Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Sweet and Sour Victory

Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Sweet and Sour Victory
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>Are there any animals that don't try to kill you?

Sure, lots of them. It usually depends on where you are. You’re certainly going to be safer in a cul-de-sac than you would in the jungle. When you were a kid there was a cat in the neighborhood. It never once tried to kill you. Sure, it mauled seven people, but it never came anywhere near you. Some creatures are just safer than others. In many cases animals are the least of your worries. One of your neighbors, a friend of yours, had a thing in their basement. His family sealed it in there when they found it. He said they heard it scratching around on Christmas morning. Anyway, it had been locked down there for years when he told you about it. You’re friend, you don’t remember his name, brought you over to his backyard to try out his new trampoline. A board fell off one of the basement windows when you got too close. The thing, it- well, that’s not really important. The bottom line is: there are plenty of animals that are safer depending on where you are.

Quote:>Stop whatever you're doing and read your Staying Delicious book. This is clearly the most important thing you could be doing right now.

Having thoroughly lost interest in the possible infinitely recursive doors, you hunker down into a corner to read a book. You always were mildly fond of books. They’re easier to get than television and more useful. Hollowing the book out to hide things in has always been fun. You’ve taken your fair share of books from the library. You never returned them, naturally, but you certainly wouldn’t leave the library without compensation. The books you take are normally checked out with your brother’s library card. That way, when the books don’t get returned, your brother has to pay the fee. You get free books and the library gets reimbursed. Everybody wins; especially you.
You crack open “Staying Delicious: Keep Your Cool as a Fool” and within minutes you are lost within its pages. The gentle pitter-patter of light rain on the shack’s tin roof is the only thing that reminds you of where you are. The book you’re reading, Staying Delicious, is a self-help/instructional guide for the attention starved by the attention starved. Jointly penned by authors Paytricia Attenson and Lackett Mei, it provides many useful hints, tips, and tricks on how to be the center of attention and remain the center of attention in any situation. It equates the entire concept to being irresistible and delicious in a hypothetical sense. It uses the word delicious quite often, in fact; sometimes completely unnecessarily. It actually uses it to a point of reaching the broad side of uncomfortable. The synopsis on the back of the cover actually boasts the book using delicious over 12,000 times. You thought this was a cookbook when it was given to you.


Honeyed Vinegar
Codex: "Thanks to mankind’s two greatest achievements, written word and self-indulgence, you now have the ability to distract any and all people or creatures by keeping them focused solely on yourself without fail. Keep in mind that once their attention is on you it is very difficult to lose as whatever thing you do will be so interesting that they will be captivated with you even if you leave and re-enter the room. This is not a passive ability; you will need to consciously try to get their attention with the intent of keeping it. If the target is hostile, its attention will also be accompanied by actively hunting you. Switching this ability out for another does not immediately deactivate its affects if something is currently focusing on you. Remember, if you forget what an ability does or need more information, just ask."

Quote:> Open the second door, then the third door and the fourth and so on for infinity.

You put the book back in your inventory and crawl back over to the trapdoor to resume where you left off. You might as well get it over with, even though you have a good idea where this is going. There’s probably going to be a bunch of doors, one after the other, stretching down into a huge tunnel of infinite doors that you’ll waste the rest of your misbegotten life opening. Or, at the very least, there will be enough to annoy you.
You grab the knob of the second trapdoor beneath the first and turn it. It swings open downward revealing another room below. Oh, well it’s better than you were expecting. The room is dimly lit and appears to be another worn and beaten up wooden board affair. The floor is covered with loose dirt, dust, and sawdust. You also see what looks like a figure crouching in the center of the room staring at the floor.

Player Statistics:

RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:> "... Bro?"

Actually, whoever this is does kinda look like your brother; from behind at least. He’s got the same hair color, but he’s not wearing the type of clothes your brother usually wears. Your brother usually prefers to dress like a fop with ties, suspenders, and pomade. He thinks he’s SO fancy just because he has a well-paying office job. This person is dressed like a moron too, but in a different way; crumby jacket, worn shoes, ripped pants, and all. He’s also wearing a dirty, finger-less glove. Just the one, his other hand is bare. “Hey numb-nuts, did you lose the other one?” What a tool.
Anyway, since whoever this person is looks like your brother you automatically dislike him. If he is your brother, he’s got a lot nerve muscling in on your quest. It might have been a mistake to tell him where you were going, but at the time you thought it would be a good security net in case you needed him to bail you out of trouble again. It is curious how he got out here before you, baring the incident where you were unconscious for most of the day, especially since you took his truck and disassembled his bike. Again. There are only a few ways to find out for sure if that is your brother. The first one is talking. It’s time to make contact. Your current unnerved state outweighs your dislike of your brother; you decide to proceed with caution.

You: “Yo, bro. Is that, um, is that you?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s still crouching down there staring at the floor. How rude.

Quote:>Throw the "Staying Delicious" book at the figure then quickly turn around and try to catch it.

He either can’t hear you, or he is ignoring you. It’s time for the next step of making contact, a swift jar to the head. If he is your brother, he probably has this coming. You pull out the “Staying Delicious” book and wind up your throwing arm. An echoing thought in your head plants the idea that if you don’t immediately turn around and try to catch something, you’re going to look very silly. Well, aside from all the times they got you horribly killed, the spontaneous ideas have never given you a reason to distrust them. Sure, you’ll bite.
With a moderate amount of strength you hurl the book through the trapdoor at the figure below.
1 book removed from inventory

Quote:>Your blood. What if the vial has your blood in it?

Oh. Yeah, that’s an unsettling thought. The codex said that the scent of their prey’s blood is what drives Howling Gut Snakes to frenzy. The blood of a specific person instead of blood in general is an oddly linear thing for an animal to focus on, though. You’re not a herpetologist, so you’re not sure if that’s the case. Still, if that guy you bought the snake catching kit from did include a vile of your blood specifically, how did he get it? At the time you respected the specifics of the transaction since he demanded identity theft for payment. Thinking back on it, the guy was kind of a creeper. You’re not sure how to feel about the idea of a possible whack job having unlimited access to your blood. You’ll have to look into it later.
Anyway, you were going to do something before you landed on this train of thought. What was - *WHACK*
A book pelts you in the back of the head. Before you can reach up to grab it, it rolls off you and tumbles down into the open trapdoor.

You: “Son of a seven eyed man-manatee!”

You quickly turn around to see where the book came from. You catch a glimpse of the trapdoor in the ceiling and see that it’s open when - *WHACK!*
A book pelts you in the face.

1 book added to inventory

Player Statistics:

Softmind Softwaretm Semi-Monthly Corporate Newsletter:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>Read this NEW BOOK unless it is still the "Staying Delicious" book.
>Pretend you are not the slightest bit angry and start reading the book which just hit you in the head.

Oh, no. You don’t need to pretend that you’re not angry. Your status is still set to UNSETTLED. Your salty exclamation earlier was more to do with brief shock than actual anger. It’ll take more than a few light knocks to upset you. You’re used to it. As for this new book…
You pull the book out of your inventory and look at the cover. It’s called “A Hunter's Heart”, and it appears to be a collection of biographical and autobiographical short stories that revolve around hunting. Some of the notable contributors are actually VIP list celebrities such as current president Billy Mays and beloved "My Fair Proboscis" sitcom actress Xylahzigzig. It’s odd to be looking at it here now. You actually remember seeing this before. It was on a small table in the 24 hour free clinic that you’re staying in. You convinced the receptionist to let you crash in the lobby. You do have a sort-of apartment, but you can’t really go back there until some problems take care of themselves. You’re brother offered to let you stay in his guest bedroom, but damned if you’ll go there when he actually wants you to. Anyway, this book was in a pile of other books on the table next to the couch you’ve been sleeping on. Before you started your journey you decided to grab a book in case you needed to kill some time or throw it at someone. You were originally going to take “A Hunter’s Heart”, but in the end decided on “Staying Delicious”.
You open the book and leaf through its pages. It appears that every page has been smeared with some kind of glow-in-the-dark ink. Carefully examining the pages you find that certain spots have been left bare of the glowing ink as if to highlight certain words. These certain words appear to mostly be along the lines of “hunt”, “watching”, and “eat”. On the very last page there is a doodle, also in the glowing ink, of some kind of circle with a dot in the middle surrounded by outward radiating squiggles. Okay. What is this even supposed to be? A wrinkly flower? An eye on a poorly drawn sun? An eye surrounded by untamed eyelashes? Failed mascara? This isn’t scary so much as it is trying too hard to be scary. Blotting out every page just seems desperate, and the scribble at the end looks like a child drew it. They might as well have written "booga-booga" while they were at it. You tuck the book back in your inventory. What a waste of perfectly good literature.

Quote:>Use the fistful of pennies to make it rain down into the trapdoor on the floor.

For some reason, when you threw your book at the guy below you, some other guy above you threw another book at you as well. You quickly glance upwards to see the person through the trapdoor above you glancing upwards. When you look through the trapdoor below, the guy down there is still staring at the floor. Though you can only see them from one angle, these bozos do look kinda similar; like your brother. A test is in order. You reach into your inventory and pull out your fistful of pennies. You hold your hand over the trapdoor and let go.

1 fistful of pennies removed from inventory.

You see the figure beneath you drop something on the floor. Immediately you hear the clatter of coins landing on the ground around you, as well as a few landing on you. They’re nickels.

1 fistful of nickels added to inventory.

Quote:> Carefully put hand through trapdoors on floor while looking up in the ceiling.

Wait a minute. Something screwy is going on here. These two keep moving at the same time you do. Either the two of them are working together to mess with you or-. You put your hand through the trapdoor on the floor and look over your shoulder at the trapdoor on the ceiling. You still can’t see the figure’s face, but he’s sticking his hand through the door. You wave your hand around and he does the same.

Quote:>Start thinking with portals.

No. Oh no. No-no-no NO!


You do NOT look like your brother! Sure you have the same hair color and a similar build, but you are a quadrillion times more ruggedly handsome than that clean-shaven office jockey. It’s these trapdoors; these portal doors. They’re clearly broken. They must be distorting your image like a fun-house mirror. Sure, upon closer inspection they’re both wearing the same clothes as you, but that doesn’t mean anything. The stuff you put through. What about those? The book and change you tossed through were different when you got them back. If the portal changes things you put through then it must not be working right. Wait. You quickly pull your hand back and look at it. It’s exactly the same as it was before. Doesn’t matter, the portal’s still busted.

Player Statistics:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>Empty your inventory and use the mallet to render useless all of the potentially helpful items.

With your blood boiling you reach deep into your inventory and grab an armful of everything you have. Like a petulant child having a tantrum over being denied ice-cream cake, you throw everything on the ground; it all clatters loudly as your items scatter across the floor.

1 entire inventory removed from inventory.

You do not look like your brother. You are nothing like your brother. Not even a little bit. Would your brother ever do anything like this? You think not.
Stepping around the mess you made, you pick up the mallet and equip it in your hands. You step over to the can of dehydrated cans. You swing the mallet down crushing it beneath the blow. Extremely tiny, miniature cans spill out as the top pops off. The extend-o-grab is next. It breaks into many pieces when you bring the mallet down. A small pole and flag pops out of the pistol’s barrel as you smash it. The keys don’t break, but they bend beyond use under the head of the mallet. The book, legalese document, and coupons are far too flat to be crushed; you decide to rip them up instead. As paper scraps flutter throughout the room, you kick the nickels around since there are too many to smash.
Inhaling and exhaling deeply you look around the shack with apelike pride at the absolute mayhem you caused. There’s just one thing left. You stride over to where the electronic codex lay. You were saving this one for last. It appeared out of nowhere, gave you information that was completely useless, and worst of all, it’s boring to look at. The small unassuming box lays there on the floor with its lone bubble speaker looking up at you as you raise your mallet. You bring the hammer down with a smirk on your face. As the hammer connects with the codex time slows to a crawl.
There’s a blinding flash followed by your feet leaving the ground as you’re thrown backwards. You hear glass shatter behind you. With your body now horizontal, you look upwards to see the window shattering outward as you are careening towards it. As you fly through the now open window, you notice that the wood from the entire shack seems to be exploding outwards. Luckily for you, with the truck’s locks being broken, you left its windows open to make getting in and out easier. This allows you to pass through the truck without being crushed or sheared in half by one the metal bits. After passing through the truck, your airborne journey takes you into the trees. Miraculously, you miss every trunk, limb, and branch before finally smacking into the ground. Oddly enough, you didn’t skid upon your landing. You just, sorta, hit the ground and stick there. It’s soft, though; if you don’t mind all the rotten leaves and pine needles you’re laying on.
Well now. The codex blew up. You guess that’s it for your adventure. You were supposed to find the shack and do something. Well, you found a shack and blowing it up counts as something. You had no doubt that you’d succeed, but sill, the outcome was a little disappointing. At least there were some exciting parts. Hopefully the explosion did some damage to your brothers truck. How satisfying would it be to tell him it got blown to smithereens? Then again, maybe not, since you’re going to need it to get back. It’s actually pretty cozy here on ground. It’s really, really soft. It almost feels like you’re ever so slightly sinking into it, like those fancy foam mattresses.
Looking up, you can make out dim shafts of moonlight through breaks in the clouds shining down the canopy while droplets of rain splash on your face. It’s probably a good idea to go before you get completely soaked. You begin to sit up. You are unable to. Your back cannot seem to part from the ground. When you try to lift your arm you see some sort of silvery, white substance beneath the detritus holding it down. Behind you, above your head, you hear a number of metallic clicking sounds as if someone were unlocking a great many locks. You look up when you hear something creak to see the forest floor parting to reveal an old wooden door opening up from the ground. From the darkness you see eight glinting eyes staring back at you. An enormous spider steps forward. It groggily clicks its mandibles together as it examines you; its sleeping cap dangles lazily from its cephalothorax. Seemingly satisfied, the spider spears the ground next to you with one of its forelegs. You and the ground around you begin moving into the darkness leaving behind the forest floor bare as if a blanket were dragged across it. Before you disappear into the den, you get a close look at the wooden door when it dawns on you: this is a trapdoor spider. The realization of this pun prevents your PISSED status from being changed. The door closes behind you and the locks are locked.
To learn more of what takes place here please consult the eCodextm on the feeding habits of spiders.


