T̷h̷e̸ ̵G̶a̴m̸e̵ - A VR Role-play

[HeavensHens88]

Falling.

Pickles approached consciousness with the very distinct sensation of falling.

Now, she was a fairly average human being, and as a fairly average human being, her brain manufactured its fair share of freefall dreams. Analogous as they were to being in turmoil over lacking control over a situation, her sleeping self actually speedran them pretty regularly.
But oddly enough, she didn't really have a corresponding visual playing behind her sealed eyes. In fact, this entire night had seemed dreamless- or perhaps it'd just been a series of subliminal sensory trips after all. Ah, how wonderful was it when your cortex manufactured such frustratingly latent experiences that obligated you to redefine reality for a good seventeen minutes as your roommates broke the poor coffee pot for the third time this week in the crossfire of their procrastination-maddened bathroom dash.

And as desensitized to the regularly scheduled drop as she was, she embraced wakefulness with an ardor for the fresh day that awaited her.

Yet, when she opened her eyes, the sense of the world being rapidly inverted remained.
And what she was seeing?
Definitely not the sunflower yellow ceiling of her college apartment.

More like blue skies obscured by nothing but a spattering of stratus clouds.

And she was, indeed, rapidly falling away from said skies.
Also infrequently coming in contact with abrasive surfaces while she was at it.
Pickles then found she, being quite midair, had relative freedom of movement -well, at least until she hip-bumped sociable rock again- and twisted to see the slope of a sizable land mass descending in time with her vertical relocation. Okay, so she'd fallen off a mountain and was now set on a crash course for a bush-spotted plateau between the foot of this peak and and the pinnacle of the next one.

She figured her long-suffering professors would be proud of her for expediting this irrefutable conclusion in record time.
"Wow, I'm drunk!"

Yet, however much the plausibility of her judgment, the following collision hit awfully like incontrovertible materiality.
Her legs hit very corporeal stone while her upper body was embraced by a very armed bush.
The simultaneous shattering of her right kneecap and dislocation of her right ankle definitely served to further cement the legitimacy of this insanity.

Facedown in briars, she gave the scathingly clear sky a very specific hand gesture as she reveled in the agony. "Wow, I'm not drunk!"

It was a hot minute before she even thought about disentangling herself from the bush and actually taking initiative to evaluate the damage she'd taken.
When her options for next course of action to take favored being smart like that, Pickles instead decided to take this opportunity to review her life- or, rather, what it should be. And she was not going to do it in her head.
"I went to bed last night as a perfectly normal student of Otis College of Art and Design in Los Angeles, California," she asserted through clenched teeth. The more effort she put into talking, the less energy she'd have to spare on keeping her legs in pain. Right?
"Being that I was headed for a doomed exam today, I was not intoxicated in any way, shape, or form. I was on perfectly good and sane terms with my equally sober roommates. Even if the vibes were off, there is no way that those three twiggy nerds dragged me out from to here- what, the Santa Monica mountains?"
As she rambled, she was working on inexorably rotating herself upward and out of the defensive shrub. Pathetically enough, she was grateful to no end for the barbed brambles dragging through her skin and giving her a greater, yet far more treatable, pain to fixate on. "It's nowhere near sorority initiation season. Did I somehow ask for a rite of passage granting access to the darker halls on campus? Maybe! Am I suddenly on someone's hitlist, but they're too chicken to do me in themselves? Sure, why not! Is this Naked and Afraid? Then why am I fully clothed?"
The hurt she'd generated by jarring her busted parts erupted in both a series of psychotic chortles and an expulsion of boiling tears. As she finally rolled free onto level stone, a big brain thought struck her like a smooth criminal. "Yo, I could be suffering from anemia! Sick memory loss! That'd account for this! You know what, I could have lived years since I was in my room! I've since graduated, decided to skip revolutionizing the toy industry completely, and went straight to feral hobo! Maybe I'm legendarily madcap! The possibilities are limitless!"

