|| Disclaimer |:| A Discussion page has been established! Please see this page for any quest inquiries and debate, as well as a place to argue your artistic interpretations of characters, items, and places, so as to see what will be canonized as what you draw in the story. ||

Check the weird blanketed lump in the corner, if you feel brave enough.

Check whether the blood is from natural emergentic occurance or something abnormal

|| |:| Investigate abundant blood << ||


Faust struggles to kneel down to the messy floor, careful not to let his knees hit the metal. He takes this moment of rest to look over the mass trails of blood. Most of it looks to have been dragged in here, while it looks like other areas of blood were spontaneously pooled here from sudden death. With the lack of ejected blood along the walls, he suspects it had to have been done with a specialized tool. He only knows a few that could be responsible.

Folks were either incapacitated here, or were dragged here to get cleaned up by weaker figures. At least, that's what the reddened beds and messy floors tell him.

He doesn't quite like that.


|| |:| Investigate blanketed body << ||


He pulls himself back up to his feet, then awkwardly shuffles over to the body-like shape in the corner. With some good effort, he manages to push the overturned bed out of the way, before he makes the somewhat painful effort to kneel again.

Just in case, he quietly bares his || BREAD BRICK || in one hand, while another very, very slowly moves to pull away the sheet - - only to discover a pile of bloodied up tools, and...

An Ace Applicant?

Faust looks over the pile of discarded tools and the discarded weapon. Most all the tools are dried bloody from lack of use overtime, from saws, to scalpels, to scissors and shivs... Most of these are either broken and useless or merely bloodied up, dulled to bluntness, and hidden for personal recovery. They'd make for some good improv weaponry should he decide to combine them with anything in his inventory, seeing as they're useless on their own.

He picks up the Ace Applicant. The assault rifle is small, for his size, and obviously is missing a lot of key components, but otherwise, it would make a very good bludgeoning weapon until he found better.

Ace Applicant Assault Rifles, otherwise just known as Ace Applicants, are an ingenious, but by organic terms, inhumane weapon, invented by a particular looney outcast of the clinical claws of the black market medicinal branch. When threats became too much in the Pleiades system for a particular party's business to go well, their local doctor decided to act, and the Ace Applicant was born.

The weapon itself only grew popular due to smuggling, but it's seen as universally cruel, even if efficient. Mostly for the fact that, while it takes forever to charge manually, a full charge has enough power to erase the skin from a target. Partial charges eliminate less skin, but the damage is still awful, by heavens, and the burning afterwards still leaves it in agony hours after it's been mended.

There's a note attached, which he translates.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I FOUND THIS ALL ON MY OWN!!

ITS MINE NOW, I PUT MY NAME ON IT!!

BOSS IS DOING INVENTORY, SO IM HIDING IT HERE!!

NOBODYS TO TOUCH IT UNTIL I COME GET IT!!

UNDERSTAND?!

ITS MINE! MINE!! MINE!!! THAT MEANS DONT TOUCH!!

- BOBBY

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It appears that this is just a pile of tools someone scavenged up to hide here during an inspection. Most legal folks don't want anything to do with this kind of weaponry, so that'd mean your most likely suspect for the folks responsible for the building massacre would be criminals.

It would prove a lot more useful than the || BREAD BRICK ||, but only if he keeps it long enough to fix it. And that could be a very long time.

Otherwise, it's just a tougher bludgeon.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


On one hand, having such a tough weapon will not only boot out some of your lighter inventory, due to the space it takes, but will prove invaluably useful should you get the chance to fix it.

On the other hand, this weapon is probably the closest thing to galactically outlawed you can even think of. Worse than the other things. If any legal folks caught you with this thing, you're quite sure the punishment would be most wicked, and you wouldn't be beyond begging for death penalty for the cruelty. That, and it seems one of the assailants has claimed it as their own. If they find out you took it, that'd also be troublesome.

Then again, it's not much better in bandit hands. You'd probably regret leaving the weapon with them in the future.

Take the Ace Applicant?


|:| Yes <<
|:| No <<

Time's up!


|| |:| Leave Ace Applicant << ||


Faust decides the weapon is too cumbersome for the useless state it is in, and instead pockets some || MISHANDLED SCALPELS || and a || BUNDLE OF SHIVS ||. He also decides to pocket one || BUNDLE OF MYSTERY MEAT || from beneath another blanket.

Just as he considers what to do next, the lights go out. The air conditioning shuts down, leaving the entirety of the hall in tense silence.

From the bypassed stairwell echoes a distant shouting, and his hearing, sharpened in the silence, catches the bare minimum of what seems to be an argument.