You blink a few times. You’re standing in the shack with your arms full of your inventory. You quickly stash your things back where they belong. Is this a problem? Is having multiple hallucinations about your own elaborately grisly and overly verbose deaths a sign that you’re losing it?

Quote:>It's a mirror portal, sonni3. Don't you know anything about th3 r3al world?

What, like in that it’s an actual mirror or that it’s a metaphorical mirror in that it only shows a close approximation of what’s on the other side? Naturally, if you had two portals you could use them like a mirror. You’d be able to see your back. Also, if you got clever with the angles, you’d be able to see your front too. Not to mention that being able to give yourself high-fives is a novelty that simply cannot be ignored. There’s probably a market for this. Would the portals still work if you tore them down? It would certainly help if you could angle them to be more mirror like. No matter how much you try you just can’t get a good look at your face. You need to be sure that at least the most important feature of yours is different from your brothers.

Quote:> Find something you can use to lower stuff in, like a long piece of rope.

That would certainly be useful. There are only a few places you could possibly look; unless you wanted to scour the entirety of the forest, that is. You don’t remember there being anything rope-like in the truck. You would have found it during your earlier search; the shack is also pretty bare. There might be something around outside. Looking through the widow opposite from the one near where the truck is parked, you see a cluster of old-fashioned, metal trashcans. Were those there before? There’s a distinct feeling of deja vu regarding things that may not have been there before.
You carefully step outside onto the moist ground as light raindrops begin to bounce off your head and shoulders. You quickly round the corner to see a disorganized cluster of rusty, old metal trashcans. Prying the lids off of each of them, you find them to all be empty. Something orange catches your eye in the light shining out of the shack’s window. Looking into the window to see it’s much smaller on the inside provided with the view through the other window and open door is fairly dizzying. Anyway, you push past the trashcans to see a slimy, moss covered extension cord lying in a pool of muck. It’s old and worn; the orange insulation casing is shredded in several areas.

1 extension cord added to inventory.

Player Statistics:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>Drop all of your items through the portal except the codex. Also if you drop the pistol in, you might want to turn the safety on just in case.

Now that you have identified the trapdoors as some kind of portal or mirror-portal variant, it’s time to start experimenting. The portal seems to change items you put in it, so it’s time to start putting stuff through and see what you get. A proper use of the scientific method would advise caution and controlled variables, but caution is something your brother would do. Why do something half-assed when you can just stuff it all in there and be done with it in a single move? Also, the pistol does not appear to have a safety feature of any kind.

Quote:>Attempt to avoid getting hit from above by some of the heavier objects.

Good idea. You certainly don’t want to get pelted in the head again. Alright, you’re ready. You reach into your inventory and gather everything you have into your arms. You walk over to the trapdoor and hold your items over the opening, positioning everything in such a way to make sure it all goes in on the first try. You make yourself ready to duck off to the side so you don’t get pelted by all the junk you’ve collected. On the count of three: one, two, thr-

Quote:>HOLD IT!!!


Quote:>I know you are pissed off right now, but dumping your entire inventory into the portal is just stupid and you will probably regret it later.

Yeah, but-

Quote:>Instead, why don't we try to experiment with the portal to see how it works? It seems the portal changes the object's properties and figuring out if there are any reasons to why these changes occur, or if there are any patterns or rules, could score you really cool things!


Quote:>And don't worry about you looking like your brother. You and him are totally different people and appearances are meaningless. He's not going on a cool quest, is he? No. you are! So, points for you.

… Okay.

Quote:>Now, here are some experiments:
1) Lay a couple of items out around the portal and look through the portal. Do they look different?
2) Toss a nickel through the top portal at an angle so it lands on the floor. Did it change?
3) Take two dehydrated cans. Pass one through the upper portal and one through the bottom portal. Compare them with third dehydrated can.
4) Stick half of the extend o gear through either portal and obverse the other end as it appears through the opposite portal did it change. Remove the extend o gear from the portal. Anything different?

You lay out your book, coupons, and legalese document around the trapdoor. It’s a little hard to see around the other you, but looking through the portal you see some differences. The “Hunter’s Heart” book appears to be the "Staying Delicious" book down there, however, it appears the coupons and document have been replaced with pocket lint and a dryer sheet. You toss a single nickel through the portal, making sure it hits the floor instead of the other you below. A single penny bounces off the back of your head in response.

1 single nickel removed from inventory.
1 single penny added to inventory.

According to the instructions on the can of dehydrated cans, you’re supposed to toss it into a water source whereby the can will burst open with a bountiful supply of fresh new cans by the bucket load. It’s not recommended to open it manually. Even if you did want to ignore the instructions, you don’t have a can opener. Finally, you pull out the extend-o-grab and extend it so the front half is through the portal. When you look over your shoulder you see your other self holding the front half of a stick through the portal. Okay then, so it seems that the portal may change things to an apparent close approximation for anything seen through it or anything that goes through. Lint and a dryer sheet, though? Well, out least you found out in a mature and well though at manner. You should be proud.
Yeah, it was childish of you to throw a tantrum over whether or not you look like your brother. It shouldn’t matter if you look like your brother or anyone else. You are you and nothing in this world will change that. In the whole vastness of the universe where you amount to nothing more than an unlikely puff of atoms, there is only one entity that, against all odds, is made of the exact combination of what makes you, you. Your mere existence is a miracle, and on top of that, you, out of all the other puffs of atoms, were specifically chosen for this, you assume, monumentally important quest. You are a unique individual and not a damn thing will ever be able to change that. So, you’re better than tantrums. Look at what you were able to accomplish through thought and reasoning. You were able to gleam, possibly, important information that you would have, probably, never have gotten if you smashed all your items or just haphazardly thrown them in. You feel like a new person. You have a new outlook. From now on, things are going to be different. Here you stand; a pillar of integrity, logic, reason, and importance. It’s good to be you.


Quote:>Empty inventory into portal except for the codex and the keys.

And in they go.
You gather up everything in your inventory, save for a few, and toss them all into the trapdoor without a second thought. All your things clatter onto the ground through the portal and a few on the other you.

1 most but not all of inventory removed from inventory.

A shower of pennies rains down on you. That’s it. That’s it? Did you just lose nearly your entire inventory? Has it been swallowed up into some void? No, they haven’t. Looking down through the door you see everything you put through lying on the ground. The other you is looking through his portal. So, only the pennies made it through. You can still see the nickels you put through on the ground down below. This supports your earlier theory that the portal is either broken or not working properly. Regardless, you gather up the pennies.

1 fistful of pennies added to inventory.

Besides the keys and codex, you also saved the extension cord and your book. There’s just one other experiment you can think of; the previous idea of using a rope-like object to lower something into the portal seems like a good one. You tie the cord as best you can around the book and begin lowering it through the trapdoor. No sooner does the book enter before you’re pelted in the back of the head with a book. Shocked by the jolt, the extension cord slips from your grasp and tumbles below. When you pick up the book you see it’s the “Staying Delicious” book again.

Quote:>climb up through the upper portal.

You’ve stuck your hand through with no ill effects, so it should be safe to physically go through all the way. It’s baffling that most of your items didn’t go through yet you can still see them through the portal below. Maybe climbing through one will provide some answers. Hopefully this doesn’t kill you.
You stand up and turn around. Looking up, you see that your doppelganger did the same. In synchronization you both jump and grab hold of the trapdoor’s frame and pull yourselves up. You slide onto the floor with your knees displacing several objects. You’re surrounded by the items you threw before.

1 rest of inventory added to inventory.

Contrary to what you saw with the coins and book, everything seems to be exactly the same with no changes. Other than that, everything seems to be accounted for, except… The extension cord appears to be missing.
You hear something shifting above. When you look up you see your other self moving. Instead of crouching on his knees like you, he’s standing up and wrapping the extension cord over his shoulder like a bandolier. With no input from you, he jumps upwards and grabs hold of the trapdoor above him. You hear an impact on the trapdoor behind you. Your weight shifts slightly as the wood beneath you creaks.

Player Statistics:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>We h4ve come full circle! M4ybe they 4re your p4st 4nd future selves.

That’s an interesting concept. At first you consider brushing this thought aside as being improbable, but, after thinking for a moment, it really seems just as probable as several other things that have happened to you today. You can think of four possible scenarios off the top of your head.
The first one that comes to mind is that both trapdoors are glimpsing into the past and future. It only looks like the other versions of you are miming your actions because they’re both your past and future selves acting out what you have done and will do. A few problems with this scenario, though. If the trapdoors don’t transform what you put through it and was actually your time-you tossing in the replacements he (meaning you) would need to have gotten them from somewhere as having them materialize out of nothing is very unlikely. “Unlikely”, you say while staring at a possibly time traveling portal door. The second problem is: now knowing that time travel is a possibility you would willfully go out of your what to not do what you saw your future-you doing. You’re a leader, not a follower, after all.
The second scenario is, that while the doors do indeed pierce into the past and future, they are only milliseconds before and after the present. It looks like the other versions of you are mirroring your movements only because the time difference is far too minute for the naked eye to see. That still doesn’t explain where the extra items came from, and anyone who would go through the trouble of building physics breaking and time traveling doors only to make the time shift too small to notice has an off sense of priority. What would be the point? Disappointing, is what it would be.
A third scenario could be that a version of yourself from a different time is responsible for this. Maybe a future-you, having lived through some sort of calamity, built this in an attempt to prevent the oncoming/already-happened apocalypse. Each door you ascend through could take you forward through time until you see what caused the end of the world, then you descend back through time to prevent it. Or past-you saw some necessity for time travel and built this, then made himself (yourself) forget for another even more necessary necessity. The extra items could have-been/will-be acquired by a future-you and sent down to you-you and past-you for a vital purpose that you will/have-already learned about. That would explain the extra junk, but there are a few problems with this one. Even if it was a necessity, you would not force yourself to forget on the simple grounds that self-inflicted amnesia is dumb. Another is that, simply put, that is far more effort that any version of you, past, present, or future, is willing to give for anything. You suppose that you could make someone else do it for you, but you’d probably end up being roped into overseeing the project the entire time, and that’s something you just wouldn’t want to do.
The final scenario is simple. Aliens did it. They did it for an experiment. The extra items clonking you on the head and all the mirror miming of your future and past selves is just part of their plan. Everything that happened to you today was all according to their experimental designs. The only problem with this scenario is that you don’t believe in aliens.
The creaking and shuffling on the floor behind you derails your train of thought. You grimace at having your intellectual musings interrupted. Whoever is behind you just can’t be bothered to let you have a moment. Jeez, some people.

Quote:>Reach down and help up the other you, unless he is your brother from another universe, then help him up AND slap his ugly face.

After a moment you realize that he must be hesitating. You’re probably in his way. He doesn’t seem to want to call out to ask you to move. That could be a sign that he’s trying to hide his voice. That could be a sign that this is your brother masquerading as you since his voice has nowhere near the charmingly roguish quality that yours has. Whether it’s another you, future-you, your brother dressed as you, or whoever-else-you, you’ll find out a lot quicker if you help them up. If it is your brother, then after you help him up you can hit him with your book and push him back down.
You stand up from your crouching position and take a step forward. Before you can turn around, something catches your ankle and yanks you back to the floor. A little wind is knocked out of you as you hit the ground. As you try to get up you’re pulled back causing you to hit the floor again. You are pulled again, dragging your jaw as well as the rest of your body across the dirt covered wood.

Quote:> Wait for them to arrive, and then say hi.

