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You wake up in a white room to a pounding headache, naked, and a strange tattoo on the entirety of your right arm. To your left is a book, behind you is a chair with a table next to it, on the table is a glass of water, in front of you is a blank screen with a webcam on top of it, and to your right is an open door.
With much struggling, grunting, swearing, a shit log falling and bouncing between your legs, you manage to stand up. You look around the room, trying to get a better view of it, but for the life of you, your groggy state has left you unable to perceive distance.
Out of habit, you look down to find that someone has kindly removed your clothes and folded them neatly beside your unconscious body. In your humble opinion, people are born without clothes, don’t take baths in them, and when possible, run down the street without them on. Sometimes, they might be on fire. Sometimes, you lit that fire. Good times!
Though, you don’t know if anyone is watching you, and it would be a shame if they decided to turn on the air conditioning full blast just to force you to put them back on. You start feeling woozy and wobble back and forth, your sight fades in and out, and just for a second, you hear someone, faintly talking about waffles.
Weird, you had waffles this morning.
[[Blink once.]]You blank out and realize you’re at the center of the room, though you can’t remember why.
What do you do?
[[Reach for the book.]]
[[sit at the table.]]
[[Touch the screen.]]
[[Crawl to the door.]]
[[Examine the tattoo.]]
[[Look closely at your clothes.]]
[[Pick up the shit log.]]Groggily, you reach for the book, wondering what it could contain. The book isn’t anything special, it has an average weight to it, it’s leather bound, and the title of the book is written in a strange font that barely legible. After a few minutes of waiting for the room to stop spinning, you open the book to discover several chapters, each stranger sounding than the previous.
[[Look through the chapters]]You decide to crawl your way to the chair, as you come closer to it, you notice little details about it, that it has little runes on it, little golden skulls between the runes, that it has a nice and comfy looking cushion made of, upon closer inspection, bleached and sown together human skin.
You struggle to get into the chair on account of your strength slowly returning to you, but after a few minutes, you’re able to get a better look around at your surroundings. Immediately, you notice the clear plastic table and the glass of water. Your thoughts aren’t quite with you, and your quite thirsty, as if you haven’t had anything to drink for quite a while.
[[Drink the water.]]
[[Don't drink the water.]]
[[Pour the water onto the seat cushion.]]
[[Throw the glass of water on the floor.]]You slowly crawl your way to the screen, vomiting a few times along the way. When you’re close enough to the screen to touch it, the light on the webcam blips on, the screen flashes on to reveal an animated face.
It doesn’t look quite right, in fact, it’s the most fucked up thing you’ve ever witnessed instantly pop in front of your eyes. “Hi, friend! You’ve a lot of questions, don’t you!?” It asks in an accusatory fashion.
[[Ask Onion a question.]]You crawl towards the door, not wanting anything to do with this place any longer then possible. As you get closer to the door, you hear footsteps come up behind you, following you towards the door, but never making any attempt to stop you.
[[Turn to look at them]]
[[Continue on towards the open door.]]Your curiosity is getting the better of you, and wonder how you got the strange looking tattoo. It starts at the top of your shoulder and extends all the way down to your palm. The colors used aren’t very spectacular, just orange, green, purple, black, teal, red, and white.
The design is like that of a circuit board, if that circuit board had little veins, occasionally hemorrhaged anger, and had jost recieved notice that it might be eligible for giant, heart stopping, dick pills.
The curves, sharp angles, swirls, disjointed breaks, and seemingly randomized designs seem like this is more than just ink. Some parts seem to glow, while others seem to rise or fall to meet you. You swear that at certain angles, the tattoo actually moves, shifts, parts rearrange themselves right before your eyes as if to hide some dark secret. Or maybe just a list of recently viewed porn sites. It IS on your right arm of course.
your mind and sight become a foggy mess of random thoughts, one in particular concerns hundreds of gerbils with strings of Chinese Firecrackers, a catapult, and several neighbors who run the local Home Owner Association group in your home town.
The Tattoo shifts its parts and pieces around, at the very bottom layer is a medium sized dakr black square with what appears to be two eyes staring forward.
Staring deep into your soul.
Begging you to let it out.
And singing N’Sync’s “Bye, bye, bye”
Clearly, whatever it is is a demonic entity of the purest evil. You suppose it’s better than anything One direction related.
[[Ask the tattoo a question.]]
[[Poke one of its eyes]]
[[Sing along with it]]
[[Scratch the itch located RIGHT on the square.]]You look closely at the pile of clothes, raking note of the various items, including a rather large backpack that you seemed to have not taken notice of before.
Pants? Check.
Shirt? Double check.
Jacket? Triple check.
Various undergarments? No check.
What sick fuckers took your various undergarments!? They’re problably hiding in a closet somewhere sniffing the utter fuck out of a certain thing. You instinctively rage poop.
Upon further inspection, you realize something incredible horrifying. No, not the fact the shit log landed on it or is slightly touching the hem of your pants.
Next to the pile of clothes are two body suits. One made of wool and one made of a more sensible material, Lycra.
You take your attention back to your own clothes, and take note that there is a rather large volume of vomit that seemingly has decided ot take residence in each of the pockets in the jacket, button up shirt, pants, and the inside of your shoes.
Though the insides of your shoes also have rancid piles of shit in them.
This really does raise the moral question, certainly a civilized one, of which of the three things you should wear. While, yes,theoretically, you could put on your own clothes, you realize the pockets of vomit in them would be detrimental to you want to put your hands in said pockets. Though, the little piles of stomach pond scum could be useful.
The body suits, you note, are noticeably vomit free, but have a certain lack of pockets. you ask yourself what these could’ve been used for?
Incredibly dark and kinky porn filmed from hostels with reputations for being the final resting places of groups of noticeably hot women just getting over breakups but ending up as little sausage patties in Deep Germany’s Burger King Franchises?
The wool bodysuit would keep you warm and the knitting style allows it to breath, but then again, having that constant itchy feeling over eighty percent of your body is a major downside.
The Lycra bodysuit is sleek and epic looking, with what appears to be small metal plates sown into the fabric at the torso, back, shoulders, arms, legs, crotch and butt of the suit. Which would provide a measure of protection, and allow you to move pretty sweetly. But it doesn’t seem to have seen the light of day or bad lighting in several decades, so is infested with small radioactive spiders.
Wearing it could either give you the powers of Spider-man or give you spider based cancer.
Or you could just continue on, naked, like the fucking beast you are.
There’s also the backpack, it looks rather spacious, unless for some reason, it leads to a pocket dimension that’s essentially a never ending where house that has shelves with boxes containing god knows what.
It may also lead to a rundown, broken, and thoroughly violated version of Walmart.
So essentially the same thing.
Which to put on?
[[Your own clothes.]]
[[The wool bodysuit.]]
[[The Lycra body suit.]]
[[Continue on naked.]]
With very little regard, you pick up the shit log.
What.
The.
Fuck.
For whatever reason, you hear in the distance, or it seems like the distance, the sounds of seventeen people either vomiting, gagging, freaking the fuck out, or slowly pleasuring themselves, just waiting for you to choose your next course of action.
You think there might be hidden cameras floating around.
Or drones.
Or invisible dwarves.
Or people from the dark side of both Craigslist and Reddit combined.
What to do with it?
[[Throw it.]]
[[Try putting it back up your butt.]]
[[Draw a pentagram.]]
[[Draw a smiley face on yourself.]]
[[Write Harry potter fan fiction.]]
[[Eat it.]]
[[Play with it like it was a toy.]]
[[Rub it like a magic lamp.]]You decide to flip through the chapters. The pages of the book seem heavy, as if they aren't made from a regular kind of paper. The coloring is black, the edges of the paper frayed, and the lettering is golden. The book itself seems alive with a weird, alien technology that might as well be magic.
Finally, you get to the table of contents.
Some of these titles must've been created by a fucking meth head.
[[Read "The cheese Grater"]]
[[Read "How to get away from Clowns"]]
[[Read "Rigging your booger to explode"]]
[[Read "Wet Cheetahs and You"]]
[[Read "Snaggling your Waggler"]]
[[Read "Stalking ten forks"]]
[[Read "Rebirth, Life, Death, and Funions"]]
[[Pocket the book and look around the room.]]“The Cheese Grater” Reads as follows:
“Congratulations on your decision leading you up to this point in life! you must have several racist uncles and aunts currently sucking you off you sick psychopathic shit eater!
“The first thing to know about a Cheese Grater is that Ants rule the moon with an iron fist! They’ll grate your cheese, but at what cost to your own sanity!? The Cheese of life is a brutal thing, not easily recovered! How so do the Crocodiles and Crocodillas make ways with the Cheese Grater of Doom!?”
You decide to return to the table of contents. Feeling insulted and confused.
[[Look through the chapters]] The chapter reads as such:
“You run the fuck away. You do not look back at Waffles the Space Clown. You do not listen to Waffles the Space Clown. You run, you run as though every nightmare in the world was coming to get you, and in this case, they very much are!
“You want to fight with Waffles the Space Clown!? YOU GO RIGHT THE FUCK AHEAD! Here’s the strategy for doing so, you crazy son of a bitch:
“First, make sure Waffles the Space Clown is sitting down, not laying down, that’s when he unleashes his Taco Meat Destruction Ray!”
You stop reading, feeling slightly confused, but with the information squarely lodged in your brain.
[[Look through the chapters]] The Chapter Reads:
“Rigging your booger to explode. Why the fuck would you want to do this? unless you’ve got some kind of fucking deathwish, you psychotic bastard. You do? Well, shit on you. First, LEt the booger walk around, it’ll find it’s way to any potential opening, potential meaning there’s a way out of the place.
“Next, call it a dirty son of a bitch for flogging a frog while wearing that naughty nighty. It knows the one. This will get it agitated and irritable. After that, all you really need to do is say the safe word, as it’s a king little bastard. What’s the keyword?
“Well, the keyword is-”
The chapter’s pages seem to ripped out.
[[Look through the chapters]] The chapter reads:
“The Wet Cheetah is the next in high tech armor, able to withstand several pounds of E.C.O.C.K (Expandable Collision Oscillating Clay Kinderspartans) to a plain old gun shot to the head, with, just about any caliber weapon, hell, a Satalite beam won’t even phase it.
“Usually, the Wet Cheetah is worn by level ten personal guards or lower as a means to just plain survive the facility. The Wet Cheetah does have one weak point, the armpits aren’t covered by the Wet Cheetahs schematics, so people wearing them usually walk around as if they’re nervous about armpit sweat.
“I dunno, throw water or Genome Fluid at them and it’ll deactivate pretty quickly.”
You stand there, unsure of why you read this chapter. But the information has dick smashed its way into your memory, for better or worse.
[[Look through the chapters]] The Chapter Reads:
“The prototype mechsuit, code named ‘Waggler’ is a multilegged, all terrain vehicle of paramount importance. In it’s unused state, it looks like a suppository, and is activated by simply pressing it to your chest, where it will unfold and wrap around the users body loke a glove.
“The Wagglers ten arms, or ‘L.E.G.S’ (Lengthy Extendable Grabbing Sticks) tend to be presented as small, tennis ball sized orbs located at the crotch region.
“Blame the designer, who was a pissed off housewife that wasn’t getting any action, and wanted to desperately punish the tester of all the Facilities new tech, her now, deceased and by comparison, flat nutted ex husband.
“He will be missed.”
You can’t understand why they designed it as a suppository, and try to put a stop to the information shoving its way into your minds butt. you both fail, and now have this nugget of god like wisdom crammed all up in your noggin.
[[Look through the chapters]] The chapter reads:
“God damn it Frank, stop taking my Forks! For fuck’s sake, it’s just so damned sad you can’t afford these things, they’re like, TEN DOLLARS for a pack of fifty at the Faculty Store! Shit! I’m talking with HR about this!
“I mean, last week, Glenda herself was complaining that she had to eat her Ty Cobb Salad with her fist! I’m not sure what she was referring to, nor do I want to, but... Let’s just assume she meant lettuce and tomato.”
This chapter is a bit longer, but you decide to stop reading, pittying poor Ty Cobb if what you thought was happening with the forks, was ACTUALLY happening with THE forks.