He tries to stalk his way out of the room, but the floor is littered in skinned meat and discarded, bloody blankets. He stumbles a lot, and eventually gets stuck in the door.

Faust tries to free himself, but to no avail. His lower shoulder joints are jammed, leaving his legs askew in the room as unseen obstacles.

As he tries to free himself further, the shouting fades away.

Soft steps pace up the stairwell. He tries to struggle further, but the source of the sound makes way.

The steps then start coming down the Medical Wing.

The steps enter his hallway. Faust freezes up, instinctive caution stopping his attempts cold.

His translator is slow on the automatics. The steps softly pace down the length of his hall.

A higher-pitched, hoarse voice grumbles to itself. There's the sound of shuffling cloth, metal scraping metal as boots dragged over the floor in heavy fashion.

Faust holds his next breathing cycle. He turns his head very slowly, careful not to let anything creak.

Down the hall, what looks to be a bottom-heavy silhouette storms down the hall, glowing bioluminescently in bloody reds among many tattered, soft fins. There's movement from the softly glowing figure as it scratches neckline of its crystal dome helm with a slimy hand. Slimy by the sound, not the sight.

Faust's translator finally catches up as his new fishy friend comes down, only playing on muted note.

" ...re, oh suuuuure," it grumbles, " you'll do fiiine, they say... you glow in th' dark, they sayyyy, you don't need no fuggin' flashlight t' work, you'll be fiiiine..."

It throws its webbed hand down with a huff. " Nasty tadpoles, th' lot of 'em! If I had any likeminded folks 'ere, like me, 'ere, I'd have up an' bunked out 'f 'ere on th' last ship, but noooo, now I'm stuck 's th' local techdeck expend'ble... "

It almost passes by Faust's room without note, but Faust readjusts, and one of his hands slip off the door frame. The new sound it makes overshadows the figure's grumbling.

It stops. He quickly, quietly plants himself back into position, but far too late. It turns, a faint flicker of color briefly illuminated beneath the domed helm.

At this point, he is now officially thankful he didn't fix the light settings on him yet. Nothing on him lit up or gave way that he was there. But that didn't fool the intruder.

It turns on its heel, then slowly walks over.

As he holds himself attached to the upper door-frame, it has room to pass below him, but barely. It pushes his stomach and legs to get in, but he thankfully catches himself and pulls his legs up before the newcomer notices.

The figure pushing part of him back inside, though, only gives him enough room without notice to pull himself back in. With most of himself pulled up, he goes the full length and silently hoists himself fully to the ceiling. He covers approximately 70% of the ceiling space clinging to the deactivated light fixtures.

The intruder enters the room.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


|:| Input Command <<

Try to roll onto your side so as to get your more functional arm underneath, both to push off and to shield it from damage if whoever's approaching is hostile.

Nevermind that, misunderstood the situation.

Say to the intruder "You want out? I also want out. Let's be friends."

Be prepared to drop down and inflict disabling injuries if this appeal is not well-received.

The intruder does not yet notice Faust, thankfully. He would sigh in relief, but that would give him away.

The stranger stalls. The bioluminescent glow dimly illuminates the room, but does not illuminate it enough to discern Faust from the ceiling tech.

The stranger trips over a bundle of blanketed blood and meat, and curses. " Fer fugg'sake... ! "

There's a slight scraping. The stranger almost notices. Scratch the almost. It does notice. But the scratching does not come from Faust.

Faust disrupted the tool pile taking his new things. The heavy weapon has tipped over. The stranger notices the shape in the dark.

" ... Th' fugg... ?"

The stranger diverts attention from the rest of the room to approach the uncovered tool pile. It kneels down, with a grunting effort, only to freeze up. It brushes a few of the saws out of the way, and runs one hand over the Ace Applicant.

The sound it makes gives way to recognition. It knows this brand.

" No... " it starts, most disbelieving of the situation, " it ain't... this ain't, it can't be... "

It almost picks it up, but sees the [n]note[/b] first. After reading it, it huffs. " No, it has t'be. " it goes on to say. " Bobby wouldn't flip over any ol' trinket... "

The stranger takes the || BROKEN ACE APPLICANT || for themselves, holding it up. " But 'ell iffin' I'm gonna leave this thing t'Bobby. Basterd's too dang'rous fer it. "

The stranger wraps it up in bloodied cloth, but hesitates.

Faust slowly attempts to lower himself. HE takes care to be as quiet as he can, believing the stranger to be distracted.

But the stranger whips around, taking the sheet off as quickly to point the defunct tool at him.

Faust freezes.

