Turn 003: 714VP-SIDEWINDER
@Leodanny Welcome to hell, Potato. Your existence will be short, tragic and utterly lamented in this world.
@ANGRY_DEMON_NOISES I apologize, you have ben retrochronologically added on to the turn document.
Harold[8], [4]As you tune into the radio, fiddling it as you approach the door, a burst of warped noise belches out from the radio. For a split second, your mind freezes; a overwhelming desire to break your fingers waves over you, but the desire was twisted, corrupted by the distortion of the radio. Just as you dropped the radio (landing with an oof ouch on your foot), you realize that the mental compulsion to break your fingers is wrong.
You pick your radio back up, and peer on either side of the hallway.
The left side of the hallway leads around to a dead end; The blast doors that leads to the actual entrance of the Sphere room; the Blast doors are only cracked open vertically.
To the right, you see a long corridor that is too dark to see to the end, with doors that lead to other rooms. However, to the front of you, the door to another room is open; It looks like the room did not belong, as the concrete and steel does not mesh well with the almost homey wooden paneling and wooden door on the floor and in the wall respectively. You hear the sounds of steam pistons, going up and down with a wet thud at appropriate times.
You feel something twist in yourself. You feel a little less
empty.
You may pick one of the mutations below to realize into existence on yourself.
--
Your mind captures the mental twisting, it’s intricacies of molding the mind to its own internal desires and breaks it down to a form that just barely goes under your comprehension, but easily reproducible; they look like donuts.--
You see yourself, in the middle of a field, your favored perps below you, twitching, paralyzed in agony as they slowly char away from electrical burns. You are cackling. What do you do now?Name: Harold
Gender: Male
Description: He looks like a stereotypical cop, you know has a mustache and is fat.
Bio: He's typical big city cop, and when he's not on duty he doesn't do anything as being a cop is the only interesting thing he does.
Mutations: None, not yet.
Items:
Police uniform
Beretta M9
2 spare Mags
Nightstick
Handcuffs
Police radio
GaryA loud pop echoes throughout your mind, it hurts and burns at your consciousness. What? No. No, no no. NO! It can’t be real, the NOISES ARE OUT TO GET YOU!
The Loud noises scare you.Just as your ears scream from dysphony of screeching in your fragile, sensitive ears, your eyes of your soul opens. You can see kilometers forward, but it is blurry; You cant see the world, only the few who are powerful enough to Psychically grasp it. Your headache worsens, and you force your vision to close, closer so that you do not die from the overload, and you look around your immediate surroundings. The Sphere is flickering; The power it emits is both overwhelming and utterly empty. It hurts too look at, like a human being should have never looked at it in the first place, much less like this.
You have a Psychic Detection.Finally, your final mutation kicks in and a hallucination forms, of you walking accross a lake of any type of liquid, as if it were solid ground!
You can walk on liquids!As you finnally get your bearings from your change, you grumble loudly as you search through your jumpsuit, finding
[5]
A cracked, off-brand Cellphone. No service. Maybe if you got away from the mopey stupid sphere it would get better.
You dodge the dudes knife swing as he suddenly screams, cutting his arm a little bit. Then he hands you his Guard headset.
What do you do now?Name: Gary
Gender: Male
Description: A short, ugly fellow with a bulbous nose, messy hair, and lots of it, long red earlobes, squinty eyes under bushy eyebrows, and a prominent lower lip. He walks slightly hunched, with bowed shoulders, long arms, knobby knuckles, no ass, and bow legs. He smells sour. His clothes are generally stained, especially around the armpits and belly region. his hands are blackened with grease.
Bio: Gary was a mechanic and maintenance man in a slum.
Mutations: None, not yet.
Items:
tool belt
philips screwdriver
flathead screwdriver
hammer
wire cutters
tape measure
utility knife
pencil
another pencil
another pencil
snap line (a device for making long straight lines in chalk. It has a string in a metal case and a little crank to wind the string in with. Inside the case is blue chalk that goes on teh string)
Wallet containing ID, credit card, $42.37, stock picture of sexy model posing on a beach, two tickets to a recent movie (used).
pocket knife
a ring full of keys
dirty baseball cap
denim jacket, blue jeans with a hole in the thigh and another just above one ass cheek pocket. long sleeve button up plaid shirt.
A cracked Cellphone, No service.
Gaurds Headset
Fandrel[6-1(How could you?)]
