Log:Digging a way out

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Digging a way out
Characters  •   The Avant-Garde  •  The Penitent  •  The Capitalist  •  The Competitor  •  The Hunter  •  The Creepshow  •
Location  •  The Facility
Date  •  2018-07-22
Summary  •  The Archetypes have brunch as they discuss about love, their memories and this prison that they've found themselves in. The Avant-Garde is trying to tunnel his way out through out all of this.

It's not quite brunch time, but it wouldn't be a bad time to have brunch. 'Cameron' has been exploring the Facility, which since its not very big, involves a lot of circle walking with a disturbed and thoughtful expression on his face. Eventually he decides it is brunch time, so... he orders steak and eggs. Once he pulls out the plate, stares at the knife, the food is forgotten and he takes the knife into the parlor, and starts tapping the wall with the end. Tap tap, tap tap. Does this sound different here? How about here? Not especially, but he decides on a spot, and starts digging the knife into the wall. Paint peels away, a bit of grayish white dust falls, but man, this is gonna take awhile and that's obvious watching him even for minutes. Still. Its progress? He's in a pair of shorts, and a white shirt with a cup of steaming coffee on the front that says above, 'Contemplate futility of existance... but first, COFFEE'. That and a dozen colored rubber bands around his wrists.

"Who cleaned up all the books?" That'd be the voice of the Penitent, stepping from the hallway into the parlour proper, wandering through it with a vague kind of expression. All them books are back up on the shelves. That's nice! Once can at least wander around a bit further. She steps into the dining hall on her way to get something to eat, herself, though stops when she spots 'Cameron' there, head tilting slightly. Today, for her, it's a black singlet top and grey sweatpants. No shoes at all. "Everything we've tried to damage hasn't really worked. And someone comes in and fixes stuff," she says in a pleasant enough tone, before continuing on her way to the dispensers.

It's been a while since the Capitalist had been awake. Having woken up alone in his own bed with no memory of ever returning to his room, it's been quite the confusing morning. After writing some notes at his desk, he decides to get changed -- it's all a ritual for him, putting on that dress shirt, those slacks, that tie. And then the shoes and socks to go with it. He leaves his room sans the suit jacket that would normally top off the ensemble.

Walking pass the Hunter's room, looking at the image woven into her door, he removes a hand from his pocket and looks as if he's about to knock, but for whatever reason, he refrains from doing so. Coffee might need to come first. On entering the parlor and seeing that someone had cleaned the place up and picked up after the mess he made the day before, all he can do is arch a brow, "Did Valerity do all of that?" Though once those words leave his lips, he has to shake his head, "I think it was a far greater task for even the Diva to undertake. Weird things happen." He says, making his way to the dispenser after the Penitent. "Maata broke one of the dispensers on her first day. The next morning, it looked like nothing even happened."

This is the first time that the Competitor has exited her room, there was quite a bit of mental recovery involved before she felt up to going out and seeing what other hell awaited beyond her door. She has opted for her hair to be pulled back in a single ponytail and a pair of skinny jeans with a simple t-shirt as her armor of choice as she makes her way out into the parlor.

"Look." the Avant-Garde points at the damage he has done to the wall, "I might have to take a break to pee or something but there's got to be something past these walls. This isn't the best solution-- I'd kill for a sledgehammer-- but... Look, has _anyone_ seen Chase?" He looks over his shoulder, less freaked out now, but still not understanding what's going on. He looks to 'Conrad' and 'Madison', "Is this like purgatory or something? Not heaven, not hell, but smack dab in the middle? How do you not end up in heaven if you sacrifice yourself to save everyone? And if we're not dead... which we're not, I had to crap when I woke up. You don't crap when you're dead." Still carving into the wall.

Toasted sandwhich. Cup of tea. This is apparently what the Penitent gets, because she steps back in. "I dunno the walls don't really break. Maata was trying for a while or something?" She glances towards the Capitalist for confirmation. "I think you'll probably just be there all day and make no progress at all. As for what this is ... sure, I think it's probably a prison." She beams a pleasant smile before moving to sit down, only pausing when she spies 'Blue' across the way. "Oh! Hello." She sure looks like Madison, but she seems far more certain of herself than Madison ever did.

Going through a few menus at one of the monitors in the kitchen, The Capitalist idly presses the button for a simple macchiato, hot, before going to pick up his drink at the dispenser. Once emerging from the kitchen, he leans against the door frame, allowing some room for people to walk in and out past him, so that he can observe the Avant-Garde from his distance. He takes the first sip of morning coffee goodness. "A lot of people did not show up, I don't think. I heard that one of my bodyguards was on the helicopter with us when it... well, you should know what happened. And he's not here. Nor is the pilot." Obviously, the Capitalist has no idea who Chase is and figured, despite what he was told yesterday, that he must have been one of the sacrificed.

