[ semi-closed ] PENALTY GAME 02
Who: The Doctor, Fletcher Tringham (beansprout), and anyone else who incurs a punishment and chooses a penalty game as a result of the Milgram Experiment event. (We will edit this listing if that occurs.)
When: Around dinner time.
Warnings: Gore, torture.
When they wake up, it's around dinner time. They're sat quite comfortably in a chair, and there's a woman pulling on long latex gloves on across from him. And behind her, there's something that looks like a roulette machine; the display says "BRAIN" in capital, bold letters. Behind them, on the top of the chair, there's a camera looking down. This is all being recorded and presented to the entire prison on the various TVs set around the place.
The room is small and white; there are some instruments on a metal table nearby. Instruments for slicing, for opening, for holding and gripping; instruments and tools for all purposes, and some whose purposes are a mystery shrouded in white cloth.
As the inmate comes slowly out of the foggy grip of the sedatives, they might notice that they are strapped down. There are leather straps holding their upper arms, forearms, wrists and ankles in place. And metal bands pinched tight around their torso, his collar, their thighs and calves.
Welcome to the penalty game. The woman doctor looks over to them and smiles, the snap of the latex loud in this quiet quiet room.
"Good evening," she says, perfectly pleasant and perfectly professional. "Let's get started. You're here because you broke the rules of the game; so, in order to make up for that, you're playing another game. I'll turn on this machine, and it will spin, and you will tell me when to turn it off." All smiles now, she's grinning. "Whatever it lands on, you'll have removed."
When: Around dinner time.
Warnings: Gore, torture.
When they wake up, it's around dinner time. They're sat quite comfortably in a chair, and there's a woman pulling on long latex gloves on across from him. And behind her, there's something that looks like a roulette machine; the display says "BRAIN" in capital, bold letters. Behind them, on the top of the chair, there's a camera looking down. This is all being recorded and presented to the entire prison on the various TVs set around the place.
The room is small and white; there are some instruments on a metal table nearby. Instruments for slicing, for opening, for holding and gripping; instruments and tools for all purposes, and some whose purposes are a mystery shrouded in white cloth.
As the inmate comes slowly out of the foggy grip of the sedatives, they might notice that they are strapped down. There are leather straps holding their upper arms, forearms, wrists and ankles in place. And metal bands pinched tight around their torso, his collar, their thighs and calves.
Welcome to the penalty game. The woman doctor looks over to them and smiles, the snap of the latex loud in this quiet quiet room.
"Good evening," she says, perfectly pleasant and perfectly professional. "Let's get started. You're here because you broke the rules of the game; so, in order to make up for that, you're playing another game. I'll turn on this machine, and it will spin, and you will tell me when to turn it off." All smiles now, she's grinning. "Whatever it lands on, you'll have removed."