The stranger stands taut as a bow, tense from shoulder to knee. It stands heavy on its feet, but not without experience in posture. Faust makes no sudden movements.

It does not threaten him. Instead, it stares.

It very slowly looks him over.

" ... you ain't no guard." it says.

Faust looks between the defunct weapon and the assailant incredulously. He speaks, though static accents his voice.

"... And you know that's broken, right? " says the CORPSE.

The assailant stops. It pauses, but instead of taking offense, laughs at him before wrapping it back up. " Yea," the stranger replies, " 'm well aware i's busted! Nice t'see y'noticed!"

The stranger does not seem immediately threatened. Faust attempts to make conversation.

|| |:| Negotiate with Assailant << ||


Faust very slowly lowers himself, but remains tense on his own. His vocalizer remains on low volume. He states he means no harm.

" Oh, I know!" the stranger interrupts, a laugh almost popping out like a bubble, " I know my fair share o' machin'ry! An' y'all don' look like y'mean 'arm, anyway. I mean, yer missin' some... key parts."

Faust was not properly armed with his necessary combat components in his cell. He knows this.

The stranger continues. " But I mean, y'ain't no guard... We took care o' those prigs back when we snagged th' place t' begin with! Trust me, th' Big 'ead was reeeeeeal thorough!"

Faust states that he was kept in one of the cells, and he doesn't recall why. The stranger rubs its glass dome and thinks, humming.

" Weeeeeell... we ain't real familiar wit'is place, see? " it starts, " we're foreigners. Th' doors were password-locked, an' we didn't know th' local say, so t' speak. An' from th' smell, we kinda 'ssumed..."

They assumed the prisoners were dead. Judging from the dessicated corpses Faust remembered from before, he wasn't surprised if they were. But he wasn't organic. He survived. But for how long...?

" I mean, I ain't s'prised YOU'RE still kickin', bud!" the Stranger continues. " I'm jus' sayin... we wasn't thorough 'nuff, 'pparently. "


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


|:| [|| Free Conversation Input ||] <<

|| |:| Mention the previous complaints << ||


Faust mentions that he overheard the stranger complaining about its work. It seems unhappy being there.

The Stranger tenses up, but sighs. " First 'n for'most, bud," it goes on, " I'm female. An' second..."

"I might be, ay'. But I mean, ain't no'ne 'oo were ev'r 'appy wit' bein' thieves, were they? ... Cept th' folks in stories. An' th' folks doin' th' steal'n'. O'erwise, no'ne else 's 'appy."

Faust loves stories. He's always thought the stories of folks lives were interesting, but he feels that she's unhappy with how hers turned out.

She doesn't immediately respond. There's brief silence, before she puffs. " Well, I mean, lookit you! Yer a mess! I can't imagine y'like yours, neith'r!"

The Stranger's trust falls two points.

Faust does take note. He did reactivate from dormancy as a "mess", this is true. He isn't pleased with it either. He was bringing it up as a point to relate with her.

She seems a bit regretful about her harshness, as her voice softens. It remains perfectly hoarse, though.

" ... right. Sorry, bud, 'm just... "

The Stranger's trust rises one point.

Faust brings up that their stories would probably take a better turn if they were to contribute to eachother's stories themselves. The Stranger herself has made positive impact on him already, he says, politely flattering her.

Her bioluminescent glow brightens. She sputters, but he can't translate anything coherent from her next comment.

The Stranger's trust has risen seven points.

"... say, you're one'a those... dead-bots, right?"

The Stranger seems bewildered by her lack of terminology, but runs herself through a few terms before corrections. " I mean - - I mean, CORPSE things... I mean those, right? "

Faust confirms this.

" Then... you're not like th' others. Right? "

He doesn't entirely understand. So he asks.

She seems a little tired, but explains her bewilderment anyway. " Bud, I ain't no tadpole. I know my 'bots, 'nside 'n outside, from th' common Calculator t' th' Magnus Corpor't'in Copilot . I know my 'bots, an'... I mean, it's kinda obvious yer diff'rent. "

" Most 'bots, I mean, either they think 'n a level b'low ours, 'r superior t'ours. They ain'ever equals. But you guys, yer brains aren't... I mean, is it true?"

She gestures to him in wonder, and suspicion. " Yer... y'all ain't pre-programm'd, 'r whatever. Yer smart all on yer own. An from th' ads, it's cause y'all used t' think right 'mong us, right? "

Faust confirms this. This is obvious knowledge, basic even for the least-evolved sentient children watching their advertisements. Everyone knows the jingle. But he, oddly enough, doesn't recall. Why...?

