GTKY
It's blue shit in the corpses of those affected by the pathogen that was released when the metear struck. But what the FUCK is it, on top of that?
Oh, right. People are here. Greetings. I'm Professor Henry Hidgens, and that is my robot assistant Alexa. *Amazon Alexa chimes* You're here, of course, to escape the singing. Because you woke up one day, checked the news, heard about the meteor, and everyone was singing. Singing and dancing, like they were in a musical. And once they get you-- once YOU sing-- you're a part of it! You become one of them, a mindless slave of the collective. But to what end? What the fuck is the point of this?
Don't worry. I've been preparing for this exact scenario for the last 28 years. You're very lucky to have found your way to Hatchetfield. Science, science that you call magic, a car... remarkable! My home is a veritable fortress, built to withstand any kind of invasion. There are years worth of provisions. Oh, and you bet your ass we got booze. Full bar. No cherries, though. If you want a Shirley Temple you're shit out of luck.
I like to think I'm a pretty cool guy, so there are only a few house rules. I'll let you know all of them tonight. Your chores (roles) will be handed out at around 7 PM EST. For now, there are only two rules: don't be a dick and don't sing a GODDAMN note.