times he was sure- he was missing his phone, as well as his wallet and keys. Sh*t.

"Sh*t-." He hissed, "I'm gonna be late- hey you guys-!" and finally looked around. Where he expected to find himself in an apartment somewhere in the city surrounded by familiar furniture from one friend's residence or another's, he instead focused on the dark and bleary scene of what he could only imagine a horror movie looked like. He tended to avoid the genre if it wasn't a B movie or a low brow comedic parody. The smell he had attributed to an old blanket or perhaps, shamefully, his old drying sick, he could now see was neither and was in fact the room at large. He sniffed again and coughed- there was definitely mold nearby- that wasn't hangover, that was allergies kicking in. Mold and dust. He wasn't going to die, but he wasn't going to be very comfortable either.

Now this was officially a predicament. The sound of a chair catching someone turned him toward what he could now see were other people all sitting in chairs save for one woman. She seemed just as disoriented though, so obviously she wasn't up because she put them there. He noted the degraded setting again and swallowed, trying to stay calm, but questions assaulted him. Where was he? Who were these people? Why had they been brought here? When had they been brought here and how long ago was that? What was going to happen next? Well, he knew what he was going to do; he was going to stay calm, figure out how to get out and never, ever, EVER go into the warehouse district again as long as he lived. He had to get out of here. Forcing himself forward to brace himself on his knees he leaned onto his feet and felt the ache travel down his spine, resting on each muscle there. Growling to himself, he pushed some of his hair back out of his face and over his head while he went in search of a door.

 

[Moogle-Girl]

The sound of dripping water was almost a comfort to Green's musically-trained ears. The rhythm of it felt familiar, yet alien in a way that drew his attention and kicked his brain into action thinking about all the ways he could use it in a song. It was second nature, just a few moments of absent thought as he fell headfirst out of his dreams. Dreams that he wished he could have gone back to. The stench that filled his nose made his stomach flip. For a horrifying moment, he was afraid he would puke. He tried to remember who should have been in the room with him, whether he'd stayed at a friend's house, where the nearest trash can was in every room he could've fallen asleep in. Mercifully he was able to force the nauseous waves down and avert any hypothetical disaster.

As soon as he cracked his eyes open, the brighter-than-bright light hit Green like a truck. When he identified its source, the floodlights stung him with the realization that he could not possibly be in any familiar location. His head swiveled back and forth as he took in his surroundings. Everything was disgusting. He'd never seen such a rotted room outside of horror flicks. How had he gotten here? There was a disconcerting void in his memory, a black curtain preventing him from remembering where he'd been before, whether it was home or at a club where he might have been drugged and kidnapped.

For the second time, Green almost hurled on the spot.

He was just a college student. Had he made any enemies? Or was it a prank? No, that was ridiculous. His brother Jake had attempted a few in the past, but he'd learned that Green was absolutely intolerant of even the most innocent of tricks. No one he knew would attempt something on this level. Then again, did the culprit necessarily have to be someone he knew? But if that was the case, why would they do it? What had he done? What had...

People. There were other people in the room with him, arranged in a circle, all with similar expressions, probably the same face Green was wearing himself. With an instinctive jerk, he touched his hand to his neck and felt a small scrap of relief feeling his black headphones still wrapped around it. As he shifted, however, he noticed that the cord had been completely removed and his MP3 player was gone. They would need to be replaced. God damn it. Still, he said nothing. The bleary stares of the strangers around him made any words die in his throat. He didn't know them, and he definitely didn't trust them. One of them started crying, others got up in search of an exit, and the unpredictability of their behavior scared him even more. Silence was his only defense. He wished he could shrink into his chair and vanish.

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

Halvard Hansen

Waking up sucked. Waking up sucked like the first time he got plastered, on a fake ID at the tender age of seventeen, and passed out in a dumpster behind the bar. Waking up sucked like the comedown from the few opiates he'd experimented with in his youth. Waking up sucked like it shouldn't suck, not with his drinking problem mostly kicked and his wild days and his mother's house far behind him. Halvard lifted his head, slow and careful, processing what his other senses were telling him before assaulting his eyes with the violently bright light directed towards his face. Cold chair. Smelled like the dumpster. Not the same, but the scents were on roughly equal levels of gross. This place just smelled like wood rot and the old houses he tore apart sometimes for funsies, instead of hot trash.