You look over your shoulder to see your assailant. He has you by the ankle with one hand and is using the other to pull himself up. Now that you have a close look at him, you can see the clothes he’s wearing are similar to yours, but a lot dirtier and rattier. The dim lighting reveals that he seems to have spilled some sort of glow-in-the-dark ink on his shirt and sleeves. You also finally get a look at his face. It’s… Oh my.
His face is a twisted, grotesque parody of yours. While his hair had looked mostly like yours earlier, up close, you can see matted strands are plastered on his forehead as if drenched in sweat. The skin on his face, and only his face, is beet red and peeling like he's been very badly sunburned. The skin around his eyes is stretched out to a painful degree, making where his eyes would be look unnaturally large; you can see the folds of skin around his eyes held down as if by seemingly invisible clamps. There are single light bulbs jammed into his eye sockets, both dimly lit and flickering. His nose is crooked in a way that looks it was broken and healed improperly many times over. His mouth is wide open and his jaw hangs so low, it looks dislocated, but it's still rigid enough to function. His efforts to pull himself up actually causes him to attempt to clench his jaw, nearly closing it with his teeth almost touching; almost, but not. Actually, instead of teeth he has the bulbs of pointed Christmas lights of various mismatched sizes and colors jutting out of his surprisingly pale gums. In the opening of his throat that, like his eyes and mouth, are unnaturally large, there is a bundle of wires that jolt and spark with every breath. His tongue is hardly visible and caught up in the twisted bundle of wires, only noticeable because it twitches and spasms with every shock. His physical movements seem to be jarring more wires loose, you can now see them poking and hanging out from his shirt collar, his sleeves, and other parts of his clothing; all of them live and sparking. There are even a few wires poking out from under his fingernails. Despite his mangled expression, what little emotion can be gleaned from his flickering eyes is a look of pure and utter hate. His labored and muffled breathing sounds electronic and buzzy, like every noise he makes is run through a damaged speaker. He takes a deep breath causing his mouth to spark and sizzle before letting out a cry that sounds both confused and very, very angry.

You: "Hello."


Player Statistics:

Softmind Softwaretm Almost-Semi-Monthly Corporate Newsletter:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>Have you considered the possibility of layered universes? Areas occupying the same physical plane but a different temporal plane than your own location, which hypothetically could be parallel, containing parallel yous? You could be staring through a portal.

Well, yes; that’s another way of looking at it. The Layered Universe Theory (i.e. Parallel Universes) could certainly put a new perspective on your current situation. It could also explain why your other-you is such a freak of nature, or a freak of industry, considering his light bulbs and wires. Maybe both? Anyway, you remember reading something somewhere once about two notable physicists, you think their names were Max Greene and Brian Tegmark, came up with a classification system consisting of four levels and nine types. One of the possibilities was something like every universe mas a mathematical membrane stacked on top of each other. If that were the case, it would certainly fit with the theme of traveling up and down through trapdoors. How someone managed to pierce said dimensional membrane is another line of inquiry entirely.
The other you finishes pulling himself up through the trapdoor while keeping a firm grip on your ankle. You feel your weight shift as he stands to his full height, lifting your leg in the process. In the blink of an eye he swings you by the leg and slams into the wall behind him. The wood splinters from the impact. Something cracks in your leg and it goes numb.
Hmm? Oh, right. Eh- you’ll deal with it later. You’ve got to work this out first.


That being said, the whole parallel universe idea depends largely on whether or not String Theory is actually a thing. String Theory, a convenient back door to link Quantum Mechanics and Relativity; actually it’s more of a bridge, since it tries to link the two. Although, technically it’s more of a string considering how it works; hence the name, you suppose. As the theory goes, the universe is a series of strings that links particles together, these strings vibrate in about eleven dimensions that cannot be seen or observed. Would that mean for every two particles that are connected there are eleven different universes? That’s a lot. Then again, it’s still only a theory. A String Theory, to be precise. Considering it was devised to link Quantum Mechanics and Relativity together, one of which is still only a theory as well, some of this may not hold a lot of water. Actually, the Multiverse Theory has come under a lot of fire by the scientific community. Some detractors claim that Multiverses are a philosophical question since the concept lacks falsifiability and cannot be tested by conventional means. Others argue that a theory cannot be disproven at all if it takes into account every possible outcome.
After you slide down the splintered wall and hit the floor again, the other-you pulls you to your feet. It grabs you by the arm and sinks its jagged, glowing glass teeth into it.
If every possible outcome it possible, does that mean every different variation of multiverses exists too? From the neatly laid out membrane universes where they’re all stacked on one another, to the bubble universes where they intersect with one another and can actually be physically traveled to in-universe, to the black hole cosmology where the singularity inside each one is its own entire infinite universe, to the cyclic universe where the big-bang contracts into a big-crunch then explodes into another big-bang ending and restarting the universe eternally? With the universe being of infinite size, meaning an infinite amount of variables, with an infinite amount of variations for other universes, and an infinite amount of ways these universes connect; that would be infinity stacked on infinity stacked on infinity. Would the multiverse have universes that don’t have multiverses in it? Well, if every possibility is a certainty. There’s no way that could be measured.
This is making your head spin. You turn to the other you.

You: “Hey, do you think a theory should be discounted as being an actual science if there’s no way to test it? Even if said theory takes into account every possibility, including the possibility that it’s false?”

The other-you shrugs and then dislocates your shoulder. Hmmph, big help he is.
However, those same detractors that sneer at the idea of multiple universes themselves follow a number of theories that cannot be tested and treat them as fact anyway. Some of them would have their entire field of study collapse if those theories were ever proven wrong. So who are they to judge? Well, as scientists it’s their job to judge; however, down on the farm we have a little phrase that goes “the pot calling the kettle black.” And, provided these doors do link universes, you do have a way to measure it. You could simply go through each trapdoor and explore the entire universe to log all the differences. Not that you would do that. You don’t have the time or the patience for that brainy stuff.
The other-you grabs you by the scruff of the neck and begins running you forward. He forces you headlong into one of the windows. The glass shatters around your face and head.


Codex: "It is the practice of many to put on an air expertise while actually knowing next to nothing about the topic being discussed. This ability allows you to put on those airs better than others. By entering into a state of deep concentration you will be able to recall the many times you spent a single hour in the library and gone on a google binge. After charging this ability you will be able to convincingly pose as someone who actually knows an iota of what they’re talking about. You will only be able to focus on one topic at a time, though. You will also be completely helpless while charging this ability and it will only last for one third of the amount of time you spent charging it. Using it too often or on unpleasant topics may lock you into a negative status for an extended period of time. Use it wisely."

The other-you finally throws you to the ground again. As you lay face down on the dirt covered floor, he places his foot on your back and grabs your head with both hands. He begins to pull.
Oh hey, a new ability. That’ll come in handy-
POP! Your head comes off.


You quickly shake your head. You must have zoned out when you saw the less handsome version of yourself. Although, you feel smarter for some reason.

Quote:>Put that thing out of its misery. With the pistol.

This thing, whatever it is, clearly means to do you harm. It’s got you by the ankle and is gnashing its teeth as you! Also, that wail it made was pretty unpleasant. Still not as bad as the snakes, though. You have a distinct feeling this creature means to kill you. It claws at the wooden floor and pulls you closer.


Okay, no need to panic. That’s a different status effect entirely. You’re just looking at a hostile entity that perverts both the laws of God and man. You still have the upper hand. You have a gun. The single most useful tool man has conceived; a tool that has built empires and then later built even larger empires on top of those smaller ones. You reach into your inventory and grasp at the pistol. You bring it out and aim it directly at the thing’s head. It sees this and begins thrashing.

You: “It was snakes to meet you.”

You pull the trigger to seal this monster’s fate. A small pole carrying a flag with the word “BANG” ejects out of the barrel. The pole stops after it extends fully, nowhere near reaching the creatures head to do any sort of damage. The other-you stares in disbelief as the tiny flag hangs idly in the air… Of course.

Player Statistics:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>Do that again, this time at point blank.

The two of you sit there, splayed out on the floor, staring awkwardly at each other. The light bulbs the other-you has in place of eyes flicker a few times as if he were blinking in complete consternation. So much is his confusion that he's apparently forgotten that he intends to maul you. Odd, you didn't think an abomination from the hellscapes of your deepest nightmares was capable of being so utterly flabbergasted.
Your pathetic display with your completely fake and not-real-at-all toy pistol seems to have caused some good to shift in your favor. The other-you seems to be mentally frozen, trying to process what nonsense just took place, providing you with precious moments to think and act. A lesser man would take this opportunity to struggle free and make a run for it; not you, though. You have a different idea, you're committed. Reloading the “pistol” and firing it again at close range strikes you as the thing to do. You're not sure exactly how an obvious children's toy could hurt anyone, though. Yes, you did have that vision earlier where the fake pistol managed to puncture your skull, but you just assumed that was the result of your overly active and overly morbid imagination. Still, anything's worth trying once. Or twice.
Unfortunately the pistol did not come with any instructions, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out. You quickly try and push the pole back into the gun's barrel, but it doesn't budge. The moment you make your first move, the other-you snaps out of his befuddled trance and continues his efforts to climb out of the trap door and pull you closer. You scramble to quicken your pace of trial and error to try and figure out how to reset the flag in the fake gun. You try twisting the pole inwards in case it screws in, but to no avail. The magazine pops out partway, but pushing it back in doesn't seem to do anything. The gun's slide moves, but nothing happens. Little by little, inch by inch, the other-you pulls you in. His electrified breathing sparks and sizzles as he drags you closer. Finally, when you try pulling back the hammer you find that it twists instead. You quickly turn the pistol's hammer like the wind-up key of a music box, the flag retreats back into the gun.
Now that the gun is “reloaded”, you twist around and lean forward to get the gun as close to the other-you's head as possible. Your sudden movement and shift in weight causes the other-you to lose his balance. Before you can pull the trigger, he loses his perch and slips back through the trap door. Unfortunately, since he is holding you by the ankle, you get dragged down as well.
The two of you fall back through the trapdoor into the room you started in. You land at an angle, hitting the actual door part of the open trapdoor while the other-you falls through the opening. The back of your head hits the brass doorknob causing you to see stars. Oh look, there's Orion, your least favorite constellation. The jar to your head loosens your grip on the deadly not-gun and it falls out of your hand, sliding across the floor.

1 pistol removed from inventory.

The other-you slips through the opening while still grasping your ankle, causing you to tumble in after him, again. Thankfully, you hit the floor face down this time on the opposite side away from any doorknobs. The other-you manages to grab hold of the trapdoor's frame embedded into the floor to pull himself up. Though his screechings were difficult to read before, you can almost swear that his electrified snarls sound slightly more angry now. He still has you by the ankle.

Quote:>Should we perhaps punch him back through the trapdoor? Just don't let him break your leg again.

Again? No, no; that didn't happen. As has been explained previously, you're positive that was just your mind going into the dark places again. The other-you obviously couldn't have broken your leg, nor has he killed you. If he had, you wouldn't be here right now, right? Right. However, that may not be the case if you don't do something about your current situation soon.
Your first line of defense, a gun that isn't actually a gun, is currently out of your reach. The other-you is struggling to pull himself up; he'd probably have an easier time if he let go of you and waited until after he finished climbing to attack. You're certainly not going to point that out to him, however. You try pulling away only to be viciously yanked back by your ankle. You're starting to get tired of this. A creeping thought in the back of your mind politely suggests punching this thing as an alternative to shooting it. You decide to roll over, your ankle twists around in the other-you's grip. Now lying on your back you lift your head to look at your assailant. Eugh, it's like he's getting uglier every time you look at him.

You: “Back off!”

You display your martial abilities by punching him with your foot. Your heel connects with his chest pushing him back and causing him to slam into the trapdoor's rim. Strangely enough, instead of the soft thud you'd expect when you hit someone in the chest, your foot connects with something hard and flat. Almost like the other-you has some kind of thin metal box stashed just under his shirt. For some reason, his eye-bulbs go out as the Christmas lights he has for teeth flash wildly and change color formation. His buzzed growling is momentarily overpowered by a dull but loud beeping sound as his eyes flicker back on. His hand slides off your ankle as he tumbles into the room below. You hear him hit the floor below you with a loud thud. Then another thud when he slips through that trapdoor and hits the floor below that one. Then another. And another. And so on. With any luck he'll keep falling forever. If not, you can always show him the might of your fist-kick style.

Quote:>Wield the mallet and the pistol and go to town on the monster-you.

As satisfying as the adrenaline rush from foot-to-chest combat is, you'd feel better if you were well armed, in case you run into that other-you again. You quickly glance around the room for your faux pistol. It's nowhere to be found. It must still be in the room above you, where this whole mess started. Hmm, these portal doors have no consistency. You blame the poor craftsmanship. That's another reason to arm yourself, if these truly are portal doors, then the other-you is eventually going to run into you again when he falls from above. It would behoove you to be prepared so you can do the honorable thing and finish him off while he's injured, weak, and vulnerable.
If you want to reequip your fake, toy pistol, you're going to have to climb up and get it. You jump up and grab hold of the trap door above and proceed to pull yourself up. This time you don't see someone doing the same in the room above you, nor do you hear someone climbing up behind you. Now that your view is unobstructed, the series of trapdoors above look seemingly endless. It kind of reminds you of those endless mirror hallways. Creepy. You pull yourself up into the room you started in. There is no nostalgia to be had, however, considering now you've decided you hate this shack and everything related to it. You see the pistol lying on the floor a short distance away. You saunter over and pick it up without any difficulties or incidents what-so-ever. A nice change of pace, considering every other seemingly simple task you've tried to do tonight ended up being monumental ordeals.

1 pistol added to inventory.

You pull your mallet out of your inventory and equip it in one hand and equip your almost-but-not-quite pistol in the other. Good, you now feel reasonably confident in your abilities to deal with any problems this shack can throw at you.


Your thoughts are interrupted by a voice. It's not shouting, but loud enough to be heard over the rain. It's coming from the window near where you parked your brother's truck. The voice seems to be trying to poorly imitate engine and car sounds.

