calloperators (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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1_800_hotline2019-06-15 12:00 pm
calloperators) wrote in 1_800_hotline2019-06-15 12:00 pm
Entry tags:
TRIAL 1 [DAY 4]
[The sound of rapidly approaching police sirens indicates that it's time to leave the crime scene.
When you reach the previously-defunct laundry room at the motel, you find that the door swings open easily. A wave of air carrying stench of rotting flesh immediately hits you in the face, accompanied the sound of flies buzzing incessantly, having finally being released from their disgusting prison. Two rotting corpses lay on the ground, both with gunshot wounds through their bodies. Curiously enough, these corpses are both wearing masks--one with a wolf mask, and another with a clown mask. From the general state of these corpses, their bodies appear to have been here for weeks. Some of you might feel a twinge of recognition at the sight of them, though you don't remember why.
Once you manage to look past the corpses, you'll find that there's an open door on the back wall with stairs leading down. Whatever washing machines that used to be here have been removed, leaving rusty impressions on the walls and floor. As you carefully make your way down the concrete steps, the air grows colder and mustier, and the sound of the radios fade. You eventually step into a dimly-lit chamber that only vaguely resembles a boiler room, as a series of pulpits have been arranged in rows, labeled by room number. Pyro's stand, of course, is conspicuously empty.
You realize that this has been the only time during your time here that you haven't heard any music at all.
Standing before all the pulpits at the front of the room, there's a CRT TV buzzing with static. As soon as everyone files in, the metal door swings shut with an abrupt CLANG and locks behind you. The static fills the silence for several minutes.
The screen flickers, and a face appears. His blonde hair is slicked back in an unnatural fashion, his plastic smile is almost permanently affixed to his face, and the suit he's wearing looks...far too shiny to be remotely real. His movements are jerky, occasionally changing completely in pose in view to the camera.
He opens his mouth and speaks in a stuttering, artificial tone, rising and falling with no sense of rhyme or reason.]
This IS M-M-Max HEADroom, and YOU are all all all HERE to catch a murderer! Your JOB is to find out who's g-g-g-g u i l t y, and I'm here to help move things along, in a sense. ense. ense. [A pause.] Then again, you're--all guilty of something, aren't you?
[And he throws back his head and laughs.]
< TRIAL START! >
When you reach the previously-defunct laundry room at the motel, you find that the door swings open easily. A wave of air carrying stench of rotting flesh immediately hits you in the face, accompanied the sound of flies buzzing incessantly, having finally being released from their disgusting prison. Two rotting corpses lay on the ground, both with gunshot wounds through their bodies. Curiously enough, these corpses are both wearing masks--one with a wolf mask, and another with a clown mask. From the general state of these corpses, their bodies appear to have been here for weeks. Some of you might feel a twinge of recognition at the sight of them, though you don't remember why.
Once you manage to look past the corpses, you'll find that there's an open door on the back wall with stairs leading down. Whatever washing machines that used to be here have been removed, leaving rusty impressions on the walls and floor. As you carefully make your way down the concrete steps, the air grows colder and mustier, and the sound of the radios fade. You eventually step into a dimly-lit chamber that only vaguely resembles a boiler room, as a series of pulpits have been arranged in rows, labeled by room number. Pyro's stand, of course, is conspicuously empty.
You realize that this has been the only time during your time here that you haven't heard any music at all.
Standing before all the pulpits at the front of the room, there's a CRT TV buzzing with static. As soon as everyone files in, the metal door swings shut with an abrupt CLANG and locks behind you. The static fills the silence for several minutes.
The screen flickers, and a face appears. His blonde hair is slicked back in an unnatural fashion, his plastic smile is almost permanently affixed to his face, and the suit he's wearing looks...far too shiny to be remotely real. His movements are jerky, occasionally changing completely in pose in view to the camera.
He opens his mouth and speaks in a stuttering, artificial tone, rising and falling with no sense of rhyme or reason.]
This IS M-M-Max HEADroom, and YOU are all all all HERE to catch a murderer! Your JOB is to find out who's g-g-g-g u i l t y, and I'm here to help move things along, in a sense. ense. ense. [A pause.] Then again, you're--all guilty of something, aren't you?
[And he throws back his head and laughs.]
< TRIAL START! >
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Ray, when did you pick that up?
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[It also does look warm for the Florida-type weather they've been getting.]
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I guess but I just really like it, you know?
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Right now?
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Is there a problem?
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[It is definitely not cold today.]
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You've been touching your arm frequently. Were you injured recently?
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[ She sighs. She didn't want to ask directly. ]
What are you hiding? What's so important about that sweater?
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I like it, I guess.
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Ray. Take the sweater off.
[Because obviously, there's a misunderstanding, and Ray acting suspicious isn't gonna help anything, so take the fucking thing off Ray-]
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I'm not sure what you expected from topless Ray, but he is covered with fresh injuries. Most notably a hastily bandaged arm, still seeping with blood.
And, yes, he also has a lot of fresh burn marks on him.]
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[ That easy, huh? ]
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Ray... Where'd you get those injuries?
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... They were trying to kill me.
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He doesn't say anything, and that's probably the worst part. He doesn't even bother to beg that this isn't true, that these injuries are somehow unrelated- he just stares, and looks like his life is falling apart in front of his eyes.]
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Oh look. Burns.
1/2
2/2
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I'm sorry.
[ sorrynotsorry ]