Brown eyes cracked open, and he half expected his mother's face in front of his eyes, but no. It just hurt. Might even hurt enough to inspire a migraine, which really just sounded like the best addition to the morning. Was it morning? Eh. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, trying to force them to adjust to the glaring light. The room came into focus, not nearly soon enough for his short patience, and it looked like something you'd see in a Fallout game with all its derelict grandeur.

It was a bad sign that he could say he'd woken up in worse places. Probably.

He'd claim as much for the couple seconds til he noticed the other chairs were filled with people, anyways. That there was a whole ring of them, all coming to right around the same time he was. The floodlights, the organized ring of chairs, the other people, and the lack of restraints...this was kidnapping. But for what? Ritual sacrifice? Weren't many other reasons for getting such a group together. And sex trafficking was out, Halvard himself was a little too old. Just a little. Of course, he was still trying to convince himself he wasn't nearly forty. A short huff of vague amusement escaped his mouth at the ridiculous thought, at the ridiculous situation. Kidnapped, for some nefarious purpose, by some nefarious people. Life was crazy.

Squeezing his eyes shut didn't help with the "punch things and run" instinct that was threatening to overwhelm his thoughts, but he did it anyways. Only to open them again, moments later, when he heard a voice and the sound of sobbing to his left. He looked and found a girl, blond and pretty like a porcelain doll, crying for her daddy. The first thing he felt was contempt for her weakness. The second thing was disgust for himself. No matter how many times he reminded himself that not everyone was a fucked up hardass, like he was, and weakness was a fault in a wall, not a person, he still couldn't get rid of that initial contempt.

"God's not here, kid, and neither is your dad," he began. His attempt to comfort the girl started off awesomely, of course. They usually did. Okay, positivity. Silver lining. Because he was super good at finding that. "We're-we're not dead, though, that counts for something." Oh, yeah. That was great. Good effort. Totally. Nailed it.

Hah, carpentry pun. Fuck, he had issues.

 

[Melon]

[fieldbox="What an Awful Dream! Oh., grey, solid"]
The dizzying bliss of a euphoric dream was cut short by the sound of water dripping. Owin hated that sound. The frequency of the sound never mattered to him, because it was a bothersome noise all the same. Owin let out a groan as his eyes fluttered open, only to be blinded by a bright light, and he forced his eyes closed again. Shit that was bright as fuck. [BCOLOR=inherit]He inhaled sharply before daring to open his eyes once more. The light was still blinding at first, but after a while of forcing his eyes to remain open, his [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]surroundings[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] were becoming clearer.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]But not before the smell hit. Owin gagged and covered his nose and mouth with his hands. What the fuck is that smell?[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]Never in his twenty-four years on this god-[/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]for[/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]saken[/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit] planet had he [/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]ever smelled[/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit] something so....putrid. He removed his hands and supressed another gag as he took a better look around him.[/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]Whoever did this decor deserved to be fired. The neglect was clear by the cobwebs and [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]mo[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]ld[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] everywhere, if the smell wasn't obvious enough. As he tried to stand up, his body protested with a pounding headache and a dull, throbbing pain throughout his body. What the hell did he drink last night and why did he pick here of all places to get drunk? [/BCOLOR] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]He noticed the others.[/BCOLOR] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]Perhaps he hadn't chose to be here. Fucking great. He narrowed his eyes at the others, evaluating each and every one of them. Hmph. Seems like it isn't just high-class folks in here. This'll prove to be most interesting, and by interesting I mean aggravating. [/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]Sobbing.[/BCOLOR] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]Owin raised an eyebrow. What's this girl crying about? That's when it hit him. The girl sobbing, others seeming to look for a way out, and the overall [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]aura [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]of panic. Oh. Guess things were even worse than just a smelly room and shitty [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit]decor[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=inherit] filled with trivial people. This was serious. [/BCOLOR] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent][BCOLOR=inherit]"Alright, any idea what the fuck is going on? Since it appears things aren't looking so hot for...us." Owin's voice was loud, but rather monotone. He sounded more displeased than panicked. [/BCOLOR] [/BCOLOR]​