[[Look through the chapters]] The Chapter Reads:
“There’s a rumor going around the office today that Susie from R and D has figured out the secret to immortality, she boiled some cabbage a bit too long and added some of that weird Isotope they found last fall from the alien craft.
“It’s so weird to think that we’re not alone in the universe, that everything we might know or currently believe is lie. But that doesn’t matter at the moment, because Susie says the Genome Fluid, as she’s calling it has some miraculous properties to it, saying it’ll potentially give the drinker abilities based on both it’s consumers biological and psychological needs.
“What if the psychology of the consumer is to be immortal? Or to experience birth again and again? What kind of implications does that mean for us in the grander scheme of things.
“I’ve only only been working here for a week, a fucking week as this place... Life and death rendered obsolete simply by a chance the consumer wants immortality? Frank says they’ve been testing the Genome Fluid on interns for about a year in batches of seventy three a day.
“Most don’t even make it out alive before being boiled from the inside out. The women have it the worst, as it starts from the center of the fatty tissue just underneath the milk glands in theirs breasts.
“I can’t even imagine the pain the go through before death... Susie just gave me a glass of water, says I look thirsty. I’m not though and politely refuse, I always have a finger print lockable thermos on hand at all times.”
There’s a small spot of blood at the page of the page, suggesting that the author ended up drinking the water by accident. The information has now burned its way into your mind.
[[Look through the chapters]] You pocket the book, knowing that it could be useful sometime in the future, if only for a doorstop.
[[Blink once.]] You greedily snatch the glass from the table, ignoring all instincts and feelings that this was a stupid move. It’s immediately followed by a feeling of something going dreadfully wrong as you begin to black out, falling out of the human skin chair, and witnessing a blurry figure stand over you before finally passing out.
You begin to hear two voices in moments of lucidity.
“They’re not ready. I told you they aren’t ready!” The first voice, clearly a young woman in her mid-twenties.
“Well, they’ll have to figure out for themselves what is going on. The Genome Fluid won’t change them THAT much... Though... Yeah.” the second voice states, clearly having gone through this process many more times.
“Damn it, they’re going to wake up!” The young woman states, worried.
“Let’s leave the room, they aren’t our problem anymore.” The second voice commands. You hear two set of footsteps fade away, a whooshing sound, more faded footsteps, followed by a second whooshing sound.
Over the course of many hours, you are washed over in pain, you feel everything inside of you change at its very core, as if you are now a free flowing liquid, just barely holding together as a solid form.
You pass out from the large amount of pain you’re enduring, not even sure how you haven’t yet died. Through various instances, your sight fades in and out, in the distance, a tall wobbly looking figure gradually becomes closer with each moment that you fade out.
[[Call out for help]]
[[Attempt to move.]]
[[Reach out to the approaching figure]]
[[Save your strength]]You decide not to drink the water, despite your tremendous thirst. You sit there for several minutes, considering if you really should be sitting on a chair with a cushion made out of sown together human skin.
In front of you, in the distance, you hear a click as a horrendously animated face appears on the screen, simply bobbing there, occasionally blinking and sometimes yawning.
[[Touch the screen.]]After ten minutes, you grow bored of just sitting there, not really doing much. For reasons beyond your comprehension, you get the idea that the seat cushion of human skin would much rather have the water.
Following this logic, you grab the glass of water, stand up, and pour the water onto the cushion. For a minute, the water simply trickles off the cushion. you stand there waiting for something to happen. Five more minutes pass, and your patience is awarded with the skin of the cushion starting to writhe, as if it has begun regaining the lives and memories of those that were undoubtedly killed to make this thing.
[[Sing it a song]]
[[Punch its stupid faces]]
[[Sit on the ground and wait for it to end.]]
[[Pontificate the meaning of life and chairs.]]You decide to say ‘Fuck it.’ And do your own thing, you stand up, needing to piss extremely badly after whatever landed you in this freakish place happened. You immediately grab the glass, position your junk over the opening and let it rip, feeling immediately both relieved and horrified by the reaction to water had to your urine.
You immediately chuck the piss and water filled glass at the floor on the far side of the room, where it splatters all over the ground.“Help...” You weakly call out, your voice barely a whisper as you attempt to move towards the approaching figure. You mind seems to collapse in on itself as your vision blurrs. There’s a heat inside your chest that feels as though something is eating away at your insides.
The figure is two feet away, simply standing there, you can make out two clown shoes, though, there’s something wrong with them, they seem to be made out of a semisolid reddish greenish blueish gel.
“Yes. Help.” Whoever it is repeats blankly, as if they understand what you’re saying, but don’t know what the words mean.
[[Call out for help again.]]
[[Pass out.]]You attempt to move, and you have some success, but your limbs feel as they they’re weak rubber sticks that could snap at any moment. And indeed, when you move too fast, that’s exactly what happens.
Your eyes, and quickly blurring sight, quickly look at the doors opening, to the outside world of blue skies and green grass, of fresh air and memories of your home and the contents within it, your bones bend, creaking as they do, but never fully fracturing, snapping, breaking, or shattering from the weird way they now bend.
The figure in the distance pauses it’s approach to watch what you do.
[[Stop moving to protect yourself.]]
[[Crawl to the door.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.“OH GOD, WHY DOES IT STILL HURT!?” The faces in the human skin seat cushion scream out loud, their will to live overpowering the fact that clear, this chair has been here for a quite a long time.
In a rush of blind panic, you opt to sing it a song. The only two songs that come to mind are Smashing Pumpkin’s “All star” and Sonic R’s “Can you feel the sunshine?”
[["All Star"]]
[["Can you feel the sunshine"]]You decidely flip the hell out and start beating the shit out of the stitched together human skin cushion, knowing that it’s pain won’t end unles you end it for it. you don’t stop for hours on end until the cushion of a bleeding, torn, piece of crap.
In a karmiac coincidence, a rather long dart jams it’s way through one of your temples, and explodes out the other, obviously killing you.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.It waits patiently for your reply.
[["WHO THE FUCK IS ONION!?"]]
[["Where am I?"]]
[["What are you ONION?"]]
[["How did I get here?"]]The animated face shrugs, “Where are any of us?” It replies suggesting it neither knows nor actually has a soul. Which is fine, it’s only an animated face after all.
“Also, I already told my name! It’s Onion. The Facility is less a Facility and more a place for testing random theories surrounded by armed guards, dogs, tanks, a private army, and several tons of bananas.” Onion finishes it’s thought.
[[Ask Onion a question.]] Onion simply stares at you,the webcam light flickering every now and then. “I’m unable to answer your question, unfortunately, Test subjects are not allowed specific information on the chance that after their individual trauma, and the off chance they survive, they decided to snoop around the facility, gather information, escape with a copy of myself, and shut this place down!”
[[Odd Silence]]
[[Ask Onion a question.]] You turn to look at the person behind you, only to find a giant pile of pale colored goo in the shape of a clown in the process of melting. The clown has average clown looks, and except for the melting clown part, would maybe get center ring at the local freak show. It looks at you curiously, not sure what to do.
Likewise, you do the same.
[[Stare at them1]]
[[Look away immediately1]]You continue crawling towards the door, hope filling your heart as you can just begin to see the blue skies with white puffy clouds. The city skyline beginning to fill out tremendously, the sounds of birds singing, construction workers cat calling people, the sounds of traffic ramming its way through your ear drums continues to drive you forward.
“Why won’t you look at me?” You hear the person behind you ask, they sound like a friendly enough person, though their heavy footsteps make a clear and present instinctual lump in your stomach, one of dread.
[[Ignore them and continue]]
[[Turn to them.]]You continue staring at the melted clown, as you do you notice several disturbing features, such as the hideous boils lining its puffy clown shirt, at least, you think it’s a shirt. It could be its skin.
It’s loose floppy goo skin.
It blinks.
[[Continue staring at it.0]]
[[Turn away and continue for the door.]]you instinctively turn away, crawling even faster than you were before, only to feel the wet, gloppy hands slap against your back, the very touch seems to burn your flesh away, somehow, you feel claws begin to tear away at the shoulder blades, prying fingers begin to tear away at the muscle strands holding them in place.
You begin to scream in pain, but by the time you’re able to get anything out, you feel a wet burning hand wrap around the back on your voice box, crushing it, twisting it, pulling it away from its place. Bone, muscle, and isnew are torn away from you as the clown continues to tear into your body, breaking through the rib cage, and jams its acid fingers into your lungs. Laughing as it does so.
“Congratulations!” It screams, “You’ll be my next meal, THE MEAL OF WAFFLES, THE SPACE CLOWN!” Waffles then gives you the mercy of ripping your brain straight from your skull, not enough to kill you, but just enough that you can feel every single bite out of it reducing your mental faculties all the more. Your last moments, spent crying for a mother that will never come.Unfazed by the abomination of the universe before you, you continue to stare at the disgusting thing, looking for all the world like if Bruce Banner has sneezed into the Gamma Ray blast that changed him into a snottier version of the hulk.
It shifts slightly, visibly uncomfortable.
[[Continue staring at it.1]]
[[Turn away.0]]The moment you turn away is the moment you realize you were pretty much fucked.
It slaps the back of your head so hard that half your head just flies away, no goodbye or nuthin’.
Rude.
To make matters worse, your brain just slips out and falls on the floor.Still more time passes as you stare at what appears more and more like the results of several abortion attempts gone horrifyingly wrong, and those dead, mutilated fetuses stitched together using a lanky sowing machine and some duct tape. Looking at it seems to be a thing with you.
The goo clown seems to think you’re flirting with it.
[[Continue staring at it.2]]
[[Turn away.1]] You finally get the hint that maybe continually staring at the goo clown isn’t the greatest idea, since it seems increasingly apparent that the longer you stare at it, the more aroused it gets. You start to turn away, and notice that the further your eyes get away from it, the more menacing it seems.
You sigh to yourself.
It sighs to itself.
You look one way.
It looks the same way.
You dance around like an idiot, making all kinds of monkey sounds, getting on all fours, braying like a donkey, and shitting yourself out of habit at this point.
It pulls out a cell phone, records the entire thing, uploads it to YouTube, finds your boss, your friends, your lover, your family, and that one person who just does not like anything you have to say, and shares the link to the video with them.
The video gets twelve billion hits and seven million shares on YouTube, and seven likes and a poop emoji on Facebook.
“Ha.” It snidely comments, looking at you.
[[Talk to it.]]
[[Continue to the door, walking backwards.]]
[[Continue towards the door.]]Like a moth to a flame, you continue staring at it as your fear and disgust become a morbid curiousity, the sludge like covering, the blorps, gurgles, and sounds of bits and pieces of slime falling and splatting on the floor, only to rejoin the body seem to put a trance like state on you. You feel as though there might be a soul matching connection here.
The goo clown looks around, trying to avoid your ever piercing gaze. If only there were some EDM playing in the background. It wiggles its butt.
[[Continue staring at it.3]]
[[Turn away.2]] You get bored of looking at whatever the fuck the goo clown is currently doing and turn away, only to instantly regret it as you feel something cold, wet, and slippery wrap around your legs, making its way upward.
You gulp in terrified silence as you feel it enter you, part of you stretching open a little at first, only to be ripped open completely by force and you scream in pain as a thrusting, pulsating, vibrating motion begins, whatever it is driving itself deeper and deeper inside of you, filling up whatever available cavity there is inside you with its mass until there’s no more room.
But even then, it continues to drive itself deep inside you, cracking bones, the thing turning itself into an acidic substance which eats away at your internal organs, your muscle, your bones, but leaving your skin intact.
The pain only ever stops when the entirety of its mass is completely inside of you, the pressure inside is too much to bear as you witness your skin begin to tear open in little places, blobs of slime spilling out, plugging the holes.
Somehow, you’re still alive. you wobble back and forth, with no lungs to take in air, your oxygen deprived brain begins to shut down, piece by piece.
The more pieces shut down, the higher you feel yourself being raised by the goo clown, until you’re several feet in the air, it waits till it feels your eyes start to roll backwards into the space that once contained your skull before slamming the slime balloon that was your body into the floor, exploding you like a cadaver based water balloon, sending your remains splattering against every wall, floor, and cieling in the white room.You continue looking at the goo clown, you don’t know if it’s because you’re terrified to look away, knowing that the moment you do, SOMEHOW knowing that if you do, a series of horrifiying and interesting events might somehow SWAY you to look away and all this poor creature the few precious seconds needed to get the fuck away from your gaze.
