vsyourface
in
damned
Day 57: Sun Room (Fourth Shift)
Well that had been weird.
Scott hadn't been able to get back into his game after meeting Alternate Universe Captain Kirk, and so he wandered back out into the Sun Room now, hoping that maybe sitting in front of a different screen for a while might help clear the bamboozlement from his brain instead. At the very least, it would probably give him tips on how to get out of this hole. The Great Escape, was it? Sounded useful enough. And at the very, very, very least, Scott figured he could fall asleep in his chair for a while, then wake up more alert for the night to come.
The night to come. Oh boy. Scott still wasn't sure what to think about that. On the one hand, he was psyched to get past a major stage, as any gamer would be. On the other, he also valued his hide. If the injuries everyone had suffered in the other parts of the basement had been bad, who was to say they wouldn't get double that in this Coliseum or whatever it was? If there was a Sphynx elsewhere in the basement, did that mean they had to fight a Hydra or something for the final challenge? Whatever they were fighting, it definitely wasn't going to be easy, even with six of them.
His existing injuries were good enough by now, at least. The pain in his leg and arm was almost gone, and the scars on his cheeks were starting to dull. Here was hoping that whatever they got from the fight tonight, it would heal just as fast.
So, Scott slid into a seat, ready to start chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool... God, had he just thought that? Yuck. Go away, 90's Will Smith.
He hadn't been there for long when he got a sharp tap on the shoulder from a soldier. After nearly falling out of his chair in surprise, Scott turned to find an envelope being shoved in his face. "What is... Is that for me?" Scott blinked in the dim light, taking the letter with no small degree of WTF.
The letter was packed in a clearly re-sealed envelope, with black stuff done up all over anything remotely identifying on it. The only things that weren't blacked out were his "real name" - Bryan Michaels - and the name of the sender - someone named Christopher Carpenter. Scott felt like he ought to know who that referred to, but was drawing a blank for the moment.
The blank went away the second he ripped open the top of the envelope and saw the handwriting. Even if he hadn't recognized the handwriting (he was actually getting pretty good at it, after weeks of bulletin practice), the contents would have made it clear enough. Scott grimaced.
"Great. Thanks, Wallace. Thanks a lot. Now you're brainwashed," he mumbled to himself, skimming over the utterly pointless letter a few more times. "Good job."
[Wichita]
Scott hadn't been able to get back into his game after meeting Alternate Universe Captain Kirk, and so he wandered back out into the Sun Room now, hoping that maybe sitting in front of a different screen for a while might help clear the bamboozlement from his brain instead. At the very least, it would probably give him tips on how to get out of this hole. The Great Escape, was it? Sounded useful enough. And at the very, very, very least, Scott figured he could fall asleep in his chair for a while, then wake up more alert for the night to come.
The night to come. Oh boy. Scott still wasn't sure what to think about that. On the one hand, he was psyched to get past a major stage, as any gamer would be. On the other, he also valued his hide. If the injuries everyone had suffered in the other parts of the basement had been bad, who was to say they wouldn't get double that in this Coliseum or whatever it was? If there was a Sphynx elsewhere in the basement, did that mean they had to fight a Hydra or something for the final challenge? Whatever they were fighting, it definitely wasn't going to be easy, even with six of them.
His existing injuries were good enough by now, at least. The pain in his leg and arm was almost gone, and the scars on his cheeks were starting to dull. Here was hoping that whatever they got from the fight tonight, it would heal just as fast.
So, Scott slid into a seat, ready to start chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool... God, had he just thought that? Yuck. Go away, 90's Will Smith.
He hadn't been there for long when he got a sharp tap on the shoulder from a soldier. After nearly falling out of his chair in surprise, Scott turned to find an envelope being shoved in his face. "What is... Is that for me?" Scott blinked in the dim light, taking the letter with no small degree of WTF.
The letter was packed in a clearly re-sealed envelope, with black stuff done up all over anything remotely identifying on it. The only things that weren't blacked out were his "real name" - Bryan Michaels - and the name of the sender - someone named Christopher Carpenter. Scott felt like he ought to know who that referred to, but was drawing a blank for the moment.
The blank went away the second he ripped open the top of the envelope and saw the handwriting. Even if he hadn't recognized the handwriting (he was actually getting pretty good at it, after weeks of bulletin practice), the contents would have made it clear enough. Scott grimaced.
"Great. Thanks, Wallace. Thanks a lot. Now you're brainwashed," he mumbled to himself, skimming over the utterly pointless letter a few more times. "Good job."
[Wichita]