" So... I mean, what did you used t'do b'fore? "

Huh?

" ... Bud, I mean... y'all're raised from dead folks. Ya had t'live as sum'thin' else b'fore that, right? I mean, iffin' y'all're wantin' t'relate t'MY story... then it has t'be BIG, right? What was it? "

... They would, yes. This is also vital programming, essential to any and every CORPSE product. But she's asking what he lived as before, right? That's normally an easy question.

Except... he can't remember.

He tries, he tries and tries, but he can't remember. At least, nothing sensible enough through the noise to make anything out clearly enough.

Well, he's corrected, because he gets a few statements, but they make little sense.


-̱-̚-͂҉̫̭͚̯̻̟̞-̳̲̞͎̭̯-̤͉̙͓͊̅ͣ-̲̳͔̻̞̀-͍̬̮̥͕͊̃͐̇--̻̬̱̟̝̈́-̴̤̥͗̈́́̾̑͋ͦ-͉́ͦ̈́̊͊-̭̩̼̗͉͉̱̋̿̾̽͢-̴̿-͉͕̺̣͎͕͗̍ͣͅ-̰͈͍̝͚̓̓
̪-̦̩͖̠̆͒̉-͚͕͉̓̑̾̌̈-̡̻͔̯̈̄̊ͯ-̮̭͌͐ͩ̉̈͢-̯̺̰͚̗͙͝ͅ-̥͚͍̤̰͉̫ͪ̉̃̂̓̅͠-̯̐͢-̄̑̈́ͮ҉̭̗͔̰̗̞̰-̶̻̱͈̱̄̾̂ͦ̍ͩ̃-̈͊ͮ͐͋̄̽͏̼̬̘͕͉͇-ͭ̔̍̓
̸͖͎̫̲̠̗̟̀̐̆-̗̠̿̌ͮͤ̈̎̃ͅ-ͣ́-͓ͫ̈́͂ͦͯ-̈́ͧ̕-͓͇̟̝̜̝̂̄̊̀̉͑ͣ-̠͔̫̕ͅͅ-̮̟̮͛͋ͦ-̩̜̣͖͂̋ͧͩ̄͊̚͢-̢̥̙͚̩̬̏̄-̥ͮͩͤ͌ͯ-̬͎͈̞͙̯̬̌ͫ͐̉̈ͣ-̵̏
-̝͇̮-͋̉ͯ͜-̎ͫ̌̓̆ͤ̚-̷̪̬̖̹̌ͪ-̹̪́-̧͉͉̳̱ͪ͋̿̆̃͆͒-̺̬̪̝̳̄͌̍̽̎̅͋͜-̥̻̫̌̔̐͛̆̕-̖͈͔͍͙̎ͤͤ̄̓ͦ́-̨̥̊ͯ̈́͑
̴͓̻̳͕̦ͧ̓͆͋̓͛ͅ
̨̣͔̟͉ͫ͒̔͋"͙̼̣̾̇̆͌̚ ̮̯̐̋P͂̅r̖̩̟̙̺̺͍̐̄ͮ̾̄̋o̭̗̣ḿ̻̝̭̣̞͊̂̾i̖̫s̳̖̲̪͊͑̅͗ẹ͚̣̬̭̥̖ͥͧ̽̔͊̓̚͟ ̱̬ͨ̓m̙̻̮̱̞̯͕̽̎͊̋e͎̩͓͚͔̅ͧ̑̄ͪ.̯̥̱̜͙̱̩ͬ̑͐̓ͧ̓ͫ ͈̘͖̻ͮ͞"̖̰
͍͇̳̗̼̬͒̐
͇͕̯̫͍ͪͦͮ̃ͬ-̯͓͔̺̤͇͒̃̇̿ͦͅ-͛͊ͪ̔̓̇͑-̀͗̇-ͥ͑̔̒̓̈́̍҉̙͓͕̙̙-͈͔͙̠̱͙̥ͣͥ͌͑-̴ͦ̐̾̅͛͗-̸̬̭̥̤͍͇̏̋͊̆̉̋-̫̜̭̙̻̊̔͋-̴̞̪͉̭̻̏ͤ̅͒̽̍̽-̄̂̌
̷̝ͨ͋̽̄-̘̜͚̟͔̙ͫ̃̈ͬ-̲̬̤̯̝̳ͅ-͍͎͕̌ͧͣͤ̓̓-͇̒ͨ͛͂̄ͯ-ͧ̐̃̋ͩ̽̃͏̯-͓̲̗͍̎ͫ̕-̶͚̞̺͍͉ͨ̈-͙͈͗͑̀̈͌-̦̟̘͕ͣ͆͑ͬ̑̋-̲̳͚̠̲̼̿͌͒̈͌̅͗-͇̠̪̬͓͘
̥͉-̫͊͆ͮ-̗̑ͥͮ͑̈́̏-̓͊̇̿-̈͂̿͡-̦̩̊̕-̜̞̗͙͓̎ͬ̔͗̅̚-̝̯̍-̠̳̍̍̌ͅ-̿̊̿̚-̡̜͙̙̇̒ͭ̎̃ͅ-̭̝ͨ̓͐ͭ̃-̼-̜̿ͨ͗̏͐̌̌-̖͓̜͖̠̑̆̊-̴--̞ͦ͆̎̅́̏̀-
̼̖͓̝̹̭̠̈ͥ͗ͯͥ̿̕-̻͑̎̿-̞͚ͦ̓ͧ̇̍͒͛ͅ-̯̄-̹̦̞̫̝̉̕-̬̣͕͙̫̬͇̐͗-̸͙̏-͉̙̱̤̣̓-͖͕̯̱̞̓̀͗-̰̬̈́