[/fieldbox]

 

[Hecatoncheires]

[bg=black]A crackling sound echoes through the strange room, like static emanating from the shadowy corners above the floodlights. The sudden howl of feedback accompanies it, rapidly growing loud enough to make the occupants of the rooms' ears rattle and whine in its aftermath.

The silence that follows is broken only by the sound of someone breathing into a microphone, the noise blared out through the crude PA system. There's a strange bassy reverb to it, the pitch artificially dropped to unnatural and borderline alien levels. Finally, after what feels like an age, the voice on the other end of the speakers clears it's throat.

"Good, you are all finally awake." Through the filters the voice barely sounds human, pitched and altered into a disturbing audio interpretation of the Uncanny Valley. "Welcome, friends.

"Today, we're going to play a game. It works very simply. So simply that even idiot children like you can understand it. The rules are as follows." The voice seems to pause for effect before it's next announcement. "I am going to kill one of you. Quite brutally. Who that person is remains up to each one of you.

"Each round, I'll give you three hours for someone to step forward and volunteer. To take one for the team, so to speak. If three hours pass and no-one's stepped up, I kill all of you. Really brutally." There's a casual tone to the voice, flippant in its proclamations of pain and violence. "And then it's on to the next round. And the next."

Another silence falls as the voice clears its throat, it's coughs given a disturbingly alien quality by the filter it's being passed through. "You will note that the door Miss Parker is standing near to is now unlocked. It will grant you access to the rest of this floor. Be assured, the escape routes are sealed and bolted. You will leave when I wish you to, and not before. On the opposite side of this floor is an elevator. The one who wishes to offer themselves up for the good of the group simply needs to step inside of it when they are ready and press the appropriate button. The rest will be taken care of."

A ripple of distorted giggling echoes through the PA system as the voice comes to its conclusion.

"Let's get stuck in, shall we? Who's first?"

The filtered laughter blasts through the room before suddenly cutting off as the PA system falls silent, it's absence suddenly almost palpable. As if on cue a door near to Angel clicks and swings open, spilling much-needed light into the gloomy interior. On the other side is a long corridor of eroded Art Nouveau splendour, shredded and moth-eaten carpets and damp-infested wood panelling. The walls are lined with heavy wooden doors, each numbered in decimals rising upwards from 600.

Though the light is dim, anyone staring through can see the red lights that pitch themselves open the open elevator door on the opposite side. Like it's a maw, spreading open to consume one of them.[/bg]

 

[Kitti]

The silence after the PA had finished its announcement was also palpable and more than enough to distract Angel from her mounting dislike of everyone present. It was unnerving, actually, to have the creepy voice over the clearly cheap and crappy system say her name. The message would have been disturbing anyone but hearing the words "Miss Parker" in clear reference to her when the door nearby clicked open? That was something else. It felt like an alien presence, a hostile one, had reached out for her specifically. She couldn't fight the hint of a sneer that came to her lips at this prospect.

Instead, she turned her thoughts to all the implications of what had been announced. So that bit about dying, about everyone being brutally murdered unless one of them stepped forward to die instead. That was definitely something to focus on. She mulled it over, contemplating the surroundings and the unusually obedient door. She gave a glancing somewhere around ten, counting her? Something like that anyway. She didn't want to concentrate on actually numbering them all and getting off track. So around ten. And one deranged weirdo, hopefully. Those were pretty good odds. Even if you took the crying little girl out of the equations, which Angel was inclined to do.