Unknown Voice: “Vroom! Vroom! Beep-beep! Skree! Vrmmm- Kablooey!”

Oh crepes almighty, what the hell now?

Player Statistics:


Softmind Softwaretm Employee Announcement:

Non-Canon Bonus Scene:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>Eh, probably just some kid. Hopefully just some kid. Who knows?

Hmm, it would certainly take a child to behave so irrationally immature. You will never understand why some people seem to think that simply making car noises will get a vehicle to magically start; as if the finer workings of modern metallurgy will suddenly cave to the whims of a simpleton. Hate to disappoint, but two hundred and fifty years worth of mechanical sciences says, “no.” You're not just pulling this out of nowhere, either. You've actually seen people do this. All over the mall you've seen kids riding those fake cars that are bolted to the floor while making all kinds of “vroom-vroom” noises, like they expect the damn things to just grow an engine and uproot themselves from the ground. Those children are in for a hard life lesson when they finally get to their first driver's ed class.
If it is a kid, though, why would they be out here? Are they a local? No, they couldn't be; there's no signs of civilization beyond the abandoned shack you're currently inside. Frankly, you wouldn't even expect an adult to be able to live out here for very long. They'd be eaten, or flayed alive, or mind controlled to sing show tunes for the rest of their life by one of the wild animals that live in the woods. They'd need innate survival instincts equal to your own to last even a minute out here. Could they be a stowaway? Unlikely, there's no place they could've hidden where you wouldn't have found them during your earlier search for the truck's keys. The only logical explanation would be that you were followed. Perhaps whoever followed you here is the one that filled you're brother's truck full of deadly snakes. You know what would be going on there, it's obvious that was an assassination attempt. If that's the case, then their first mistake was sending a helpless child to kill you. You do certainly have a few people that might want to off you, but no one that should know that you're out here. Unless, that is, your brother was a big, fat squealer tattletale and told everyone you stole his truck to drive out in the middle of the woods on a Saturday.
Actually, speaking of your brother, another possible scenario is that he got angry about you not bringing his truck back when he wanted you to, so he came out here to get it back and yell at you. You certainly wouldn't put it past him to think that making dumb mouth noises would start a truck, even though he's never tried doing it before and never given any indication he ever would, you wouldn't put it past him because of how dumb and ugly he is. It would be surprising that he followed you to someplace so dangerous, but then again, he's done that before. He's probably trying to start the truck to get you to hurry up. He wouldn't be able to use the horn since you went out of your way to break it a while ago.

Quote:>Flip a coin, heads you investigate, tails you ignore the noise.

Now that the idea of your brother being outside and trying to start the truck in an attempt to get you to hurry is even a vague possibility, you're sorely tempted to take as much time as you possibly can. Though, if it is just some dumb kid, you'd have no reason to not go outside. In fact, you'd have all the more reason to go out there. It would mean that some ignorant adolescent basket-case is out there in your claimed mode of transportation thinking they can drive off with it through sheer willpower and make-believe. Naturally, you'd be inclined to put them in their place and correct their flawed beliefs through the medium of informative shouting. Just like all those times you did at the mall.
This is going to be tricky. If it's your brother out there and you step outside for a shouting match, you won't have the pleasure of ignoring him and making him wait while he's in a hurry, but if it is some dumb kind you wouldn't be able to tell them that they're wrong about everything right away, which would clearly take all priority at this point. You could just peek out the window and see who it is, but the truck is so close that whoever is out there would surely see you too. The stakes are incredibly high no matter which side of the coin you choose. Oh, there's an idea! You have so many pennies in your inventory you can just flip a coin to decide. That way you'll be free from any responsibilities for your actions, and if the outcome is something you don't like you can claim it isn't your fault. Okay, if it comes up heads you'll look out the window to see who it is, if it's tails you'll ignore them. You begin rummaging in your inventory for a penny.

Codex: “The Softmind Softwaretm brand eCodex has detected that you wish to flip a coin. Would you like to install the new coin flipping function application?”

The electronic codex in your inventory crackles to life seemingly without provocation. This would be startling if it hadn’t done the same thing several times already. Telling you inane trivia about keys, soda, and toy companies; you know, stuff you already knew and is common knowledge to everyone who isn't an amnesiac or brain dead. Instead of grabbing the penny like you wanted, you wearily pull out the codex.

Codex: “Would you like to instal the new coin flipping application? Please state 'yes' or 'no.'”

You: “No, I do not want the coin flipping function. I have plenty of coins already. My cup runneth over with coins.”

Codex: “I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. Please say 'yes' or 'no.'”

Your grip tightens ever so slightly on the codex.

You: “No.”

Codex: “You have indicated that you do not want to install the coin flipping application. Is this correct?”

You: “Yes.”

Codex: “You have said 'yes.' This is to indicate that you wish to download the coin flipping application, correct?”

Your eye begins twitching.

You: “No, I do not want the damn coin flipping function. I want you to cancel the download and then turn off!”

Codex: “The eCodex has detected swearing. Would you like to listen to an article about the history of profanity while your new coin flipping application downloads?”

You start grinding your teeth.

You: “No, I don't want to listen to an article! I don't want a coin application! I don't want anything but sweet silence!”

Codex: “You have canceled the History of Profanity article and your new coin flipping function application has finished downloading. The Coin Flip application is now active, would you like to set the probability variables?”

You glare at the codex in your hand, wiling as much hate and anger you can at it.

Codex: “Confirmed. The first variable concerns which side is facing up before being flipped. There is a 51% chance that the side already facing up will also be the side facing up after it has been flipped. Would you like to adjust this variable to make it even, more, or less; or would you prefer to leave it unchanged?”

You do nothing but stare at the codex.

Codex: “Confirmed. This variable will remain unchanged. Next are the atmospheric variables. Do you have any preferences for temperature, weather, and wind current?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

Codex: “Confirmed. The atmospheric variables have been set to a pleasantly balmy spring day with a wind current ideal for flying kites. Finally, is the luck variable. How lucky would you like the coin flip to be?”

Keeping your eyes closed, you sharply exhale.

Codex: “Confirmed. The application will apply the amount of luck you have displayed so far that this device has recorded since activation. The application shall now begin the coin flipping process. Loading, please wait. The coin is placed on the end of a thumb and sent skyward. The weather is calm and mild and does not interfere with the coin as it glitters in the sunlight while spinning midair. The coin misses the hand and lands on its side on the pavement. The coin rolls out of reach down a storm drain. There is no discernible outcome. Thank you for using the Coin Flipping Function Application licensed by Softmind Softwaretm. Please consider visiting the application store for more useful programs dedicated to your convenience.”


You slowly, very slowly, put the electronic codex back into your inventory. You remove a single penny and flip it. It comes up heads. You begin walking over towards the window.

Quote:>Prepare for battle.

You continue to hear the inane chatter of someone mouthing out motor sounds. You hold your mallet and fake gun at the ready. It will be best if you're prepared for a rumble. If it's some dumb kid, despite lacking obvious mechanical skills, they were probably sent here to kill you by some shadowy person you can't be bothered to remember and therefore are at least slightly dangerous. If it's your brother, he deserves to be smacked around a little, just because. As you approach the window, you peer through the rain streaked glass pane to the outside. Immediately you notice some differences from the last time you looked out there. It's not very dark outside anymore. In fact, it's fairly well lit. It can't be the moon, and it should be nowhere near morning yet. The light looks artificial and concentrated. Like someone hung a large stage light somewhere just out of view. The expanse of claustrophobically packed trees is completely gone and replaced with a solid concrete wall. The wall is painted with a crudely done backdrop of trees in what can only be described as a half-blind attempt at disguising it. The ground and sky are gone and replaced with more concrete. The concrete ceiling is covered with a very conspicuous sprinkler system most likely in place to simulate rain. That would also explain the spot light, it was probably placed to try and imitate moon light. The concrete floor is covered in brown and green patches of paint, but still mostly bare gray, like whoever tried disguising the floor just gave up after dumping just a few buckets of paint. All of the paint you can see is slightly runny and washed away, probably whoever did the paint job didn't wait until it was completely dry before turning the sprinklers on. The most glaring difference of all, however, is the complete absence of your brother's truck, and, in it's place, stands a lone figure wildly miming out turning a steering wheel.
The momentary concern you had about the inexplicable change to your surroundings is quickly overshadowed when you realize that this figure is the source of the motor mumbling. You pound your fake gun holding fist against the window to get his attention. Boy oh boy is this joker going to get an earful. Instead of looking at you right away, he turns around away from you, as if he isn't sure where the noise came from. You see that this person is wearing the same clothes as you, just like the last guy was. You also see that his back has an unnatural arch to it, as well as what appear to be metal pistons pumping in and out of holes burnt into the back of his jacket alongside small plumes of blackened exhaust. His torso involuntarily shakes and spasms in unison with the rapid movement of his present back pistons causing his other limbs to slightly shake as well. When he finally turns far enough to face you head on, you see covering where his eyes would be, two glowing headlights. The kind you'd see on a car. Actually, these headlights are identical to the ones on your brother's truck. They're even cracked in the same places. The figure continues to spout out fake engine noises as he stares right at you. His mouth isn't moving along with the sounds he's making. You see sparks in his mouth as it silently utters complete gibberish while his lit eyes flash in sync with his words instead. He breaks into a full sprint and comes barreling right at you. Before you can react he dives headfirst through the window, shattering the glass. You are knocked to the floor when the two of you collide. The figure's entry is halted and your knees hit the wall as he grabs you by the shoulders in an attempt to pull himself all the way inside. A torrent of water drips off of his body and drenches yours as he lets go of your shoulders and frantically claws at the floor, his feet seem to be caught on the windowsill. He still hasn't stopped puttering out motor sounds. This close, you actually start hearing another sound. The very heavily muffled sounds of an actual motor seemingly coming from deep within his body. Through his flashing headlight eyes, you see that while the skin on his face is fairly normal, beneath the glass around his eye sockets is skinless, bare muscle. You can't see, not that you'd want to, whatever source is emanating the light from his sockets. It's too deep. His mouth moving independently from the nonsense he's shouting, you can see live spark plugs popping with electricity sticking out of his gums with small clusters of human teeth jammed in between them. Black, searing hot motor oil drips out of his mouth onto your face.

Other-other-you: “Skree! Beep-beep! Vroom! Grrrrrv! Blam-o!”

Player Statistics:

RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:> Attempt to reason with the hideous abomination of flesh, engine, and childish car sound.

Looking at this poor, misshapen creature (the parts that don't look like you, of course), you feel a twinge of pity. As he claws at the floor beneath you, desperately trying to unsnag his feet from the broken window and its sil, face screeching, gnashing, and dribbling searing hot motor-oil mere centimeters from yours, you see in it's freakish, bare-muscled headlight eyes, a confused innocence that shows it does not understand what it does. It's not his fault that he's a nightmarish abomination that only desires to kill everything around it. He's a victim of circumstance. His barely sentient feral state is probably the result of bad parenting. They would have to be exceedingly bad parents to let him make those immature and completely misinformed car noises for this long, and lord knows that are plenty of parents who do that. He is clearly not responsible for his own actions, it wouldn't be right to strike back at him. Who's to say that you have to strike back, anyway? That's just the man pounding down on your mind with his messages of violence and conformity. Well, you certainly aren't going to let those ivory tower gargoyles tell you what to do, this Other-other-you needs help. This creature's, no, this Person’s hatred for all living things and burning desire to kill them is just a desperate plea for attention. You will start the revolution! You will not indulge the whims of the so-called man or his government, you will not hit back with the intention to smite this defenseless, innocent being. You will take him by the hand and lead not just him, but the whole world into a new age. It all starts here.
While the Other-other-you is occupied with furiously clawing at the ground in an attempt to unhook himself from the large shards of jagged glass piercing deep into his shoes, you decidedly don't attack his helpless personage suspended only a hair's breadth above you.

You: “Please, stop this. There's no need to fight. We can talk this out.”

Your words go unheeded as the Other-other-you continues his struggle, showing off his vulnerable underbelly completely exposed to the weapons you have in each hand as he does so. Having gone past the first step on the road to recovery through compassion, you decide to go straight to the heart of the matter and shoot the problem where it hurts.

You: “Look, I recognize the signs. You're upset. You're upset at yourself and the world around you, but you need to understand where that pain comes from. I understand that your parents didn't make enough time for you and left you with a lot of baggage. I know that every time they said, 'we tried our best,' they were lying through their filthy, uncaring teeth, and that in a just world they would be here instead of you, but you can't let your anger color what you think of other people. I'm not your parents (as far as I know), and neither is anyone else. You need to let go and move on with your life.”

The Other-other-you doesn't appear to be listening. You hear the floor behind you splinter as he digs his fingers into the wood, finally getting a strong hold. He stops struggling and begins one, long pull. You hear a sickening tearing sound come from where he's caught on the glass of the broken window. His currently helpless state and lack of extreme movement allows you to see a pattern of burn spots and oil stains on his shirt that, for a brief second, almost look like a target. Obviously you aren't getting through. You decide to bring out the big guns and try being relatable.