As she progressed with getting more and more mindless in her deliberations to herself, her eyes decided to be the most witted part of her and worked on really taking in her surroundings.
The mountains weren't necessarily huge. That could be gathered not only by raw perspective, but by how the most supreme peak only had the faintest glimmer of frost adorning it. In her range of vision, there were five rises stretched above her and perhaps twice that in immature prominences vying for dominance beneath her plateau.
The continuous ground didn't appear more than a couple hundred feet down and appeared largely comprised of tributary-permeated grasses. As per her 20/14 eyesight, the surrounding peneplain continued on indefinitely, and entirely without any indicators of human influence.

While she was retracing her gaze, something blindingly inappropriate amongst the untouched terrain caught her eye. Some sort of knapsack, caught in a cranny she supposed right from where Humpty Dumpty Had Her Great Fall.
The little logic she kept corralled in her head suddenly banded together to arrive at the highly contradictory conclusion that she should probably go back up for the one other comfortingly unnatural thing here.

"I am in pain!" she told the whacked world before assaulting the atmosphere with an overdue scream.

 

[Butterscotchbitesfinger]

Falling.

Pickles approached consciousness with the very distinct sensation of falling.

Now, she was a fairly average human being, and as a fairly average human being, her brain manufactured its fair share of freefall dreams. Analogous as they were to being in turmoil over lacking control over a situation, her sleeping self actually speedran them pretty regularly.
But oddly enough, she didn't really have a corresponding visual playing behind her sealed eyes. In fact, this entire night had seemed dreamless- or perhaps it'd just been a series of subliminal sensory trips after all. Ah, how wonderful was it when your cortex manufactured such frustratingly latent experiences that obligated you to redefine reality for a good seventeen minutes as your roommates broke the poor coffee pot for the third time this week in the crossfire of their procrastination-maddened bathroom dash.

And as desensitized to the regularly scheduled drop as she was, she embraced wakefulness with an ardor for the fresh day that awaited her.

Yet, when she opened her eyes, the sense of the world being rapidly inverted remained.
And what she was seeing?
Definitely not the sunflower yellow ceiling of her college apartment.

More like blue skies obscured by nothing but a spattering of stratus clouds.

And she was, indeed, rapidly falling away from said skies.
Also infrequently coming in contact with abrasive surfaces while she was at it.
Pickles then found she, being quite midair, had relative freedom of movement -well, at least until she hip-bumped sociable rock again- and twisted to see the slope of a sizable land mass descending in time with her vertical relocation. Okay, so she'd fallen off a mountain and was now set on a crash course for a bush-spotted plateau between the foot of this peak and and the pinnacle of the next one.

She figured her long-suffering professors would be proud of her for expediting this irrefutable conclusion in record time.
"Wow, I'm drunk!"

Yet, however much the plausibility of her judgment, the following collision hit awfully like incontrovertible materiality.
Her legs hit very corporeal stone while her upper body was embraced by a very armed bush.
The simultaneous shattering of her right kneecap and dislocation of her right ankle definitely served to further cement the legitimacy of this insanity.

Facedown in briars, she gave the scathingly clear sky a very specific hand gesture as she reveled in the agony. "Wow, I'm not drunk!"

It was a hot minute before she even thought about disentangling herself from the bush and actually taking initiative to evaluate the damage she'd taken.
When her options for next course of action to take favored being smart like that, Pickles instead decided to take this opportunity to review her life- or, rather, what it should be. And she was not going to do it in her head.
"I went to bed last night as a perfectly normal student of Otis College of Art and Design in Los Angeles, California," she asserted through clenched teeth. The more effort she put into talking, the less energy she'd have to spare on keeping her legs in pain. Right?
"Being that I was headed for a doomed exam today, I was not intoxicated in any way, shape, or form. I was on perfectly good and sane terms with my equally sober roommates. Even if the vibes were off, there is no way that those three twiggy nerds dragged me out from to here- what, the Santa Monica mountains?"
As she rambled, she was working on inexorably rotating herself upward and out of the defensive shrub. Pathetically enough, she was grateful to no end for the barbed brambles dragging through her skin and giving her a greater, yet far more treatable, pain to fixate on. "It's nowhere near sorority initiation season. Did I somehow ask for a rite of passage granting access to the darker halls on campus? Maybe! Am I suddenly on someone's hitlist, but they're too chicken to do me in themselves? Sure, why not! Is this Naked and Afraid? Then why am I fully clothed?"
The hurt she'd generated by jarring her busted parts erupted in both a series of psychotic chortles and an expulsion of boiling tears. As she finally rolled free onto level stone, a big brain thought struck her like a smooth criminal. "Yo, I could be suffering from anemia! Sick memory loss! That'd account for this! You know what, I could have lived years since I was in my room! I've since graduated, decided to skip revolutionizing the toy industry completely, and went straight to feral hobo! Maybe I'm legendarily madcap! The possibilities are limitless!"