When a somewhat familiar face emerges into the parlor, he nods in the Competitor's direction, "I'm surprised to see you here. Strike that, I'm surprised to have heard you sacrificed yourself for everyone else on the island." Coffee lifting to his lips, he comments, "That's very noble of you. Thanks." Despite having 'died', he seems content to know that perhaps the others on the island are now safe.

There is a slightly confused look at the Penitent and her more self-assured manner, but she just shakes her head a fraction, brushing it off. "So who all is here?" The Competitor wonders, her hands tucking into the back pockets of her jeans as she looks from one face to another, watching 'Cameron' with a very detached look for a moment before she glances at the Capitalist, "Oh, sure. Noble I guess is one way to look at it...I just hope that it worked, since if not it'd really suck and it was for nothing."

"It wasn't noble of me, I was fucking trying to save my boyfriend's life and have it go viral so I'd live forever on the internet, I was such a fucking idiot. Who //is// that guy? I remember Cameron Cross's whole life and is all _wrong_, except for Chase, he feels right. I don't ... no. It wasn't noble at all." 'Cameron' shakes his head firmly, and keeps grinding the knife along the wall. Specks of gray dustfall down as he damages it, just... not a lot." He looks to 'Conrad', "I didn't know who was on the copter, only that it was what, a day or two before we went to figure out the ritual?" A glance at Madison, "Its not metal, so its not impervious." Then to Blue, "I saw.. Valerity. Those two. I... wasn't in a good place yesterday and don't remember it very well."

Setting herself down at the table, Penitent begins to eat at her sandwhich. Delicious toasted sandwhich. "It's like Esme said. Esme isn't who she is. Just someone she wore for a while. That's how I feel about it, too. Madison isn't me, just someone I was. How or why, well. I don't have the answers." She doesn't seem to be especially searching for them either, though she does turn, glancing at Cameron and gesturing with her sandwhich with a bite out of it, "Do what you need to do, but I'm telling you, it won't work. You might peel some paint off, but the wall won't give way, especially not to a kitchen knife." A beat. "Don't you feel like you belong here?"

There's a shake of her head. Sip from her cup of tea as she glances back over to the Competitor. "Uhh, Dahlia and Jonas, people from the tech team are here. Maata, myself, Conrad, Esme. The only real common thing is we all died on the Island in some way or another."

"It's still noble of you to choose death to save the life of someone. So I'd think." The Capitalist's head then turns to stare off at some random wall, "I'm not sure if I would have made the same decision if I were in your shoes. But I'd like to think that I would." He's quiet for a moment, going through all of Conrad's memories, knowing his quirks, his motivations and he's still not certain if he ever would have gone through with the sacrifice himself. He still lingers against the door frame leading into the kitchen and once he's pulled away from his thoughts, he immediately goes for another drink of coffee.

When Madison begins to speak, he adds, "Not everyone from the tech team, nor everyone from the helicopter. Professor Ethan Drake is here as well, though, he looks much younger than I remembered. And then there is another, a face that I'd never seen before." He then makes an idle gesture, "But it was a huge festival, so of course, I don't know everyone. Like this Esme who I met last might. I've never met her before that." At the Penitent's question about belonging though, his brow furrows deeply, "I can't say that I feel like I belong here. I feel like I'm trapped here though, that's the right word."

The Competitor pulls her hand from her back pocket, snapping as she points at Conrad, "Trapped. Yes." She then drops her hand, "Esme...oh." She lifts the hand, waving at her face, "She had all the god awful paint on her face when she was taking all the pictures I think. I bet that is who..." She then drops her hand once more, shaking her head, "But I...don't feel like Blue was me, either. Just a pair of shoes that I traveled somewhere for a time in."

There's a sudden suspicion, and the Avant-Garde looks back to Conrad, "Hey, anyone who we don't remember from there, should be suspect. Maybe its one of *them* that's keeping us here. Watching from inside." Paranoid much? A little. "Not everyone is going to recognize everyone, but out of everyone, someone should recognize them. If not... suspect. Maybe they don't leave their room. I dunno." He looks to Madison, "No, I don't feel like I belong here at all. This whole place is wrong. I feel..stifled. Stuck. There's not even any cameras I can find, what kind of... prison, or whatever, has any-food dispensers but no cameras to monitor us?"

"I like that analogy better. A pair of shoes." The Penitent agrees with the Competitor on this one, and resumes to finishing up her sandwhich. She's quiet for a few long moments, just eating. Eventually she's leaning back, wrapping both hands about her cup of tea. "I did meet Esme once. The one with the face paint, yes. But there's a lot of people missing. She thought this might be hell. Maybe hell is a prison. Though I agree that we're not dead. Except we did die. People apparently saw my body, so I don't know how to figure that out. I feel like I belong here, though. Or at least, deserve to be here."

The Capitalist shoots a look of annoyance in the Competitor's way for something said, but when the Avant-Garde brings up a point, he simply nods. "I've yet to see him since that first night. He doesn't seem to have left his room since and if he did, then he does so when everyone else was asleep." Taking another sip of coffee, he then adds, "And none of us, not Maddy or myself, not Dahlia, no one recognized him." He tilts his head in consideration, "We could knock on his door and check in on him." He remembers exactly which door that one walked into.