Like that one. They just... they end up in static! The resounding memories of the life originally raised from the dead for the product normally have flawless memory, but his in particular is glitchy and painful! He's quickly learning to hate it, despite the hollow feeling it draws from him.

The Stranger notices that he's apparently flinched in response, and quietly steps forward.. Once. Twice.

Faust says... that he doesn't remember a lot of his story. But he knows it's long. Long enough to tire the nostalgia even from him. But the sentiments of the past do not leave him, regardless of his absence of thought.

He longs to set things right for himself. He feels that was part of the reason for his construction, so his place might have been a part of his life before.

Despite his lack of memory to supply, he knows she wants to make her story better as much as he does. They've both made significant mistakes, whether they remember them or not.

The Stranger is silent for a long time.

The Stranger's trust ????? by ?? points.

She doesn't comment for a long time. But eventually, she points to his crest.

"... izz'at bad?" she asks.

Faust feels his helm, and remembers the crack to his cranium he inflicted. Or had inflicted upon him. It was a hallucination, right?

He says the pain has dulled by now, but... he's fine otherwise. He just has a headache.

" Izzit a bad 'ne? "

He doesn't want to admit it feels bad, but it's uncomfortable. So he nods.

She hesitates. She glances between her || BROKEN ACE APPLICANT || weapon and her new intruder. She seems to consider her options...

".... Ok."

" I'll do y's a favor, a'ight? Just this one, an' i's b'tween us, a'ight?"

He nods, confused.

" I gotta get th' power workin' again, so I can't stick 'round an' 'elp out like I'm itchin' to, so... tell ya what. "

" You take this Assault rifle, an' you bust't up real good, make't look so bad m' boss lets me keep it fer m'self... then I'll come back next time power goes, an' try t'elp, ok?"

Faust noticably relaxes, sighing in relief. His back cracks as a part of his sudden change in posture, but he doesn't care.

He takes the || BROKEN ACE APPLICANT ||, and decides to use his || MANGLED ARM || item to do it some damage without hurting the detached arm further.

It takes some tough work, and his scraped shoulders are quite sore and tired now, but he pulls the limb back to reveal a || DESPERATELY HELPLESSLY BROKEN ACE APLICANT ||, labeled specifically by the new girl.

She takes it back and wraps it more tightly afterward, the hidden glow beneath her domed help glowing brightly enough to show the faintest silhouettes of a wide, gnarled smile.

" Yer a gem! A real gem!"

She hugs him, and something else creaks. Realizing her abundantly friendly reaction, she pulls off quickly, and with awkward shifting. She coughs. " Right, right, sorry, bud... "

She pushes past him and out the door, but doesn't leave without turning back around to wave. She lowers her volume, hoping the echo doesn't carry.

" I'll be back 'n 'bout five-'undred clicks, a'ight, bud? "

" Stay safe! Th' pests 'ere're brutal! "

He hears about lethal pests, and suddenly remembers his internal clock can't tell time in the current conditions. But as he quickly tries to ask, she waves him off, and she's gone before he can. She heads down the hallway further, back down the Past Left Corridor instead, and she's gone.

Crisis Averted.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


Faust has somehow talked his way out of brutal murder, but for how long? He doesn't really have any plans for this corridor, but if the Stranger's friends are downstairs, he's sure as all not going down to meet them.

What should he do now?


|:| [|| Free Command Input ||] <<

Time's up!


|| |:| Rest << ||


Faust rubs his head and groans. Honestly, with the stress of the squeezing and maneuvering, his clumsiness, and his blindness in direction, he's lost track of how long he's been wandering the halls. Honestly, the exercise has worn him down.