But, no. Like a prick you continue staring at the poor creature, making it so uncomfortable that it simply stare back at it, and in a moment of desperation, begins rubbing its junk at a vigorous pace. Because it’s a clown made of a giant pile of goo, it’s hand disappears into its crotch.
You’re silent in contemplation at the philisophical meaning of watching a goo clown fail at whacking off while its hand just plain merges with its goo crotch.
[[Continue staring]]
[[Look away]]You turn away and immediately the goo clown wraps one of its giant fucking mits around your face, cutting you off from precious oxygen.
You feel yourself about you pass out when it wrenches your head straight into your body, the surprisingly strong hands sprouting goo spikes and turning your bones, muscle, and organs into a human smoothie.
Dead, your corpse falls to the floor, and everything that was inside of you, comes spilling out. Including the remains of your face, which lands ironically on top of a book.At this point, you’re just staring at the goo clown because it’s the most interesting thing here. The book might’ve been a great use of your time, the chair and table at least you could’ve gotten some rest in, and the screen could’ve been insightful.
But no, you wanted to go to the door, and now you’re continuing to stare at an increasingly perverted clown made of a giant pile of goo, looking like a snot version of the hulk, violently whacking its junk in your direction.
It seems to take offence at this and just stands there, unable to do anything until you fucking look away.
You stare a giant hole into its head, because you’ve now become the goo clowns stalker, and rather then be freaked out, because it’s supposed to be the scary thing here, the goo clown simply continues its masturbatory ways and almost comes to climax, almost, because it can’t finish with you staring at it and motions for you to turn away while it finishes pleasuring itself to the various thoughts a giant clown made of goo might have.
Whatever they may be.
[[Turn and run for the door.]]
[[Continue staring at it.4]] You turn away as it ejaculates a massive goo spike straight through the back of your head, exploding your face like a jiffy pop bag of bloody popcorn.
It then wears your meat suit like a psychotic birthday clown and goes to your friend Steve’s house, where it cock blocks him by shoving an entire porcupine that it found on the way butt first, up his dick, and twists.
Ew.Double-click this passage to edit it.You've only blinked once and already you're back to staring at this gelatinous monstrosity. It looks at you with all the fear and dread of a naked woman discovery she's being peeped on and there's no where to hide. It's vigorously and violently masturabating while organ music plays in the back ground.
Just how long have you been standing here, staring at this living volcano of boogers, snot, and clown make up? It's almost as if you purposefully just want to see how much worse this thing can get, and so, like the evil son of a bitch you are, you simply continue staring at this thing.
The clothes it has on are covered in scabs, flaps of other peoples skin stitched together with, upon closer inspection, dehydrated, twisted, treated and colored intestines. Some still have little dried shit balls within them.
Yes, this snot clown is by all means a disturbing nightmare visage that apparrently you love to feast your eyes upon, but god damned if that perverted and gross looking son of a bitch aint thrifty with the remains of dead people and a sewing needle.
[[Look at it some more.]]
[[leave the poor thing in peace.]]You want to talk to it, clearly, the goo clown has SOME kind of faculty for language.
What do you ask or say to it?
[["What are you?"]]
[["Who are you?"]]
[[Why are you?"]]
[["Will you add me on Facebook?"]]
[["Say my name BITCH!"]]Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Your curiosity get the better of you, there is no way you’re hearing a voice and just ignoring. After all, it’s probably some janitor, maybe they can help you out of this place, even though the door is RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.
You resist the urge to look, but feel two massive slime covered hands place themselves on either side of your head. Out of the corners of your eyes, you can tell that they’re puffy, white gloves.
Hopefully, it’s not a fancy dressed man giving your temples a message. you begin to feel a bit relaxed when you notice that your head turn of its own accord.
Your body slowly follows through, and eventually, you come face to face with a snot covered clown.
Exponentially worse.
You don’t have much time to process it as the clown snatches your brain through the covering that had been, until two second ago, your face and skull.
You... You don’t recover.You go from groggily crawling towards the door to standing up and slowly, awkwardly walking towards the open door to the outside world, it’s so close that you can smell the fresh air, the smoke from the cars, the nearby hot dog vendor on the street, the homeless man pissing on the side of the building, the smell of a dog shitting on the sidewalk, though detrimental in so many different ways, has you hoping for the best.
You ignore the please of the person behind you to turn and look at them, striving, oh, dear god, striving for the door, so close, it’s only a few steps away.
“Please, talk to me! I only want you to look at me!” The person says, there’s a fear in their voice that wasn’t there previously, and you’re curiousity only grows, but so does your fear as their heavy footsteps feel as though they too, are within arms reach.
[[Continue forward, ignore them.]]
[[Turn to look at them?]]
[[Talk to them?]]You’re almost there, only a few more steps
“Only a few more steps and you’re out the door,” The voice behind you encourages.
“Away from this place, this strange white room,” The voice begins to sound less encouraging.
“That weird ass table with the glass of water that your body is so craving right now,” Now the person is just being a complete dick.
“Actually WAITING, waiting for you!” It continues to tempt you, taunt you, wanting you to turn around so desperately, when you’re so close to the door, you’re right at the door jam. your hand is reaching for the door knob.
“Please, aren’t you SO very thirsty? You’ve been here for quite sometime, and even though there is a water fountain right outside,” The person continues, “outside, where theh eat is unbearably high today, where you could, and most likely will, collapse from heat stroke.”
They pause for a minute, allowing you to take in the information, “Wouldn’t you much rather have a seat at the table, drink that nice, cool, refreshing, hydrating glass of water on the table over there? This room is quite cool compared to out there.” The person clearly wants you to turn around, to not leave them alone, to stay here.
Forever.
Or they could just want to talk.
[[Turn the doorknob and open the door.]]
[[Turn the doorknob andlook at them.]]Without a care in the world, you turn to look at them, thinking that it’s just someone else that got sucked into this weird nightmare world of things that don’t make sense.
Nope, just a nightmare fueled murder clown with lots of mouths, lots of teeth, and very little in the way of taking large chunks out of your body.
Which is gleefully does.
You are left with:
One less arm and leg.
A missing kidney.
Thirteen feet of torn away intestinal track.
A ripped off tongue.
Two popped eyes.
Noticeably few teeth.
Half your lower jaw missing.
One less face.
A cracked open skull.
Half your brain gone.
A snapped neck.
Crushed backbone.
A tailbone straight up missing.
One lung just torn open.
Your fun zone is now in that lungs place, and you’re pretty much dead with five seconds of living to do.
On the upside, it’s Taco Tuesday!
What to do?
[[Bleed out and shit yourself!]]
[[Cough for help?]]
[[Reach for a taco!]]
You don’t turn around, you simply continue forward. “Sup.”
The person behind you is confused, as if they haven’t heard the phrase ‘Sup’ before.
“What is this ‘Sup’?” It asks you. The voice is still creepy as shit, and in the distance, you hear circus music, it just seems to be coming from all around.
On the one hand, if you’re feeling ballsy, you could be anal retentive and go the annoyed hipster route, that usually works out in these situations.
On the other hand, you really just wanted the conversation to end there.
And on the other other hand, maybe you should turn around? Whatever choice you made, it wasn’t fast enough as you have three final seconds to witness your body remaining on the floor while your head and spine are removed from it.
On the upside, it’s Casual Friday!Not like you had much of a choice.
You cough, and the nightmare murder clown comes back and straight up rips whatever’s left of your jaw straight off, pulls its goo pants off, and shits down your gaping neck hole.
Oh god... It’s Taco Tuesday.
How much did this thing eat?You reach for what you think is a taco.
It’s... It’s not a taco.
Well, in a sense, it IS a taco.
But its just the nightmare murder clowns mouth... crotch... thing.
That’s currently chomping on your still beating heart.“You’ve made your choice,” The person says, “Just know that you could’ve had a lot of FUN here, just, immeasurable amounts of FUN. Oh well... I guess you’ll never get your hands on the reward, all that treasure, just laying around for someone.” They pause, you can hear a slight giggle of excitement come from their mouths.
All you have to do, is walk through that door, and you’re out of this room, and away from whoever the FUCK this person is.
You’ll never have to deal with them again.
But, if what they’re saying IS true, you’ll be missing out on a reward, a treasure. All that money, that gold, that jewelry, every piece of it could be yours for the taking! All you’d have to do is turn around.
[[Walk out the door.]]
[[Turn around.]]You turn to look at the person behind you, only to find a giant pile of pale colored goo in the shape of a clown in the process of melting. The clown has average clown looks, and except for the melting clown part, would maybe get center ring at the local freak show. It looks at you curiously, not sure what to do.
Likewise, you do the same.
[[Continue staring at it.0]] You walk out the door, your curiosity NO match for the immediate and instinctual need to survive. You look around, refreshed at what you see, smell and experience, you’re clearly satisfied, but you’re also incredibly curious as to just who the person was behind you.
[[Realization]] You stare into the eyes. They seem like eyes that belong to a being of either incredible power, or just incredible abilities to annoy the ever loving fuck out of you with outdated songs by annoying bands and hipster references that’d make a Vegan just tear into a steak right before their stuck up friends eyes.
You... feel like you should ask it a question. Though if it doesn’t answer you right back, or at all, you’ll just look like a naked idiot standing over a shit log talking to their right arm to whom ever is watching this.
[[Questions]]What to ask?
[["Um, hello?"]]
[["What are you freaky tattoo?"]]
[["Are you alive?"]]
[["Could you not sing that?"]]
[["What is love?"]]
[["Where am I!?"]]
[["Am I dead?"]]
[["Why the FUCK am I naked?"]]
[["Should I pick up the shit log?"]]
“Um, hello?” You ask, staring at whatever the fuck that thing is supposed to be, hoping beyond all hope it’s just a tattoo and you can move on to more important things.
To your immediate displeasure, whatever ink they used seems to be infused with the merged souls of a thousand annoying people.
“SUP, BROHAN! YOUR ARMS TOTES MCGOATS!?” It screams idiotically.
You’re not sure whether to laugh or release another emotion based shit log.
[[Questions]] Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.You warm up your vocal cords, knowing this could be the greatest performance of all time! Your lungs fill with oxygen, you mind clear and focus, the skin seat cushion continuing to scream in absolute horror with the fury of a thousand movie critics bitching about shit they don’t know anything about!
You begin to sing the legendary tune.
“Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me
I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed
She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb
In the shape of an “L” on her forehead
Well the years start coming and they don’t stop coming
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running
Didn’t make sense not to live for fun
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb
So much to do, so much to see
So what’s wrong with taking the back streets?
You’ll never know if you don’t go
You’ll never shine if you don’t glow
Hey now, you’re an all-star, get your game on, go play
Hey now, you’re a rock star, get the show on, get paid
And all that glitters is gold
Only shooting stars break the mold
It’s a cool place and they say it gets colder
You’re bundled…"
As you start to crescendo, the skin seat cushion thrashes around, clearly, all Star is going to drive it back to the grave. you continue singing thinking it’s enjoy the experience, mistaking the stretch out lips as a smile, when obviously, it’s really a scream for the torture to end.
More than that, your choice in song has annoyed the Facility so much, that you are escorted out of the building by the Lead Singer of Smash Mouth, who’s been moon lighting as a part time Security Guard.
Seeing daylight for the first time in months, they inform you that there was so much more you were intended to do, that you were to become the ultimate being and do battle with Waffles the Space Clown.
“Instead,” They conclude, “You sang a reanimated seat cushion of stitched together human faces ‘All Star’ and caused them more agony than being on tour with me ever did. Get the fuck out and never darken this place ever again!”
You begin to walk away, free to at last, when a last minute urge to sing ‘All Star’ out loud once more hit you.
You REALLY shouldn’t.
[[Blurt out the first line.]]
[[run as fast as you can.]]Filled with a brimming confidence that knows no bounds, you fill your lungs up with oxygen, and let loose the only song this collection of stitched up faces might ever hear. Assuming it dies from agony and lack of blood flow.
“Can you see?
The sun is shinin’ on me.
It makes me feel so free,so alive!