How could he kill them all? Angel was absolutely certain that he must have kidnapped her at the bus station or something. Drugged her, probably. Like a complete creep. Otherwise, she was not the kind of girl to go down without a fight and she had sharpened her claws on any boy foolish enough to pick a fight with her all throughout her school years. There was something ironic to everyone being afraid to get within punching distance of the girl named Angel and she had enjoyed it. She would bet on her in a lot of fights, though maybe not against some meatcake. She knew her limits, too. She didn't want to think what she would do if the crazy asshole who locked them up here did kickboxing in the time he wasn't spending kidnapping random people.

Not even for one second did Angel entertain the idea of sacrificing herself and to be quite frank, she didn't think that anyone should. She'd like to get this giggling little bastard in the room with them and see who was laughing then. The anger roiling in her stomach at the thought of him taking advantage of her being alone at a bus stop was stilled somewhat when she felt for her pockets. She hadn't had any identification on her that she could think of when she left work. How could he know who she was?

"Well this is shaping up to be one hell of a party" she finally managed, turning to face the others. facial expression matching her sardonic tone. She gave the room another look but nothing new jumped out at her in terms of possible escape.

"Anybody have any idea why we're here? Any inkling as to why you were chosen? And before you ask, no, I don't." She pursed her lips, two of the guys catching her attention. They didn't look to be the peak of physical fitness but they were still guys and they didn't seem to be on their deathbed either.

"Do you guys know how you got grabbed? If he kidnapped you right out, this asshole is strong. And if not, maybe he's a little bitch. Maybe we could take him."

 

[Spectre of the Fade]

Halvard Hansen

"Maybe we could take him," she said like it was actually that easy. The burst of laughter that exploded from Halvard was as sardonic as the woman who'd spoken, a response to her statement as much as the sheer hilarity of the situation he found himself in.

Ritual sacrifice hadn't been too far off.

There was someone, likely in this very building, who wanted to play a twisted game with their lives. That someone had kidnapped all of them from who knows where, taken each and every one of them to this strange place and up to this very room (looked to be the sixth floor, going off of the room numbers he could see in the hall outside the doors) without drawing too much notice. This person had confidence that they'd locked down any and all routes of escape, confidence enough to leave the lot of them unbound, without gags or drugs or mutilation. This person didn't consider any of them a threat and could likely kill them all without ever showing their face. He was going to tell the woman, Miss Parker according to the voice that grated on his ears and intensified the pounding behind his eyes, as much.

"Right, because the only way to kill a group of people is face to face," Halvard remarked with a loud snort and another burst of laughter. He probably sounded crazy, giggling like he was, but that was fine. At least this time it was a justifiable assumption. A justifiable situation. Scratching blunt fingernails through the short growth of faintly reddish hair on his chin, a twisted smile on thin lips, he deigned to answer her questions. "Last thing I remember, I was sitting in my apartment, playing Dragon Age on my nice-ass flatscreen in Portland, Oregon. And everybody here is from Portland, right? Vancouver, maybe? Because there's certainly no way anyone could be from outside that general area, our kidnapper being a 'little bitch' and all." The sarcasm was biting, and it occurred to Halvard that maybe antagonizing someone who might break and give themself up to this killer before he did was a bad idea, but he did it anyways. His self control sucked. It really did. Avoidance was impossible, so being a dick it had to be.

 

[Moogle-Girl]

The sharp feedback made Green wince, though he was careful not to let any sound slip from his throat. On some level he was grateful for the noise's ability to shut everyone else up. He wished the silence had lasted, because the voice that followed next was an assault to anyone's ears.

A game. A deadly one at that, where one of them had to offer themselves up to their kidnapper. What was this, some kind of horror movie? Was it a prank after all? No, no one would be so sick and twisted as to play a prank like this. So it had to be real. Right? Green pulled his knees up to his chest and held tightly onto his dead headphones, pressing them into the sides of his head. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't convince himself that it was all true. Maybe if he just put on his music and shut his eyes, he'd wake up from this nightmare and everything would go away.