"So far, there's only been one real anomaly, I think, and that is with Drake. The professor showing up here and looking far younger than his years?" The Capitalist shrugs, "Out of everyone, he might be the happiest to be here, though it didn't seem that way yesterday."

The Hunter wakes. She wakes and rolls over, reaching for... someone who is not there. This causes her to go from that half-asleep, dozing state to fully awake, when she finds she is alone in her bed. The rest of it isn't even warm, as if recently occupied. She sits up and the lights of the room come on. "Conrad?" Her voice is rough with sleep and when no answer comes, she swings her legs out to plant them on the floor. Maybe the bathroom? She pads that way; past the racks and shelves of equipment. Through the large closet full of clothing and gear for all weather. But the bathroom is empty, as well. It takes her time to process, but she finally just settles for a discomfited scowl and dresses.

When the door with the archer crouching in brush opens, it reveals the woman that looks like Maata in black BDUs and an olive green, fitted tee. She makes her way towards the parlor and the voices, but that uncomfortable expression has become a more intense scowl once she hears the Capitalist and she starts directly towards him when she sees him.

The Competitor utterly misses the look of annoyance, just seems wrapped up in her new theory of them all being shoes. "Yeah...shoes." She repeats back to 'Madison', then shakes her head, "If it's someone that is planted in here to watch us from the inside then that is a pretty lame plan if they aren't remembered by someone. No, I bet if there is someone planted then it's someone most of us would recognize, and assume was friendly. That's how I'd do it if it was me."

"You all seem to be leaping to conclusions," The Penitent offers in a coversational tone. "We don't even know how we got in here. There's no way in or out. Empty rooms suddenly become furnished and then there's a new person who died on the island. Some come, some don't. So until we can figure out how people even get put in here, I have no idea how we'd figure out our supervisor is, if there even is such a thing." She leans back, considering. "Question is, why would they need to put someone in here if there really is no way out?" She shrugs, and peers at the approaching Hunter. That scowl is worrying!

The Capitalist is still hanging out in the doorway sipping at his coffee when he notices the room to the Hunter's door opens and then seeing the Huntress herself. While Maata may be scowling at him, Conrad's first thoughts are to flash her with a sort of grin and offer a "Morning." Though when he does this, he automatically lifts his wrist so that he can check his non-working watch. This is a habit that's difficult for him to break. When she draws nearer, he might catch the anger in his eyes, though he's not certain if it's directed at him or not.

"There were three deaths mentioned between the explosions and the sacrifice." He goes on to say to the others. "The deaths of those emo kids, but the guy in that room, is definitely not a teenager." Then this plant is mentioned and here he murmurs, "Akala had a man on the is--" Could the stranger be Akala's man? "On the island. Someone who was tasked to slaughter everyone and leave no survivors. We were planning on reporting that to you all, except our comms were rigged."

"There's _obviously_ a way out by virtue of the fact that there is _obviously_ a way in, or new people wouldn't arrive, so its not 'there is no way out' but 'we haven't found how to get out." counters Cameron with a dark look over his shoulder at Madison, as he continues to grind his steak knife along the wall. This one is stubborn. He nods to Conrad, though. "There was a plant on the island, why not a plant here? I'm not saying its sure but someone no one recognizes is -- //suspicious//... and yeah, Eugene died when we first went to the ruins, before the sacrifice. Vines ate him. The emo kid who balh blah rebel without a cause thing."

Walking right up to the Capitalist, the Hunter leans up to him. Tall as she is -- nearly six-foot herself! -- the woman doesn't have to really do much up in that lean. "Did you wait until I fell asleep to leave?!" The words are hissed at him in a low voice, but still loud enough to be overheard by anyone near enough. There's accusation in her tone. The Penitent and Creepshow, at least, saw that they both went to the same room last night...

There is a sidelong glance to Conrad and the woman once known as Maata snaps (it's not unkind, not really, she's just not in the best mood right now) in her surprisingly midwestern American accent: "I've tried. Fire. All kinds of tools. I took apart one of the dispensers day one. This place is some futuristic post-mortem afterlife bullshit."

"Well, dying sure as shit ain't it," says Creepshow as she pads down the hall and into the parlor, still in the gray tank and boxers, barefoot. "So you can all mark that one off your list of possible ways out of here." She nods in agreement with Cameron. "Those three were the only ones who died between the chopper and the sacrifice, so best bet is that iif he's from the island, strange guy is one of them. Aged up, instead of down like the professor."

"Someone got younger. Maybe someone else got older." The Penitent remarks off hand, shrugging her shoulders before turning her gaze back over to Cameron, staring at him with a sort of vacant expression. "I don't know that there's obviously anything. We just came from an island where the dead came to life and killed people and then woke up here. After we died. And we don't remember our lives properly. Why assume there's some logical, scientific rules to all of this?" She lifts that mug again, sipping from it as her gaze wanders over to the Capitalist and the Hunter, brows lifting up slightly. She leans foward to stare at them, and then at the Creepshow beyond them. "What do you mean, dying isn't it?"