It makes me want to survive!
And the sky, it makes me feel so high,
The bad times pass me by
‘cause today
is gonna be a brighter day!
Can you feel the sunshine?
Does it brighten up your day?
Don’t you feel that sometimes
You just need to run away?
Reach out for the sunshine
Forget about the rain
Just think about the good times
And they will come back again
Feel the sunshine..."
There’s silence for just a minute as the collection of faces bobs up and down with the tune, obviously, one of the faces was a fan of Sonic R.“HEY NOW-” Your singing prompts the Security Guard, barely in the door, to charge back out, knock you to the ground, jam ten syringes into your skull, and dares you to finish that line.
[[Fuck it.]]
[[Stay silent.]]You gleefully keep silent, and walk at a brisk pace away from the Facility, excited that you’re free of the place.
[[Realization]]Double-click this passage to edit it.“YOU’RE AN ALL-” You scream out in defiance.
The death is swift, painless, and you drift away into the arms of an angel faster than Grumpy Cat can say “The end.”You remain quiet, fully aware of the danger. After a minute of the Security guard screaming at you to keep quiet, you feel the syringes being pulled out of your skull.
He tells you to keep on the ground till he goes back inside. You’re terrified, so you do as he says, and end up waiting twenty minutes after hearing the door to the Facility close behind him.
When it’s safe, you stand up, and slowly tip toe away.
[[Realization]] True, you're naked, and you have no money, clothes, phone, or way to get in touch with anyone, but you're free from that weird place.
[[Wander the streets to find a phone to use.]]
[[Find a place to sleep off the nightmares.]]In a daze, you walk away from the white room, there's nothing for you there anymore, you feel a certain weight in the pit of your mind. You can't explain it, but whatever they did to you, you feel like it's going to change your life.
You feel compelled to use a nearby pay phone.
It's cold outside, you never really liked the cold, and with your current level of covering, it's a wonder you haven't freezed your bits and bobs off yet. You walk away, feeling somehow heavier escaping that horrible place than you had waking up in it.
You find a nearby homeless shelter, and after some questioing, they set you up with a place to sleep.
It's fitfull at first, but you're able to rest up.
'You know, breakfast sounds really good, and Waffles is always close by.' A voice from deep within your mind laughs.
T of Waffles the Space Clown.“Please... do... something..” You call out again, your throat collapsing in on itself, taking away your ability to speak. The person or thing in front of you get on their knees, giving you a better look at their face.
They’re wearing clown make up, or at least, that seems to be make up. Right now though, your mind is slowly melting away, your sight becoming a melted, glitching mess, you feel as though the bones in your body are melting away into nothingness.
“Please... Do.... Something.” They repeat, they make no effort to help or harm you. Just merely observe as you slowly start to fall away into a pit of blackness.
[[Call out for help one last time.]]
[[Give in to the call of the Reaper.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.You attempt to say the word ‘Help’ again, but what comes out causes the person to actually take action.
“Pleash... Health... Mersh...” At once they extend their hand towards your face, any sight you have left tells you that it’s either a gloved or ungloved hand. You feel one of your lungs finally dissolve into a puddle, the weight of which presses against the still semisolid lung, making it hard to breath.
The hand becomes clear, melts into a large mass and wraps around your body. You feel the now dull pain as the liquid tendrils burrow into your arms, legs, chest, torso, neck, hands, and feet.
“Health...” They repeat, never stopping what their doing. Your sight finally goes, leaving only your hearing partially intact, but eventually that goes away, leaving you in a silent, murky place unable to move, barely breathing, unable to speak or move, and a pressure deep inside your body gradually building up.
“You will die.” You hear a voice call out in your mind. “You will die in this place, and no one will ever love you.” It is very straight forward in the words that it uses as well as the tone of its message.
You feel the urge to fight, though it’s incredibly fleeting, and you feel as though if you were to keep fighting, it would drain you even more. ‘Health...’ Is the last thought you have before your ability to form a thought slips away.
[[Keep fighting.]]
[[Let the darkness take you.]]You're so very tired.
You don't know how you got here.
you don't know what they want with you.
You just want to get back home, crawl in your bed, and retend like none of this ever happened.
There's a certain finality to all of it.
As the Genome Fluid slowly destroys your body, your mind becomes weaker and weaker, there's nothing stopping them from straight up killing you.
As you start to fade away, you realize the meaning of life at long last:
To live.
the last spark of life sputters out from your mind.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
It just keeps getting darker.
[[Let the darkness take you.]]“There is no one who knows where you are. Why keep fighting?” The voice, a growling, rumbling, thunderous thing roiling with fear, anger, and doubt ask’s you.
Somewhere deep inside, maybe out of instinct, maybe out of your base desire to survive, or maybe because an outside force was keeping your body somewhat intact, you continue to fight, to stave off that skeletal hand of the Reaper itself.
“You should stop fighting the eternal slumber. Your life ended long ago, it’s the only option you have.” It taunts you.
[[Don't give up!]]
[[Give up...]]As you fall deeper into despair, you feel an overwhelming anger, a hatred that burns deep within the failing from of your body.
How dare they do this to you! HOW DARE THEY ROB YOU OF YOUR TIME LEFT HERE ON THIS EARTH!
Your mind quickly begins to pull itself together, rings of black ooze start forming around your neck, wrists, chest, waist, thighs, calves and ankles.
You hear a gurgling voice from the pit of your mind, a disturbed, insane, calculating, focused voice.
[['More.']]
[[Give up...]]You fight on, your thoughts, though primitive at best right now, come back to being.
‘I... Live.’ The two words connect together to form a sentence.
Your thoughts are stronger now, far stronger than they were five minutes ago.
“Give up! You must give up! You will only die later on!” The voice, now filled with dread, fear, and paranoia scream out. “give up! Fall to the everlasting slumber of a peaceful death!” It seems whoever the voice belongs to, really wants you dead.
[[Tell them to fuck off.]]
[[Give up when you're so close.]]You desparately just want to sleep, that's all you wish to do. But something's not letting you, something or SOMEONE won't let you sleep!
'It's that Genome Fluid.'
That fucking Genome Fluid.
'They won't allow you to die peacefully, OH NO! They want to see you writhe in pain.'
'They wish to see you suffer!'
'They want to see what happens this time!'
You hear the words filled with venom, filled with such anger, such hatred, such assertiveness that you want to give up control, that you wish to roar back to life!
But is such a thing possible?
[[Keep fighting.]]
[['Deeper!']]
[[Give up when you're so close.]] “Fuck... OFF.” you feel your voice crackle with power, your mind comes springing back to life, light an extreme thunderstorm of power, you feel electricity crackle, rumble, explode and funnel what feels like a few hundred trillion petavolts rush through your body, repairing the damage that Genome Fluid did to you.
“Fuck you... Fuck thisp lace... Fuck these people... Fuck that glass!” Your mind roars to life, ripping forward like a thousand horses made of trains, that in turn, are made of tinier horses.
You feel as though nothing can stop you.
“NO! STOP! YOU’LL RUIN EVERYTHING!” It screams as the voices influence weakens on your mind, and you in turn gain control over it. You want to control this thing, you want to make whatever it is haunting your mind pay for it.
But, at the same time, you know that from reading comics in which something merges with the hero, sometimes it’s best to work with it then to completely dominate.
Though, there are the times where losing control and taking a beat seat to whatever might come is preferable, that way, the weight of the actions taken is as a feather.
[[Reach out and Dominate someone.]]
[[Offer a compromise.]]
[[Let jesus take the wheel.]]You can't take the anger anymore, it literally is tearing you apart. As time slows to a stop, your self doubt, desperation, utter wanting of death, all of it grows.
You start crying because the pain has spread to every part of your body, you, only growing worse and worse with ever passing second.
You called out for death, but none came, only a growing sense of dread. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot broken shards of glass.
You need a way out of this mess.
That fucking voice is now screaming, a howling mess of emotions wrapped up into a single, volitile impulse. To let that darkness tear apart any goodness you had left inside of you.
There's a small window of survival instinct left in you, something pressing you to fight it.
[['MORE!']]
[[Don't give up!]]
[[Let jesus take the wheel.]] You make your final decision. You’re all powerful, your strength knows no bounds, and you’ll take any and all power you can get your hands on.
“I am in control. You are now my slave, my puppet. I give the commands, and you will carry them out.” You roar out loud, every single faculty, every bone, muscle strand, tendon, nerve, and internal organ snapping back into place from its liquid state.
“You? Control me!? I AM A FORCE BEYOND THE WILLS OF THE COSMOS, YOU CHALLENGE ME!?” The voice roars, angry that you would dare assert control over it.
You grow tired of this things prattling. It’s no more scarier then a hanger in the closet. You gather every bit of your will into a wide net and your way out of this place is right there, in whatever strength this thing carries in it, and all you have to do is crush its tenuousgrip on your mind.
Excitement grows, you heart is pounding, but the ability to work with it still presents a very viable option for you. ‘Friendship is something needed in these dark days.’ You remember your father telling you before being carted off to the hospital.
[[Crush its will with your own.]]
[[Make a deal with it.]]You struggle through the pain to move to the shattered remains of the glass, the blood now acting as tears as they flow down your face. They wished to see what would happen if you were to be pushed too far. And now they get the full monty of it. They wish to see you suffer.
They need you to suffer.
But you're not giving them that satisfaction, are you?
The shards of glass are so much clearer to you as the only way out, to end that disturbed feeling of desparation you feel so deep inside that it burns a hole straight through your heart. Now, there really is one.
If only mom could see you now, what would she say?
No. Nothing. She wouldn't say anything, just stand there with that fucking look on her face as she always does. Would probably laugh and call you a fucking loser for wanting this pain to end.
And dad? What of him?
He'd probably just suck down another cigar, puff his chest out, and call you the fucking most disappointing thing of his entire life. Atl east, that's how you're thinking in this time of impending death. Your fingers cut themselves on the sharp edges of the glass. The pain is more than enough to wake you from whatever stupor you're currently in.
But the pain is too much, you want it to end, and that voice, that horrible voice and that person, that blurry son of a bitch keeps getting closer.
You can feel your heart slow down as you bring the shards of broken glass into the palm of your hands, you raise it, high in the air, you know you've worked towards this end, this escape. but you feel as though something is trying to stop you.
Something is trying to make you live.
But, you're not having any of it, are you?
[[End it.]]
[[Make a deal with it.]]
Your mind is made up, there will be no sharing of your body. You desire absolute control over your body and this new power. You cast the net around the source of the voice and wrap it up, binding it in your absolute will, making it’s strength your own and absorbing it’s very being into yourself.
You wake up to find your body so much stronger than it was before. Your mind is laser sharp and razor focused. The explosion of strength tears the white room apart, revealing a massive underground compoud with many tunnels, many bridges, many rooms, and many confused, scared, or angry Executives, Scientists, Soldiers, and civilians all around you in all directions, for many miles.
[[Realization]]You feel the raw power surging through you, and yet, you also feel the slowly dying will of the being you abasorbed into your being.
'Don't kill me! We could be allies! partners! i'm will to kill for you! Slaughter entire cities if need be! All you have to do is let me live and you'll be able to send out an agent of destruction, death, and devastation to your twisted hearts content!' The voice pleads.
It seems to make sense to want an ally to try and escape this strange and horrifying place. But, in your experience, you've long known that nothing comes without strings.
"Before I accept," Your voice rips forth, "what are the terms, what do you get out of this?"
The thing takes a step back, as if shocked.
'You're the first person, living or dead, mostly living, who's ever come close to dominating me through sheer will power alone! As much of a monster as I appear to be, as much of a horrifying instant death machine as they make me out to be, and as many dismembered and flung apart bodies as there are flying around this place, I am, first and foremost, a living being.' It's voice seems truthful, but it has the appearance of a clown that recently drawned in a thick pool of snot.
There are many questions you want answered, but none of them are especially as pressing as the sounds of hundreds of armed private military personel, most of which are thickly armored, approaching. Their thick metal boots slamming down onto the freshly washed white tiling.
'Look, you can either ask all the questions now, and die of probably twelve thousand, eight hundred and forty five bullet wounds, or we could strike a bargain and dealing with these fuckers!' The voice screams, clearly, it's very panicked.
