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Employee Training [G-Rank]
Topic Started: Jan 18 2018, 10:58 PM (227 Views)
Paradox
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Concierge calls the phone in Muerte's room telling him that his limo has arrived and is waiting for him at the entrance of the hotel. An attendant was waiting at limo door swinging it open to let the man get inside and could see a small brown box tied with a red string twisted into a bow. Under the red string was a simple note that said

"OPEN LAST"

A quick surveillance of the Limo's interior reveals a small green rucksack on the far end and a bar on his right side as well as buttons to talk to the driver.

As the limo begun to pull away from the Hotel a tv screen popped off from the ceiling and begun to play a video on the screen.

The screen displayed a forest backdrop with a menu select screen the choices were

> A. Commit
> B. Ignore

The remote control that looked connected to the tv could be seen laying on the seat to his left.
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fridaynightpizza
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The giant's peaceful slumber was disrupted by the shrill cry of a telephone. His eyes darted open and his cornea were penetrated by harsh sunbeams. Drool collected and spilled from the corner of his gaping lips and his eyelids fluttered in a desperate attempt to regain composure. The phone's wailed again and by reflex his arm snapped to attention, unearthing the handset from the hook. As the room and Muerte's mind finally arrived at a calm silence, he focused on the task at hand.

"Yes?"

"Yes, Mr. Muerte sir your transportation has arrived," the voice stated succinctly.

"My transportation?"

"Yes, a limo is waiting for you just outside. Has there been some mistake? Do you wish for me to send it off?"

"No, no, err I just had a difficult time getting to sleep last night, I'll be right down."

Confused, Muerte returned the phone to its mantle and reached for his left cheek, a habit he would use unconsciously to recall information. It wasn't for a few seconds that he realized he'd gone to bed without his face on. He flinched in response, darting his eyes around the room as if to check if anyone was looking and ran into the bathroom. He had left it on the counter next to a sink when he'd showered the night before. Putting his identity on first, he then proceeded to dress himself. His redwood thighs pulsed in anticipation as the fabric of his shorts ran along his towering legs and he mulled over the recent events of his life; attempting to remember what it was exactly he'd hired a limo for.

His shame now hidden by a pair of khaki shorts, he assembled the rest of his attire and rushed out the door. Several hotel occupants and staff were startled by his seemingly emotionless sprint, his broad frame and sense of urgency putting anyone within eyesight into a minor anxiety attack. Muerte tried to be conscious of his behavior as he tended to be the center of attention wherever he was, though it could be quite tiresome to adjust one's nature ad nauseum. The only sign of his tendency that remained being his casual, non threatening expression that he would wear at all times. It wasn't that he refused to express his emotions, he just hid his less pleasant ones. The expression he was currently subduing was that of desperation.

That he focuses so much of his processing power on giving off a calm, neutral body language and facial expression is somewhat ironic given his either purposeful or clueless disregard for the way he actually dressed himself. Had he not been wearing combat boots, fingerless gloves, a long overcoat and a mask with a skull design, he would come off as far less intimidating. Even when he attempts to dress formally, the striking yet simple designs of his suits just serve as a pedestal for the terrifying face of death he wears at all times.

It wasn't until he was waiting in the elevator that something about his situation clicked. Just recently, after a long night of drinking alone in his hotel room he made another call to his former employer. Several days had passed and he'd gotten no response. The arm with the dirty fingers did not knock at his door and he received no letters. He had assumed the bridge had been burned long ago due to his impatience, but there was a chance this mysterious driver was what he was waiting for that night. Had he been forgiven for his infractions?

As the lift took him to the lobby he walked towards the entrance in an almost trance like state. His eyes barely registering his surroundings; tunneled in the direction of the door. He unconsciously started to pick up his pace and the concierge's well wishes are drowned out in the miasma of his cluttered mind.

The open winds breathed life into his senses as he stopped in his tracks, briefly investigating the vehicle. Dead black. Windows like matte paint. No indication of what he was stepping inside of or who might be waiting for him. He entered.

It was completely unremarkable. Just as one would expect from any ordinary limousine. Across from him though there sat a green bag. As his attention was drawn in by the suspicious container the limousine jumped. Muerte's mass reeled back before bobbing forward in response to the sudden motion and a screen made itself known. Inconspicuous music filled the small space as a graphic displayed a serene nature shot with two choices.

The series of events only served to corner Muerte further. Adrenaline pumping, he ignored the spinning thoughts that might serve to impede him and continued on instinct, locating the remote and selecting the A prompt. A weary expression fell across his face as he anticipated what might happen next.
Edited by fridaynightpizza, Feb 19 2018, 11:45 AM.
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Paradox
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> A. Commit
> B. Ignore

*Kah-Chunk*

The sound of door's locking could be heard and could be a problem later on but a much more urgent matter is at hand the screen begun to play a video.