"Right. I'm not ready for this." The Competitor shakes her head, a hand rubbing against her forehead, "I'm just going to go back to my room again and sit there until I'm ready for all this. If...anyone needs me, you can find me." She points down to her room before she turns to head that direction.

At that low growl that the Hunter speaks to him in, the Capitalist goes into defensive mode, his hands up. "Look, I don't even remember falling asleep afterwards. The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes and I was back in my room. I don't even remember you falling asleep, for that matter." His hands slowly lowering, he takes yet another sip from his cup, before he finishes with, "I spent a good part of the morning trying to sort that out myself. I sure as hell didn't overdo it on the scotch last night."

Then yet another face appears and it's the face of that odd one. Though before he can even ask questions, Madison inquires about what is already on his mind. What Esme says, however, has him thinking, "Well if he is one of those emo kids, then he's been hiding out. He hasn't stepped foot outside of that room, as far as I know anyway, since he first showed up. I don't blame him. He had absolutely no memories when we met, maybe everything from the island melted his brain in there."

"Wouldn't take those odds, what was your name again? I still think if no one recognizes someone, I'd bet its a plant." He looks to 'Madison', "If there's an in, there's an out." He's stubborn as hell apparently, I don't know if its a secret door or some sort of magical voodoo ritual you cast in a certain place to summon a vortex of summoning, but there's a passage between here and that island. We all went through it to get here. Therefore there's a way out. Beyond with, think about it. You seen a vent? Why don't we all suffocate to death from CO2? There's got to be air coming in and going out somewhere, hidden very cleverly, or we'd be dead....er." He looks to Conrad thoughtful, "If he is one of thoes emo-guys, just aged-up, all I'm saying is ... caution. Don't trust someone no one recognizes. Not to _do_ anything to them. I don't get this aging thing, admittedly."

When the explanation comes, the Hunter stares at the Capitalist for a long period of time. It's clear she's not sure if she believes him, but she's also not certain she doesn't disbelieve him, either. Stranger things have happened here. Like setting a fire in a room and it being fully furnished and occupied later that day. She leans back on her heels and crosses her arms, staring at her feet as she lets out a long breath. "All right," she says, finally. She doesn't sound mollified, at least not fully, but she's at least not about to threaten him and no longer in his face. There's still an edge to her: a continued discomfort that hasn't lifted since she first woke up. The woman swallows and turns away, heading for the dispensers.

Today, there's no full breakfast. Just coffee that goes with the cigarettes she pulls out of a pocket in her BDUs. She gets one lit and makes her way towards the parlor to fold herself into the corner of a sofa. "There's a fire suppression system. Sprinklers. Bathrooms. There's plumbing proper. Which means piping behind walls, under floors. Over ceilings. Presumably vent work, too. But we have advanced as fuck Star Trek style replicators here. For all we know, these walls are like motherfucking membranes pushing fresh air through and pulling carbon monoxide out."

"There were over six hundred people at the festival," says Creepshow to Cameron. "Who can recognize all of them? And that's what I'm trying to tell you - air, it doesn't matter. We can't die in here. Not really." She glances to Conrad, then Penny. "I tried slitting my throat again in the bathtub before bed. Figured the cleanup would be easier for you guys that way. I woke up again in bed, like the rest of you. We aren't going anywhere."

"Alright, fair deal. There has to be a way out; but nothing says we have to have any control over it, or that there's a way out from in here." The Penitent shrugs, rising up to her feet with her cup to move over to one of the couches, though she pauses when the Creepshow explains what she did. "... oh. Why would you do that?" She blinks in thought and then shrugs. "Honestly the fact that you can remember it is probably more disturbing than you actually doing it."

Despite Maata seemingly accepting his explanation for his disappearance from her bed this morning, the Capitalist can tell that she was still agitated by something, so as she does her business in the kitchen, picking up her coffee then proceeds to take a seat, his gaze follows. Only once she has chosen a place to settle does he finally move in to join her, settling down beside her. Though, now that Esme tells her own story, it does get him thinking.

"What happened if you try to kill yourself again now?" He asks, a mildly curious glance is given to her. "You did it last night, before bed. I can't even remember falling asleep myself in my own bed, so waking up there had me confused for most of the morning."

"No one can recognize all of them." 'Cameron' says to 'ESme', "That's my point. However, everyone should be recognized by *someone*. If *no one* recognizes a person, that's *entirely* different proposition." That Esme commited suicide... causes mixed feelings in Cameron, since he kinda just did recently himself. He looks to Maata, "Okay, you want to give up on finding the out, fine. I'm kinda sick to death of people talking me out of looking, so if everyone can shut up on that front? Much appreciated. You've been here, what, four days, me this is my second? Doesn't make you expert on all things whatever this place is. I'm not going to stop looking for out, stop telling me its pointless." He's frustrated, aggressive, today. Its not the panic attack of his arrival but he so does not have equilibrium yet." He looks to Esme then, "Air, though? doesn't matter? Okay. Let me hold my breath until it hurts so much I gasp or I pass out, and we'll know if air matters or not. 'Die' is not the important data point."