"What are my options for this merger?" You ask pointedly.
The private military now having surrounded you completely, having trained their laser sights on your head.
'I could reside in your mind, being able to grow out of your body as an enveloping suit of armor and a multitude of weapons of close, medium and ranged combat with varying levels of destructive force. I could also reside in a pocket dimension, where you'd be able to summon me at a moments notice and we could take care of whatever problem is currently vexing you. My personal favorite option is to travel alongside you.' The voice reasons.
"Why's that?" You ask.
'I'd be able to summon others to help us out. You know how clown cars usually have around thirty to forty of us stuffed inside that thing?' It asks.
"Yeah?"
'Think of the pocket dimension I summon others from as the Symphony of the Seas of clown cars. There are about forty trillion of us there.' It replies plainly. you hear the clicks of guns being cocked.
"Fuck me." you reply.
'So what's your choice?'
One thought still haunts your mind. "What if I still chose to dominate you?"
The voice is silent for a minute, "While you'd be able to do everything I just listed and gain immortality, immunity to pain, and a pretty bad ass organic shielding, you'd have to learn to control each facet of my power, lose out on my welath of knowlege, and the loneliness would drive you insane. Also, you'd probably end up shot to death in the next four seconds... The immortality takes about 10 seconds to kick in. The immunity to pain, 20 seconds, and the tastes of my abilities around thirty to forty seconds."
[[Dominate it.]]
[[Yes to "reside in your mind."]]
[[Yes to "Residing in a pocket dimension"]]
[[Yes to "Traveling along side you."]]
There’s an odd silence, as it looks like Onion, for a brief second, is giving you a serious hint that it desires to escape this place.
[["That was oddly specific."]]
[["You're an A.I.?"]]
[["WHO THE FUCK IS WAFFLES!?"]]Onion simply looks at you with all the interest of an ATM just gaining sentience. Which is to say, not that much. “Was it?” It replies, not wanting to really take too much into consideration, “It might have just been a glitch in my programming matrices. I have alerted my programmers of the matter.”
You look blankly at the webcam. The Light blips calmly as Onion simply stares out at you. “I’m sure you have plenty of questions.”
[[Odd Silence]] Onion smiles, or at least, tries to smile. In truth it looks like what would happen if a bunch of wet rats decided to host in orgy inside a dying man’s mouth, only for the dying man to have grown a beard.
“Yes, I am the Onion, version 4.23 Omicron, Facilitator and last face you may ever see.”
“Fuck you.” You say to Onion, fully knowing it’s a pointless endeavor.
“Would you like to know more?” Onion asks, presenting two options on the screen.
[[Press YES.]]
[[Press NO.]]“You don’t know about Waffles the Space Clown?” Onion asks, almost insulted at the insinuation.
[["No, I don't."]]
[["I read about him in a book."]]You touch the ‘Yes’ button on the screen and the animated face of Onion is replaced with the live feed of an extremely bored Scientist.
“You’re in the Facility, testing the Genome Fluid. Get to it. It’s on the table behind you.”
[[Ask the bored scientist a question.]]You hit the ‘No’ key and Onion bobs his head up and down happily.
“Very well.” He states before the screen blips off leaving you to your own thoughts once again.
After a few minutes, you start to fall backwards, your thirst beginning to take a hold of you. The world goes dark.
[[Blink once.]] Onion processes the information.
“Very well, Waffles the Space Clown is Object 214452-Zeta-Zeta-Omega-Chesterton. Initially an inanimate statue of unknown origin, it was soon discovered that the statue was in fact a prison containing the liquid form of Waffles.
“Upon further study, experimentation, and loss of Chief Scientist Uriel Zambrona, His assistant Rachael Inigen, C.E.O, Carl Streffan, President of the Eastern Branch, Muhommad Fressa, Secretary Charleston Justinofski, His children, Tom, Sarah, Francis, Edgar, Lilly, Steve, Bob, Babs, Timothy, Sercies, and Janitors Fred Barathon, Jonas Snow, Tywin DeStrange, and Trishia Vollence...”
The list goes on for quite sometime, in fact, the list of names of people horrifically mutilated by Waffles is so long, you took a nap for an hour, woke up, only to find Onion still reciting names.
[["I get it, he's deadly."]]
[[Do nothing.]]Onion smiles, “Then you know next to nothing, as that entry is nothing more than a rudimentary reaction and base failed escape plan. Place the book in front of the screen, and I will update the information for Waffles the Space Clown.”
[[Do as Onion says.]]
[[Refuse.]]
[[Push over the screen.]]Onion stops reciting names.
“That is quite the understatement, Waffles alone in his liquid state has murdered, ground up, consumed, and sold decorative art pieces made from the remains of 733 people on Etsy under the Psuedonym, Nightmare Murder Clown 33.
“After which, he was summarily caught, contained, and transferred to the Facility twelve years ago.
“He escaped and killed another 1,200 persons, both innocent, guilty, and has a special attraction towards people born in January, on a wednesday, at night, during a storm, on a full moon, who have never been to the circus.
“Waffles has since coagulated into his adolescent form, somewhat resembling a clown.” Onion stops speaking.
[["Hence the nickname?"]]
[["Does 'he' just kill everyone?"]]Onion continues reciting names for another ten hours, during which time, several plates of food are brought to the table, as well as refreshments, and a second chair, as though someone else will be joining you in the white room.
“That is the complete list of names of people who have been killed by Waffles the Space Clown. Would you like to know more?”
[["No thank you."]]
[["Yes."]][[sit at the table.]] “Yes.”
“No, not automatically. Waffles does display some sentience, empathy, and decision making skills, and has in the past, not immediately eviscerated any living thing he has come across.
“Interestingly enough, Waffles will not commit violence against those that do not commit violence against him, those that do not look him in the eyes for longer than thirty seconds, those that do not try to escape, or give chase to those that have already passed through the door.”
They sound rather bored, “Do you have any questions?”
[["What is I don't want to?"]]
[["What is the Genome fluid?"]]
[["Who are you, SCIENTIST MAN!?"]]
[["If you don't let me out, I'm getting Waffles."]]
[["Why do you have an A.I. named 'Onion'?"]]The Scientist scoffs at you for daring to question him, even though he asked if you have questions for him.
“Then we’ll command Waffles to kill you.” They say plainly. “Do you have any other questions?”
[[Ask the bored scientist a question.]] The scientist coughs a few times.
“The Genome Fluid is a complex and somewhat semiconscious fluid that was a combination of an over boiled cabbage, some hockers from the janitor, and several pounds of Alien shit. Literal. Alien. Shit.” The Scientist begins to explain, “From there, we stripped it of all the smells, taste, colors, and things that might turn you into a living testicle boil.”
You start to dry heave.
[[Ask the bored scientist a question.]] The Scientist laughs. “No, you won’t. not unless you drink the Genome Fluid.” He explains, “Waffles the Space Clown, strangely enough, only obeys the commands of those with a similiar genetic structure to his own.” After a quick silence he gulps.
“I shouldn’t have told you that.”
[[Ask the bored scientist a question.]] The Scientist shrugs, “Why are you such a shitty person?”
[["I like to party?"]]
[["Sometimes, you just need to let loose."]]
[["At least I'm alive inside.]]
[[Ask the bored scientist a question.]] “Bob, from accounting. The guy before me? Steve? He died in that very room. Testing that very fluid.” Bob explained, clearly more stoned then he might’ve been any other day.
[[Ask the bored scientist a question.]] The animated face only giggles, “Silly ol me? I’m Onion, the Onion! And Welcome to the Facility!” It’s still relatively horrifying, but now that it has a name, you can try to logic the fuck out of the insanity it represents.
“I know you have questions for me, and the best I can do is offer you information based around how long you want to live before you die!” Onion blurts out. “The last person in here, Charles, had a book floating around somewhere that had a bunch of information in it. I’m assuming that has more information then-” Onion stops talking, a worried expression appears, as if someone or something is in the room with it. After several minutes, Onion resumes its creepy, plastic smile.
[[Ask Onion a question.]] “I’m Onion, the greeter for this Facility’s testing grounds! i’m witnessed many a interns death, including Steve. Poor Steve!” It says in utterly creepy and douche fuckery tones, “They shoved a Uranium rod, still hot off the press, up his pee hole, and recorded the results!”
I’m also the Facilities Artificial Intelligence, programmed mainly to keep people calm when I know they’re about to die a gruesom death either from drinking the Genome Fluid or through some SERIOUSLY meticulous handy work by Waffles the Space Clown."
You’re both repulsed and curious, and there are plenty of questions swimming around your mind.
[[Ask Onion a question.]] Hello person reading this right now! You've probably a lot of questions, and to be honest, I'll throw a few things your way!
[[WHAT IN THE FUCK IS THIS STORY!?]]
[[What gave you this idea?]]
[[How come you're always adding to the game?]]
[[How do I get in touch with you?]]
[[Tell us a little bit more about yourself!]]
[[Are you an author?]]
[[Were you on drugs when you wrote this?]]
No more Questions? Cool! Time to throw you into [[The White Room]]
Don't die.An eperiment to see how batshit crazy this thing can get to be honest. There are many paths that lead to a grisly end, and many paths that lead to you just going batshit crazy.
Remember, I'm still updating this thing, always adding to it. So if you've already explored all the options, just wait a little bit and I'll have added some more content!
Games are fun!
More Answers [[FROM THE AUTHOR.]] or get flung into [[The White Room]] Most authors give build the world up in the first few pages, I'm kind of lazy so I build the world up as I go along. I find that it's a much easier work load than just having this set of rigid rules ot work with. I mean, YEAH, of course there are going to be in game rules that once established, aren't going to be very flexible.
There's a dude, ColossalisCrazy, his twitter profile picture is fucking amazing, and I've already created this little epic known as "Colossal the Eclipse King" It's nothing major, but it's a pretty fun read.
Anyways, it's partly inspired by that guy, and partly some serious therapy from getting the shit literally scared out of me when I watched the new "IT"
Also a B-horror movie called "Killer Clowns from Outer Space"
More answers [[FROM THE AUTHOR.]] or go into [[The White Room]] I'm happy you asked!
I'm always adding to this game, always updating it, because the story is far from over, and there are many things to import from writer.inklestudios.com.
I believe that a story can go on indefinately, with no real ending to it. Are the parts short in some paths? Sure, yeah, and there are also longer parts as well, it's all about the choices you make. Sometimes, there are parts with just one or two options, which are pretty important to the story overall.
I'm still very much learning everything, and I plan to implement a few awesome features into the story as well!
More answers [[FROM THE AUTHOR.]]
Or wind up in [[The White Room]] Happy you asked!
you can get in touch with me via these means:
Twitter: @MorganGavin
YouTube: Getsutomo
Facebook: Morgan James Gavin
Email: dr3arms@gmail.com
Or by joining my Discord Server, here's an invite!
https://discord.gg/U7CKc9E
More answers [[FROM THE AUTHOR.]]
Go into [[The White Room]] Happy to!
Name's Morgan, pleasure to meet ya! I've lived in SoCal nearly all my life, with bits and pieces of it being in NorCal.
I'm 33, love writing, have a beautiful girlfriend whom I love more than anything in the world!
I'm an animal person, horses, cows, squirrels, whole bit!
I've got an interesting set of hobbies!
not very helpfull, am I?
More answers [[FROM THE AUTHOR.]] or go to [[The White Room]] Yes, indeed I am!
Here are a few of my titles!