The video quality was gritty and grainy as if it was made in another time and it was as the narrator begun to speak you could clearly see the time period this was produced in most likely around 80 years ago this film was made.

The loud booming background Music begun to play loudly a man was speaking a forgeign tongue but luckily subtitles were enabled on the film and it read as follows

"Built to hold only the most animal in man. Built to hold the craftiest. Built to keep you out and them in." the screen suddenly shows a picture of this place.

A massive medieval castle surrounded by jagged ice from all sides for miles "Everfrost Drop" the video suddenly fades to black and the tv suddenly flips upward.

Nothing happening for a few seconds no more automatic triggers the only thing left to do is open up the brown box.
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fridaynightpizza
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Muerte wasn't sure how concerned he should be that the doors of the limo had been locked, but before he could consider his feelings he was bombarded by the horns and stepping drums of some sort of vintage advertisement. A split overlay of two languages, the latter of which one he could read, the former presumably in the original dialect for the hard of hearing. The tinny voice of the announcer promised quite a formidable fortress. Despite his predicament, Muerte couldn't help but be enthralled by the presentation rather than wary of what exactly he'd gotten himself into. As the film came to an end, Muerte glanced around the cabin excitedly, bobbing up and down in his seat. He introduced himself with the liquor cabinet and clasped a thick ice sphere from a case, placing it in a tasteful glass and pouring whatever looked the most valuable. He hadn't chosen correctly, but was blissfully unaware to the fact.

He scooted over to the far end and opened up communications with his driver.

"Driver?" he said expectantly, gently swirling the amber in his glass. "Are you at liberty to share with me when I might be reaching my destination? I don't foresee us travelling the whole length of this journey together. Is this accurate?"

Whether the driver answered his questions or not, eventually Muerte's boredom would overtake him and he would ransack the limo cabin, opening and looking through all that's available to him; including the green rucksack and brown box. As instructed, he would conclude with the box.
Edited by fridaynightpizza, Feb 19 2018, 11:48 AM.
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Paradox
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Trying to communicate with the driver was futile nothing but static went through and the black window that separated them didn't seem capable of opening in the first place. Rummaging through the green rucksack revealed its contents of a musty old gray itchy blanket a pair heavy-duty socks with matching holes in em and finally a little tube of toothpaste but no toothbrush to combo with. Finally getting to the brown box opening it proved nothing more than utmost commitment to the job as soon as he popped off the lid the many canisters inside which had there pins attached to the roof of the box were all pulled by Muerte quickly filling the limo with the sleep agent knocking out Muerte before he even had the chance to react.

By the time he regained consciousness a loud hum could be heard and the air around felt frigid. Opening one's eye's revealed a very dark room only partially illuminated by a dim red light that glowed all around. Trying to move was futile thick bars fixated you to the wall as your eyes adjust to the barely lit room you could see others about 10 feet away similarly fixated to the wall.

Your head is being restrained you cannot twist your neck you can only stare forward to your left you can faintly hear a man muttering to himself in a panic.
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fridaynightpizza
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The communications shot, Muerte found some necessities inside the rucksack. Looking over to the Liquor cabinet, he grabbed the bottle he'd poured a drink from and decided to take one last swig before tossing it along with the rest of his supplies. Surely it'd be a good idea to bring something to drink, wouldn't it? Or would the guards just confiscate them? Muerte pondered exactly how he was to arrive at the prison as he checked the brown box.

Distraught, Muerte's eyes panicked, fluttering themselves open. By instinct Muerte writhed in panic, doing his best to wriggle loose of his shackles. With ragged breathing he calmed himself the best he could and took in his surroundings. Red rays pierced his retinae and he struggled to take in information under the barrage. Then his ears began picking up something. A man speaking under his breath. Struggling to direct his face in the direction of the noise, he spat a little exerting himself as he saw what was next to him.

"Hello? Hello? Where am we? What's going on?" He sputtered, clearly not in control of the situation. He didn't expect he'd be in the prison so quickly. He needed to find out where exactly in the prison he was. Were they being transported to their cells? Was this the cell?

As his eyes adjusted further, he saw a line of men just like him, tied up like cattle. He hoped he could get some information on what exactly he was supposed to do once he arrived. Did they want someone in here dead? The Grey Man was being far less direct this time around. Clearly, this was Muerte's punishment.
Edited by fridaynightpizza, Feb 21 2018, 07:02 AM.
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Paradox
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The man too his left kept sputtering prayers frantically "
Пожалуйста, помогите богу!!!"
meanwhile shouts errupted everywhere "Заткнись, старик!!!"

"Веди себя тихо!!!"