As she progressed with getting more and more mindless in her deliberations to herself, her eyes decided to be the most witted part of her and worked on really taking in her surroundings.
The mountains weren't necessarily huge. That could be gathered not only by raw perspective, but by how the most supreme peak only had the faintest glimmer of frost adorning it. In her range of vision, there were five rises stretched above her and perhaps twice that in immature prominences vying for dominance beneath her plateau.
The continuous ground didn't appear more than a couple hundred feet down and appeared largely comprised of tributary-permeated grasses. As per her 20/14 eyesight, the surrounding peneplain continued on indefinitely, and entirely without any indicators of human influence.

While she was retracing her gaze, something blindingly inappropriate amongst the untouched terrain caught her eye. Some sort of knapsack, caught in a cranny she supposed right from where Humpty Dumpty Had Her Great Fall.
The little logic she kept corralled in her head suddenly banded together to arrive at the highly contradictory conclusion that she should probably go back up for the one other comfortingly unnatural thing here.

"I am in pain!" she told the whacked world before assaulting the atmosphere with an overdue scream.

Feral hobo?! I’m dying )

 

[Butterscotchbitesfinger]

“What?” She turned and peered out. “Oh. My. God.” She hopped out and balanced on the tree branch staring into the desert around them “what are we going to do?!”

Lyra jumped down attempting to look graceful, like a gazelle she kept thinking to herself, but her focus on repeating that made her miss the foothold, she slipped and this time fast reflexes didn’t catch her. She fell in a heap on the ground.

that was not like a gazelle.

Sand was in her mouth and in her shoes and down her clothes, it was gross. Really, really, gross. The sand grains hurt, but t was like when you try to walk in the beach and they cause your skin to rub raw, only this time there was no beach water to get it off in. “They really ought to put a warning label on the edge of the desert” she muttered “may cause raw skin with no way of saving it”.
She got up and dusted herself up, best she could anyway, she realised she still had her backpack on her shoulder and the tiny knife clenched in her hand it hadn’t even cut her and she had been holding on as tight as tight could be.
a burble of laughter escaped her lips, how pathetic was this knife, I mean really? A throwing knife might help her cut a leaf but it wouldn’t help her defend herself.

 

[TamingMaster]

He'd been shivering for a few minutes, but Damir had only just bothered to open his eyes. When he finally came to his senses, he found himself on a smooth, tiled floor, surrounded by old furniture that had started to ripple. Including a musty, torn mattress, atop a dented metal bed frame.

The room he had been asleep in was dark, but not pitch black, as there was a dim desk light tucked into the corner, and some yellowed light poured in from the hallway, through the broken door. That allowed just enough light to reflect off a majority of the surfaces, illuminating the room.

The corners of the dingy, little room were covered in spider's webs which, in turn, were covered in dust and debris, undoubtedly from the room's previous occupant. The way the light trinkled off them was about the only pretty thing in the room.

The smell of the room was much worse than just the sight alone; damp, moldy, and a lingering stench of something slowly rotting away in one of the many other abandoned rooms. Fire, or maybe just faulty electrics, left every breath with a brash aftertaste.

Damir pulled his shirt up, over his nose, pinching it tightly at the bridge, trying to reduce the smell, or at least calm his urge to retch every five seconds. But, it didn't seem to filter it at all.