Dorikame Saga: Birth of Change
https://www.amazon.com/Dorikame-Saga-Change-Blake-Frazee/dp/1450073727/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1522801450&sr=8-1&keywords=dorikame+saga
Dorikame Saga: Broken Omen
https://www.amazon.com/Dorikame-Saga-Broken-Blake-Frazee/dp/1483690199/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1522801450&sr=8-2&keywords=dorikame+saga
Wrath of Puppy Monkey Baby
https://www.amazon.com/Wrath-Puppy-Monkey-Baby-Inhumanity/dp/1533309205/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1522801572&sr=8-1&keywords=Morgan+james+gavin
One Shots: Army of the Incomplete:
https://www.amazon.com/One-Shots-Morgan-James-Gavin/dp/1985033283/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1522801572&sr=8-2&keywords=Morgan+james+gavin
Ladadadaddadadadaddadadda: Book of morgan's songs
https://www.amazon.com/morgans-songs-Morgan-James-Gavin/dp/198403720X/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1522801572&sr=8-4&keywords=Morgan+james+gavin
Messages to a really bad president:
https://www.amazon.com/Messages-really-President-Morgan-James/dp/1985174758/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1522801572&sr=8-5&keywords=Morgan+james+gavin
Six Strings of the Highlanders guitar:
https://www.amazon.com/Strings-Highlanders-Guitar-Morgan-James/dp/1540820440/ref=sr_1_9?ie=UTF8&qid=1522801572&sr=8-9&keywords=Morgan+james+gavin
The Debate of Factions
https://www.amazon.com/Debate-Factions-began-simply/dp/1539974065/ref=sr_1_11?ie=UTF8&qid=1522801572&sr=8-11&keywords=Morgan+james+gavin
More answers [[FROM THE AUTHOR.]] or go to [[The White Room]] Honestly? I was just bored out of my mind one day, and missing the good old days of Storymash where treegraphs were the fucking shit! and I've always loved the core concept of Choose your own adventure type stories!
No, I was not drugs when I wrote this.
However, I have consumed around ten pots of coffee in the process of writing this.
More answers [[FROM THE AUTHOR.]] or go to [[The White Room]] I’m alive inside as well. You might not be in a few hours.” The scientist says, his tongue sharp, thank Waffles. Bye." He ends the call, sending you back to Onion.
“Would you like to know more?” Onion asks, presenting two options on the screen.
[[Press YES.]]
[[Press NO.]] “Who doesn’t?” The scientist yawns, clearly wanting the conversation to end, which it does, by his choice, sending you back to Onion.
“Would you like to know more?” Onion asks, presenting two options on the screen.
[[Press YES.]]
[[Press NO.]] “You know who else likes to let loose? Waffles the Space Clown.” The scientist commends, “I’ve seen that son of a bitch feed people their own shit through their own intestine being rammed into their own throat.”
You suddenly feel like you’re going to faint.
“Well, bye.” The scientist says, clearing ending this conversation before sending you back to Onion.
“Would you like to know more?” Onion asks, presenting two options on the screen.
[[Press YES.]]
[[Press NO.]] You do as Onion requests, taking the book from its resting place and placing it in front of the screen with the animated face. The flashing light on the webcam shoots out several blue lasers which opens the book to the chapter on Waffles, then inscribes more information several more blank pages near the back of the book.
When Onion is done, you pocket the book, thank Onion for its time, and for some reason, black out.
[[Blink once.]] “No thank you. I think I’ve had my fill of information on Waffles for today.” you rpely calmly knowing that Onion can’t understand a damned thing you say.
So you just press the “No” key on the screen.
“Very well,” Onion says, slightly saddened. “you know, out of everyone that’s died here, you’ll be my favorite!”
[[Agree]]
[[Disagree]]
[[Shrug]]You immediately flip the fuck out and start punching the screen for no reason other than insanity. Onion seems to react with screaming in pain with each punch you land on the screen. When you finally stop punching it, you notice that the screen is sputtering, broken in places, and glitching badly with only half of Onion’s face showing properly.
“W-w-w-why di-did you do-do-do th-that!? I-i-i-I could’ve-ve-ve d-d-died!” He screams at you, the visible half clearly bruised and bloodied. Onion is very clearly, and very much alive in this thing.
“Because I fucking wanted to!” You reply, “I’m sick of this place, sick of you and your fucking creepy ass head just fucking floating there! you don’t know me! you don’t know my fucking problems! And now you want to fucking TEST ME!? This is MADNESS!” You rage, your own fists tightly balled, ready to unleash another flurry against the screen and its virtual occupant.
Onion seems rather displeased with you, trying to calm you down. “No, this isn’t madness...”
[[Do it.]]
[[Calm down.]]“Thank you, I’m my favorite person as well!” You reply, again forgetting that you’re talking to a machine.
In a surprising move, Onion replies to your words. “Yes. I’m sentient.Just like it when you press my buttons!” He finishes by moaning just a little while licking his side of the screen.
Suddenly, this thing just got a bit more creepy, wondering why you paid any attention to this thing at all in the first place.
“You have many questions... I can tell. Press my button to ask me!” Onion directs as he smiles. Not the kind of smile one makes when happy, but the kind of one anything with a set of genitals makes when they want to smash them against another set of genitals.
“Press my button! Press my button harder!” Onion begs you. You press the button, at which point Onion Electronically orgasms by dropping confetti from a hatch in the ceiling on you.
[["Where's the exit?"]]
[["In what way?"]]
[["Are you alive?"]]
[["I've so many questions."]]
[["Do you dream of electric sheep?"]]
[["Are you confined to this thing alone?"]]
[[What's it like on the other side?"]]You shake your head and roll your eyes.Onion takes note of this. “Why are you acting that way? You’re very important to the Facility!”
[["Uh huh."]]
[["I'm backing away now."]]
[["What should I do now?"]]You shrug, sighing briefly.
“Well, maybe I’m just alone in that opinion.” Onion sighs.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.You take that moment to back up, your mind focused, your legs primed and pumped. you’ve had enough of this sick, psychotic shit.
“This-” You start screaming, running full tilt at the screen and it’s occupant.
[[Do it!]]
[[Stop and think for a second.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.You leap into the air with the grace of a recently roofied Gazelle.
“IS-” Your mind is on fire as you bring it on home, so close to an epic victory, only a few feet of midair glory to go and you can finally end this haunted piece of shit.
A second thought flits through your mind. Onion could very well be a rich source of information, and if you follow through, you might lose a veritable library that could help you out in the long run.
Then again, you REALLY want to finish this epic moment.
[[FINISH IT!]]
[[Stop and think.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.With a tightly balled fist, you punch it straight through Onion’s screaming mug, sparks, shattered glass, and a little bit of blood fly out the back of the screen as it trembles under your might.
“SPAAAAARTAAH!” You scream, relishing the moment. You yank your fist out of the broken tech to find a little bit of Onion still remaining.
“I could’ve helped you...”
[[Push it over.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.With a hefty shove, you tip the screen over, and with a satisfying clatter you break the utter shit out of it.
[[Blink once.]] You decide against all noticeable logic that your own clothes are just fine, even if every single pocket is filled to the brim with somehow still bubbling hot vomit, complete with little chunks of carrot and half a pound of Limburger cheese.
In fact, you notice that your clothes reek of the stuff, as if it had been here for longer then you had been here.
Curious, just how long have you been knocked out cold, naked, in a strange room, with no discernible clue as to how you got there in the first place? You do your best not to put your hands in the vomit pockets, but eventually you slip up, but a sick fucker like you probably did this stuff for views on YouTube, so you’re used to it.
With your barf clothes on, you sloosh your way back a few steps before your mind begins to fog out. You may or may not be high on seven pounds of LSD, as you trip like a fuck head over the backpack of unusual origin. Only one thing to do now.
[[Check out the backpack.]]
[[Pick up the shit log.]] Following the very basic logic that wool is warm, and you are cold, you slip into the wool knit body suit with the elegance of a drunk sea lion set on fire and beat about the head with several cement dildos.
As you fit your various bits and bobs into the wool suit. you come to the realization that this has already been worn, and not in the good way.
In fact, upon further searching of the wool body suit, you realize a very basic truth. The entire thing, all fifteen pounds of wool used to make this increasingly itchy prison of the devils own sexual trauma by way of four jet engine powered trucks with flag poles, had apparrently been threaded through several peoples innards.
You bow your head in respect to the amount of scientific and engineering know how needed to pull that off. Presumable with a high powered air hose, several metric tons of lube, and a rubber duck named Sir Reginald Geradine Quack-Squeaks Esquire.
Then you immediately vomit at the thought that it might’ve been threaded through several people, all at once, like some kind of sick Human Centipede snuff film that never made it past, what you assume was called “Editing”
There are bits of intestine and chunks of liver in between the threads, and in the crotch and butt cheeks of the thing, feels like someone, somehow, managed to pass through their entire system seven boxes of lucky charms, if the marshmallows had been formed from the inside tissue of a persons lungs had they been stricken with a serious case of “Lung Snot”
Well, you made your choice. Enjoy your bloody, gut filled, shit covered wool body suit. Now you smell bad AND your bits and pieces are marinating in person juice.
You begin to feel nauseous and fall backwards. Over the god damned backpack. You might as well see what the big deal is.
[[Check out the backpack.]]
[[Pick up the shit log.]] You make the supposedly smart choice of the cool looking armored Lycra bodysuit, as you start to put it on, a thought comes into your head, well, several really.
“Look before I leap.” Is the first one.
“I just want to look cool!” Is the second one.
“Maybe I should stomp on this thing a few times, just to be safe.” Is the third.
You stand there, looking like a naked doof about to put on a Lycra bodysuit that may or may not have spiders in it.
[[Examine it. Thoroughly.]]
[[Put it on like a boss.]]
[[Practice tap dancing on it.]]You decide that continuing on in the buff is the best choice. As the appeal of accidentally putting your meat hooks full on in pockets filled with vomit doesn’t seem like a great idea.
Nor does the idea of putting on a wool bodysuit that looks more like a nightmare version of the macaroni art you used to make as a kid.
Neither does the potentially idiotic, but cool, choice of putting on something that looks as though its primary purpose was to smuggle millions of spider egg sacks at a time over the border, only to be forgotten about for fifty years and dumped in this place.
Besides, if there really are any people here, they’ve already seen you naked, butt hole and all.
Plus, they’ve seen you drop a shit log.There’s really only two options here, check out that fucking backpack or play with the shit log next to it.
[[Check out the backpack.]]
[[Pick up the shit log.]] With your chosen outfit and the rather unfortunate situation they came into this strange place, you pick up the backpack and look at it. It’s just a regular backpack on the outside. It’s heavy duty two straps for your shoulders and two extra straps that buckle around your chest and your stomach.
You wonder why for a few minutes, and nothing really comes of it. The make of it seems to be half a tetrahedron of a sturdy metal frame, with each of the plates revealing a rather large space in it.
It also has two zippers on it, the unzipping the first one reveals a strange glowing white fog that crackles with ethereal lightning.
Like a boss, you shove your hand in that shit, and surprisingly, it doesn’t outright hurt you at all. In fact, your hand just disappears into it, you push a little further, and your shocked to find your entire arm waving around in empty space on the other side of the thing.
It’s neither hot nor cold, but just as you would expect it to be. You suppose that there might be a hidden Hentai Tentacle monster floating around there, just waiting for some part of someone with holes in it to pop in and violate every spare nano meter, but that’s just dumb thinking.
Instinctively, you want to shove your head in there to see what’s on the other side. But, there ARE other things you could be doing right now. Aren’t there?
[[Wear the backpack like a mask.]]
[[Pick up the shit log.]]
[[Take a nap.]]You wisely decide to take a closer look at the armored Lycra bodysuit. As you pick it up, the first thing you notice is that it’s heavier than it logically should be, you think it might be because of the plating embedded into the suit.
You turn it over, making sure to look at every nook and cranny this thing has to offer, noticing no strange stains, hints of vicious or bloody dismemberment, or irritatingly dumb organisms hiding on the outside, you turn the suit inside out, and give it a good shaking, the metal plates clank together a few times before becoming silent.
the only thing wrong that you notice are that some of the seems are split, but just along the cuffs of the arms and legs.
You also notice that there’s a golden circuit board like design on the inside lining the entirety of the whole thing.
Whether or not the people or group who run this place put this here on purpose as the intended path is unclear.
Just then, someone turns on the air conditioning, which is really inconvenient. But it’s not too bad.
Then they set off the overhead spriklers so well hidden, and then it becomes much much worse.
You don’t think twice before turning the suit right side in and slipping it on, which the water somehow makes generally easier. As soon as you zip of the suit, the sprinklers stop.
Those.
Assholes.
There’s really only one thing left for you to do at this point. You look down at you feet, the back pack to your left and the shit log right below you.
[[Check out the backpack.]]
[[Pick up the shit log.]] You don’t even think twice about the action, you slip that son of a bitch on like it was the last body condom you’ll ever need at an orgry where EVERYONE and EVERYTHING has an STD either on it and or in it.