You: “You probably don't believe me right now when I tell you this, but I really, truly do understand what you're going through. A few years ago, I used to be a horrific meat-covered, mechanical parody of life just like you. It was hell, especially going through high school. Everyone judged me just on my appearance and refused to see the beauty I had inside. No one would even sit next to me on the bus, and I was always the last one to get a partner in dance class. My hellish, nightmare appearance made getting a job nearly impossible, but you know what I did? I sat down and really took a look at what I saw in the mirror. What did I see? I didn't see a disgusting, ugly freak that has no right to walk on the grassy fields of God's green earth. I saw me. I saw a person I was proud to be. I saw that I shouldn't be ashamed over what I was and who I am. If I thought I was a grotesque wretch of rotten meat held together only by the strands of my own filth, then so would everyone else. And then, something amazing happened. With that realization, my inner beauty began to show on the outside. My malformed car-wreck of a face changed to be the sculpted, ruggedly roguish features of the lovable scoundrel you see before you. In the end, it doesn't matter what other people think of you, it matters what you think of you. And most importantly, what's here, in your heart.”

You tap the barrel of your gun against his chest to emphasize his heart, and as you decidedly don't pull the trigger, a single tear rolls down your cheek at the beauty of your own mostly made up words. Truly, you are a wonderful and selfless person.
Your reflection on your own humanitarianism is interrupted by a single loud and final ripping sound as the Other-other-you falls forward, finally landing completely on top of you. You manage to keep a hold of the still-dangerous-but-not-really-a-gun gun and the mallet in your hands as he flails wildly, trying to scramble off of you into a better attacking position. Sizzling, hot oil sprays from the gashes on the Other-other-you's pants and shoes, burning both you and leaving marks on the floor.

Quote:>Man, are there any parallel you's that don't want to kill you? Heck, is there a chance this guy doesn't?

His actions are still clearly aggressive, although his words are still mumbles of faux car noises, so a fight certainly looks like the direction this encounter is heading. You're not entirely convinced that your words haven't had any effect, though. If they brought tears to your eyes then they will most definitely bring tears to the eyes of anyone else. Metaphorical tears, you're pretty sure the gaping burnt holes with unseen flashing light bulbs surrounded by exposed muscle the Other-other-you has instead of eyes don't actually contain tear ducts.
After the Other-other-you scrambles to the other end of the room, he jumps up to his feat. Gouts of steaming oil spurt from the gashes on his legs and shoes only to pool at his feet. His lack of conventional eyes make it difficult to tell exactly where he is looking, but the Other-other-you appears to be staring at the weapons you have in both of your hands. Despite that you are still on your back with your knees against the wall, he is right to be wary of you while you're armed, as, according to you, you are a whirlwind of death with any weapon. Still, you're not quite sure you want to engage in a fight just yet. You're a little committed to this talk-it-out angle you've thought up. It would be a major credit to your negotiation skills, not to mention a big feather in your cap, if you actually manage to talk this stupid thing down.
You quickly struggle to your feet, making sure to avoid all the broken glass lying around, and reassess the situation. The Other-other-you is on the other end of the room, which isn't that far considering this shack is smaller on the inside and the outside was pretty small to begin with, eyeing you up in a way that you wish it didn't; a very blood-thirsty air from top to bottom. He appears to be keeping his distance, most likely he is being wary of the two weapons you have in your hands. It's a good thing you have those out, they'll allow you to keep him at arms length, and having weapons is usually helpful in speeding peace-talks along to a “mutually” satisfactory outcome. With his back against the wall, the Other-other-you begins pacing from side to side. While only briefly, several times he breaks eye contact with you to glance around the inside of the shack, for what specifically, you aren't immediately sure. Suddenly, he stops mid-glance. He even stops puttering out his inane car noises, and, for a few moments, the entire shack is quiet with the only sound heard being the fake-sprinkler-rain on the roof of the shack. Before you have a chance to react, he lunges forward straight at you only to come to a complete halt halfway across the room. The Other-other-you's unprovoked lunge cases you to back into the wall in surprise and instinctively pull the trigger of the not-gun in your hand. The flag and poll pops harmlessly out of the barrel.
At first, you're not exactly sure why the Other-other-you stopped, until you see where he's standing. With his legs spread out and his feet on opposite sides of the opening, he is standing directly above the portal trap door. It takes a moment before it dawns on you, since the outside worlds has apparently ceased to exist and been replaced by a big concrete box, the only way to escape or go anywhere is through the portal-doors that he is now standing directly above and below. With a big bow-legged stance, the Other-other-you stands there menacingly, daring you to step forward. Well, you're certainly not going to play his game. For the greater good and the good of your ego, you will find a peaceful resolution to this situation.

Quote:>Declare undying love for the creature. At least long enough to get away.

The friendly, relatable but authoritative tone you used earlier didn't work out so well. Perhaps presenting yourself as a peer is provoking a complex that causes him to dominate those he perceives as equals? That series of words might be the case, as you've briefly read them in a magazine before. It might be worthwhile to try implanting an emotional investment towards making peace with you. Since the Other-other-you isn't willing to help himself, perhaps he can be bent around towards the idea of helping you instead. Exactly how you'll accomplish that, you're uncertain of. Even if you can't turn him over to your side completely, it would still be something if you can distract him enough to make a break for it. Is there something similar that you've done before that you can fall back on? Maybe with the right amount of emotional manipulation you could- Wait, that's it! You get an idea.
Without letting go of the mallet, you run your hand through your hair in an attempt to slick it back. It doesn't work. You take a step forward and put on a more sultry air, shifting your hips seductively as you do so. You look the Other-other-you straight in his headlight covered non-eyes and do that thing with your eyebrows. You know, the thing; the sexy thing. You also give a little wink for good measure. Not a full wink, just a little one. You don't close your eye completely, you don't want to come on too strong, after all. With a light lick to your lips you speak.

You: “You know, earlier when you were dragging yourself through shards of broken glass without any concern for your own well being, it really struck me on the amount of dedication to getting a job done that must take. I like that, it shows a good level of… Commitment.”

You lean forward and accentuate every syllable of “commitment” in as breathy a provocative tone you can muster. You begin tracing the tiny flagpole sticking out of the barrel of your not-real-gun around your chest; your lack of pecks, a six-pack, or muscles of any kind is irrelevant. Your clothes are wet, and that's all that matters. You shift your weight from on leg to the other to continue your risqué display when a thought occurs to you. Should you really be trying to seduce someone who has been made to look like you, gross machine parts notwithstanding, on a very deep level? You really can't think of a reason not to. Anyone should be so lucky to land a catch like you, even you. You are quite the keeper, and that's a fact.

You: “I also couldn't help but notice how strong you are. The way you dug your fingers into the wood enough for it to splinter shows a lot of raw power. I bet you'd be great to have around the house. Yard work on a hot, sunny day without your shirt on. I bet your neighbors are so jealous. You're not married, are you? I don't see a ring.”

You hold up your hand and wiggle your ring finger playfully.

You: “And what's this? I don't have one either. Fancy that.”

You drop down to one knee and look up at the Other-other-you. Your eyes open wide and sparkle as you look up to the object of your desire with obvious need drawn across your face and dripping from every word.

You: “What am I doing? There's no sense beating around the bush. What I'm trying to say is… I love you. Each moment that's ticked by during the few seconds we've known each other have felt like entire lifetimes where I've been completely, madly in love with you. Perhaps I've always loved you and just never knew it until now. My entire life, since I first gazed up at the moon to watch its sorrowful journey across the night sky, I've felt incomplete. An empty feeling like there was a massive part of my soul that was just never there. Now that I look at you, I feel complete. I feel like I've finally found my other half. Please, will you do me the honor of being mine, for now and forever?”

You extend your hand out in a friendly, loving manner, beckoning him to take it. You do not put down your fake-gun, however. You're hoping that the friendly gesture combined with pointing a gun at him might help move things along.
The Other-other-you stands there. His expression changes from psychotic, gleeful bloodlust to one of confusion and mild disgust. Well then, there's no accounting for taste. Those were some of your best lines too.

You're actually at a loss for what to do now. Neither one of your negotiation or seduction techniques worked, and the fact that this twisted meat-metal mockery is now silently judging you has taken too much wind out of your sails to try again. What can you try next: bribery, begging, blackmail? You could just fight him. The Other-you was actually fairly easy to dispatch and this Other-other-you shouldn't be too difficult to deal with either, but then that would defeat the entire purpose of trying to negotiate/sexy-times your way out of the conflict. It wouldn't sit well with you yo just give up like that. Your ego would never forgive you. This train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a series of faint thuds coming from above. As they get louder and closer, the thudding becomes interspersed with electronic, buzzy yelling. The Other-other-you looks up just in time to see a blur of sparking wires and flashing light bulbs as the Other-you crashes directly into him, knocking him off his feet. The Other-other-you and the Other-you immediately become a tangled mess of wild sparks, black exhaust, spurting oil, electronic screaming, fake car noises, muffled engine sounds, and tangled limbs. The two of them slip through the trapdoor and hit each one as they continue to tumble downwards. The loud “katunk-kathunk” of their descent can be heard mixed with exchanges of accusatory screeching between the two. The sound slowly fades away as they become too distant to hear.
That's not exactly how you were expecting things to go, but you decide to chalk this up as a success for your little impromptu therapy session anyway. You probably deserve some form of degree for this. You might even want to consider opening up a psychiatry clinic, there's good money to be made there.
You dust yourself off and begin winding the tiny flagpole back into the fake gun as you consider your next course of action. Now that those little whirlwinds of activity are over, you have time again to examine your surroundings. There's not that much to see inside the one and only room this shack has, with the exception of the new addition of a broken window and broken glass on the floor, things are pretty much the same. Actually, you're not sure if it's accurate to describe this as the shack's only room. The ceiling and floor trapdoors are now undeniably confirmed to be portals after seeing the Other-you's round trip, but it took him a while to get back. How many rooms and how many portal-doors are there? Also, the solid concrete box surrounding everything outside is a matter of concern. You are completely positive this should be the place you first entered the shack from, but now the outside world has been replaced with a hastily slapped together backdrop. It is very worrying that your easiest and most obvious exit is no longer available to you.

Player Statistics:

Non-Cannon Bonus Scene:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Now where were we?
Quote:>I can't believe that worked.

It really shouldn't be that surprising. You've proved time and time again that no matter the situation you will always be able to think your way out of any danger. Your brilliant performance up to now with absolutely no notable mistakes or slip-ups should be proof enough. An uninformed person might try to point out that your perfectly executed seductive flirtations on that misshapen car-freak copy of you had nothing to do with how he was actually dispatched and that you were just lucky that the other misshapen electro-freak version of you just happened to tumble through the portal trapdoor at the right moment. That person would be dead wrong. And stupid. And ugly. It is blatantly obvious that on some subconscious level you were aware that was going to happen and maneuvered Motor-Joe using your salacious presentation into just the right spot for the problem to solve itself. It's actually very likely that your flirting was the direct cause of Mr. Sparkums descending in just such a way to fall through at that exact moment. Once again, your keen mind solved another problem before it even began. The world is a jigsaw puzzle you've already pieced together. There is no way these words will ever come back to bite you.

Quote:>Quickly devise a plan to catch the Car-You while leaving the Wire-You behind so that you and your one true love can be reunited!

You're not exactly sure why you'd want to follow him, considering the problem he presented has now been thoroughly solved. You might have gone a little overboard with your displays of faux affection, but there's really no sense in only going half way, right? Yeah okay, you actually did start loosing yourself in the role a little there towards the end. That happened a few times, actually. Like that one time you decided to pose as an office worker because you needed unrestricted access to a photocopier for a little something you were cooking up and refused to go to a copy-shop. You ended up living a happy, productive life for several months and even went on a few dates with your boss in a forbidden workplace romance. You eventually remembered what you actually went there for and remedied the situation by stealing the photocopier and filling your boss's entire office with butterscotch pudding. That all being said, you still don't know what the whole deal with the Car-you and Wire-you is. The burning questions of: “Why are they here?” and “What are they?” are still lingering in the air. Normally you wouldn't care enough beyond the fact you beat them in a game of wits, but they might very well be the reason you were sent out here, so it's worth investigating in addition to investigating the shack itself. If you wanted to catch up with them, the quickest way would be to go up through the trapdoors, since they're all portals that loop back around, you could meet them halfway. Though, that does come with the problem that you'd end up having another encounter sooner than you'd like with the added trouble of having to deal with both of them instead of solo. That, and the chance that you might end getting caught up in their never ending ball of descending bruises. They're falling faster than it will take you to climb down and investigate other rooms, so even if you take your time, you'll still run into them again later down the line. That also comes with the added bonus of the longer you wait the more softened up they'll be from their constant, jarring tumble injuries.

Quote:>Investigate the wall in more detail. There's probably some way through.

