I left these notes just for you. Not "you, the clever reader who might find this". YOU you. The one touching the keys.
Your eyes open for a moment, and then shut again. You draw in a deep, sour breath, and stretch out on a surface far too hard and wide to be your bed. Somewhere in the deepest, basest, reptilian part of your brain, you're made instantly aware that the place you're waking up in is totally unfamiliar. The air is too hot to be your bedroom, the lights are too cold to be yours, and the bags under your eyes too stinging and heavy for you to have been sleeping in your own bed. Instinctively, you pull your head back and furrow your brow, trying to recall last night's events as your eyes come into the focus of wakefulness. You feel faintly hungover, and the itchy surface you begin to write around on is almost certainly the cushion of a couch, though you don't remember the last time you went to any sort of party. As your eyes remain open for more than a full second, an unfamiliar panic grips you. An all-consuming, instinctive panic, somewhere in the back of that same lizard brain of yours. Four sets of eyes look back at you.
I left these for you because I know you. Actual you. Everybody deflects their discomfort when they hear that by demanding to hear their name like a street magician's trick.
Each is attached to a person who seems just as terrified as you, in a room you now realize has a floor padded with dozens of layers of rugs and carpets, each dirtier than the last. Each person is all covered, just as you realize you are, in a layer of soil and grime. Each is chained to the wall by the wrist. You instinctively pull your hands up defensively, but you cannot -- yours seem to be chained the tightest. You scream for a moment, and as a wail of horror rings out in the room for what you realize must be the fifth time, you begin to cry, causing one of the women in your small company to begin crying as well. You immediately begin to imagine all sorts of horrible scenarios and begin to feel sorry for yourself, before recalling the reason. The other people in the room feel miles away at this point of your panic, as you delve further into the memory you have tried countless times to bury, alter, or forget entirely. You know exactly what you did, and why some depraved vigilante would want to torture you. The people in the room suddenly feel much, much closer as you look back up.
But I know you better than an ID card ever could. I know the real you. What you've done, where you've been, who you are. It doesn't paint a pretty picture.
What had they done to deserve such a fate?
Check his bio.
If you can find the application, you can apply. RP will include mature themes, puzzle solving, and minor use of stats/dice rolling. Good luck!
