InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Frandy!"

Shirai Reizo | 白井雷三 (some_other_dog) wrote in disappear_plot,
@ 2010-08-23 17:58:00

Who: Team
What: Reizo Dungeon.
When: Post-investigation.
Where: Paradise
Why: They were forced.

Gravity takes them as they step through the yawning doorway and into dark construction of Reizo’s mind. The fall is short, but jarring, made rougher by the smashed crates and debris that serve as cushions where they land. The dark is overwhelming at first, but when their eyes adjust and the cloud of dust their drop has stirred up clears the somber and looming shadows around them come into focus, melting into humdrum and ordinary boxes and dog-eared furniture.

They’ve dropped into a warehouse. The space is huge, but too cluttered to be sprawling, and the ceiling is high above their head-- 40 feet or more. The only windows are set high up near the ceiling, a continuous band that rings the entirety of the complex, but so choked by dust that they let only a fraction of the light in. Several of the windows are broken, letting in the rare commodity of clean and unfiltered shafts of light in which dust motes float and dance lazily.

The gloom of the warehouse is accompanied by a thick, tomblike silence, and the air is heavy with an oppressive, humid heat. The space feels unused, but more than that, dead. The air is musty and stale, and everything the party does seems to throw up another fresh puff of dust. The only exits out of the forgotten warehouse are doors set far up on the walls. Walks run across either wall, and the stairs that once lead up to them are all unusable, collapsed down onto the ground beneath and tarnished with rust.

RULES

1: NO VAMPIRES
2: NO DEMONS
3: NO WEREWOLVES
4: Persona work at a severely reduced capacity. Your character will discover this quickly.
5: Your characters can and will die. If they're not being quick enough, they're dead. If they do something stupid, they're dead. This dungeon has consequences!

THE MUSIC

Part 1 - The Warehouse, The City, The First Confrontation
http://www.kettledragon.net/kondohole/07-Prime%20%5BAversion%5D.mp3

Part 2 - The Forest

Part 3 - The Safe House

Part 4 - The Second Confrontation

Part 5 - Boss Battle

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some_other_dog
2010-08-24 01:01 am UTC (link)

The room stinks of fear. Something small and defenseless in the den of a top predator, huddled scared in one corner. The ammonia stench of stale urine assaults you, and then the copper of blood. The throb on your cheek flares into excruciating life, your vision clouding first with purple spots and then a dull, misty red of pain. You clutch your cheek, buttoning your bottom lip with your upper teeth to stop the whimper, and when your hand comes away it’s red with blood, coated with an impossible amount.

The darkness parts as a light flips on, and there’s a man, thick and tall sitting in a chair in the intrusive new cone of light. His skin is pale and sallow and unhealthy, and his nose is a ruined mess crusted with dried black blood. One eye is shot, filled so full of busted capillaries that it’s almost entirely red, but it swivels in its dark socket to regard you. The busted, shattered remains of his lips curve up into a contemptuous smile, and split open from the movement, letting out another fresh surge of blood. He croaks something out, voice painful with gravel, but you it’s much too faint to understand.

The hand on your shoulder squeezes, the pressure growing so intense that you feel it might shatter, and you’re pushed forward to the edge of the light. Something heavy is shoved into one of your small hands, and you look down dumbly to find yourself holding a gun, the long barrel dangling heavily from both of your hands.

The man leans forward and falls bonelessly out of his chair, where he lays for a moment, groaning low and deep into the stained red carper, and you catch the scent of fear and urine stronger. You barely recognize the man is wriggling towards you through the pain sawing at your nerves, and when you feel something nudge heavy against your shin you look down to find him supine, staring hopefully up at you. He grins, wrecking his lips worse, and his empty mouth gapes up at you, puckered and bloody.

Something surges up out of you, filling your bones with anger, and you lift the gun clumsily up to the man’s forehead. Your eyes meet, and a silent agreement passes between you, before he closes his eyes and nuzzles his forehead into the muzzle of the gun. Your hands shake, the lump of metal in them now impossibly heavy, and growing hot. It seems to sizzle in your hands, and you would drop it, if the gaze of the man behind you wasn’t spearing into your back.

“Prove what you are.”

The words echo around the room and lodge into your skull, burning across you vision in great red letters.

You steady your arms and the gun, your finger frozen on the trigger, and pull it.

The gun fires silently, jerking hard in your hand and causing you to take a step back. It drops from your hand and thuds onto the floor with the final sound of a coffin lid slamming shut. The man’s head drops in front of you, a bloody third eye staring out at you from his forehead, and there’s blood and specks of bone sticking to the chair and wall behind him.

The cut disfiguring your mouth into a permanent half-smile is excruciating, but the shameful tears spilling down your cheeks and your father’s eyes piercing your back when you crumple to your knees are worse.

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