It is a curious thing seeing the entire outside world cease to exist and replaced with a crudely painted cement backdrop. You are absolutely sure that this was the room you first entered in. You fell down two levels of trapdoors and climbed back up two levels. It even had your fake-gun lying on the floor where you dropped it. The only explanation you can think of is someone managing to put this giant cement box together during your brief struggle with Wire-you. You are first tempted to write that off as an impossibility, but the knowledge that there are scientifically improbable portals involved keeps pushing that to the wayside. You quickly peer out of several holes and cracks in the shack's walls. The possibility of the windows being replaced by portals and you seeing out someplace else crosses your mind, but that doesn't seem to be the case, as you can make out the cement walls from that venue as well. The theory of these portals being broken crosses your mind again. Physically changing the places you've just been is not the proper way for portals to function, you've seen the movies. This is most certainly the result of poor craftsmanship.
You slowly push the front door open and peek out. Sure enough, you are greeted by the sight of a cement wall covered in the drippy painting of what is supposedly meant to be a tree. There is also a large floodlight propped up on a stand with it's back against the wall, this is undoubtedly the light source intended to “fool” you into thinking this is a late night forest scene bathed in moonlight. As you step out into the false rain provided by the slipshod sprinkler system on the ceiling, you are surprised to find the drizzle to be pleasantly warm like a shower. The rain also smells like pool water. Someone went through the trouble of sterilizing this water before using it. That's... slightly baffling; did it really matter? You also spot several drains the water is escaping through. The possibly of the water being pumped back up to be reused in the sprinklers crosses your mind. Once you approach the wall you place one hand against it and rap on it with the knuckles of the other. You follow the wall around in a perimeter trying to find any weak or hollow spots. No dice, it's completely solid all the way around. Your little trip did provide you with other info, though. The cement room appears to be twice as large as the shack itself, the walls are always ten paces away from the shack in every direction. Also, while you were walking around, you noticed a difference in the perspective when you look through the windows of the shack. When you first arrived, you were ever-so-slightly disappointed and fairly annoyed to find out that the shack was actually smaller on the inside rather than larger like you were promised, after peering through the windows you've realized that the shack is now properly proportioned internally and externally. It no longer posses impossible dimensions of any description. It's now just a completely ordinary shack. A completely ordinary shack surrounded by an impenetrable concrete box that wasn't there a few minutes ago.

Quote:> Follow them through the portals. You can't let your motorized soul mate get away so easily! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO GET MARRIED!

You step back inside and start preparing for your next course of action. You've decided to descend down through the trapdoors for now and see if you can find anything that might give you a clue as to why you were sent here and also how to escape. You'll deal with the two wannabes when they loop back around from their tumble trip. You get an odd thought, other than their unpleasant appearance, you don't know anything about the abomination copies. Particularly the one you completely successfully flirted with and whoever says otherwise is a damn liar. The Motor-you could be an eccentric billionaire and this is just what he does on weekends for kicks. Judging by what you keep hearing in the news, this type of behavior doesn't seem all that farfetched for a wealthy celebrity. You may very well have stumbled onto a possible goldmine here. If you manage to catch up to him and resume your flirting, you could have marriage material on your hands. You wouldn't stay married, of course; married life just isn't for you, you're a free spirit. You'll just just pop the question, take the ring, then stick it our for a year or two before finally getting a quick divorce and running off with everything he owns. You know some people, if you play your cards right, get a good lawyer, and have a few side projects cooking, you could potentially even get away with taking the lion's share of everything. Don't count your solid gold chickens before they hatch, one step at a time. You'll first have to find a way of nonchalantly asking him what his income and net worth is. Maybe if you manage to get to a base or two you can get away with rummaging through his wallet and breaking into his bank account. A new wave of resolve bolsters your current TENTATIVELY BRAVE status that will prevent a lesser status from changing it. You gaze down into the seemingly endless trapdoor tunnel and prepare to steel yourself for the trial ahead. You are about to begin your descent, but first-

Quote:>Piddle in the corner first, though.

When you gotta go, you gotta go.
You are suddenly overcome by a wave of discomfort. You didn't think much of it before, but you've been holding it since the swarm of snakes started eating each other. It's a miracle you didn't wet yourself during your first encounter with the Wire-you. Regardless, the tank has just hit maximum capacity, and you need to take care of it. NOW. You begin shifting your weight from one foot to another as you desperately glance around the room. Of course there isn't going to be a restroom, there hasn't been one for the entire time you were tooling around in here. You might have to resort to doing the unthinkable. You might have to go straight on the ground like an animal. Your attention slips to the falling water outside. You make a dash for the door. If you must go without aid of facilities, you're certainly not going to do it indoors. You're not a savage like some people you could name. You step back outside into the pleasantly warm drizzle of false rain and quickly head over to a corner. A wave of release washes over you as the source of your discomfort drains away. It's not so bad, the running water from the sprinklers above quickly rinses it all down one of the several drains. You remember a thought you had earlier, about the possibility of all the water going down the drain being pumped back up to the sprinklers. That thought is pushed a side by the realization that you are now potentially being drenched in a shower of your own pee. You quickly run back inside and elect to never think about this again.
Eager to leave all that behind you, you carefully descend down the trapdoor into the next room; being careful not to slip on any of the motor oil the Motor-you left behind as a result of him “bleeding”. When you get in the lower room you see it is much the same as the one you just left. The major differences being considerably less motor oil puddled around the floor and the window isn't broken. Actually, about the windows, you still don't see the outside world; you don't even see the poorly made concrete backdrop this time. Now, through the windows, you see other identical shack rooms.

Player Statistics:

<Noise Lights is now completely caught up and user submitted commands may begin anew. Like a phoenix from the flame and other similar kinds of poetic imagery. Go nuts, go crazy, and have fun.>
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Make your demands, submit your commands
shit. You better start drawing yourself up a map before you go too deep down this rabbit hole.
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Make your demands, submit your commands
>Make a map before you get lost as all hell.
Glad to see you're ready for suggestions again!
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Make your demands, submit your commands
> Make a map with your own blood as the ink, and your skin as the parchment. Hey, why not break off a limb to use the bone as a quill? It bleeds and writes! It's an inkwell and a pen put together! It's a great idea! Everyone's a winner!
I'm a git, I have a forum adventure. Go read it. Post maybe.

[Image: KNaODcB.png?1]
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Make your demands, submit your commands
(06-18-2016, 08:31 PM)SideWaysThinker Wrote: »> Make a map with your own blood as the ink, and your skin as the parchment. Hey, why not break off a limb to use the bone as a quill? It bleeds and writes! It's an inkwell and a pen put together! It's a great idea! Everyone's a winner!

And as long as you are doing that, why not decorate your map with some mysterious runes! Any you can pull from the deepest, darkest reaches of your mind will do!
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Make your demands, submit your commands
wrap legalese around your fist and punch through the window
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Make your demands, submit your commands
no, FUCK the extend-o-grab and the gun. you heard me
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Make your demands, submit your commands
go back updoors and throw your dehydrated cans into the false rain
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- Make your demands, submit your commands
(06-30-2016, 04:28 AM)☆ C.H.W.O.K.A ☆ Wrote: »go back updoors and throw your dehydrated cans into the false rain

Mate, if you have another idea you should edit the origional post, not spam the thread. Unless you are meaning to spam the thread, in that case, DON'T! It is just rude and dickish.
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- About Freaking Time!
(06-16-2016, 06:51 AM)Schazer Wrote: »>Shit. You better start drawing yourself up a map before you go too deep down this rabbit hole.

You take a step back and avert your eyes from the window. Your head feels like it’s spinning in a smoggy cloud as a result of staring down that infinite tunnel of shack rooms and windows. It was like looking down one of those never ending corridors you get when you point two mirrors at each other. You did theorize earlier that the portal-doors may be mirror based in nature, that could- no, no. That’s stupid. Everything here is stupid. Everything in the whole WORLD is stupid! Not only is all this portal bull-malarkey broken, but it can’t even be broken in a consistent way! Is the shack bigger on the inside? NOPE! It’s smaller. Are you in the woods? NOPE! You’re in a concrete box. Actually- NOPE! You’re in an escherine nightmare of the most disappointingly constructed shacks in the history of architecture. Someone has to be doing this on purpose. Someone is yanking your chain. Someone found out about the magnificent purpose the Noise Lights chose you for and is messing with you out of petulant jealousy. You quickly glance over your shoulder, half expecting your brother to be standing there doing that wheezing laugh of his, just like he always does. You’ve never actually seen or heard him laugh once in your life, but you know he does it behind your back.
As you glance around over your shoulder, instead of your brother, you see another eternal tunnel of shack rooms and windows out of the window directly behind you. You quickly turn away as your head starts buzzing as a result, only to be looking out the first window you were already facing to begin with. You cover your face as your head begins pounding and occipital lobe starts to go numb. “Son of a damn it!”
Okay, okay. Calm down. You’re here for a reason and you can’t get hung up on every little obstacle that jumps in your way. Your mission was very clearly stated that you go do something in a shack. It doesn’t get more cut and dry than that. You just need to search the shack until you find that very clearly outlined something you need to do. These never-ending conga lines worth of rooms just adds a little-teeny-weeny bit of extra searching you have to do. There’s likely more infinite horizontal room tunnels on every level of the infinite vertical room tunnel stretching up and down the trapdoors above and below you. That’s, like what, infinity to the infinite power? That’s just infinity. You know math. In your book, infinity is not a big number.
If you’re ever going to get this done, you need to actually get started. There is a distinct chance that these portal-tunnels loop back around into each other, but since you didn’t see yourself in the brief glances you had, you assume that it’s a fair ways away. However, that would get you away from the never ending tumble path of Motor-Joe and Mr. Sparkums. You can deal with them later, preferably when they’re both living masses of bruised flesh and dented metal. One won’t be able to fight back, and to the other, you will appear as a guardian angel descending from the heavens to aid him in his time of need. That will make it all the easier to win over his heart and claim the vast fortune that you feel very strongly he has. Still, it doesn’t seem like a good idea to just blunder forward with no direction or way of marking a path. You could end up aimlessly wandering up, down, and sideways forever, if you’re not careful. Let’s see; you descended from your starting point by one level and you’re about to go (using the front door to the outside as a reference) left out the side window. That’s not hard to remember, but the number of rooms you travel through will get really big really fast. You need to write this down. You need a map.
What can you use to make a map? You quickly rummage through your inventory. What do you have here? A can, some pennies and coupons, an eCodex, paper, a book, a fake-gun, and some other junk.

Codex: “The Softmind Softwaretm brand eCodex has detected that you are in need of a map. Do you require assistance in downloading the newest map or map making applica-”

You: “No. Shut-up.”

Paper; the paper will definitely be helpful. You pull the document out of your inventory and hold it in your hand. The single sheet of legalese is perfectly folded and shaped to be a pocket sized map, and the book in your inventory contains plenty of pages if you need more. Granted, the legalese document and the book are already covered and filled with writing, but that won’t be a problem if you can write your map in a color distinguishable from the preexisting black text. Uh-oh, writing. You don’t have anything to write with.

(06-30-2016, 03:58 AM)☆ C.H.W.O.K.A ☆ Wrote: »>Wrap legalese around your fist and punch through the window.

You stare at the folded legalese document for a few moments more; the gears of your mind desperately trying to churn out a resolution to this progress halting desert island you’ve been trapped on. You were doing so well too. Normally you’re a master when it comes to the intricate steps on the stairway to problem solving. You need a map: you can make a map. A map needs paper and a writing implement: you have paper, but no implement. You look at the window, then back at the paper.
You’re going to have to find another avenue to resolve this problem. You’ve already decided to use paper and/or a writing tool, but since all you have is paper, that’ll have to do. A lesser person would lower themselves by abandoning a dead-end and think of another solution, but you are happy to say that you posses a mote more integrity than those spineless jellyrolls who bow to the blind, idiot goddess Pragmatism. You will stick with the paper, it’s a matter of pride now.
You focus your gaze on the worm-eaten wall immediately to the right of the window. Another possible way of making a map or something vaguely similar to a map, would be leaving distinguishable marks behind to mark where you’ve been and leave an easy path to follow back. You take the legalese paper and rub it against the wall. Not even a scratch; so much for that idea. You turn your attention back to the window itself. The paper is too soft to leave marks on wood, no matter how rotten and full of holes that wood may be. You gently tug on the paper a few times, testing it’s thickness; it makes a dull “thrump-thrump” sound as you think.
Surely there are other ways of leaving marks. You glance up and down at the window, making sure to focus on the window and not the endless tunnel beyond, and take in the cracked, dirty panes, the crooked muntins, the splintered casing, and crumbling sill. You quickly tuck the legalese paper back in your inventory, and undo the window’s lock. You then put your hands on the sash and push upwards. Very, VERY surprisingly, the window slides open effortlessly. It doesn’t jam and you don’t have to brute force it; the window just slides open. It isn’t too loose either, when you take your hands off the sash, it stays open. You tap it a few times and it still doesn’t slide shut on its own. The only way the window will close is if you close it yourself. It functions exactly as an ideal window should. Perhaps the stiles were simply so ashamed of the rest of the window they decided to try extra hard to compensate. You experimentally slide the window closed and shut several times before leaving it open and taking a step back. You put your hand on your chin thoughtfully. Leaving each window you go through open would be a good way of marking your path. For each time you go either up or down, you’d know because only one window would be open. To find out if you went up or down, you’d only need to glace through the trapdoors until you see a room with a window open. You’d need to make sure you don't use a trapdoor twice in a row to prevent having to go up or down too many time to find your path again. That could get you hopelessly lost. There is a chance that your doppelgangers might try something similar and open windows during a search for you, but you’re confident enough those two are thoroughly trapped in their self-made tumble-hell. You let go of your chin and frown. The only problem with this plan is that it doesn’t necessarily involve paper. You’ve already made up your mind that your plan to proceed must involve paper, lest you surrender your integrity and intellect and take on the life of a waffling flip-flopper.
You take the legalese document out of your inventory again. You glance between it and the window. You lay the paper flat on the palm of your hand and use it to grab hold of the window sash, like how you’d use a potholder to grab something hot, and slide the window closed and then open again. No, this doesn’t feel right. You just don’t have that sense of satisfaction you normally get when you solve a difficult puzzle. The paper needs to be an integral part of the process, it needs to be the driving force of what makes the plan a smashing success. Hmmm…
A spark of inspiration hits you. You slide the window shut again. Yes, this is perfect. You wrap the paper around your hand, imagining yourself as a fighter putting tape on his fists before a match. You hold your fist in the air and wind up. You stare at the window dead-on and smirk. No need to pat yourself on the back, you already know there’s no problem you can’t solve. Classic Joe, as always. You muster up your strength and send a mighty swing forward. Your blow shatters the glass panes and splinters the muntins with a satisfy cacophony of destruction.
In a split second, it’s all over. The window is destroyed, and your path is marked. There is nothing stopping you from your victorious march forward to conquer the unknown.
You pull your hand back. The legalese document is now stained red and plastered to your skin. It seems that your hand and arm are covered in cuts and gashes that are alarmingly spurting blood in sync with your heartbeat.