Nobody can blame him, after all. He was cramped in a cell for heaven knows how many sleepless nights. He tires out easier than he usually does.

He decides that it would be best to let himself rest. He warily looks back out into the hallway, both ways, before softly pacing his way over to the opposite room. Using a bit of force, and some cloth along the wheels to keep noise down, he drags more beds into one of the other rooms.

Staying in the well-lit room is too risky if someone wants to go back and check on their certain stash, so he'll, for the most part, be sleeping in one of the other rooms.

Once he's lined the beds up in Room A190, he aligns them to make a proper bed for his size. Once he's measured himself out properly, he lays down.

The material is welcomingly comfortable, for having worn away in age so long. Definitely a good change from his cell floor.

He finds it almost too easy to fall asleep. He's out in minutes, and the fog of dreams drawing in his head clear away the static.

Faust has fallen asleep.

You have unlocked the use of Tokens!


Tokens are non-physical representations of currency you, the active players, will continually get, that which can unlock Memories! That's right! The more Tokens you collect, the more Faust remembers, about this life and the ones before it!

You collect tokens in a number of ways, from unlocking achievements, to discovering easter eggs, completing quests, working through Crisis situations, helping people... and so much more! The more tokens you collect, the more memories you unlock, and the more memories you unlock, the more abilities you unlock at certain tiers for Faust!

Consider it your leveling currency!

You have 10 Tokens!

Would you like to spend them now? Or save them for later?

Y/N?

You have idled long enough, and the decision has been made for you.

You have decided to use your Tokens!

Please select your first categories.

|:| Environmental <<
|:| Familial <<
|:| Romantic <<
|:| Platonic <<
|:| Unrelated <<

|| |:| Inquire Further << ||


The Token System runs on Categories and Sub-categories. Simple and efficient, it starts out with few options, which branch into more options, which may branch into many, and shows a system of price ranges for particular upgrades, the more valuable being more expensive and the less valuable being less expensive, obviously.

The subgroups to the memories are mostly the same, branching into Insignificant and Significant. If you buy a more expensive memory upgrade, it will unlock the memories before it in tally, but at the cost that you still lose just that many Tokens anyway.

While you can purchase Memories now, there might also be Valuable Memories or Upgrades you can save Tokens up for later. You've only just started.

Now, would you rather get into Token Exchange, or save up for it and Wake up?


|:| Wake <<
|:| Shop <<

Wake up.

|| |:| Wake Up << ||

You decide to save your Tokens, and instead Wake Up Faust.

Faust is now wholesomely refreshed, but his body dully aches. He hasn't moved or made any sound yet, but there is already sound in the room in the form of someone grumbling, moving items around as they blindly fumble over and curse his sleeping shape.

His translator can't immediately catch their language, but they don't seem aware of him being awake. Instead, they're fondling panels and plates upon him, seemingly trying to tear them off for scrap. As he can't see damages in the dark, he can't tell if they directly did damage to the internal systems, but he doesn't feel better than before about it.

He decides he doesn't like that.

He reaches over with tired intolerance and grabs the intruder's head. The muffled squawk they make is unfamiliar, but annoying no less.

Their head is small. Puny. Frail. He almost feels bad.

He considers his options.



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


|:| Kill <<
|:| Knock Out <<
|:| Interrogate <<

|| |:| Kill << ||


He remembers the intruder assailed him first. As the law of the land so always goes, when you're hit, hit back.

He squeezes. The intruder's head pops.

He sits up in pain. He can't entirely tell how much damage the little guy did, but he can tell it's bad. At least, on the outside. He had to have removed more than ten panels of exoskeleton armor, at least.

Faust inspects the body. Emaciated at best, malnourished at worst, the intruder's feathers are ratty, worn down to wiry figures. They also appear to have a broken arm.

He feels bad about their condition, but with the shape they were in, they also shouldn't have been trying to use him for scrap.

This brings about the brief fear that others would know where he was. He loots the body and decides to leave. Quickly.

Faust loots one || DISASSEMBLY KIT || and fifteen || EXOSKELETON PANELS ||. This promptly boots out his || BUNDLE OF BROKEN SHIVS || and his || BUNDLE OF USELESS MEDICAL TOOLS ||. Such short-lived inventory. He needs to expand.

He promptly, quickly kicks the body underneath the beds, and leaves the room. The power is back online, in particular areas, but there is no sign of his fishy friend.

He decides, instead, to keep moving. He'll find the fish eventually.

Faust heads further into the Medical Wing.

