> F L O O D < -- (A Mostly Text Adventure)

[Morphimus]

Ask Valerie about the planet you're on. She said the pistol was "Xerxian." ask her what that means.

[kaninchen]

You let out a breath and head out of the room.

"So... what's this 'Xerxian' thing?"

<Xerxes is the planet you are on right now. It is home to, according the last census, about 30 billion people. It is named after Xerxes, the Great Warlord who united the planet and founded the city of New Haven. The timeline marker, XE, is short for Xerxian Era. XE year 0 is the date that he unified the planet. He has essentially reached a god-like status, even now, hundreds of years after his death. Nearly all pre-Xerxian history was intentionally destroyed. All history books start with him.>

"That ... that doesn't sound healthy."

<It is not my place to decide. I am simply stating the facts of this world.>

"So what are the other planets?"

<All other planets in this solar system are uninhabitable. The only other planet is Earth, which is several hundred trillion lightyears away, but connected to Xerxes via warpgates. Xerxian smugglers enter the warpgates, steal Earthling technology and culture, and bring it back for us to study and use. Xerxians are the only ones who can use warpgates, so no Earthlings have ever set foot on this planet.>

"Why would we steal from them?"

<Earth fascinates the populace of Xerxes. Their weapons, though cruder than ours, are still deadly and cruel in their simplicity. Their constant warring has honed their ballistic weapons technology to an art form that Xerxian engineers love to study. It is not just war, however. Music, clothing, writing, games, and various aspects of leisure are enjoyed here on Xerxes. We take from Earth, study it, then reproduce it. For example, there are about four-hundred and thirteen different Xerxian 'bootleg' versions of the popular virtual pop singer known as 'Miku Hatsune'.>

You glance back at the room, where the two bodies lie. "Do people on Earth have any sort of ... way of handling death? Surely it's not all somber."

<Some cultures do have parties to celebrate the past lives of the dead. However, they involve talking about the accomplishments of the deceased. You know nothing about these two corpses.>

You wince. "Please... don't call them 'corpses'."

<Apologies. The alcohol you have found is prevalent in many cultures' versions of death celebrations. However, alcohol is a dangerous substance and would not agree well with your mouth, throat, mucus membranes, stomach, and liver.>

"Mm."

You're not sure what to do. Celebrating during this somber moment feels... wrong. But so does not doing anything. You're also not sure if you should keep mulling over this situation, rather than hunting down the sniper.

[Morphimus]

Pour one out for your homies the two dead people you never met.

[Eversor]

>Refuse to imbibe, you are already rather light headed as it is. Practically speaking alcohol is more useful to you right now for other things.

>Give them a moment of silence and do your best to not dwell further. You are being hunted.

[knightlygale]

> Move along, you've done all you can do.

[kaninchen]

Images, again. Alcohol, pouring, oceans, not drinking, but still lost. You pull out the bottle of alcohol. Right, some people pour it out, respectfully. Your hand hesitates, about to unscrew the cap. No, no, you can't. More images. Pain relief, anti-septic, washing wounds. Alcohol, yes. It's useful, beyond drinking. Soaking bandages. Rubbing away infection. The bottle proudly states "80% alcoholic content". You presume that's a lot. It's more useful as a medical tool than as a throat-scorcher.

You look at the shrouded bodies. Whomever these two were, they were probably scavengers. They were practical people. Their last words were instructions, a warning scrawled in blood. Their last actions were carrying it out. If they found your body here, they wouldn't drink to your death. Not because they wouldn't respect you, but the opposite. They'd respect you enough to save their liquor, their gear. They'd take your bag, they'd salvage your supplies, they'd heed your warning. They'd leave you in peace, and put your gear to better use than your body ever will. They wouldn't waste liquor on a corpse.

You hope.

Maybe you're projecting. Maybe you're hoping they were just as kind as you're being right now to them. The images in your head are cold, emotionless, and scientific. A scalpel, cutting deep to find exactly what you need, and handing knowledge to you without a second thought. But these things you're feeling. You just know a word, 'kindness'. But the feelings are not like the images. They're messy, warm, imprecise. But they feel right. And that's all you can hope for at the moment. Feeling 'right', whatever that means.

You slip the alcohol back into your bag.

<Changed your mind?>

"Sort of, but probably not in the way you're thinking."

Valerie hums.

<I don't 'think', but I appreciate you believing I do. And I'm not certain what you mean by that statement.>

"I ... I can't explain it. I don't know how."

<I see.>

You pause. "Do you?"

<Sort of, but probably not in the way you're thinking.>

"Was that sarcasm, Valerie?"

Valerie hums, but does not respond. You decide not to press the issue anymore.

