WEEK 1 MINGLE

[vault_tech]

'cuz it's a sin to tell a lie.

Week 1

As you sleep, you find your mind plagued with strange dreams. You’re still trapped, of course, there’s no way to avoid that, even in the comfort of your own mind, but you’re alone. Utterly alone. The radios and jukeboxes scattered around the place all spring to life, as if they’re speaking to you directly. On the other end, you see people talk about you. From your own perspective, it can’t have been more than… 48 hours since you were taken. From the perspectives of those on the outside, the times don’t match up nearly so well. It might have been days. It might have been weeks. It might have been months.

The voices discuss you. They discuss the way things have changed. They talk about how you just suddenly disappeared without a trace. Maybe they’re glad, glad that you weren’t around to see what happened without you. Or maybe they’re angry. Maybe they know that it was your fault. If only you’d been there, none of this would have happened. If you’d met up with that friend, they wouldn’t have died. If you’d been there to save her, things would have been different. If you had apologized, maybe… or if you hadn’t abandoned your responsibilities…

You don’t get the specifics either way. Your dream - or vision, it leaves your imagination to do all the work. But there’s one thing you can be absolutely sure of.

You are running out of time.

Well, what’s there to be glum about? The vault is your home now, lovingly prepared by Vault-Tec™! Who cares what some ghosts from the past have to say about you, eh? It’s not like you’ll ever see them again.

And no matter how deeply you were sleeping, The Overseer’s voice sounds out on the intercom and seems to wake you immediately.

“Hello, lovelies. We’ve decided to be extra generous to all of you, so we bring some good news for a change. I’m sure in the last few days, you’ve gotten pretty sick of that walled off little cellblock you’re cramped in, so you’ll be positively giddy to learn that we’ve prepared and unlocked the rest of the first level for you all to explore to your heart’s content. If you’ve given up on ever getting out of here, make yourself at home. If you haven’t, well, there’s plenty of fun and interesting tools to integrate into your work whenever you decide to take advantage the former group’s complete lack of initiative or willpower.

Oh, and before I forget… check the common room before you go.”

With that particularly nasty announcement, you will find that the doors that locked the rest of this floor off to you have all been opened up. And in addition to that, the profiles have been made public, joining the rules as framed pictures in the common room.

And if you wish to contact your Overseer or her robotic assistant, you are free to stop for a chat.

NAVIGATION

Vault 113: a short-run murdergame

RULES

GAME INFO

LOCATIONS

PROFILES

IC RULES

MURDER

PCs

CHECK-INS

code credit

Comments

[moodwinks]

... Hmm? Romantic?

[That seems like Klaasje's gig, anyway. Everyone seems so intent on doxxing both schooling and romantic endeavors, gosh, so he has to take the moment to think it over.]

[discodancer]

Romantic, platonic, familial, political, spiritual. Take your pick.

[ The five main sorts of heartbreak. ]

[moodwinks]

[The corner of his mouth goes up even as he takes a sip, obscuring most of the expression. He does sound amused, though.]

All of those? I'm at a disadvantage with like everyone here. Well, I don't know what political heartbreak is supposed to be...

[discodancer]

When your ideology lets you down. The revolution fails, the vision never gets off the ground. Your tower of ideas collapses on itself.

People die of it all the time.

[moodwinks]

[He snorts a little. Takes another sip, because why not.]

I didn't know we were talking about death. Though, maybe there are those here who've died and lived to tell the tale.

You haven't got any of these?

[discodancer]

Is it heartbreak if you can't die of it? Not that you have to, necessarily. Most people don't.

But it should at least make you think you're dying. That's how I know it's never happened to me.

[moodwinks]

That sounds more literal than most heartbreak.

[Like, are you stabbing the heart or something?? Is this a murder survey?? He sounds mildly bemused.]

Death's not really the end-all be-all for us, anyway. Usually we just get discorporated. It's the stuff you've got to live with that sucks the most. [...] It sounds more like you got some bad info.

[Why does she sound like a robot that hasn't learned to love yet.]

[discodancer]

[ If only she was a robot. ]

I did get it from poetry.

[ And he knows how poets are - or maybe he doesn't. ]

What's heartbreak to you, then? The 'stuff you've got to live with'?

[moodwinks]

[That might put them over the local quota of robots, considering.]

So it's something you've read about...

[Sure, there's stuff he's only read about, but like it or not he's stuck with some life experience here. Belphegor raises an eyebrow.]

And it's the stuff you've got to live with for a few hundred or a thousand years, yeah. You've got about a hundred, but there's usually a lot in the first half.

[discodancer]

[ When he puts it like that...Klaasje gives it further thought, pressing her glass against her lips without sipping from it, more a thinking aid than any attempt towards a drink. ]

That does sound worse than dying of it.

And we do tend to fit most of ours in early...do you keep getting harder to disappoint as you get past one hundred, or does it even out somewhere in the second century?