(06-17-2016, 04:44 AM)juddy555 Wrote: »>Make a map before you get lost as all hell.

You are about to begin applying pressure to the cut areas on your arm when a thought goes ringing through your head. You rest your hands on your hips and roll your eyes. A dark red stain begins dripping down your pant leg. Look, you’ve been over this. In order to make a map or leave marks on the walls, you need something to write with. What are you going to do without a pen, dummy? Dip an invisible quill into the air and write with that? Maybe you can use your spit! You’ve got good aim. Why, if you can find your way back outside and drink some of that chemically treated water, you can even use your own p-

(06-18-2016, 08:31 PM)SideWaysThinker Wrote: »> Make a map with your own blood as the ink.

Oh. Oh-yeah.
Blood has a red color that is distinct from the already existing text covering the paper in your inventory. You can write with that.
You pull the legalese document out of your inventory and hold it in front of you. You quickly pull it away from your cut arm. The heavy spurts of blood would stain the whole paper, it’ll be too risky to write with your slashed-up hand. You’re going to have to be creative about this.
You put the paper on the ground and get down on your knees. You dip the index finger of your non-cut hand in one of the puddles of blood accumulating around you and draw a red box and write a little number one in the middle. You then draw another box next to it and write a little number two in the middle of that one. There you go. Actual progress.
When you get back up on your feet with your new map in your non-bleeding hand, you glance over to the left window. Well, it would be best to be thorough. Safety nets are always good to have. You walk over to the window and begin to write with your bleeding hand. You don’t need to worry as much about staining the wall. More’s the better, it will make the mark easier to see. You draw a large arrow pointing at a box to show that this is a window you went in, and on the other side you’ll draw an arrow pointing away from a box to show that was a window you came out of.

(06-27-2016, 05:21 PM)juddy555 Wrote: »>As long as you are doing that, why not decorate your map with some mysterious runes! Any you can pull from the deepest, darkest reaches of your mind will do!

This whirlwind of progress is actually starting to make you feel a little giddy, a little light headed too. Looking at those marks you made causes a number of feelings to cascade through your skull. You actually don’t want to let go of the feeling of progress you’re making just yet. That intoxicating feeling of succeeding despite all odds as you stand on a mountain of your broken and battered foes; the feeling is so potent it’s making your vision unfocused. Not to mention that, for some reason, staring at these bloody markings on the wall is giving you distant pangs of nostalgia. There is an undeniable urge to add to them, make them grow. You’ve already exhausted the available possibilities for practical markings, you can only mark that you’ve gone through this specific window in so many ways before it becomes irritatingly redundant. You’re going to need to be creative here, exceedingly so. More than you’re used to. These walls demand to be painted.


You sit down in a spreading pool of your own blood, close your eyes, and concentrate. That wispy feeling of nostalgia, you grab onto it as one would try and grasp the coattails of the fleeing wind. Where does it take you? You need to know about markings. Are there markings there?
You hear a distant approaching “kathunk-kathunk” noise coupled with muffled screeching and fake car sounds.
Are there markings were the nostalgia is trying to take you? Kind of. There, somewhere off to the side, there’s a hint. You let go of the coattails, it beckons you to follow, but you let it disappear with the fleeing wind as it runs into the void. You wade through the murk of your own distant memories. There’s a dark light spastically twitching at the end of a side-reversed hallway. You push past the un-light and it bursts like a dolomite bubble. There's something about markings in there, you’re sure of it. There is a room. You remember a dark room. You also remember hearing a smashing, pounding noise.
The faint “kathunk-ing” grows ever closer. The electronic and motorized screeching gets louder, but it’s easy to tune it out.
You couldn’t see it, you were hiding under the covers in your bed, but you knew what the smashing sound was. On the opposite end of the hall, your brother was holding a door shut while something on the other side slammed against it trying to get through. You pulled the covers tighter around your head and curled into a ball, the nearly air-tight seal you created made it hard to breath despite the effort of your terrified, choked breaths. Then you heard it: small, creaking footsteps, barely audible, yet they somehow overpowered the struggle you knew was taking place down the hall. The steps quietly creaked into your room, stopping for the telltale click of your door closing. Within moments, the steps had reached the side of your bed and paused. The sanctuary beneath your blanket became as ice cold as a freezer. There were whispers in your ear. Whispers in something that wasn’t a voice. In your mind’s eye, you saw. You saw so many things: a thousand bolts scurrying out of a rust covered tractor, like ants from an anthill; a man with no jaw and hooks for legs pouring stain remover into both eyes, he was trying to sing; tunnels of impossible dimensions forking and weaving through each other, passing through their own walls like ghostly lampreys, and filled with screaming voices none could hear; and a ticking clock made out of pipes and teeth sitting on a railroad, with every second, two trains grew nearer to collision. Finally, whatever was standing by your bed, you saw through its eyes. Its view was near the ceiling, and yet you still heard its whispers in your ear. The wallpaper on your walls, they looked like they were going rancid, rotting like old food. When there was nothing left of the paper but slime covered shreds faintly clinging to the wall, that’s when you saw the markings. Horrible things, wild in their shape, completely devoid of meaning to you. They appeared as if they were stains in the drywall, growing out of the gypsum like so many hunks of black mold. They danced on the wall, their every jagged shape and undulating movement radiated a poisonous concoction of malevolence and disease. They had begun dripping down from the walls and snaked through the shagged carpet towards your bed.
The “kathunk-kathunk” is so close now, you can hear the buzzing screams echoing loudly above.
Your eyes snap open. Those are just the marks you need. You smile wide and blood begins dripping down your chin. Your teeth have been reduced to crunchy stubs and loose splinters, an unfortunate result of you grinding your teeth during your inner journey; unfortunate but manageable, thank goodness. As you stand up, you blink the last few drops of blood out of your shot eyes and sniff a few times to get the heavy, metallic scent out of your red dripping nose. Your head feels light and almost empty as you stumble towards the wall. For some reason, you can’t seem to walk in a straight line anymore. Both of your hands glisten red as they are currently coated in what you would currently describe as the finest paint. You set to work immediately and start scrawling on the wall with your bare fingers. You mimic the marks you saw in your memory as best as you can. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. The jagged, curved runes drip on the wall with playful, sadistic glee.
There is a loud screech and the sound of splintering wood as your two flesh-mechanical doppelgangers fall from the trapdoor above. Seeing you, they clumsily spread their limbs out in a desperate attempt to stop their descent. They crash onto the sides of the trapdoor in the floor, they almost fall through, but manage to grab hold. There is a brief consensus of victorious screech-mumbling as they regain their purchase and start pulling themselves up.
Ah! Your friends are here. Your very good, good, good friends. They have stuff similar to blood. Maybe they would like to join you? It’s a good team building exercise, and team building exercises build beautifully, eternal, never-ending friendships. You should look at them, it’s polite to look, but you don’t want to stop painting the wall even for a second. You begin to crane your neck as far as you can to greet them. There us a heavy pop and your head begins lolling to one side. You can see them out of the corner of your eyes, but when you attempt to speak, all that comes out of your mouth is a gurgling mess. It takes only a glance at you and what you’re doing to convince your look-a-likes to let go and keep falling. Their loss.
It’s getting hard to breath now. Every labored breath comes out in weak bubbling gasps with barely any strength to pull them back in. The walls look a little different now. They’ve gone from dark wood to light cloth. A little spongy too. It’s actually easier to write on, the cloth soaks it all in quicker than the wood did. The steadily weakening movements of your arm cause the straps and buckles hanging from your sleeves to sway and jingle. Were they always like that? Weren’t you wearing a worn out jacket? It doesn’t matter, the pounding on the door is getting louder, but they can’t get in. You fixed the door so now it only opens for you. You can’t stand up straight anymore. Your legs give out and you fall backwards. Your landing is cushioned by the padded floor. You don’t feel a thing. You stare up at the flickering light bulb in the ceiling, the only source of light for your tiny, tiny room. Your vision is fading, but you can still see what’s happening. What you were hoping for, what you were gunning for. The marks and scrawls on the walls begin dripping all the way to the floor. Their slithering motions meld into each other, creating distant shapes on the wall's surfaces that move closer. Dark figures ooze out of the padding and slowly gather around you. You can’t make out any of the details with your failing eyes, they’re just darkness. They crowd into each other as they circle you. Their shadows cover the light above, shielding you from it. That’s all you wannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn


You died, ya weirdo.


You experimentally slide the window closed and shut several times before leaving it open and taking a step back. You put your hand on your chin thoughtfully and pause. Deja vu. What were you doing? You wanted to go through this window, and… Something about paper? It’s a little hazy. You also vaguely recall wanting to take a nap in a pillow fort, or something like that.
You hear a close and still approaching “kathunk-kathunk” noise coupled with muffled screeching and fake car sounds.
Oh great, THOSE guys. They’re back faster than you thought they’d be. How did they get so close without you noticing? Well, at any rate, It’d be a good idea to get out of sight for right now. You don’t think they’re quite softened up enough just yet, and you really just don’t quite feel like dealing with them right now. Still, the fact that the machinations of all this portal garbage seems so erratic and inconsistent makes you nervous. You think it would be best to make this next step carefully. You crawled through the portal trapdoor above just fine, but that was before even the windows became infinite portals too. The rules keep changing, so you’ll play it safe. You step forward and tentatively scoot your pinky finger just barely through the window’s opening. So far so good. Your pinky is past the threshold and in the next room and nothing happens. You experimentally put your arm through and wave it around a few times. You’re perfectly fine. Alright then, time to get moving.
There is a loud crack, as you turn your head, you see the car-you and wire-you come tumbling through the trapdoor. The wire-you sees you and makes a desperate grapple for the floor as he begins to fall through the second trapdoor on the ground. His chest hits the wood hard and makes a dull thudding sound. A crooked smile forms on his sparking, misshapen face as he begins to pull himself up, only to be thwarted when car-you falls on top of him, sending them both tumbling down the endless series of trapdoors below yet again. You blink a few times. Well, so much for that. You look back to the window and notice something different. The room beyond appears to be upside down. Also, there is a dark red stain dripping off the windowsill. The entire portion of your arm that you had sticking through the window is missing, from the elbow down.

You: “What the hell?!”

(06-18-2016, 08:31 PM)SideWaysThinker Wrote: »>Hey, why not break off a limb?

You: “oh, you Mother Fu-”

None of that now.
You stare in disbelief as your precious crimson life-liquid cascades from your newly created temporal nub. Too late do you realize that… That the portal slice-erminates… When it… Alright, how about we skip the purple prose for now. In a nutshell, you bleed to death. Again.


You hear a very close and very quickly approaching “kathunk-kathunk” noise coupled with angrily impatient muffled screeching and fake car sounds.
Oh crap, THOSE guys. They’re back much faster than you thought they’d be. How could they be so close? The portal tower-thing looked so deep before. If they’re back this quickly, they’re nowhere near softened up enough for you to deal with them. You need to book it out of view. You jump through the open window directly in front of you and turn to slam it shut. As you bring the window sash down, you hear a loud crack when you see wire-you and car-you come careening down from the trapdoor in the ceiling. You and wire-you briefly lock eyes, or whatever those horrible light bulb things he has instead are, but its broken when his chest hits the floor. It makes an odd dull, thudding sound, like he has something stashed under his shirt. You remember that sound along with something hard and flat you felt when you kicked him earlier. You don’t have long to dwell on this, the moment his chest hits the ground, the view you see through the window changes. You see yet another identical shack room, only this one is upside down. You quickly glance over your shoulder at the other window. The view from that window shows a dirty, wooden floor with a trapdoor in the center. This situation just keeps getting more complicated. Also, more stupid.

Player Statistics:
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- About Freaking Time!
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- About Freaking Time!
Two offerings, first one, then the other.

You have seen that there exist an infinite number of variations of this shack. Surely one of them must have a loving god in it? Pray to that theoretical loving god in one of the shack variations for salvation.