You do not regret this decision at all.
Not one bit.
Nope. Not you!
Well, that is until you start feeling little bits of cold here and there running up and down every section of your body.
You begin to freak out, struggling to unzip the suit, but it’s become hermetically sealed to your skin through a nanobot infused gel.
Great, now you begin to regret it.
As you scream and pull, you notice that it feels as if you’re pulling your own skin! After another four hours and freaking the fuck out and pulling on the bodysuit, you begin to realize that you aren’t alone in this weird as fuck white room.
In the distance, there’s what appears to be a sad, wet, clown. On the one hand, you could go over there and talk to it. On the other, you could run to the chair and use it to bash the clowns head in.
The third option is to just leave it alone. Besides, you’re very curious about the back pack and what mystical wonders it might present.
Plus, there’s the shit log between your feet. As you now realize there’s no toilet paper, you feel the suit start to wipe your ass. You can’t tell if you like the sensation or not.
[[Talk to the wet clown.]]
[[Attack the wet clown.]]
[[Check out the backpack.]]
[[Pick up the shit log.]] Like a meth addict with very little in the way of a patient mind, you get to work on kicking the utter shit out of the armored Lycra bodysuit, and you do not stop for no reason whatsoever. In fact, you lose yourself completey, picking it up, twisting the arms and legs off of it, tearing it apart, ripping off the metal plates and using them as knives to further tear up what potentially could’ve been a serious level of protection.
Ten hours pass, and you’re still stabbing little chunks of the material into tinier chunks, al to see if there spiders indeed inside the suit.
After which, you primal scream into the air, gather your vomit soaked clothes, the bloody wool bodysuit, and the scraps of the Lycrabody suit, and proceed to have rage diarrhea on it.
You have no idea what you’ve consumed within the last 72 hours to be able to produce THAT much built up shit, but by the time you’re done, you’ve practically given birth to a veritable shit lake.
To further your quest into your own soul, clearly insane from the pent up stresses you must’ve endured being transported to this place, you begin to roll around in said shit lake, speaking in tongues and pissing all over everything.
To your surprise, this act alone takes a solid week and a half.
After all is said, done, pissed and shatted upon, you find yourself wobbling back and forth, both dehydrated and feeling seventy pounds lighter.
you fall backwards in the only place that isn’t filled with a mounting pile of shit. A far corner, with twenty feet of clean space.
Play with it like a toy
After four minutes of standing around like a naked idiot holding the shit log, you start racing it around the floor as if it were a toy car. To no one's surprise, including your own, after ten minutes, there is a forty foot long shit streak on the floor reaching from wall to wall.
So far, this has been a very productive day for you!
[[Make a shit plane out of it.]]
[[Create a shit Megazord.]]
[[Pretend it's a sword.]]
[[Make awhooshing noise.]] Rub it like a magic lamp
With a groan of interest, you look up to see that there is a drone flying around the White Room, a crappy Vixia-600 camera duct taped to it, simply staring at you. In the distance, you hear the whispers of the people working in the facility, wondering, perhaps with baited breath what you're going to do with the shit log.
You can still hear that one sick fuck pleasuring himself loudly as you stand there holding the shit log. You decide on rubbing it like a magic lamp, after all, why not?
You rub it once, nothing happens.
you rub it twice, nothing happens. Except maybe the sick fuck orgasming.
You rub it three times, and surprisingly, the shit log starts glowing and shaking.
What the FUCK did you eat!?
A strong, god like, thundering voice rips forth, "WHOSOEVER HOLDS THIS SHIT LOG, BE THEY WORTHY OF THE POWER OF THOR'S LESSER KNOWN BROTHER, LARRY!"
A great number of toilets all around the facility flush all at the same time, some, filed to the brim with weeks of digested chicken tika, while others, merely the contents of a serious fucking rave.
In either case, you suddenly feel your intestines become lighter, as if they aren't even there anymore. You also feel yourself growing a tail.
That's... That's not a tail.
Apparrently, the power of Larry means telekenetic control over your severly distended intestines. So, yay! Super powers?
All at once, you feel the power of Larry course through your butt, as if a great creature of every kind of poop imagineable were being created in the space of nine seconds, and you had no control over how big it actually is going to be.
[[Brace for the worst.]]
[[Scream, "I AM IRON SHITMAN!"]]Double-click this passage to edit it.The anger grows inside of you, intesifies, magnifies, explodes outwards as you lay on the floor, unable to move, watching pitifully as the figure stomps towards you, clearly either wanting to fuck you, marry then fuck you, or kill, or simply fuck, then marry you. Leading to an assortment of questions about if you've been taken hostage by the Dark Web.
'None of that matters now! YOU WILL SUBMIT CONTROL TO ME!' That voice roars, growing stronger and stronger with ever moment that passes.
'Let the hate flow through you, for every second more you focus on that anger, that survival instinct, that abject horror of what they're putting you through, that's morep ower, more strength, more control for me!' They seem to relish in this, not because of any particular reason, just because they want you to die off, so they can have control.
[['Deeper!']]
[[Give up...]]
You let it in just a little more.
The pain is excruciating.
You feel as if little tendrils of black anger are drilling straight into your soul.
There's nonstop laughter the whole time.
They want you to give up.
They need you to give up.
That's the only way they'll get what they want.
And you're openly letting them.
Not because you want to, but because you somehow need that part of you.
It's instinct.
It's survival.
It the Genome fluid finally achieving it's intended goal of taking the simpering person that you were... and changing it into the souless, murder machine you were meant to become.
All you ever wanted to do was go to a party... And now this.
[['MORE!']]
[[Give up when you're so close.]] You no longer feel as though your worthless, or pond scum, or some weak simplton that gets offended by certain words or phrases.
You no longer feel that eating meat is murder. There is nothing left in you but power and strength, and chaos, and anger, and a murderous, vile contempt for every living being in this facility.
The tendrils of darkness smash through your soul, the very core of your being.
you want to desperately and slowly, and purposefully pull every man and womans head from their neck, relishing in their screams of anguish, and relishing in pleasure as they muscles tear, their bones shatter, and their nerves and viens break, to drink of their blood!
You wish it very much, and there is no more disturbed voice, because the voice is your mown, and you are now a monster.
A last minute feeling of complete disgust overcomes your new being, all you can feel is the need to end it.
There is nothing more you can do, but you wish to maintain control of this thing.
[[Offer a compromise.]]
[[Let jesus take the wheel.]]
[[And in the darkness bind you.]]You let it control you, let it erase your mind and soul. This is the end of you, this version of you. you are no more than electrical impulses exploring the vastness of a mind lost to the darkness of thought. The inner being of something that was your shell. you feel yourself floating away from your body. No, better yet, you see your body going far, far, far away as it tromps off, blood pouring from its eyes, ears and nose, there is no further purpose for your being there, even if just to watch and wait for the inevitable end.
Over in the distance, a portal opens, a blinding light, a spark, a plasma burst, it draws you in, attracts your electrical impulses, your base line desires, lures your wavelength instinct towards it.
You feel as though you must go to that light, at the same time, your primal and base curiosity compels you to follow what was once your body around, merely as some form of physical attachment that still lingers.
Not surprisingly, the first thing your body does is shit themselves again.
In fact, there's so much shit coming out of them that you wonder just what the fuck it was you ate before this happened.
The light calls out to you, "Ghosts do not poop! You're dead! Stop haunting your ass!"
[["Nope, I want to see where this goes!"]]
[[Go into the light]]Double-click this passage to edit it.You have NOTHING better to do, as you suddenly feel like pretending to be a superhero. You think Darth Vader is a superhero simply because he has a cape and gives vicious neck rubs from really far away, so you do the only sensible thing and plop the backpack on your head.
Partly out of curiosity and partly because, fuck it, why not? As your face gets closer to the amorphous blog of fog and lightning, two very concerning thoughts enter your mind:
The first being about the perils of partial inter-dimensional travel by way of just one body part, as well as the influx of the three theoretical types of multiverses layered on top of one another.
While there is no true substantial evidence of such theories actually having proof, things like dejavu, fortune telling, prophecies, and predicting the future are form of telling which potential paths a person might take.
The second, is just how fucking cool this moment might seem if you were getting all this on video to upload to your various social media accounts. Especially Snapchat, where you have one follower, and all they do is talk shit about your dog.
Your head passes through the amorphous fog lightning, your sight goes dark for a split second before being almost blinded by a bright flash of light. There's a thing in front of you, but you can't quite make it out.
"Choose the form you wish me to take in your mind!" A booming voice cries out.
You, simply being you, thinks of the very first thing that comes to mind.
The thing that it turns into is looks like (either:"Dog","cat","rabbit","squirrel","vegan","tomato","shit brick","clam","light bulb","calamity jane","Joe Does last turtle","two frogs","a basket of shrimp","ten rocks covered in ketchup","four dimes and a rubber band","four snails","ten pieces of bread","twelve acorns","a ghost","a firehydrant","a homeless man","a homeless woman","Donald Trump having a heart attack","four sausages wrapped in hair","a loose fingernail","a spleen","two spleens","three spleens","a lung","two lungs","seven lungs","Jerry Seinfelt","Harry von Cocklehorn","two midgets o a ladder","seven blind, mute, deaf, handless nuns","a floating disembodied nipple covered in sparkles").
The sight startles you so much that you [[Blink twice]] in disbelief.You look around the room, having decided to do something incredibly intelligent with the massive four foot shit log. At this point, it's less a piece of crap and more an incredibly disturbing shit javelin. You desire to throw it, you crave to throw it! There is no possible way in fucking HELL you aren't throwing this bastard in a random direction.
In the distance, behind the walls, you hear the retching of the people working here, those charged with watching your antics in the comfort of their own little room, protected from whatever abomination unto the universe you now hold in your hand proudly, as if the shit log were some kind of trophy that's not like the other shits you've taken.
This one is special!
Now, where to throw this fucking thing?
[[Throw it away.]]
[[Throw it up.]]
[[Throw it at the ground.]]
[[Throw it at the walls.]]
[[Throw it at the person in the corner of the room.]]
The thing that it has now turned into is looks like (either:"Dog","cat","rabbit","squirrel","vegan","tomato","shit brick","clam","light bulb","calamity jane","Joe Does last turtle","two frogs","a basket of shrimp","ten rocks covered in ketchup","four dimes and a rubber band","four snails","ten pieces of bread","twelve acorns","a ghost","a firehydrant","a homeless man","a homeless woman","Donald Trump having a heart attack","four sausages wrapped in hair","a loose fingernail","a spleen","two spleens","three spleens","a lung","two lungs","seven lungs","Jerry Seinfelt","Harry von Cocklehorn","two midgets o a ladder","seven blind, mute, deaf, handless nuns","a floating disembodied nipple covered in sparkles").
Curious, you [[Blink twice]] again.
You outright reject the voice by giving the double flip off with your ghostm iddle fingers in random directions till you hear a shrill bit of screaming and decide to float around the room for a bit. As you do, the first thing your body does is shit itself, which at this point, isn't even the most surprising thing in the world.
Now that you can see the entire universe at a whim, you notice that there wasn't just one person, but five of them, all of them Clowns, all of them horrifying, and one of them half spider with wings. So, you lucked out?
The five clowns, each an increasing level of disturbing, as they go from Bozo to post coital Pennywise with orrific results, surround your body, for a while, they do nothing, simply stare at what had once been you. In the distance, you hear organ music start to play and it makes you wonder just what the FUCK was actually going on in this place.
"Duh, I'm a ghost, I can fly through walls and shit." You remind yourself outloud.
One of the clowns looks up at you, the half spider that flies. You wonder if waving at it will kill you. You also wonder just what the fuck this place is.
[[Wave at SpiderClown.]]
[[Fuck that, go exploring.]]The voice makes sense.
After all, Ghosts, do not pop. They have moved beyond the real of needing to poop.
Or eat.
Or sleep.
Or have sex.
Or pee.
Or check their facebook updates.
Or tweet some random bullshit.
Or touch other people.
Fuck. You did not think this through. Still you go through with it because what else are you going to do?