Agitated has sort of described the Hunter since they arrived. For the most part, it's only the Capitalist that has kept her calm. Like some sort of tether to keep her from spinning off into nothing. She doesn't relax into the couch, but rather remains fairly wound up; one foot on the cushion beneath her, as if ready to leap up off of it. She has her mug in one hand, cigarette in the other (when not actively drawing at it). During a drag, she fumbles the pack out to offer to the man next to her once he's settled.

So at least she's not too mad at him not to provide that.

"Not telling you not to try," she grouses at Cameron. "Just telling you what shit hasn't worked. Kind of fucking pointless to retread old ground. Told you I broke a dispenser. Tore it the fuck apart. Do any of them look broken to you? Yesterday, I destroyed a chair and set it on fire. You see that? What about all the books that were on the floor that Conrad took off the shelves looking for a switch? Day before that, I tried-" she gestures with the cigarette as she exhales, towards the hall. "breaking through the end of the hallway. I've got all sorts of fucking gear in my room. Shit, maybe we can figure out how to make explosives. Suicide girl here seemed reeeeeeeal fuckin' keen on knowing what that's like. Maybe she can set 'em off for us even to try to blow a hole in one of the walls."

"Maybe we die every night, because there's no vents, and just enough air for the day. We drift off to sleep with no air and die, and wake up again." Madison says thoughtfully as she sets herself down on the couch, sipping from her cup of tea. Then she kind of shudders, "That's a bit grim, no I don't think I like that explanation. Plus where does the next day's air come from?" She shakes her head, nursing her cup in thought. Though she does look up in alarm at the mention of explosives and just sort of sinks further into the couch. "Um. Let me know if and when that's going to happen, please."

"There were still a couple people up, I think, when I did it," Creepshow answers Conrad. So I'd probably bleed out and die, and just... be a mess until sleep eventually overtakes the rest of you. Then back in bed in the morning." She holds a hand out towards Cameron. "Gimme the knife a second. We can find out." She shrugs, adding. "We each are dealing in our own way. Some of you tore shit up, tried to burn shit down. I tried to kill myself. He's digging a hole in the wall. Let him dig." Finally, she looks to Penny. "Why did I do it? You want the real answer, or the easy one? Think carefully before you answer that."

"That's not how oxygen deprivation works. You get loopy. You feel it." The Avant-Garde shakes his head grimly, and he looks to the Hunter, "Fair enough, sorry, that was -mostly- not directed at you." There's a pointed look in the Penitent's direction." He looks at Esme, "Go order steak and eggs like I did. After I just got my throat slit like yesterday I'm not providing the knife for anyone, I don't care if you did too, I _don't_want_to_die_. I want to find Chase. I don't know what kind of stupid idiot Cameron was who wasted all that time not just being open with this guy he loved, but that's the one thing that feels real to me, everything else is flat and fake." That might all be hope, of course.

Even though he was the one who made the suggestion, the Capitalist doesn't seem all that eager to provide the cutlery for this suicide attempt either. There was a strong uneasiness in realizing that he had died and despite wanting answers and hoping to see this for himself, he is hesitant to have someone grow through that again. So instead, he remains settled in, taking another sip from his cup before leaning forward to set it down. When the cigarette is offered, he accepts it, though rather than lighting it up right away, he simply sticks it into his shirt pocket for the time being. It's the Hunter's dark mood that has him concerned now, so he reaches a hand out to place upon one of her own, the nearest as some sort of reassurance.

Though it is when Esme seems to snap out at the Penitent that he finally speaks up, "Enough with that. We are all here looking for answers. Most of us spent our first few days tearing this place apart only to see it put back together again."

"Do you? I wouldn't know about it, honestly," The Penitent says about oxygen deprivation, glancing back towards the Avant-Garde, nodding slowly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be discouraging. I'm bad at explaining, I think." She manages to both sound like she's truly apologetic, but also it feels like apologizing is just kind of automatic for her. Esme's question though, drawns her attention, and after thinking about it she frowns a little. "I don't think I want either answer." She says with a slow nod. "Also I don't think you should try again here and now."

Even with the Capitalist's hand over hers, the Hunter is quiet. It's one of the main markers between her and Maata. The islander woman seemed to always have an answer. It may not have been the right one, but she always had... something right then, right there. This woman keeps her own council for longer periods of time. Right now is one of them. She finishes off the cigarette, downs the rest of her coffee, and drops the butt in what little liquid remains in the mug. It's set aside with a lean to a nearby table before she sits back. The woman takes a deep breath before she settles back against the sofa. The caffeine and nicotine combo help some and a bit of the tension ease out of her as she shifts her hand a bit under the Capitalist's, squeezing at his.