One of the girls started asking questions, trying to puzzle it all out. No, Green didn't remember, and frankly he didn't care. It wasn't real. He was dreaming. An older man actually laughed, even though nothing about it was funny. He assumed the others in the group were from Portland, and no, Green couldn't say he was from "that general area." LA wasn't too bad a flight, but it was still several states away. Not that he would tell anyone anything about him. Unless his life depended on it. Which it didn't. Because he was dreaming. Now if only everyone else would shut their mouths so he could wake up already.

 

[Greenie]

Kamala's head had jerked up as soon as she heard the crackling sound, and once more when she heard the voice over the speakers. It sounded painful to the ears, and it once more reminded her of those horror flicks her parents would forbid her and her siblings to see... though her brothers would still manage to sneak them in. Those were just stories, actors, made for people who enjoyed weird gory stuff. Not for real! Yet here she was. As much as she wished to pretend this was just a dream, it was obvious to her that this wasn't. It was just too strange, and that was saying something. Her nightmares never involved murderous times like this.

By the time the man finished speaking, she was almost in tears, fear paralyzing her for the moment. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, sweat dripping from under her arms and down her sides. Her hands, still shaking, were cold, almost as if she had just stepped in from a winter's day outside.

There was talk going on, from the woman who had stood up earlier, and a man who looked older than the two of them. There were some men who looked around her brothers' ages, and then there was the girl who had started crying before the voice spoke. Well, it was only natural, wasn't it? She didn't fault the girl for breaking down, especially when all she herself wanted to do was hide in a corner and sob quietly.

But Kamala couldn't and wouldn't. She was used to keeping everything bottled in. She remained quiet, staying seated in the chair, still not wanting to be noticed. Her eyes lowered to her knees as she thought about what the voice had said. They all had to choose for one of them to die... or all of them died. So far she didn't see anyone offering themselves up. Survival was always one's number on instinct. Unless someone was suicidal, of course, which Kamala at least wasn't.

Maybe if she hid, no one would think of her. It would be her first, wouldn't it? It made sense. The oddest one around was always the first one to be sacrificed. Or was it the old and the weak? Stop, stop thinking like that. Astaghfirullah. She asked God to forgive her like her parents had taught her.

Speaking of God... why would He even put her in such a situation? Sure, she wasn't the best believer, but she never purposely hurt anyone, and she tried her best to be good. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't... No, no, stop thinking like that. She couldn't think about things that wouldn't help her, she had to change her train of thought. She blinked as something came to her. Even religiously, a person couldn't let someone step all over them. You had to stand up for your rights! Maybe the woman, Miss Parker?... maybe she was right? But then, so was the man, wasn't he? Whoever put them in this horrible predicament was nowhere to be seen for a reason.

When she finally looked up, Kamala was at least a little calmer than before, though that wasn't saying much. She cleared her throat softly readying to say something... and then stopped. No, no. It was best to stay quiet. If she said something wrong, they'd pick her.

 

[CasmiRari]

Having all but tuned out every other sound of every other person in the room, RJ was unpleasantly surprised to be nearly bludgeoned over the head with the intrusive sound of the speakers feedbacking their way into an actual audio transmission.

"JJJJJenko jeans!" He almost-cursed to himself under the deafening noise, cringing deeply as the sound sent a rifle rounds worth of adgitation into his drugged skull. He didn't want to have to put a dollar in the jar, more for the sake of his pride than his finances, so even now he kept his inaudible outbursts of indiganation rated G. The feeling, having switched on automatically by the trigger of a familiar situation in which he knew exactly what to do, was like an oasis in a desert full of sinkholes into panic, an unrepentant sense of fear beating down on him, and a general sense of directionless despair. And much like a mirage, as he approached the feeling in thought, clarifying it, remembering why he did not curse, and who would receive money if he did, it disappeared and left him with an even more desolate weight in his heart, and stomach, and chest... really his entire abdomen felt awful.

Still, he listened to the voice, moving behind the floodlights to get a look at the speakers. Were they handmade? They were so bad- they couldn't be new or freshly bought or even well cared for. Did they belong to this room? If so, then they had certainly been fixed. It was impossible, he had learned from someone else, to work on electronics with delicate parts with gloves. Why would their captor risk leaving his DNA, leaving items that had to be purchased and could be traced back to their buyer, leaving his mark out and about to be found and used? Then again, he was making a lot of assumptions if he even started from there.