He slowly got to his feet, wobbling a little as he stood, the homemade metal prosthetic twisting back into a more comfortable position. It made a soft click as it outstretched. That was a normal daily occurrence with his metal leg, but somehow it felt different today. He shrugged it off as him being too paranoid. After all, he had bigger issues to deal with.

He made his way over the the broken door, lifting it off to the side, making the gap large enough for him to slip out into the hallway. The lights flickered, the old bulbs worn and poorly wired, their cables dangling from the ceiling.

He made his way left, down the hall, not daring to open any of the doors along the way, for fear of unleashing a worse smell. Eventually he came to a dead end, brightly lit with a fluorescent lamp that stung his eyes, hung from the ceiling. It pointed straight down to a rough, but well-kept, chair. On the chair sat a satchel and, placed to the side of it, a small, rectangular tin. No weapon, just a tin.

Although apprehensive, he gladly took hold of the bag, and eventually the tin. He wasn't really curious as to what was in the bag, as the slosh of liquid and the crumple of a food wrapper could be heard well enough in the deafening silence. He was, however, interested in the contents of the tin...

He carefully opened it under the light and began to inspect the contents: a double ended screwdriver, an adjustable wrench, some bolts, spare parts, a tape for measuring, and some other things that might come in handy at some point.
They weren't very high quality, and they were smaller than your conventional tools, but he was happy to have something useful on-hand.

After the lid was closed, and taped shut with the cheap electrical tape it had been wrapped in previously, he tucked it safely into his trouser pocket. He put the bag loosely across his chest, and turned around to head in the opposite direction, hopefully to find some kind of exit.

Unknown to him, by taking the bag - and the scroll inside - from the chair, Damir had started some kind of quest, an escape trial. The goal was simple: Get out, before they get you.

The howls of screaming men and women suddenly started to grow louder and louder, filling the previously empty space. The shrieking almost becoming loud enough to shatter the windows.
Damir reached up, cupping both his ears with his palms. He crouched down, shaking from the sheer shock of it all.

Apparitions started whizzing through the walls, down through the ceiling, and up through the ground. Lights flickered rapidly. Doors started opening wide, only to slam shut seconds later.

Damir, fighting through his fear, started running, weaving between ghosts and ghouls. He bounded down a broken staircase, each other footstep punching through the weakened wood below, until he clattered down to the very bottom. By the end, he was covered in scrapes, scratches, and splinters.
There was very little time to rest, as he wasn't in the clear yet. He had to find an exit, and fast.

His eyes frantically searched the ground floor for some sign of an exit, or at least a window to crawl through. There must be some way out. He thought, going in whatever direction his legs seemed to take him, until he hit a pair of glowing doors.
A glance back showed multiple spirits floating towards him, he turned back to the door and decided to take a chance. Between ghosts and glowing doors, he'd much rather the doors.

He leapt through, the screaming fading behind him as the doors settled shut. The sun crashed down on his skin. He was outside, and he was safe.


(Hopefully that's the right idea for quests? XD)

Damir's hands shook steadily, overcome with the shock of what he'd just seen, what he'd actually just experienced.

For just a minute, he swore he recognised the faces of the ghosts he'd seen. He swore they looked like... "No, no no no," he cried, putting his head in his hands, not even noticing the numbers. "It couldn't have been them."
His entire body trembled, rocking gently as he tried to calm himself down. He told himself over and over, it couldn't be them.

A silver coin dropped onto the grey, cobbled paving beside him. It rattled as it bounced off the stones, eventually spinning to a stop.
This didn't snap Damir out of his thoughts, but it did tempt him to peak over his shaking fingertips, to see what had caused the sound.

He reached out, picking up the circular, metal object, inspecting it closely. He looked around and, even though he could see people walking around, no one was close enough to have dropped it near him.
After looking it over again, he slipped it into the bag. I guess I'll keep it? At least until I can find it's owner.