"Even if you found Chase..." She hesitates, licking at her lower lip. There's a pause before she starts again. "It's not the same. It's... like starting over over after a breakup, almost. Minus the anger and resentment, but with... not distrust, but like you're having to learn them all over again, while still sometimes feeling everything through some sort of fog." The Hunter lifts a hand to rub at the bridge of her knows. "I'm shit at this sort of thing. Someone else can describe it better. I'm just saying, even if you find him, it ain't gonna be the same. It's hot and cold."

"Too late," Creepshow says sadly to Cameron, a genuine frown on her lips. "That's how we ended up here. We died. If Chase isn't here, maybe he's still alive. Maybe he'll make it. Would you really want him here, if here is dead? Heaven, Hell, Purgatory... We're somewhere and he's not. I'd be happy for him, but then I've never really loved anyone." So maybe this whole reassuring people thing isn't really her.

She blinks at Conrad's sudden defensiveness of the Penitent. "I didn't do anything but ask her a question. She decided she doesn't wanna know, which is fine with me. Maybe you should just start peeing on all the girls you're fucking or related to so I'll know not to say anything remotely upsetting to them?"

"You don't know that." Cameron says firmly in the Hunter's direction, "Your experience is not my experience. You have no idea what you're talking about. It wasn't the same *for you*. That doesn't mean its not the same for *everyone*. Me and Chase were the one part of that... dream that was Cameron Cross's life, that felt real." He looks to Esme, frowning, "We're not _dead_. This is... this is too weird for dead. I get it, we died, but we didn't die, so obviously dying was fake. What is this? I don't know. But someone has gone out of their way to make it seem self-contained. What's with those images on our doors? I've looked in some other rooms, but my room is clearly mine, I'd know it was mine without hesitation. Besides." Cameron shivers a moment, "If I don't find Chase here then the sacrifice may have done nothing and the Americans may have nuked our island anyways, and whatever got us from there to here, doesn't work against utter annihiliation in atomic fire."

Hearing the Hunter speak about matters of the heart, the Capitalist half-turns to her, listening to what she says. After a moment, he turns to regard her fully, this look of concern can be see in his gaze, the way his brow furrows, but he says nothing to go against what has been said. The squeeze of her hand on his does help with giving him this sense of security and reassurance, despite what was said. In some way, he knows these words to be true.

To Cameron, he then asks, "So Chase wasn't the final sacrifice? There's still one missing. Interesting... and with all of the raucous going on, I'd expected them to emerge from their room by now just out of curiosity's sake." There is no response made to Esme when she speaks out to him, though his eyes do wander in her direction, giving her a studious once over. Though it is what Cameron says that has him asking, "But we remember being killed. Most of us. Were we spirited away somewhere before death even came and.... while we didn't die in some atomic fire, a few of us did die in an explosion or two. I think if they don't show up here, that just means that they are still alive."

The Penitent listens quietly at the Hunter's talk about relationships continuing, inclining her head slightly. She looks distant and thoughtful. "It's also weird to figure out something like family. We were siblings ... are siblings? Maybe not." A gesture to Conrad, and a shake of her head there before her gaze drifts off to Esme, staring. "I'd really rather he didn't." She purses her lips thoughtfully. "I think we died. Esme said she took photos of my body and everything, but I suppose there could be an argument for some sudden switch out. It'd go with the Star Trek style replicaters." A pause there. "Why do we know so much random trivia but not who we really are?"

"What makes Chase so special?" The Hunter's words have gone a bit cold. There's a tension beneath the surface. Her hand, fingers wound with the Capitalist's, has tightened. "What about the others who died? Tully, on the helicopter. The sixth sacrifice, who we haven't seen. The hundreds who died that first night, including my own fucking brother. None of us are even sure we are who we remember. One who has woken up looking completely different. Some have shed themselves completely. What if he were thirty years older? What if he wasn't the same?"

There's something in Creepshow's eyes, the same something that was there when she got under the Hunter's skin the day before. And then it's gone, and she eases very slightly. "You dig your hole," she says, patting his shoulder as she passes by him for the dining room. "I'm hungry." The Hunter gets an arched 'brow and a look. "You really don't do that as well as I do. Let him dig."

Cameron-ish nods to Conrad, "He wasn't a sacrifice. I died so he'd live. But by now the nuke would have come down; we spoke to an American General. He was serious, they were going to nuke the island to keep the zombie apocalypse from happening." He sounds not at all joking. He does nod though, "BUt memory is .. fungible. You don't ever remember dying. You remember losing consciousness. No one can remember dying because everyone dies at some point *after* you lose consciousness. Death can't be remembered." He looks over to "Maata', "I don't know what makes him special in a 'different from anyone else way' except it feels different. The memories before the island are more vivid. I remember it all. The island, clear. Before the island, flat. Except for Chase." Cam shrugs, "I have to find a way back to him. Obviously I didn't die even though he thinks I did and I remember my throat being slit...llook." He pinches his arm, winces, "Fucking ow. That's not _dead_."