There's nothing more to be said for these two people. You head out of the room, adjusting the backpack strap on your shoulder. You notice that the backpack strap has a stretchy band on it. Carefully, you slip the knife into the band to hold it in place. There, now you don't have to awkwardly hold the knife and the gun at the same time. Alright, think. What's your next step?

[knightlygale]

> There must be a route where you can safely go around the sniper and get them where they least expect it.

[minty]

> Agreed, the most progress you can make on the 'unremembered person' thing is to make sure you don't become one of those yourself. And it looks like you're remembering that you're a person who cares about others, so hang on to that!

> If there's wind, try and see if there's an exit path on the downwind side of the building? Maybe it'll be easier to hold on to car roofs in those conditions?

[kaninchen]

You head over to the stairwell and fire escape, peeking your head out the window. The wind is coming inwards, towards you. Meaning, if you were to face towards the sniper, the wind is going to the right. That must be what's throwing off their shots. You head down to the opposite end of the hallway, opening the window. Here, the wind is blocked by the building your in, calming it somewhat. That might give you the balance and stability you need to start crossing the street.

Hopping out the window, you land on the top of a garbage dumpster. It groans, but does not give way. Looking to your left, you can see a pile-up of vehicles on the street. It's not a small street -- several lanes in either direction, perhaps a major road or even a highway. It's very open, with almost no cover. It'll be dangerous, but it must be done.

<There is a level of confidence in you that is quite surprising, Miss Summers. You are... quite determined.>

"I'm not dying here."

<Good.>

You hop from car to car, careful not to slip on the slick metal. Some are slightly submerged, others peek out from the rushing water. A few shift dangerously, but you lower your body and grip on to the edges, holding on for your life.

Lightning flashes. You remain perfectly still. Breath held, not a single muscle moving. The light disappears, and you are shrouded in mist and darkness once again. And you move to the next car.

You continue this rhythm. Lightning, stop, hold, wait, move. If the sniper spots you while there's light, you'll be shot. The wind is freezing. Your fur stands on edge. Your clothes are soaked once more, and your body is battered by the rain. But you dare not shiver, not even a bit, lest your grip weaken and you fall into the torrent.

The next time lightning strikes, you look up at the sniper's building -- though only with your eyes, not moving your head an inch. You see the glint again, from high up, much higher than the third floor you were on. Their elevated position from across the wide road gives them a full view of every window in the apartment building, a clear line of sight into every room. Hell, the neighboring buildings are in view as well, though not as well given the angle. And with the open road you're on... this sniper has so much area on lockdown. A safe, secure, and deadly sniper position to be sure. But why there? Why aimed at the building you were in? Did they know you were there? Did they wait for... however long you were in there?

"Val." Your speak in a low whisper, nearly inaudible because of the howling winds. But Valerie responds nonetheless.

<Yes, Miss Summers?>

"I know your memory is ... damaged, but do you know how long I was in that room?"

<Where you woke up?>

"Yes."

<My internal clock has some damage, but my oldest data record is from twenty years ago.>

"Twenty years? That's..."

You pause, as lightning flashes. As rays of thunderous bright shine down upon you, images flash through your head as well. Calendars, years, birthdays, history. A year ... is a long time on its own. Twenty, nearly a lifetime for some. And just as fast as the lightning illuminated you, it leaves. And as the light leaves, so do the images.

"How old am I?"

<You are 18 years old.>

"I... I've never done math before but that doesn't seem to add up."

<Physically, you are eighteen Xerxian sun cycles in age. I was supplied with AZIN-3, a chemical designed to halt and in some cases even reverse the aging process in Coneans and Humans. One drop of AZIN-3 can go for several million credits on the black market, enough to halt someone's aging process for several weeks. Many rich people seek it out to remain youthful. You were kept in a coma for twenty years, until my supply ran out. I estimate approximately 5.2 Billion credits worth of Azin-3 was injected into your system to keep you in stasis.>

"But... but why?"

<They estimated that, by the time the supply ran out, you'd wake up from the coma during the right time.>

You've nearly reached the sniper's building. "Who are 'they'? And what is the 'right time'?"

<That section of my memory was intentionally corrupted by the creators to protect you, but certain "salvage safeguards" are in place that will allow me to reconstruct it with time, and as you gain experiences.>

You hop over a tall concrete barrier, which does little to block the flood. "So you're also lost on what a lot of this is, is that it?"