The power has been returned, and seemingly repaired, so half of the rooms along the hallway are now lit, giving him more than a partial view of his path. There's still much blood and gore, but he's far less likely to trip now, and his fitting slumber has resolved him of his exhaustion. He is now free of hallucinations.

He looks along the numbers and peeks into rooms every so often. Nothing really stands out yet. That's rather disappointing.

He's begun to miss the aquatic woman he met earlier. Even if an enemy, she at least made good conversation. But the hallway is absolutely silent, save for his own steps and air conditioning. Which, by the way, is working again.

He almost feels like he should've spared the little bird creature plundering him. Maybe he'd get to talk a bit before brutally murdering the little scoundrel.

But her, at least she was nice. She didn't immediately go for his throat, but until the power goes out again, he won't see her again. From the sound of her, it's a frequent thing, that, so he has high hopes.

He tries to occupy himself while exploring. Maybe a song, or a little story to tell himself again, to keep focused.

He feels more a song fits than anything. He's not one for belting out rudely, and his voice isn't usually very loud, but with his size, it sometimes comes across that way.

He knows to keep his volume down. He tries to remember a tune...

Ah, he remembers. He clears his throat.

O' Charlie was a weepin' boy no older than a sprout,
His meals were banana peels half-sealed from the grout,
He always cried that he had lied and lost his baby 'bout...

But he was sick and for his trick he'd not see 'imself out.

There's a presence now aware of Faust for his singing. An anomalous figure peeks out from beneath one of the bloodied sheets, mistaken for a corpse, and begins to follow him.

Faust is not aware. He cannot hear it. He just continues singing himself along.

Oooooooo, Charlie,
Oooooooo, Charlie,
Liar that you be,
Why, Oooooooo, Why,
Can't you save the screams for me?

Oooooooo, Charlie,
Oooooooo, Charlie,
Trickster that you are,
Stop, please, Stop,
You might wander off too far...

For his obliviousness to his situation and his weakness of senses due to lack of assistance, he does not notice the figure slowly come up behind him.

There is a shifting of feet. The figure pulls something sharp out. Sharp and crooked.

The figure swings, and there's a brief shockwave of pain rippling down from the impaled point of opened back panel and weakening, emaciated flesh all the way down his spine.

For all his size, the fact the little thing manages to leap up so far is surprising, but he doesn't have much time for complaint. The blade pierces at least two vital things, leaving Faust to crumble to the floor like paper.

He doesn't get a lot of time to react. He turns around as quickly as he can, but that gives the assailant another chance.

The Blade pierces Faust's face. It comes out through the back of his skull. There's a lot of hideous sparking and distorted noise.

Faust screams.

A quick tearing of the Crooked Blade down his weakened facial synthetics and the revealed portions of neck skin, down to his collar, cuts the annoying racket out.

Once Faust falls silent and nonresistant, the assailant pulls his blade free.

The large robot falls to his side unceremoniously.

The assailant turns him back onto his back, then pries open his chest panels. Once enough flesh over his core processing area is revealed, it lifts the blade again.

A quick blade through his core is enough to cease his struggle.

Faust dies.

... Thankfully, Faust is not actually your first protagonist character. The Quest is obviously not yet done.

The assailant -- oh, sorry, the First Protagonist -- removes their || CROOKED BLADE || from the chest of the dead monstrosity.

They rather rudely rifle through his inventory.

They loot the || DISASSEMBLY KIT || and || USELESS TOILET PAPER NOTES ||. Everything else is junk to them.

The assailant checks Faust over for any life signs. He has none. Relieved with this, they get back up to their feet, back to their crooked stance.

There's no point in lingering, to them. But before they leave, they give Faust's head a kick.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


" Y'all have some shitty trackin', don'tcha? "


|:| Answer <<

...I dunno man. I kinda get the impression there really should be more of us for this ride, I sure don't know what's up, buuuut I guess this is as good of a starting point as any. What's up?

|| |:| " What's up? " << ||


The Protagonist huffs, an awful sound to be sure. " Well, I don' care how many of you fuckboys I'm gettin', 'slong as I found y'all t'begin with! "

" Seriously! Seriously! I been hidin' out'n this 'ere gorefest fer what, three months?! Three fuckin' months I was waitin' on y'all t'chime in, jus' say 'Eyyyyy, buddy, bro, mango dango joestar tango, sorry we're LATE, we're read t'kick ass now!', but noooooooooo... "

They kick the head of the dead monstrosity again, a bit more harshly. " Y'all just wanna fuckin' robot t'do yer dirty work! " they silently snapped to themselves, to their nonexistent crowd. " An' I'm almost offended! "

They huff and puff a bit, but once they take a deep breath for themselves, the ragged sigh following it comes far more easily than expected. Shorter, to be sure, but more easily. Ill-tempered, they seem.