Damir closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly, before rising to his feet. He had other things to worry about, such as where he was and why. He didn't have time to breakdown over faces he thought he saw.

 

[RoostersAreAwesome]

Phaedra stared in confusion as he described what he had seen, staying silent for several moments. "I... have no clue, I was going to ask you the same question."
She readjusted her pack and grabbed the sword as she inspected their surroundings. "I'm Phaedra, by the way. Most people call me Faye, though. And you are..?"

“Jack.” Jack supplied. He was already staring into the distance again. He slowly bent down and grabbed his own discarded sword, sliding it into the sheath.
“Hey, you didn’t happen to just.. uh, appear here, did you?” He questioned, idly walking back to where he had hastily dropped his bag, slinging it onto his shoulder. Turning back to Phaedra, his eyes caught on her own possessions. Same bag.
“Unless we were both in a very wild party in the middle of the desert which we don’t remember, I have no idea how we got here.”

 

[Yowza Wowza]

Lyra jumped down attempting to look graceful, like a gazelle she kept thinking to herself, but her focus on repeating that made her miss the foothold, she slipped and this time fast reflexes didn’t catch her. She fell in a heap on the ground.

that was not like a gazelle.

Sand was in her mouth and in her shoes and down her clothes, it was gross. Really, really, gross. The sand grains hurt, but t was like when you try to walk in the beach and they cause your skin to rub raw, only this time there was no beach water to get it off in. “They really ought to put a warning label on the edge of the desert” she muttered “may cause raw skin with no way of saving it”.
She got up and dusted herself up, best she could anyway, she realised she still had her backpack on her shoulder and the tiny knife clenched in her hand it hadn’t even cut her and she had been holding on as tight as tight could be.
a burble of laughter escaped her lips, how pathetic was this knife, I mean really? A throwing knife might help her cut a leaf but it wouldn’t help her defend herself.

Dropping his baseball bat down first, Evan started to descend carefully from the tree. Unlike Lyra, he didn’t have the courage to make a jump like she did, and... get totally swallowed up by sand.

“I guess this is.. somewhat better than being stuck with the rhinoceros.”

Landing on his feet and retrieving his bat, he adjusted his pack and shielded his eyes with a hand as he scanned their surroundings. Well, there wasn’t much to see in the endless sea of sand as the sun scorched the land. Not ever in his life had Evan ever experienced heat like this or even witnessed a desert. He had only been exposed to the gloomy, dreary cold weather of Seattle his entire life. Already feeling the droplets of sweat forming on the surface of his skin, he looked back at the girl. “So uh.. how did you get here in the first place?” he questioned, attempting to strike up some sort of conversation with the stranger.

 

[Butterscotchbitesfinger]

Dropping his baseball bat down first, Evan started to descend carefully from the tree. Unlike Lyra, he didn’t have the courage to make a jump like she did, and... get totally swallowed up by sand.

“I guess this is.. somewhat better than being stuck with the rhinoceros.”

Landing on his feet and retrieving his bat, he adjusted his pack and shielded his eyes with a hand as he scanned their surroundings. Well, there wasn’t much to see in the endless sea of sand as the sun scorched the land. Not ever in his life had Evan ever experienced heat like this or even witnessed a desert. He had only been exposed to the gloomy, dreary cold weather of Seattle his entire life. Already feeling the droplets of sweat forming on the surface of his skin, he looked back at the girl. “So uh.. how did you get here in the first place?” he questioned, attempting to strike up some sort of conversation with the stranger.

“I don’t know. I woke up in the rainforest” she said frowning

 

[Rose Quartz]

Heather walked up the beach on the water hardened sand, leaving little puddle footprints behind her. She'd taken her shoes off and had them dangling by their shoelaces in her left hand, bumping against her thigh with each step.

Her gaze was drawn out to the imperceptible horizon. Somewhere out there the blue of the water and the blue of the sky merged into one. But the line of separation was imperceptible to her eyes.

This place was so completely new and different from what she knew. How exactly she was supposed to survive here she didn't know. All she could hope was that she would either find someone else out here, or that she'd find civilization.