Failing that, wait for the right moment, and then try to get your hands all up at whatever that one freak has under his shirt.
I'm a git, I have a forum adventure. Go read it. Post maybe.

[Image: KNaODcB.png?1]
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- About Freaking Time!
With the speed of the Jaguar grab whatever is under the creatures shirt run into the upside down room, listen closely if you hear any of those things find another hiding place. Make sure your safe before you look over the strange item.
RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- About Freaking Time!
Flail wildly.
The Ballad of Adler Young: Silly furry elf adventure. Read the RECAP:
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RE: Noise Lights: A Text Adventure- I am the jaguar, goo goo gajoob
(06-12-2017, 09:09 PM)SideWaysThinker Wrote: »>You have seen that there exist an infinite number of variations of this shack. Surely one of them must have a loving god in it? Pray to that theoretical loving god in one of the shack variations for salvation.

Loving? Benevolence? Well yeah, there’s one of those. Maybe. But come on, that’s just so weird. It’s completely unnatural. A god that cares about and is nice to his worshipers? Why would anyone do that? You’ve read about some other gods, right, demanding sacrifices by the truckload, getting jiggy with fruit trees and wild animals, making a planet out of dead troll carcasses, monuments built on the broken backs of generations of slave labor, and making asparagus the only legal food. You’ve even heard a few would hold sporting events where the losing team would be sacrificed, and the winning team too just for good measure. That makes sense, that’s how things are supposed to work. Like those Omnihood people, they worship a giant tree that drinks blood. Now there’s a god that’s right on the money. When you’re that big, you’re supposed to tapdance on top of villages while wearing golf cleats and keeping a tally. If a deity says, “Hey, good job down there, have some manna.” and doesn’t make everyone’s intestines bleed out of their eyes just because he can, how the hell would anyone know how to deal with that? If you were a god, and by all accounts you damn well should be, you would make every day a Monday, every holiday “Holy Punch Yourself in the Kidneys Solstice”, decree that all walkways be paved with loose legos, and outlaw shoes.
If a god isn’t demanding that you stuff your nextdoor neighbor in a sack, drag him into the woods, and smear his entrails on a rock, he isn’t doing it right. Not that you would, of course. You’re too cool and fashionable to follow the sheeple, man.
Plus, if the gods really were benevolent, then why haven’t any divine hands opened up the heavens to shower you with all the riches and accolades you rightly deserve? If those moldy old neckbeards get super strength, magic hammers, and anti-water powers, then why haven’t you gotten a hundred times more? You’re millions of magnitudes more amazing than all of them put together, not to mention you’re actually smart enough to still be alive. Where’s the justice in that?

(06-12-2017, 08:14 AM)Schazer Wrote: »>Weep

It’s just not fair.
You sniff and dry your eyes with your sleeve.
You know you’re amazing. You know you’re unequaled. You know you’re the most important person in the world. You have to be. Out of all the people aimlessly crawling through the misbegotten sewage of their own lives, you are the only one the Noise Lights gave this mission to.
Now, with that being said, since you are so undeniably fantastic, YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE TO PROVE IT!

Quote:>Scream so loudly that the entirety of the universe and the multiverse hear it at full volume.

Every obstacle you’ve encountered today, no not just today, your Entire Life has been the result of everyone and everything conspiring against you! They’re all in on it! That office woman you went out with so you could steal a photocopier! Whoever built this shack! That guy who discovered those snakes, even though he died before you were born... Especially because he died before you were born! That really old dude reading the newspaper you see at the bus stop every Thursday morning! Why? Why is he doing that? There’s nothing interesting in the paper! Yeah, the top of a greyhound bus got ripped off and several people got their brainstems eaten by a monster with eleven limbs, two heads, and three faces, so what? That crap happens like five times a day. And your Brother! Oh, don’t you dare forget about your Brother. He’s the worst of them all; always going around with his fancy job, his clothes that aren’t filled with holes, his stupid house, his ugly clean-shaven face, and his truck that you keep taking.
You inelegantly screech at the world in general, brandish your mallet and begin erratically swinging it around. Tears of white hot immaturity stream down your face.
He has everything a person could want, but he shouldn’t want that at all! He should want to be more like you! You’re a lovable rogue, a dashing scoundrel, a cunning ne'er-do-well, the modern day Artful Dodger. Everyone should want to be like you. You have the potential to wrap the entire world around your pinkie finger. No, it’s not potential, it’s beyond potential. It is inevitable that you’ll wrap the entire world around your pinkie finger. It is a guaranteed conclusion that this will happen, so why can’t everyone and everything just step aside and let you do it? You, naturally, could accomplish all of your goals without their cooperation, it’s just that things would be a lot easier and more pleasant for you if everyone just got with the program!
In a fit of pure childish petulance, you begin pummeling the wall with your mallet while imaging the boards are people you hate.


Quote:>Smash yourself with the mallet.

As you gracelessly thrash your mallet around, you end up smacking the broad side of the hammerhead against your forehead. As your eyes lose focus and your thoughts reorganize by clattering against the inner walls of your skull, a distinct sensation comparable to warm, stingy ooze leaking out your ears and over the rest of your body washes over you. You can’t even remember why you were upset.



Ahold Thyself
Codex: “It has long been accepted that the most efficient way to solve hysteria, conniptions, brain fever, and all other forms of lost emotional and mental control is a swift application of blunt head trauma. Self diagnosis and application is the next logical step in today's world of self-medication. If you use any object that is heavy and hard enough, you may end a current negative Status with a 50/50 chance of either returning to your last Status or changing to the Neutral Status. Warning: Neutral Status my signify brain damage.


(06-19-2017, 01:37 AM)El Santo Wrote: »>With the speed of the Jaguar, run into the upside down room

You blearily blink the mental fuzziness away and take stock of your situation. You are standing in front of a window. Through that window you see a floor with a trapdoor in it’s center. All the other rooms used to be exact copies of each other. From what you can tell, they still technically are, only now they seem to be shifting and turning around. Obviously this window has the view of a trap door in the ceiling.
You really need to do something constructive. You’ve been having those daydreams where you horrifically die a lot more than usual today. This would break a lesser mind, but thankfully your ironclad psyche is self-conditioned to take anything. Still, it would be devilishly inconvenient if something really did kill you. Not just that, but it would be an unforgivable disservice to all mankind to deprive them of your presence. The world would be just that little bit less magical. A lot more less magical, actually. A really whole lot. You need to finish your quest and get out of here. Infiltrate and exterminate, that’s what’s needed. You need to sneak up on those two freak-beast imposters and heroically put them down before they can retaliate. To do that, you need to think like they do. You need to think like a beast. Think like a stealthy, awesome, unstoppable beast. Like a- like a jaguar!


You reach into your inventory and pull out your fake gun with your free hand. Obviously jaguars would wield weapons if they had any, there’s just no argument. With your makeshift weapon and pseudo weapon gripped tightly in each hand, you drop down to all fours and stretch the way you theorize a jaguar might. You sniff the air, you’re on the hunt. There is prey to be had. You may be the wrong species, wrong shape, have no claws, no fangs, you don’t even have electrified spots or a second mouth on the end of your tail, or a tail at all, but you don’t need any of that. As of less than a minute ago, you believe you have the soul of a jaguar. You rear back, and with a mighty almost graceful leap, smash through the window into the next room.

(06-19-2017, 01:37 AM)El Santo Wrote: »>Listen closely, if you hear any of those things find another hiding place.

You touch down on the trapdoor in the next room as you land on your feet, and hands which are currently functioning as feet. Actually, paws. With the mallet and faux gun still in your clutches, you knuckle around the broken glass while trying to look more like a great cat than an ape. Once you near this room’s version of the exit door, you look up from where you came. You see a trapdoor in the ceiling displaying the view of the window you just leapt through. There are traces of broken glass around the edges.
You put your mind back to the task at hand. You sniff the air again. You smell dusty, rotten wood. You attempt to move your ears around to get a better listen in on your surroundings, you merely manage to comically wiggle them around. You do hear something: “kathunk-kathunk”. You quickly patter over into the corner and try to will yourself into being less visible in the alleged way a jaguar might.

(06-12-2017, 09:09 PM)SideWaysThinker Wrote: »>Failing that, wait for the right moment, and then try to get your hands all up at whatever that one freak has under his shirt.

You wait and listen intently as the “kathunk-kathunk” steadily gets louder. As you wait, you remember how the portal windows and doors changed when Wire-You hit his chest on the floor. You also remember feeling something flat and sturdy when you kicked him in the chest earlier. Whatever it is, it might be connected to the portals, as well as why they don’t work the way you think they should. If not, you’re still going to take it if only so no one else can have it. Within moments, the left window explodes inward as two misshapen forms come tumbling through it. Bizarrely, they don’t seem to be affected by this room’s gravity. Wire-You grabs onto the sides of the window while Car-You holds onto his ankles. They appear to be dangling sideways as if gravity were pulling them down. There is a loud exchange of hissing, shrieking, and hollered car noises. Wire-You begins to furiously kick his feet. Car-you loses his grip on one foot and dangles helplessly from the other until Wire-You brings his heel down on Car-You’s car wreck of a face. Car-You loses his hold on Wire-You and falls across the room where he smashes through the window into the next one. Wire-You struggles for a moment, trying to climb back through the window he is hanging from. He moves his feet to the wall in an attempt to find purchase, but the moment they connect, this room’s gravity seems to take hold. The sudden shift causes Wire-You to lose his grip wherein he unceremoniously hits the floor, flat on his back. He lays there in a daze before he finally struggles to his feet. Specifically, he struggles to his feet while facing away from you.

(06-12-2017, 09:09 PM)SideWaysThinker Wrote: »>Two offerings, first one, then the other.

This is your chance. Your mind’s eye is overcome with images of the jungle as the noble jaguar stalks a gazelle, or whatever. You creep forward on all fours, silently, stealthily. Once you are directly behind him, Wire-You manages to fully stand up and attempts to brush himself off. You quietly stand up and, using the gun’s barrel, you tap Wire-You on the shoulder. He freezes for a moment, then spins around to face you, but it’s too late for him. With all your strength, you swing the mallet and connect it with the side of his head. As he staggers back, you put the false pistol against that tiny spot right above his rib cage and pull the trigger. The tiny “Bang!” flagpole pops out and all the way through. Luminescent fluid splatters against the wall. Wire-You grab’s your hand as you still hold the surprisingly deadly toy gun, but there’s no strength in his grip. You look Wire-You dead in his weird light bulbs that pass for eyes.

You: “It was snakes to meet you.”

Wire-You stares for a moment. His eye-bulbs quickly turn off and on again, as if to blink in consternation. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but only manages in sputtering out some glowing slime. Deciding it just isn’t worth it, he falls on his back again for the final time. The gun goes with him. All the lights on his body flicker and go dark.

Quote:>Grab whatever is under the creature’s shirt

YES! A successful hunt! Was there ever any doubt? Of course not!
You drop back down to all fours and prowl towards your prize. While still clutching the mallet, you use your free hand to tug the recently deceased Wire-You’s shirt up. What you find is a small control panel, about the size of a cribbage board, strapped to his chest. Like a belt that goes under the armpits. You stare at the control panel for a few minutes in complete incomprehension until it finally dawns on you that jaguars lack the ability to decipher modern technology. You decide to drop the act. You stash the mallet in your inventory and begin fiddling with the strapped panel.
There are two clamps that keep the control panel attached to the strap, you click them loose and lift the panel free. You glance back at the dangerous toy gun as it protrudes from between Wire-You’s collar bones. The little pole is hopelessly bent, rendering the whole thing useless. It’s not worth it to try wrenching it free, so you elect to leave it where it is.


(06-19-2017, 01:37 AM)El Santo Wrote: »>Make sure you’re safe before you look over the strange item.

You sharply kick the downed Wire-You in the side. No movement, no retaliation. You’re in the clear. You grimace as you notice that you’re standing in a pool of slowly spreading glowing yellow ooze. Whatever that thing had instead of blood. You quickly move away from the pool, broken glass crunches under your shoes as you back towards the far wall.
Alright, how does this stupid thing work...


You feel a light tap on your shoulder. Before you can react you are grabbed by both shoulders and forcibly spun around. You are staring directly into the flashing headlight eyes of Car-You. His mouth moves with unseen words as his spark plug teeth buzz and fizzle. His eyes flash along with garbled imitations of car noises that come seemingly from nowhere. He lets go of your shoulders and immediately grabs for the control panel in your hands.

(02-28-2019, 05:31 AM)tegerioreo Wrote: »>Flail wildly.

The two of you immediately begin a tug o' war over the small panel. You have no idea why this bastard is going for the panel instead of you, but if he wants it, that’s less incentive to let him have it.
Car-You gives a mighty pull which yanks you forward. Your upper half is forced into the other room. You retaliate by pressing your knees against the wall and with the wall as an anchor, you use your entire body to pull back. This catches him off balance and he falls forward, his entire upper half now in your room. He begins pulling back. In the struggle, many of the panel’s buttons are pressed all at once. The scene on the other side of the shattered window suddenly changes, Car-You falls forward and you stumble backwards. You finally trip over the doorknob protruding from the trapdoor and fall on your back in a heap. Car-You hits the ground only a few feet from the window. Well, half of him does, anyway.


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