Like a god damned savage, you fuck up a portion of your suit and rap the stolen cloth from your jacket around your wee wee boo boo. It doesn't hurt that much anymore, but at the cost of so, so much pride. Where will you go now, with your suit ruined and it being a faux paus wherever you go? Style is more important then bleeding wounds.
Maybe you could have shot the wound to make it go away.
What do you do now?Name:Fandrel
Gender: Male.
Description: Tall and skinny, with pale skin, Dark brown hair, and hazel eyes. Wears a black business suit, with a conspicuous gun holster.
Background: Born into a middle-class family in 21st century america, after going to college and Majoring in Pre-Law, he joined the Army reserve in order to afford law school. He got "Picked up" in the middle of law school.
Mutations: None
Items:
Black business suit (torn sleeve)(worn)
Wallet
-three ten dollar bills,
-seven five dollar bills
-two one dollar bills
-assorted coins
Gun holster
-Beretta M9 (Loaded 15 APDS)
-Magazine(15 rounds APDS)
Pencil
Pen
Micro Tranciever (Worn)
Subject 075
After briefly greeting Gary, you lightly stab him in the gut, as customed in the world of wherever you came from.
[5] v [8]
Wait, what the fuck? What’s going on, this is WRONG! You just cut yourself with it, this can’t be real. You should be dead, but you arn’t. This is totally fucked, and your conversation with Gary afterwords only makes you feel a little better. It actually hurts alot, oof.
You decide to take your anguish on the sphere hurdling in the air, nothing can go wrong with that. Nothing at all.
[9]
THe sphere globulates for a couple seconds, as if miffed by the entire situation, and an arc of something causes Potato to appear. You even managed to tackle Gary over before the unreality- met this reality and Potato ceased to exist as it was before it entered this universe. Bad shit happens when things stop existing as it was in one universe and exist in the rules of another universe.
You have the 3 options, Pick one.
-- Something churns within, happy and giddy and very much filled to the brim with tentacles, it just wants to help and lend a hand. Or a Pseudopod. It doesn't have any hands.
-- Something random, even the gods do not know until the dice is rolled
-- Nothing.
What do you do now?Name: Subject #6102075
Gender: Male
Description: Caucasian male, green eyes. Wearing an orange jumpsuit. Confused about how knifes can cut people.
Bio: Subject #6102075 was a death-row prisoner used by a secret organization for experimentation of anomalies. He doesn't remember anything of his past life and most the experiments, and his last memories were of a containment breach in the laboratories, anomalies wrecking the place left and right, and him falling through a dimensional tear in the ground while trying to escape from the chaos.
Mutations: None, not yet.
Items:
Orange prisoner jumpsuit(worn)
Glass Shiv
Bottle of Highest Booze
PotatoFor a brief couple existences, you were good, great even! You flew, you flied, you even gunned down the god damn V.C Leek Savages below on a great many occasions! The oil in your carbhoydrated engines was hearty and flowing, and the fuel was rich in the Irish blood. You even enjoyed some primal quality rounds, which you spat by the thousands on the leek savages below. THey all died.
And now, your here in this some sort of spooky placed concre--
Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!! Oh god this reality HURTS!
Larry[11]
Haha! -- Oof. that landing was hard. When you look up from the sky, you see profits! Uhh... Yeah. It wasn't too long before you sold an entire set of tape rolls to the Sphere of possibly omnicidal intent, in return for some happy fun time mutations!
...Look, it's kinda dumb, but what do you want from me?
Pick 2 mutations.
-- The happy fun time creature wants to give you the gift of tentacles! THey will be permanant though.
-- Your eyes attune, change and become something like that of a rifle scope.
-- The experience of true sight, the kind that everyone needs but noone wants.
-- A flash of images, in an order; A bird. A Man. A falling Man, A bird in flight, and a man on the ground.
In the
Sphere room massive potato, with wings glued on and helicopter blades spinning voraciously around it came to existence, and for a few measly seconds, it existed in perfect bliss of the world around it before exploding violently, carbohydrates, jet fuel and metal flew the helicopter crashed into the ground, and tiny, baby potatoes began squirming out of the internals of this helicopter, screaming as they slowly hardened into regular potatos, if the miniature variety. A fire form the jet fuel began consuming another half of the helicopter, adding to the caphony of screams with a roaring fire.
It’s actually pretty metal.
Subject 075 got hit with a spattering of mashed potatos, that is on fire.
Potato has died.
Gary fine.
Harold is ok.
Fandrel wasn't in range of the potato blast.
Author
Topic: Metamorphica Madness: The Sphere (Read 5502 times)