She took a deep breath of the heavy salty air closing her eyes as she sighed. Thinking back to the last time she'd visited her mom. Things really weren't going well, despite their best efforts to pay for everything, it never seemed to be enough. Her dad would say, 'All their hopes and wishes were as good as uncaught fishes.' She wasn't sure where he'd picked up the phrase, he certainly had never done any fishing, but it along with several other strange sayings it seemed to be his way of coping.

Yesterday, though they'd met together with her mom in the hospital to discuss a new job that her dad had found for her. Her mom was against it, because it would mean she'd have to be away for a long time, but it would pay the bills. If it meant her mom living longer, having access to the doctors and medications she needed, she'd do anything.

Now that she was here, she wondered what would happen. Would her mom be ok? Would she ever see her again? Could her dad cope with out her there if the worst happened?

Heather's hand tightened on the spear that she carried at her side, and she tried to distract herself from her thoughts. Fighting away the ache that was rising in her chest by focusing on her surroundings instead.

The sun was hot on her skin, the wet sand cold on her bare feet, and where her shoes bumped against her was beginning to get sore from the repetitive thumps. The backpack though light from lack of contents felt uncomfortable too, forming a barrier between her and the open air so sweat was running down her back.

Experiencing reality wasn't helping, if anything it was putting her in a worse mood. Even the lapping waves were putting her in a bad mood, as though they were mocking her by making such a soothing sound.

The monstrous red bug charged towards Hewitt, easily clawing its way over the shifting sand with its six legs.
“Language!” Hewitt shouted over his shoulder.
Hewitt raised his cane above his head.
Hewitt whapped it several times between the eyes before jumping to the left, not wanting to become a victim of the charging bug’s momentum. With his inhuman strength, Hewitt had literally bashed its head in.
The bug took a while to stop. One last good whap from the side, and the bug collapsed on its great feet.
The bug disappeared in a puff of fowl smelling smoke and Hewitt reached down and picked up the silver coin.
He pocketed the coin and looked smugly at Saturn, twirling his cane. “That’s how it’s done, kid. Remember, when a Beach Bug comes your way, go for the head. I wouldn’t like a nice kid like you to become lunch.”

Saturn didn't have time to process anything that had just happened. The old man moved with the speed of a young adult, and had the strength of a werewolf. It was terrifying watching him bash the massive bug before it vanished in a puff of sickening smoke.
"H-how?" She gave a soft squeak of confusion, eyes widened. "How did you do that?"
This has to be a dream.

Hewitt raised his cane. “Would you like an example, kid? I was cursed by a fairy as a child. Doesn’t that ever happen where you come from?” (Lol, it does, oftener than most people think. At least where Kyle comes from. His cousin had a fairy wife.)

Heather stopped her internal cataloging of things that were irritating her. Hearing some guy shout "Language" from over the dunes. She couldn't see the owner of the voice, but a few moments later there was a puff of red smoke similar to the one she'd seen earlier that wound up and dispersed in the sky.

She took off running toward the smoke before it completely disappeared. Excited to be near other people who would surely be able to distract her from her thoughts.

(My goodness this is longer than I intended.)

 

[Thing2]

Nina let out a tired groan, rolling over. She'd been up way too late, having snuck out to hang out with her friends till almost five. Cursing herself, she'd crept back to her room and passed out as soon as she hit her bed, not even stopping to slip off her shoes before she went to sleep. Her back and shoulders ached, pressed uncomfortably against the hard, damp ground like they were.

Wait. Hard, damp ground?

She blinked sleepily, straightening. Something wasn't right. Letting out a huge yawn, she finally took a good look around her and froze, her mouth still hanging open. Where was she? Snapping her mouth shut, she climbed unsteadily to her feet, peering around her with unbelieving eyes. Four brick walls surrounded her, a rotting wooden floor creaked beneath her feet, and water dripped from the ceiling into a pan in the corner, illuminated by a single flickering bulb that hung from the ceiling. Water droplets beaded the cobwebs that adorned the rafters of the slightly cramped space, and a door graced the wall to her left. A rickety chair sat in the corner, a weirdly clean black backpack slumped on the seat. She slowly moved backward until her back pressed into the brick wall and the cold shock of water dripping onto her scalp finally brought her to her senses, her skin turning rusty to match the wall behind her.

