Oct 17, 2019 10:01 PM
well here we are again
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There is a perky song and then a voice: "Good morning. You have been in suspension for FIFTY days," with the 'FIFTY' said in a different, more robotic voice. In compliance with state and federal regulations, all testing candidates in the Aperture Science Extended Relaxation Center must be revived periodically for a mandatory physical and mental wellness exercise."

And Sable will find herself in a...

...it sure does look like a motel room.

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..."Motel room" is not a reference class she has available, but she can sort of get the picture that it's something like a room at an inn. An inn from this world with its not-alive machines.

What.

Okay, so she's not dead, which is mildly surprising. (If she's not dead, the machine-woman almost certainly isn't either. That may turn out to be a problem.) Her ground is still kind of a mess, but 'fifty days' sounds about right for it to have healed as much as it has. Her fingers and toes all work properly. There's a sound machine talking about Aperture Science, which means she has not somehow miraculously escaped, but at least she's in a reasonable facsimile of an actual room instead of a glass-walled cube with a toilet and a nightstand and a creepy pod.

She gets out of bed.

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"You will hear a buzzer. When you hear the buzzer, look up at the ceiling."

There is a loud buzzing sound.

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"Obeying strange disembodied voices has not historically worked out well for me."

She opens her groundsense, slowly, peering past the walls and floor and ceiling at whatever lies beyond.

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Nothing. Absolutely nothing lies beyond. This room is a metal box hanging by a metal hook from a metal rail that extends really far in two directions and it is surrounded by absolutely nothing.

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Um!

 

There isn't one of those nifty portal widgets around here, by any chance, is there?

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Nope! The only pieces of recognizably Aperture Technology (at least inside the room) are the long fall boots and orange jumpsuit she's wearing.

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Hm.

 

She looks up at the ceiling, just to see what happens next.

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"Good. You will hear a buzzer. When you hear the buzzer, look down at the floor."

BUZZ.

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Mmmmno not yet.

There's a door. What happens if she tries to open the door.

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It's locked.

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Unlockably locked?

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It's... bolted to the frame, actually. And reinforced.

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Wow. Okay. How about the window.

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It is just as reinforced, and is not a real window; it's generating light.

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They really don't want her getting out of here, huh. Okay. She examines the walls for weak points, and in the course of this investigation she eventually does look down at the floor.

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"Good. This completes the gymnastic portion of your mandatory physical and mental wellness exercise."

The walls are not particularly differently strong, they're very even in their metalness. The joints are particularly reinforced.

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And no doubt the floor and ceiling are the same. And they took her clothes and her mug and her radio and her knife and put her in this horrid orange jumpsuit, so the tools at her disposal are rather limited.

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Indeed.

"There is a framed painting on the wall. Please go stand in front of it."

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"Why would you imagine I might do that."

Okay, alternate tools? She opens all the drawers and so on because it's easier than peering at their contents with groundsense.

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They are all empty, and the voice declines to respond.

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Okay.

She could rip a hole in the ceiling and climb up the thing the room is hanging from and go adventuring again.

But she's alive after fifty days in that bed, and she has yet to actually see any food or water in this place. And her resources are sharply limited. If she plays their stupid game, maybe whoever's behind this round of strange disembodied voices will be foolish enough to let her get her hands on another portal widget, and then she will be in a much better position.

—wait, fifty days—?

"You made me miss my birthday!" she says indignantly.

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There is again no response. Perhaps this voice is just automated?

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"I turned fifteen without any cake. This will be held against you in the final accounting," she says, which is a bit melodramatic but on the other hand they made her miss her birthday, and anyway there doesn't seem to be anyone listening.

Then she sighs and goes and looks at the framed painting on the wall.

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"This is art. You will hear a buzzer. When you hear the buzzer, stare at the art."

BUZZ.

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She stares at the art. It has a mountain in it. Adequate, as paintings go.

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