<Here is what I know. You were created for a reason, to be awoken at a specific time. I was tasked with keeping your heart rate, temperature, and brain activity so low that you would not show up on thermal, infrared, ultraviolet, or heartbeat sensors. You were invisible. And I fed you nutrients, gathering material from the atmosphere and synthesizing it into simple proteins and sugars, to make sure you did not experience atrophy of any kind. Data was erased when necessary, in order to keep my power draw to a minimum. I did so dutifully, for twenty years.>

The building looms over you. An open window. An entrance to the viper's lair.

"I... thank you, I guess."

<I simply did what I was told. You don't have to thank me for doing the bare minimum.>

"Well, I'm thanking you anyways. I appreciate being alive... even if it is awful and cold and scary."

<Death is also awful, cold, and scary. Or so I've heard. I wouldn't know, as I am not alive. Morbid conversation aside, shall we commence our hunt?>

[knightlygale]

Made a fansong!

[minitiate]

> Wow, so someone or some group REALLY wants you alive, and someone or someones else REALLY wants you dead, to have tracked you to this spot or staked out the building or city for 20 years. There's a lot to unpack here but let's do it when we're out of danger.

> Morally, you can make the argument that it's defensible to kill someone who is actively trying to kill you. But setting that aside, emotionally, given your reaction to the dead people in the other building, killing someone yourself would be bad for you psychologically. Ask VALERIE if there are things we can look around for in terms of nonlethal takedowns.

[knightlygale]

> Seconded. There needs to be some way you can approach this non-lethally. Like sleeping darts? Or some kind of paralysis solution?

[Eversor]

Hand to Hand!

[kaninchen]

An open window greets you. You step within.

"So... this sniper. How should I ... take care of them?"

<Ideally with the pistol in your hand. Or are you looking for a more precise strategy?>

This building seems to be an office of some sort. A maze of cubicles, all an absolute mess, with smashed computers and papers strewn about. Bloodstains, scuff marks, bullet holes. A poster with a cat hanging from a branch, proudly stating "Hang In There!", splattered with an indiscernible fluid. The room is empty of life. At the far end, a familiar sight: a stairwell, FLOOR 2 emblazoned above in a once-lit neon sign.

"I... I don't know if I can do it."

<They have put you in danger. Removing the threat will increase your chances of staying alive.>

"I've never shot a gun. I don't know if I could shoot someone."

<You could try knocking them out, but the chances of complications occurring will increase as lethality decreases.>

"I don't like that."

<Hm?>

"That killing is the easy way."

<Well, this sniper could have decided to have a polite conversation with you. Perhaps get to know you, offer you help. But they have made the decision -- several times, mind you -- to perforate you with bullets. If you insist on taking a moral high ground, I can't stop you, and I will assist in whatever way I can... but be prepared. They are not willing to offer you the same mercy.>

You don't answer. Valerie has a point, but it feels wrong. Bad. Slowly, you make your way towards the stairwell.

And then, you hear a noise from the other end of the office. Another window, creaking open. You duck down. Voices. A pair. They speak in low voices, an audible whisper.

^{"Man, fuck this sniper."}

^{"You hear what Mark said?"}

^{"No, what?"}

^{"The sniper's got the nearby blocks on lockdown. Mined it to hell and back. Clara nearly got her legs blown off trying to flank this building."}

^{"Cripes. Glad we didn't hit any of those mines. What the hell is this sniper even doing here? They've been here for the whole ten months we've been scavving this city."}

^{"Dunno. Got a real chip on their shoulder about that apartment complex across the way."}

^{"Who the fuck cares about that place? Everyone knows it's been stripped clean, even got warning signs from other scavvers to stay clear. If you're gonna shoot fish in a barrel, at least choose a barrel with fish in it."}

^{"Well, then that's their mistake. They're so focused on aiming at a ghost town, we can gut him real quiet-like."}

You remain still, peeking out from a cubicle wall, watching their movement. They're stealthy, but not incredibly so. Papers rustle and glass shards scratch under their heavy boots. Rain-slick coats, hoods pulled up. Woolen beanies, cargo pants, backpacks with supplies. Cruel machetes hang from their waists, and they carry rifles in their hands. They scan the room, but don't spot you.

<Perhaps, Miss Summers, they will take care of your problem for you?>

"Let's hope," you say under your breath, slipping from cubicle to cubicle.

^{"Fucking dark in here."}

^{"Well, I ain't turning on a flashlight. Gotta be stealthy."}

^{"Oh, sure, like the sniper can see us down here from his tenth-story window or however the fuck high up he is."}

^{"Just... keep your eyes peeled."}

<I'd recommend keeping your distance. In a situation like this, they may be very... jumpy.>

"... Right," you say, watching them go up the stairs.

[knightlygale]

> How did you feel seeing... living people for the first time?

> Did these people have rabbit ears?