Suddenly as things began to amp up a loud buzzing sound could be heard and doors on the far left could be heard followed by the sound of many heavy boots before breaking out into grunts of pain and sounds of something metal hitting flesh.

More boots followed by more yelps of pain no one could see what was happening all they could do was listen to the sound come closer and closer until it arrived right in front of you. A large husky man cladded with what looked like old worn out riot gear in the mans left hand was a black baton covered in flecks of blood.

The Husky man's face hidden behind protective face shield again complemented by flecks of blood splattered about like a pollock painting. The man reared the baton back and like a whip flung it right into Muerte's upper right ribcage not letting the man get a moment to experience the pain before being hit again straight across the face with this thick heavy metal baton. The guard gave Muerte a hell of beating just barely leaving him conscious then moving on the man on the right of Muerte.

A few minutes passed and the sounds of men in pain and the sounds of beatings could be heard all around. Suddenly another guard came by this time with a clipboard and pen and spoke to Muerte "Вы Muerte?" the man gave a few seconds for the man to respond before speaking something he could understand "U Muerte?" the man with the clipboard pointed with his pen at the heavily injured man waiting for a response.
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fridaynightpizza
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Failing to find any resources, Muerte scanned the room. Panicked and hyperventilating, his mind struggled to come to terms with his current predicament, acting in an animal like state of survival. A shirll buzz set Muerte loose from his mental implosion and he composed himself just enough to hear what was coming. Thuds and cries of pain. Wailing and groaning of terrified men. The sounds he lusted after so voraciously. It was music to his ears. His manhood awakened, Muerte did the best he could to get a look at what awaited him. It was as he struggled that he realized he was naked. His face had been taken from him! A wave of complete terror struck his core and the separation of his priceless artifact created a wave of emotion in his mind, He felt his aura swell in pain as he screamed to the high heavens, his monstrous roar just barely overshadowed by the orchestra of pain around him.

As the tears flooded his eyes, a cold baton whipped his abdomen, dancing its way to the exposed flesh of his tender face. Thrown out of his moment and bringing him to reality, having already forgotten the proceeding events, his brain returned itself to a neutral state with robotic automation. His nerve endings told him he was suffering from mild trauma and his ears reminded him of his surroundings. Last, as he returned from his subconscious his eyes informed his circumstances to greater detail. Muerte analyzed his situation as he focused his remaining mental energy on managing the searing pain across his body.

A man identical to the one had assaulted him seemed to address him. The giant recognized his name across the jumbled words, and his suspicions were confirmed a moment later. Muerte nodded his head frantically; doing all he could to reduce the damage he would take with the little power he still held.
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Paradox
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The guard jotted down on his clipboard before moving on only to have another guard show up in front of Muerte with the green rucksack in his hands. The guard bent down and tied it with a white rope around Muerte's left leg before moving on presumingly to do the same to the man next in the row. Soon all the screams and cries died out considerably and all the guards began to shuffle out of the room until the last once exited and a loud scraping sound of metal closing could be heard.

A second buzzing sound could be heard immediately after and the bars keeping everyone restrained suddenly retracted back into the walls releasing everyone in the room. Confusion erupted but could not be processed as the floor beneath them begun to separate from the middle slowly opening up. Many prisoners scrambled to hug the walls while other's accepted there fate and took a leap of faith.

If one was to peak the edge you could see a considerable drop down below to the familiar site of the prison from the film but things have changed quite a bit. For one the ice surrounding the place had changed to raging seas and the prison seems to have collapsed in on itself into some kind of blue sinkhole encompassing most of the former prison it seems like this is where they are supposed to drop.
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fridaynightpizza
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as their restraints were lifted and the floor began to fall from under them, Muerte's smile widened. The grey man was testing him. He was to retrieve his face as well as complete whatever task he'd need to discover. Muerte wondered what was still in the rucksack they tied around his leg as he dove backwards, arms extended like an overzealous star in an action movie. Muerte rolled backwards in the air and then faced down, still T-posed as he judged the time it'd take before he reached the ground. Curling up; Muerte impacted the surface with a somersault to reduce impact and slid onto his feet, surveying his immediate surroundings. It was cold. The freezing air tingled his face and bare legs. Muerte exhaled into his palms before rubbing them to comfort himself. He looked on at the men around him. Those that were injured or worse, those that had made it down comfortably, Muerte put his arms behind him, gripping one hand with the next and stretched his back, making his shoulders pop.

"Guess it's time to begin," thought Muerte.

The first thing he did was untie the bag. He'd picked it up by the opposite end after being released. He wanted to know if the liquor had made it. He could use a drink. Muerte rifled through the contents; hoping for a miracle. His butt rested on his calves as he sat flat footed looking through his belongings.
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