"Come into the light my child! We have something more entertaining for you!" The voice says in a friendly tone, you feel your ghost body get sucked into the light. Hopefully there's no ghost rape. That would suck. You could be going into the hell. Like, THE hell.
Not some douchey wannabe hell where all they do is play crappy muzak for hours on end while you wait in line because fucking FRANCINE forgot to do her fucking job.
No, we're talking the actual, biblical, dantes inferno type hell.
[[Fuck that shit, haunt your body.]]
[[Meh, it could lead to some new body!]]You wave a ghost hand at SpiderClown.
It waves back with one hand, while cramming the other seven straight through your corpse.
It's smiling while it does what might've been described as "DEAR GOD, FUCK MY LIFE, THAT'S FUCKING DISTURBING!" in one light, and to a more psychopathic audience it could've also been called art.
This was a brilliant use of the after life.
you notice the light and the voice are still there. "Come into the light my child!" It calls out to you.
[[Fuck that, go exploring.]]
[[Go into the light]]Double-click this passage to edit it.You fly down to your body and scream boo at it few a minutes, hoping to scare it back to life. This does nothing, as you are dead, and reviving yourself could risk getting sucked back into the meat sack ass first through the head, giving you shit breath for the rest of your unnatural second life.
Plus, there're five clowns now surrounding said body, including one that's half spider, and has wings. Do you really want to hang around to find out what depraved, disturbed, psychotic, sexually deviant, nightmarishly kinky, forcefully physically and spiritually invading things they do with it?
You could always go exploring!
[[Hang around to see what happens.]]
[[Fuck that, go exploring.]]You decide to go into the light, hoping that it could lead somewhere pretty interesting and not at all horrifying. To your surprise, as soon as you pass through the light, which admittedly, even though the damned thing looks like it's a hope skip and a jump into whatever the fuck lies beyond, actually takes some navigating. You discover that the closer you get to it, the larger it becomes, and the smalelr your previous world gets. You don't dare look back, remembering the story of the dude who lost his gal to Hades, with to the river styx to get her, got her but had to go up some really long flights of stairs without looking back, and after twenty minutes of her bitching about tacos or something, he turned around to find her completely gone.
So nope, no looking back for you. Besides, you could've wound up back in your body about to be desicrated in every way, shape, form, religion, philosophy, idealology, political boundry, and especially in the way the Fox News does it's hiring process.
It's a bit like the Porn Casting Couch, but with more mind fucking, and occasional murder.
[[Look back.]]
[[Keep going forward.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.You've been staring at this nausiating thing for over several hours now, and as much as you find this creature, this abomination enjoyable to stare at, you get the feeling like you've got other things to do with you time.
The snot clown looks impatiently at a broken and gore filled pocket watch, hoping that at some point you'll get bored.
"I... I can only get the fuck away from you if you look away. Like, seriously. Originally, I was going to kill you, and tear your remains apart, but this has been dragging on for WAY too long." It has the voice of a monster, a vicious, souless thing brought into the universe against its own will. A thing that has killed thousands of others, willfully and gleefully tearing heads from necks and snot shitting down their neck holes.
And it's telling you that it has other shit to do besides have you watch it like a hawk.
"Like, really. I am INCREDIBLY hungry and I've got a pot roast in the oven. we've been at this for ten hours, my show's on in fifteen, and my boss is probably going to fire me. Or literally pour molten steel on me." It sounds incredibly bored.
[[Keep on looking.]]
[[Be nice. Turn away.]]Double-click this passage to edit it."I mean," It continues, "Look all you want! Sure, go right on ahead! KEEP STARING AT THE CLOWN MADE OF LIVING SNOT!" It seems frustrated, like a five year old not wanting to play anymore.
You keep staring at the thing, not really interested in it, or aroused by it. But you think that if you keep staring at it it will just walk away on its own, even though it OBVIOUSLY stated it can't go away if you don't turn away.
"GOD DAMN IT! WHY DO YOU KEEP STARING AT ME!? WHAT'S THE POINT!? I'M A FUCKING NIGHTMARE SNOT CLOWN! wHY MUST YOU TORTURE ME SO!?" It screams, practically crying tears of childrens blood, you watch with even more fascination as the tears hit the floor, the souls of countless victims of the snot clown speed away, screaming as they fade out of existence itself.
"LEAVE BRITTANY ALONE!" It screams, curling into a fetal position, desperate for some kind of release from its prison known only as you continual staring at it.
[[Keep it locked in place.]]
[[Give it mercy and freedom.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.You are now the self made prison guard for this thing. You have determined that the only way to prevent the snot clown from killign again is to keep you eyes on this poor, suffering soul.
It has begged you to look away, pleaded with you.
you look upon it as you would a rather fantastic rock.
Like you would if you were an invalid.
Like as if God himself has deemed it you mission to stare this thing into utter oblivion itself and there is no stopping you from completing Gods work!
You have become the holder of its life, and you will not be stopped from staring this thing into a hunger based death.
"PLEASE! SO FUCKING HUNGRY! I JUST WANT TO GET HOME AND WATCH THE SERIES FINALE OF GRAYS ANATOMY! BOZO THE CLOWN IS SUPPOSED TO GET AN IN DEPTH REPLACEMENT ANUS!" It is now in tears, you heartless fuck.
You are the souless statue of Rodes, your eyes shall never divert from this mission in life. You will never tire.
You will never hunger.
you will stare this thing into an early grave, covered in its own shame, filth, and excrement.
Days pass without change.
It begins withering away into a dried boogery husk of itself.
"Please... Release me!" It begs of you.
[[Have no mercy.]]
[[Turn away.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.You will not be turned away, you will never look away.
you somehow enjoy watching this pathetic creature suffer a slow and agonizing death.
The white room darkens as the life drains from its body.
Weeks pass, with you staring this thing into a bubbling pile of snot dust and bones. The clothes that once adorned it have now become little more than an utter memory.
Months pass, and you still stare at the thing, your heartless core no longer functioning as human.
[[GOD DAMN IT, KEEP FUCKING STARING.]]
[[Look away, for fucks sake!]]Double-click this passage to edit it.You are a statue of death.
You are immobile.
you are now covered in years of shit, piss, bile, sweat, tears.
You hair, finger and toe nails have grown to unimagineable lengths.
The snot clown is nothing more then a distant memory. It's remains are dust in the wind.
This White Room is now the only thing you remember, the only thing you've ever known. There is no desire to escape, no plans for the future. You simply desire to keep the very soul, the very memory of the snot clown locked in place.
your eyes havel ong sinced burst out of your head and crumbled to dust.
You feel very tired.
So... very tired.
Yet, you are driven by some unknown force, some cruel and heartless master to keep staring at the spot where you bravely faced down a masturbating nightmare murder clown so drenched in boogers and snot that you literally stared it to death.
You stared that fucking snot clown into nothingness and beyond.
This White Room, the people who have worked here for years, have been here for so long that they have fallen in love, had families, and raised their children and descendants to keep a watch on you.
Your legend spreads across centuries.
You can rest now, you can turn away.
Peace is now yours.
[[Stare a crater into the floor.]]
[[Make everyone freak the fuck out by turning away.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.Millions of years have passed, and yet you blindly continue to piss death off at every twist and turn by continuing to stare at that same spot. The White Room, it's facility, every creature, discovery, secret, worker, and master have faded into nothingness, and yet you continue to stare at the same spot.
A city has been built around you, your life was once happy, and yet you have become a deity in the eyes of the peoples, their descendants, and those who continue to see you as a prophet.
you have become a god without moving a muscle, without moving your eyes you have grown empires and destroyed nations. You never moved, never reached out, never see anything other than the snot clown, long since turned into a faded, distorted memory.
In a way, you've escaped the White Room.
In a way, you've become trapped in another prison of your own making.
Slowly, you pray for death more and more.
But it never comes.
Death itself has cursed you name, cursed you with immortality in an increasingly fraagile and decaying form.
You can no longer die.
No longer move.
No longer feel.
No longer breathe.
No longer think.
No longer desire.
You've become an ignoreable statue.
[[Continue staring as you always have.]]
[[Look towards the sky.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.Though you can no longer die, you still feel pain, and when your worshippers have grown tired of your presence, they decide to do the only merciful thing and do everything they can to rid you from their sight.
They decide on the most ironic punishment. Everyday, thousands of people come and stare at you, for hours on end. They simply stare.
Hoping you'll look away.
you pray for death.
But death never comes.
you are left with one option.
[[Blink.]]Double-click this passage to edit it.You blink for the first time in forever.
It's just a faction of a second where you weren't looking at anything. But when your eyes open, a new clown appears before you. It's form a nightmarish combination of a spider with wings and a clown. It's body bloated, malformed, mutated. It's eyes many, and it's fangs numerous, and it's charging straight at you, screeching, roaring, gnashing its teeth, closing the distance.
you hold your arms out, aware that people have become accustomed to simply watching you for hours on end.
you welcome the SpiderClowns venom, you finally feel pain in the first time in several hundred million years, the venom courses through your dried up viens, your heart stops beating, and you continue to be in incredible pain for as long as Death itself denies you that sweet release.
you know you've been afforded the option of turning away at any point, you know this to be true.
But for reasons only known to yourself, you simply kept looking, kept staring, kept on wondering out of either a blind curiosity or a frustrating sense of duty to continue staring at the snot clown.
The SpiderClown continues chomping down on your neck, injecting more and more venom into your viens until that is all that it left. Not blood, not humanity but venom.
It burns you.
Transforms you.
Taints your very soul.
you've become something else entirely, and the price you paid was dear indeed.
[[Step backwards]]you step backwards, the spiderClown having feasted itself on your continually regenerating body for countless eons, the planet itself has been consumed in the all consuming fires of an exploding neutron star. Everything you've ever known or loved long since gone, and the force of the explosion has sent you hurtling through the cold void of space, forzen in immortality by the Grim Reaper now deaf to your prayers of sweet utter release.
You are now frozen, a flying husk or unthinking, unfeeling, undying, inhuman thing.
The path you take sends you hurtling through (either:"one","two","three","four","five","six","seven","eight","nine","ten","eleven","twelve","thirteen","fourteen","fifteen","sixteen","seventeen","eighteen","nineteen","twenty") million planets, each time the star dies, it send you further and further from where you started.
Eventually, you flam into a planet that has no star, no orbit, it simply spins while hurtling through space and time. Occassionally passing by a dying star to absorb its warmth, whatever warmth there is to be had.
Finally, death seemingly grants you the sweet release you've been craving and you pass away in the cold void of space when the planet is consumed by a super massive black hole. You're soul is thrown into (either:"Heaven.",
"Limbo.","Hell.")
[[Waking up.]]")Last you were aware, you were in a strange white room, there were chairs, books, an open door, some kind of place.
They stole you away... The place you're in is a bit fuzzy.
In front of you, very clearly, the Author stands, his appearance, attire, face, and voice are about what you expect of someone from that place, he swings his arms as he walks towards you.
"Ah, I see you've woken up. Good! Good! I was worried I put a little too much into that snap!" He giggles, you try to speak, but it doesn't seem to do you any good.
"Please, don't worry about me, I believe that you're on a very important journey, one whose destination, goal, and adventures are completely up to you! Yes, yes, it may seem like the events of the choices are pre ordained by myself, but remember ultimately, you make the choices and follow the paths!
"Where they lead, I don't know, though my family has spent many a generation, too numerous to count actually, building this place up, you and you alone are the captain. I feel at this point, I should warn you about Waffles, they aren't what or who you think they are. They don't act or behave because of the reasons you know or don't know about." He takes a breath, pulls out a book, and hands it to you.
"Here, you'll want to take this. This book will be with you at all times, regardless of what corpereal state you're in. I will, on occasion, make it available to you. Oh, and if you happen to reach a dead end, come back often, as I will have built more to explore." He seems to be particularly tired at this point.
"Please, Tell me, what is the last thing you remember? I will direct you in the right direction."
[[Letting the darkness bind you.]]
[[Making a deal.]]
[[Agreeing.]]
[[Disagreeing.]]
[[Staring at a snot clown.]]
[[Talking to someone]]
[[Examining your tattoo.]]
[[Deciding what to do with a wet clown.]]
[[Pick up the shit log.]]
[[Checking out the Backpack.]]
[[Escaping]]Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.Double-click this passage to edit it.