Had she been kidnapped walking home? No, she distinctly remembered the frustratingly loud way her bedroom door had creaked on her way back in. Then what was this? Her gaze landed on the backpack again, and she crept forward, snatching it from the chair before retreating back into the corner to investigate it. There were two things inside: a large bottle of water and a container of some weird, smelly ointment. Hooked to the backpack was... a tube thing. She unattached it, examining it in confusion. It was sturdy but not really hefty, widened slightly at the very end, and had a strap on it. She looked back to the backpack and noticed something near the bottom that she hadn't seen at first: a quiver full of what looked like tiny arrows. Glancing back and forth, it suddenly struck her. She had a blowgun.

"What the heck?" Her own whisper startled her, and she glanced up, towards the door. After a moment of silence, her heart racing, she straightened and tied the quiver around her waist and put on the backpack, holding the blowgun out in front of her like a baseball bat. She cautiously tried the door handle, but besides making a small click sound, it wouldn't budge, even when she put all her force on it. Peering around the room for a key or something to help, she suddenly became aware of a grating sound that sent vibrations up her legs. As she watched in horror, the chair across from her began to tip forward, pushed by the wall behind it. It finally fell forward, making an ugly crash that echoed in a space that suddenly seemed vastly tighter. Words were shouted in her head, "GET OUT," and she reacted without stopping to realize that it wasn't her voice that formed them. Turning back to the door, she shoved against it, twisting the handle. The walls inched steadily closer.

"Come on!" She cried, panic setting in as she glanced behind her. The chair was straining as the walls pressed in on either side, groaning from the force. Backing up a few steps, she rammed into the door, which shook but stayed firm. "Come on!" She yelled again, running and throwing herself against the splintery wood. It almost gave. She moved as far back as the walls would let her, took a deep breath, and ran, letting out a desperate battle cry as she lept. Throwing her entire body weight against the door, it gave way beneath her, and she was in freefall.

Her battle cry turned into a piercing shriek as she fell, hitting the ground so hard the breath was knocked out of her. Choking and gasping for air, she rolled onto her stomach, becoming vaguely aware that she was laying on a rather grimy city street. She finally managed to draw in some painful lungfuls of air and flopped onto her back, her chest heaving as she stared up at the building she had just come from. It was grey, drab, and boring, but on the second story, there was a doorway that led to nowhere, covered by a brick wall. She would've been crushed.

Exhausted, she took in her surroundings, not budging from her prone position on the ground. The people on the streets just walked around her, staring blankly ahead, but she was too in shock to care. The sun shone down weakly from above, blocked here and there by the taller buildings. One thing was for sure: she didn't have the slightest clue where she was. Sitting up gingerly, she felt for any injuries, but except for some slight pain in her shoulder and hip where she'd hit the ground, she seemed unhurt. The blowdarts had spilled from their quiver, and she carefully began picking them from the wreckage of the door. She was lucky she hadn't landed on any of them; examining them more closely, they were sharpened to a lethal point, with hooks to make sure they wouldn't come loose once they entered their target.

She winced at the sight and looked up, her gaze settling on a young man who stood farther down the street, glancing around. He was the only person around here who seemed to be showing any real emotion whatsoever, and she stood, picking up the fallen blow gun and limping towards him. At this point, she would take any assistance she could get, and she sure as heck wouldn't be asking any of the zombie-like people for help.

"Hey, you!" She croaked, waving to get his attention. @TamingMaster

 

[Butterscotchbitesfinger]

“I don’t know. I woke up in the rainforest” she said frowning

She shrugged “I guess someone must have pulled some stupid prank on me, because I’m pretty sure I didn’t drink any alcohol last night so I honestly have no idea how I got out here” she looked at him “how about you?”