Have you ever been in that situation where you're doing something and all of a sudden you just have remind yourself
what exactly you're doing? Perhaps it's happened when you were tired. Perhaps it's happened when you were focused. Or perhaps, it's never happened to you at all. If that's the case, then consider this your first experience with it. Only normally, you actually remember what you're doing.
This time, you don't.
You took a step back to recollect your thoughts, but there were no thoughts to collect.
You're just standing here, in a room you don't recognize, next to people you don't recognize, in front of a pile of weapons that, while you really, really, want to say aren't yours, you have the sinking suspicion are indeed yours.
Okay. Let's start from the top shall? Your name is-, okay, you know your name. You're disoriented, not amnesic. You know your name, you know your story. You just can't remember why you're here. Here, in a hotel suite, an awfully swanky one at that, with a flat screen television, mahogany furniture, and cream-colored walls, one of which someone apparently decided to carve the words "They are coming" upon. Vagueness aside, the message probably
could have been a bit ominous had they picked a font more menacing than Helvetica Bold, but instead it just comes off as plain bewildering. Bewildering like the pile of assorted weapons-slash-impending-criminal-indictments lying on the floor.
If you were to look through the pile, you may, or may not be able to identify its constituent objects to consist of: one FN SCAR-L assault rifle with spare magazine, one PGM 338 sniper rifle with spare magazine, one Benelli M4 shotgun with five spare shells, three Glock 17 handguns, five nightsticks, two riot shields, a baseball bat, a 15
th century swiss halberd, two pairs of nunchucks, a cheap water pistol, a glass shiv, a fire axe, a flanged mace, four potted saguaro cacti, and an awfully large marital aid with two spare batteries.
You don't know how they got here, why anyone would need this exact combination of weapons, or why, after going through all the trouble of acquiring and transporting said weapons, someone would then proceed to leave the curtains and windows open. But they are, you don't even have to look, you can hear crashing of the waves and smell the ocean's scent.
So here you are, standing in a room with six strangers staring at a pile of weapons and the literal writing on the wall, wondering how the fuck you got here. Not exactly the greatest start to the day.
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Topic: Eschaton IC: An Utter Trainwreck (Read 16104 times)