The Capitalist hates hearing people talking about not being themselves, being someone else and all of that jazz. He has settled into this role as Conrad Wellson as comfortably as he could, in fact he clung onto that identity despite the naysayers, so when all of this is brought up, it does leave him feeling uncomfortable. Though what Cameron says is what was on his mind all along, "Yes, we need to get out of here before our minds are addled even further." Yet, he still does not rise to stand to offer any assistance in that matter. "We've already tried so many things. There's no secret passages or levers behind the bookcase, the keys of the piano hasn't opened up a hidden hallway or anything as of yet and while we haven't tried /everything/ just yet, I think it's best to come up with a plan before diving head long into what would amount to spending the whole day in a futile task."

"But I remember the moment I realized I was going to die." The Penitent offers with a shrug of her shoulders. "Or at least thought I was likely to." She sits up then, knees on the couch as she stares back the way at Cameron. "How come you get to remember a relationship in such vivid detail when even the guy who's supposed to be my brother is right here and our whole childhood together still feels like a story someone told me rather than something I lived through?" She heaves a sigh at the idea, leaning down to rest her cheek against the back of the couch. "I figure letting the dead believe they're still alive but trapped could be a perfect torture for some kind of eternal punishment afterlife. But this place doesn't feel like a bad thing to me."

There's a look for Creepshow from the Hunter. "I wasn't trying to do the shit you do. I don't want some weird masturbatory material." She looks over at 'Cameron' and just lets out a sigh. Another cigarette is taken out and lit before she just sets pack and lighter (a zippo; likely one found amongst her things). She settles back, partially into the sofa and partially against the Capitalist. Closing her eyes, the woman spends a moment trying to find some sort of center. Some sort of calm. It's not quite meditative and mostly relies on the nicotine itself. After a moment, she speaks again (without opening her eyes). "Fine, fine. Okay. All right. The bookshelves are likely made of wood. I should have a trench shovel in my room. It might have enough heft and weight to it to break through the back of the shelves or start tearing them down. We can try removing one of the toilets or, barring that, sinks to examine its infrastructure. If someone has the right kind of tub, it may be possible to remove the lining to get at the plumbing behind it..." she tilts her head back against the Capitalist's shoulder as she goes back to the cigarette, thinking further. It's not jungle survival, but one can likely see where in there lies the development of the initial defense and survival plan that Maata drafted.

The Creepshow trundles off to the dispensary.

"That's different, Madison." 'Cameron' says to her, "Remembering the moment you *realized* you were *going* to die is not the same thing as remember you *dying*." Then he shrugs, "I don't know why its different. You spoke of that guy we don't recognize as not remembering *anything*. The context of what we remember doesn't seem uniform. I don't think we can base any judgements on our memories." He looks to 'Conrad' and nods, "Because one way or another, there's no chance our memories arne't being screwed with." He gives up for the moment on scraping the wall, though he's got maybe a quarter centimeter in, but he nods to the Hunter, "Those are all good ideas." he agres, "I'm going to go order breakfast again and get some coffee, then... let's do some of that."

"It is different, but you're still suggesting I was switched out by some technology or magic in that moment, and that the body that was left behind is somehow fabricated. And yes, sometimes it takes people a while to remember after they wake up here. It took me about ten or twenty minutes before I could remember the island with clarity." The Penitent nods slowly at the thought. "You're right about our memories being screwed with, and that's my focus. Like I told Conrad the other night, I'm more worried about figuring out who I am, not where I am." She hops off the couch, pushing off the wall to wander down the hallway.

The franticness that the Capitalist felt yesterday has subsided somewhat today, though he does note that the Avant-Garde is doing the things both he and the Hunter had done just yesterday. Crazy things, that left a mess that was there to greet the new arrivals with. Despite the confusion from waking up in his own bed today, he had been mostly calm. It's good to watch others do these things, it makes knowing what the next steps that should be taken much easier.

When Maata leans into him, he slips an arm behind her so that his hand rests on her shoulder, drawing her close. "I have a tub in my bathroom." He volunteers. And of course he does... "But I do agree, after some breakfast, we can go ahead and get started in the destruction of our surroundings all over again." When Madison leaves to depart, his gaze trails behind her. Thinking on this, he quickly states, "And I'd like to find a way out quickly, because I am not willing to lose what memories I'm holding onto."

For the moment, the Hunter seems disinclined to get a full breakfast. Maybe the coffee was enough. Maybe she's still working her way through her meal-o-nicotine. Maybe she just put herself off food for the time being. She watches Creepshow and Penitent both go their separate ways. "It's a damn shame I don't have... proper tools. Everyone else feels like their room is right, mind feels... hollow. It's almost right. But the weapons and some of the tools are just for show, so it's just..." she ends on a frustrated sigh. "Why even put them there? Why give me a fucking rifle or machete that I can't use?"