" I'm jus' glad I ain't leavin' this gorefest alone, t'b'onest. " they only go on. Really, for all their blustering, they're at least thankful they found them to begin with.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


" So, what were y'all up to with this 'ere ol' rustbucket t'begin wit?"


|:| Answer <<

" ... Oh, wait, y'all were askin' me a question?"

" Guess I shouldn't jump th'gun on ya. Lemme think real fast..."

" A'ight, here we go."

" I've been squattin' in this 'ere gorefest motel mess fer 'bout three months now. I been watchin' these fuckboys eat, sleep, an' steal from erry corpse 'ere. 'Cept mine. I always do th' chameleon schtick, y'know, I keep swappin' places an' shiftin' gears when noboy's lookin'."

" Th' place is infested wit' thieves. Bandits, looters, pirates, whatever, don't know, don't care. All stealers. All scavengers. Y'all can't steal what don' belong t' begin wit', an' these dead don' belong 'ere, anyway."

" I been tryin'a find my own way out, but I mean... y'know how it is, bein' legally blind. Can't do shit."

" So, ANYWAY..."


-=-=-=-=--=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


" ~*What's up*~ wit' Frankenstein 'ere? ~*What's up*~ wit'cha'll?"


|:| Answer <<

best I can tell, the franken was a prisoner here, before graduating to one of the roaming bandits. Then you killed him, and won us, well, me, in the bargin.

The Protagonist considers these words on uneven feet, as they make way past the dead monstrosity and onwards down the hall.

" Oh, so 'e was negotiatin', was 'e?" they went on to wonder, " I can take a guess. Techy fishbait always had a thin' for combat-useless 'bolts. Kinda likes th' company. Y'know. B'fore she tears 'em apart."

" If y'all got t' negotiatin' wit' 'er, then y'all woulda ended up knocked up onna table wit' nothin' for y'selves but a buncha hangin' wires an' an automatic vocalizer answerin' machine. Tha's 'bout it. She might be real imposin', physically, but she don't know organic harm like she do robot harm. You woulda been miserable. "

The Protagonist sheathes their || CROOKED BLADE || in a makeshift belt accessory, made from spare linen and scraps of leather. They're a bit thankful that there's nobody else in the hall, otherwise, their little self-conversation would've drawn attention.

" Anyway," they start, " 'ere's th' deal, awright? I'm blind. Actual, real, legally blind. Means I can't actually see for shit, y'get what I'm sayin'? So what y'all gotta do, here, is what y'all, I assume, failed t'do wit Frankenstein... Y'all gotta be my eyes an' ears. I can't see shit. You can. So you gotta illustrate it for me real clear, in real clear... uh..."

" You folks can display imagery, right? Iunno, visions or whatever, but yer gonna hafta do that, or else we're gonna be 'ere a long while."

They smiled. A lot of uneven rows of gnarled teeth on curling lips showed it, even though it looked more like a default snarl for anything else.

" Good. Then be 'all one 'r a thousand, I'm glad t' have ya. "



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


" Now. Iffin' y'all had plans before, wouldja rather follow those, or y'all jus' wanna help me get outta this dump instead?"

Do you want to abandon your quest for freedom, or continue along your path?


|:| Continue Quest, Treasure Hunt <<
|:| Abandon Quest, Escape Building <<

|:| Continue Quest, Treasure Hunt <<

[||:| Achievement Unlocked; Back from the Grave! As a reward for reviving a supposedly long dead text questline, this achievement will reward you with a " Second Chance " ! You will find out what those are later! |:||]


[|| |:| Continue Quest, Treasure Hunt<< ||]


He considers the proposal, then nods. " Aye," he replies, " that'd prob'ly be best. Iffin' ya had 'im searchin' fer sumthin' 'ere, might's well keep lookin', yeah? Yeah. Good idea. "

You have raised his amicability towards you minimally, and soothed what remained of his previous temper.

Without imagery sent in to guide him, he guides himself more along the hall by touch and sound, and resumes his expedition.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


He refrains from talking in this time interval, as it distracts from the sensations he should be focusing on when moving under the radar of others, but as he explores, this gives you time to contemplate your next moves, or otherwise debate among yourselves actions.

This, in other terms, means you now have the option to make FREE ACTIONS, allowing you to suggest or command beyond what is predetermined and given to you.

This in mind, what do you do?


|:| _______________ <<