As of now, the voice had cackled itself away. Did men usually giggle in such a manner? Had they been kidnapped by a woman? Either way, when the door swung open he strode toward it, looking out. The door was electronically controlled then? And because he had to assume the voice was not a recording seeing as it couldn't possibly know where this... Ms. Parker? Was going to be, he had to also assume that the opening door was a live action. He therefore felt safe assuming that the voice was speaking from somewhere in the vicinity. Electronics had a lot of leway these days, but something as archaic as an automatic door opener and the awful quality speakers would require closeness if not a direct wired connection. The question was, how close? He'd seen the "Saw" films. Or at least the first one. The others felt gimmic-y.

"Now is not the time for that!" He growled at himself. However, the sound of his own voice, nearly muddled under others, is what drew him to realize conversations were being carried out. It seemed, by the time he checked back in, that the woman must have made some reference to the kidnapper's physical prowess because the older man was rebutting it in a less than delicate manner. They also seemed to assume they were looking for a man. Being able to pick things apart soothed him to an extent, so now as he listened to them, his old debate muscles started flaring up.

"But that's assuming," he began, turning around to look at them, so that it was at least somewhat clear he was speaking to the two of them before he looked back out, "that there is only one person involved, and that they decided to work harder not smarter." scanning the elevator for any more clues as well as looking for it's emergency access/exit panel, and not stepping in, but trying to angle himself in a way to see if he could see the phone or emergency call button. Even if the phoneline was cut and the access panel barred, as he felt safer assuming was true than getting in the metal box to find out, the emergency stop button, if it wasn't disconnected, could pause the elevator halfway down the shaft. His very first plan was that, if someone got in, or they could find some way to get the button to press while it was halfway down from the door, they could pry the door open and get into the shaft, and climb to another floor or the roof or just literally anywhere else.

Actually...

"The voice said that it'd be killing people one by one. But it neglected to say whether or not this was a "until one emerges victorious" type situation or a "one at a time, the doctor will see you all" type thing. At the same time though, it did remark that we "would leave when I wish you to" which, you know, could mean the whole brutal mangulation or could mean there's something else it wants from us." As he spoke he moved around the room to the other bits of furniture and began trying to move each item, testing it's weight and looking for anything that wasn't bared down and nailed to the wall(and even if he was, seeing if he could separate it) and taking a mental inventory of it all. He had never been especially gifted with equations but he tried his best, speaking once again, but more distractedly as he concentrated his mental focus elsewhere,

"It says someone should offer themselves up, with the outcomes being if we do it, the rest live a bit longer, and if we don't we all die. But that's only relevant to what we want. We want to not die, presumably, and seeing as we're strangers, wouldn't not be expected to particularly care about anyone else here to that end. It would benefit us all, I think, instead, to figure out what it is the voice wants. If it is just murder, then that's one thing, but seeing as this is a 'game' to the voice, I would think there are other cogs at work."

As his brain all but gave up on the equation, though his face displayed the effort, the indignation of mistakes, and the blankess of forgetting the next step in certain orders of operatioins, it began to lose focus and divert itself to other endeavors. If they all got in the elevator would they all have the chance to escape- had the voice calculated for the thought of more than one person entering at once? Is that why it demanded single volunteers instead of allowing the rules "if more than one person decides to come, then you get more time?" or some such? If no one came, what would be the method of their group destruction? He'd seen things in movies that could murder many people, and even things in real life, but how brutally? Blow up the building? The voice seemed to pleased with it's own sadisticity and malevolence to do something so prosaic and unoriginal. It's tone, at least to him, suggested an enjoyment in the one-on-one interactions of torture and despair that it could cause, and deciding this game where it could be part of that and resorting only to mass murder in the event that it's victims neglected to follow rules supported the theory. In what way would it be able to satisfy it's taste but kill them all before they had the chance to escape, fight back, or otherwise thwart it's dastardly plans?

His thoughts continued to swirl.