"That is wierd." The Capitalist comments on the gear found in Maata's room. "Though, to be honest, I was fooled by them, if they really are replicas? Especially, as I 've never thought of you as the type to collect things for mere decoration." Barely hiding a yawn behind a free hand, perhaps needing more coffee, he then adds, "Fake or not, if you hit someone or something with them, it will do some damage, right? I'm sure that they'll make useful tools if nothing else."

The Penitent isn't gone for all that long, just a quick duck into her room to get something and then she's softly walking down the hallway to return to the lounge, her book clutched in her hand. "I was just suddenly thinking," she announces as she moves back to the couch. "That if all the books got cleaned up, but this one that I'm actively reading? It's still on my nightstand where I left it." She pauses as she glances between the Hunter and the Capitalist. "Those weapons are all fake?" She echoes a similar sentiment that Conrad does. "Oh. I didn't realize. My room feels right for me, though it's also kind of a cell. A comfortable cell, though. I guess 'they' wouldn't give us stuff that could truly allow an escape, if this is a prison."

"I have a bow, but no arrows. Replica guns. Knives without edges. Even my knife from the island... it's the exact same knife, just without an edge. I haven't gone looking for a compass yet... Partially because I'm afraid of what it'll do." Spin wildly? Point to some unknown north? "Partially because it won't really help without some reference point." The Hunter sighs, tosses her latest cigarette into her empty coffee mug, and slouches further against the Capitalist. Her mood is deflated. Frustrated. And once again, he's her solace. "Conrad's notes were still intact. It... seems to remember minor personal effects. Whatever it is."

With the Creepshow away in the kitchen, The Capitalist only then decides to ask, "Do you really think she tried to kill herself here? And if so, why did she fail?" That was something that had been bothering him ever since he heard it mentioned. "It's one thing to fall asleep without realizing it, only to wake up in your own bed. It's another thing to slit your own throat and bleed out only to end up in your own bed. It makes this place all the more," Magical is the word he's thinking of, but he feels foolish to even utter it, "spiritual." His voice lowers, murmuring to those closest to him, "And while the internet talent doesn't want to believe that we're dead, that's the only possibility that I can think of."

With Maata leaning more heavily against him, he brushes fingertips along her shoulder as he continues to think. "Yes, my notes are still there. I even had to make new additions to them this morning." Thinking further about the island, he states, "Maybe we are the last, despite all of those doors, maybe there will be no other deaths, no one else to join us."

"I'm sorry I'm not much help," Penitent says glumly in response to the defeated Hunter, shaking her head as she settles into place proper on the couch. "Dahlia didn't seem to like her room much, either? Maybe we should ask her why when we see her next." She brings her knees up to her chest, sitting there and thinking. "Is that why you kind of wanted her to do it again? To prove it? She might be blunt and a bit off putting but I don't really know why we wouldn't trust her." Her arms loop around her raised legs, fingers still clutching the book she has. "Maybe they will come as they die, even if it's not on the island. It could be years before some show up if that's the case though. I don't mind it here, but I don't think I could take it for years."

"I find it hard to believe anyone could slit their own throat," the Hunter answers, her voice low. The Capitalist's touch is soothing and her eyes close. "Your own self-preservation and pain reflex should prevent it. The knives here wouldn't be sharp enough to manage it without... a lot of effort. I guess we could ask her to prove it." She doesn't seem so afraid of the gruesome display as the risk of it failing, perhaps. She falls quiet, however, in the wake of the Penitent's words. That suggestion that it could be years. The silence drags on long enough and she's still enough that one could wonder if she's fallen asleep there tucked up against Conrad. But when she finally does speak, it's in a mildly upset voice: "I couldn't go years without seeing the sky."

Turning to look towards the dispensary, his eyes seeking the Creepshow out through the doorway, the Capitalist comments, "That was my thought as well," he says in response to what the Hunter says of one's self-preservation. "But, she does seem more than a little off, and could very well be capable of doing anything. Including sawing at their own neck with a dulled steak knife. Not that just that fact alone isn't disconcerting enough."

His gaze is brought forward once more, though he glances over at his side and does ponder whether the Hunter had fallen asleep and even if she has, he doesn't dare move from her side. Only when he hears her voice, the anger in her tone does he recall something he had thought or felt back on the island and here he speaks in quieter tones, his words directed to Maata, but it's almost as if he's speaking to himself, "There was a time when we were together that I thought that I didn't want that moment to end. Now we're here in some strange eternal loop," his tone grows louder, "This is not what I had in mind..."

The Penitent is quiet on the topic of throat slitting with dull knives. It's not really something she wants to contemplate, so like so many things here that she doesn't care for, she just doesn't bother with thinking about it. Shifting slightly to get more comfortable, she's opening her book to where she was, holding it in one hand as she lifts her almost empty cup of tea once again, taking a sip. It's lukewarm at best by now, but still she's drinking it. That upset voice though, gets an apologetic reply from her, "It's ... it's just a theory. It's about as useful as any theory we have, I guess." Her tone is soft, almost an attempt to be reassuring. The Avant-Garde, The Penitent, The Capitalist, The Competitor, The Hunter, The Creepshow